“I sing them in church, my pet.”
“But you never teached them to me, mother; they are all nurse’s hymns, the little one and the long one, and the little wee hymn I say with my prayers. Would you like to hear my little wee hymn, mother dear?”
“I will hear all you know, my darling.” But there were tears in the beautiful eyes as she listened.
“How nicely she says them! I am glad you teach her such pretty hymns, Merle,” as the child ran off to fetch Snap, who was whining for admittance. “Somehow it seems more like the Sunday of old times up here—so quiet, so peaceful. We must do as the world does, I suppose; but these secular, bustling Sundays are not to my taste.”
Her words jarred on me, and I replied rather too quickly, considering my position, “Are we obliged to follow a bad fashion? That is indeed going with the crowd to do evil.”
She looked up in some surprise. It must have been a new thing to the petted mistress of the household to hear herself so sharply rebuked.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” I exclaimed, penitently; “I had no right to say that; I forgot to whom I was speaking.”
“Do not distress yourself, Merle,” she returned, in her sweet way; “it is good for all of us to hear the truth sometimes. It was foolish of me to say that. I only mean that in our house it is very difficult not to follow the world’s custom.”
“Very difficult indeed,” I acquiesced; but she continued to look at me thoughtfully.
“Do not be afraid of saying what is in your mind; you may speak to me plainly, if you will. You are my children’s nurse, but I cannot forget that in many ways we are equals. You never intrude this fact on my notice, but it is none the less apparent. I know our Sundays are terribly secular,” as I continued silent; “sometimes I wish it were not so, for my children’s sake.”