The days flew swiftly by, and the still, peaceful Sabbath dawned.
How tranquil, and yet how full of life it seemed to Miss Vernon as she sat at her window and gazed on the scene of beauty before her. A lovely spring morning-the distant hills soft and mellow; the emerald fields glittering with dew-the tasseled pines nodding in the gentle breeze-and the whole atmosphere vibrating with the tones of the Sabbath bells.
“Surely,” she said, “I need no form of worship. God is in all this. I wonder if I must go from all these beauties to a temple made with hands.”
“Is n't this pleasanter than sitting in a bare walled church?” said Dawn, who had entered the room so softly that Miss Vernon was only made aware of her presence by this inquiry.
“I think it is. Do you go to church?”
“No. Papa does sometimes, but he never makes me go.”
“I hope not.”
“Shall you go to-day, Miss Vernon?”
“Not if I can act my pleasure.”
“I am so glad, for papa said if you did not go, we would all take a walk, but if you wished to go, he would harness Swift and take you.