Father looked at her in astonishment, and mother said—
"Whatever has the child got in her head now?"
"She read it in her Testament this morning," I said.
"Oh! Then, Peter will tell you," said mother; "he has been to school since I have!"
"Peter doesn't know," said Salome, as she went on with her breakfast.
Salome's fourth birthday had been a hot day, but Salome's fifth birthday was, I think, the hottest day I have ever known. It was a close, stifling heat, and the church that morning was like an oven.
Bartholomew fell fast asleep, and snored so loudly, that an old gentleman in the pew before us turned round and poked him with his umbrella. We were all of us very sleepy, and even father nodded a good deal in the sermon. I thought every one and everything in church seemed sleepy that day. The organ played slow and sleepy tunes, the choir sang in sleepy voices, the old clergyman's voice sounded like a voice in a dream, even the flies that were going hither and thither in the church went sleepily on their way, and crawled lazily over the prayer-books and hymn-books. I remember nothing about the service, not even the text of the sermon. The only thing which caught my attention was a notice, which was given out just before the last hymn—
"A children's service will be held in this church, at five o'clock this afternoon."
"I will bring Salome," I said to myself.
So at five o'clock mother dressed Salome in her best clothes, and we set off together. She had never been to church before, and she was in high spirits.