In the big house near by lived Jim’s employer, Mr. Stevens.  There matters were livelier, for there were living five healthy, happy children, whose mother scarcely knew the meaning of the word quiet.  When it drew near two o’clock in the afternoon they were all begging to be allowed to go to Sunday-school.

“You’ll let me go, won’t you, ma?” cried Jessie, the oldest, and Tommy and Nellie and Johnny and even baby Clara echoed the petition.  Mrs. Stevens thought the thing over and decided that Jessie and Tommy might go.  For the others, she would have Sunday-school at home.

“Be sure to put on your high rubbers and your water-proofs and take umbrellas.”  These were the mother’s instructions as the two left the family sitting-room.  A few moments after, Jessie looked in again.  “Well, you are wrapped up!” exclaimed Mrs. Stevens, “I don’t think the storm can hurt you.”  “Neither do I, ma, and Oh!  I forgot to ask you before, may we stop at Gardener Jim’s on the way home?”

“Yes, if you’ll be careful not to make any trouble for him and Phoebe, and will come home before supper-time.”

Tommy, who was standing behind Jessie in the doorway, suppressed the hurrah that rose to his lips.  He remembered that it was Sunday and that his mother would not approve of his making a great noise on the holy day.

He and Jessie had quite a hard tramp to the little chapel in which the school was held.  The graveled sidewalks were covered with that uncomfortable mixture of snow and water known as slush, which beside being wet was cold and slippery, so that walking was no easy thing.  Yet what did that matter after they had reached the school?

Their teachers were there, and so was the superintendent, and so were nearly half of the scholars.  Theirs was a wide-awake school, you see, and it did not close on account of weather.

Each of the girls in Jessie’s class was asked to recite a verse that she had chosen through the week.  Jessie’s was this: 

“To do good and to communicate forget not, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.”

The teacher talked a little about it and Jessie thought it over on her way to Gardener Jim’s.  The result was that she said to her brother: 

“Tommy, you know mother said we must not trouble Jim and Phoebe.”

“Yes, I know it, but I don’t think we will, do you?”

“No, I’m sure they’ll be glad to see us, but I was thinking we might do something to make them very glad.  Suppose that while we’re in there, I read to them from the Bible, and then we sing to them two or three of our hymns.”

“What a queer girl you are, Jess!  Anybody would think that you were a minister going to hold church in the cottage.  But I’m agreed, if you want to; I like singing anyway.  It seems to let off a little of the ‘go’ in a fellow.”

By this time they had reached the cottage, and if they had been a prince and princess—­supposing that such titled personages were living in these United States—­they could not have had a warmer welcome.  Gardener Jim opened the door in such haste that he scattered the ashes from his pipe over the rag-carpet on the floor.  Phoebe, too, contrived to drop her spectacles while she was saying “How do you do,” and it took at least three minutes to find them again.