Other imaginings had sometimes grown round it for Grace when it was all lit up in the short winter days at afternoon service, and queer lights and shadows fell on the gilded cherubs that decorated it, till their wings seemed to move and hover over the heads of the congregation.  To Grace’s childish mind they had been the embodiment of angels ever since she could remember; and even long after childish things were put away there remained a strange link between her conception of angelic beings and those burnished cherubs whose serene, shining faces looked down benignantly over the drowsy congregation on dark winter afternoons.

But all these imaginings certainly came under the catalogue of “wandering thoughts,” from which the old minister always prayed at the opening of the service that they might be delivered.  So it is to be feared that the sermon had not even the chance of the wayside seed in the parable of sinking into the children’s hearts.  The words of her aunt’s old minister had as yet proved little more than an outside sound to Grace, though she was in the habit of listening more observantly than her brother.  But there came a day when, amidst those familiar surroundings, with the molten cherubs looking serenely down on her, she heard words which made her heart burn within her, and kindled a flame which lasted as long as life.

It was on a Sunday afternoon in November, not long after Walter left.  Miss Hume was ailing, and unable to go to church, so it was arranged that Margery should accompany Grace.  The old nurse attended the same church, and Grace had been in the habit of going under her wing when her aunt was obliged to remain at home.  The walk to church through the crowded streets was a pleasant change, and Grace was in high spirits when she ensconced herself at the top of Margery’s seat—­which was a much better observatory than her aunt’s pew—­where every thing could be seen that was interesting and amusing within the four walls.  Besides, there were small amenities connected with a seat in nurse’s pew which had great attractions for Grace when she was a little girl, and had still a lingering charm for her.  In the pew behind there sat a worthy couple, friends of Margery, who exchanged friendly salutations with her on Sunday, always including a kindly nod of recognition to her charges if they happened to be with her.  Then, at a certain juncture in the service, the worthy tinsmith, for that was his calling, would hand across the book-board his ancient silver snuff-box, of the contents of which he himself partook freely and noisily.  Of course, Margery only used it politely, after the manner of a scent-bottle; and then Grace came in for her turn of it, with a warning glance from nurse to beware of staining her hat-strings, or any other serious effects from the odorous powder.  If Walter happened to be invited to enjoy the privilege, he always contrived to secrete a deposit of the snuff between his finger and thumb,