Always there was a fine rustly black one with a bonnet and mantle to match, and then a softer, finer one of either gold brown, like her hair, or dainty gray, like a dove's wing.

When these grew too old for fine use, she wore them to Sunday-school and had a fresh one for best.

There was a new gray in her closet at home, so she put on the old brown to-day, and she was lovely in it.
Usually the minister didn't come for church services until Sunday-school was half over, so the superintendent read a chapter, Daddy Debs prayed, and all of us stood up and sang: "Ring Out the Joy Bells." Then the superintendent read the lesson over as impressively as he could.

The secretary made his report, we sang another song, gathered the pennies, and each teacher took a class and talked over the lesson a few minutes.

Then we repeated the verses we had committed to memory to our teachers; the member of each class who had learned the nicest texts, and knew them best, was selected to recite before the school.