Aunty Rose, however, removed her work apron when the breakfast dishes were washed and put away and the kitchen “ridded up,” and for the remainder of Sunday she did only the very necessary things about the house. If she did not walk to town to attend the Friends’ Meeting House, she sat in a straight-backed chair and read books that—to Carolyn May—looked “awfully religious.” However, she did not make the day of rest a nightmare to the child. The little girl had her picture books, as well as her Sunday-school papers, and she could stroll about or play quietly with Prince. The Corners was not burdened with the arrival of Sunday papers from the city, with their blotchy-looking supplements and unsightly so-called “funny sheets.” Almost everybody went to church, and all the children to Sunday-school, which was held first. The Reverend Afton Driggs, though serious-minded, was a loving man. He was fond of children, and he and his childless wife gave much of their attention to the Sunday-school. Mrs. Driggs taught Carolyn May’s class of little girls. Mrs. Driggs did her very best, too, to get the children to stay to the preaching service, but Carolyn May had to confess that the pastor’s discourses were usually hard to understand. “And he is always reading about the ‘Begats,’” she complained gently to Uncle Joe as they went home together on this particular Sunday—the one following the presentation of Prince’s new collar—“and I _can’t_ keep interested when he does that. I s’pose the ‘Begats’ were very nice people, but I’m sure they weren’t related to us—they’ve all got such funny names.” “Hum!” ejaculated Uncle Joe, smothering a desire to laugh. “Flow gently, sweet Afton, does select his passages of Scripture mostly from the ‘valleys of dry bones,’ I allow. You’ve got it about right there, Carolyn May.” “Uncle Joe,” said the little girl, taking her courage in both hands, “will you do something for me?” Then, as he stared down at her from under his bushy brows, she added: “I don’t mean that you aren’t _always_ doing something for me—letting me sleep here at your house, and eat with you, and all _that_. But something special.” “What is the ‘something special’?” asked Mr. Stagg cautiously. “Something I want you to do to-day. You always go off to your store after dinner, and when you come home it’s too dark.” “Too dark for what?” “For us to take a walk,” said the little girl very earnestly. “Oh, Uncle Joe, you don’t know how _dreadful_ I miss taking Sunday walks with my papa! Of course, we took ’em in the morning, for he had to go to work on the paper in the afternoon, but we did just about go _every_where.