PER ASPERA AD ASTRA. The next day was Sunday, a chilly September day, threatening rain. Missy quite wished it would rain, and then there would be an excuse for omitting the children's church-going. But church time approached. It did not rain, indeed, looked as if it were to be a prolonged sulk, and not a burst of tears. So the carriage was ordered, the children made ready, and Miss Varian and Goneril, armed with prayer-books, waited on the piazza. The children looked very pretty in their mourning. Gabrielle was so handsome, she repaid any care in dressing her, and Alphonsine had really exerted herself to make up a pretty black dress, and trim a hat for her. There is always something pathetic in the sight of young children in mourning, and Missy had almost cried the first time she saw Jay in his little black kilt and with that somber cap on his yellow curls. She was quite used to it now, and did not feeling like crying from anything but vexation, as she came out on the piazza when she heard the carriage wheels approaching. She was going to church, to be sure, and that ought to have been soothing to her feelings. But she was also going to face the little populace of Yellowcoats, and that was very ruffling to them. She felt it was a pity she could not make herself invisible, and that her neighbors could not make themselves invisible too. She was sure they would say better prayers if that could be the case. How they would gaze at her as she walked down the aisle! How glances would be exchanged, and nudges given, as the little black-clad children came in sight. It is all very well to say, don't think of such things if you know you're doing right. It takes a very advanced saint not to mind what people think, and Missy, poor Missy, was not that. She longed to say her prayers, and felt she had never needed to say them more; but it was as if a thousand little devils, with as many little prongs, were busy in a swarm around her. To add to all her fretting thoughts, Aunt Harriet was particularly trying, Goneril was more audacious, the children were exasperating, even sitting still and in their Sunday clothes. As the carriage rolled up to the church gate, Missy felt her face growing red and white with apprehension of the eyes that would in a moment more be looking at it. The bell had stopped ringing, and she heard the organ. Of all moments, this was the worst to go in. "What are you waiting for?" said Miss Varian, sharply, as Missy paused, irresolute.