The reply was prompt.
"I should think not! Such a horrid old den as it is! How could there be any joy about it!"
The words of the evening's text were repeating themselves so forcibly in their teacher's heart that she could not refrain from quoting: "Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy."
The laughter was hushed.
"But that doesn't mean the building, does it, Miss Benedict?"
"The building is the outward sign of His presence, is it not? And suggests one of the ways in which we can show our love for the God to whose worship the church is dedicated?"
As she spoke she wound an arm around the young girl's waist, and was answered, thoughtfully:
"I suppose so. It seems wrong to talk about worshipping God in a place that is not even clean, doesn't it?"
How familiar they were growing with their pretty young teacher, of whom they had thought, only the day before, that they should always be afraid.