They came out of church into a fine, cold winter rain which had threatened them on setting forth. It had kept Miss Charlotte and little Polly at home for a peaceful morning in the little grey house; it had served, with her cold, to retain Mrs. Grey at Lydia's side, for appetites attend on church-going, as a rule, and there was much to be done by those mother-hands which always smoothed out possible rough places, and made all kinds of comfort certain.
Aunt Azraella was not out either, which was a relief to the girls, who dreaded her probable addition to them at dinner, for however gentler Aunt Azraella's diminution of health might make her, she still was not adapted to great increase of joy.
"Do you think," Rob asked as they gathered around the hearth after dinner, "do you really think, Mardy, that it would be unsuited to the day for 'we (twice) four, and no more' to go up into the attic and look over the chests and trunks of old clothing?"
"It would be Shintoism—ancestor-worship," said Bruce.
"Bruce, we have sufficient knowledge of the Eastern question to understand what Shintoism is without your foot-note," remarked Rob sternly.
"I think it would be perfectly proper to the day, dear, to go into the attic and see those old costumes, that is to the Sunday side of the day, but how about the weather side of the day? Wouldn't it be too cold for you?" Mrs. Grey stretched her fingers towards the fire as she spoke; she dearly loved warmth—of all sorts.
"We're not afraid of the cold, are we girls? Of course the boys are afraid of nothing," said Rob.
"Won't you walk into my attic?" said a robin to her mates.
"I have venerable garments that would fit up many crates.
"The way into my attic is up a winding stair,
"But, 'spite of cold, these garments old repay a journey there."