But the children's society was very attractive, and before long they noticed that Dickie stood up of his own accord, and even went so far as to feel his way round to the other side of his table. "He will get on by-and-by," said Mrs. Blunt. "It's all new to him, poor little chap." Cherry sat by, watching the children, and working at the seams of her skirt; and if ever her heart felt thankful it was this morning, as she saw Dickie, sheltered from all danger, playing so peacefully there. Her own new dress was only a part of her happiness, and when she thought of all the love which had been showered upon her, she felt as if she could sing for joy. "Mother-Meg," she said softly, when she was next standing by her to have something fitted, "I don't know how to tell you how grateful I am to you and father-Jem." Meg smiled kindly. "Tell Jesus," she answered, stroking her wavy hair, "for when we tell Him, it does not make us less glad, but more." So Cherry went back to her work, and Meg and Mrs. Blunt were left to theirs. "Do you think as we shall get this done to-night?" asked Mrs. Blunt. "I hope we shall--I think we may. You see, to-morrow is Sunday, and I did want for us all to go to the Mission Room together. I don't know that Cherry _could_ go in that old thing, though I am not sure, now I say so, that shabby clothes ought to keep us away." "No," answered Mrs. Blunt; "but one don't like to be looked down on." "I suppose we ought to think about pleasing God more than about pleasing our neighbours." "That's very true, I'm sure." "And if we wear what _He_ has given us, we ought to be satisfied that it is right." "Only some of us didn't always make the best of what He did give us," remarked Mrs. Blunt, with a little smile. "We learn, don't we," asked Meg, "when He teaches us? Mrs. Blunt, I wish you'd get your husband to go with us to-morrow." "What, in his working-clothes? He ain't got no others, my dear." "Jem goes in his," said Meg. "Yes; but a carpenter's different from a mason." "It's cleaner work, of course; but I don't believe that our Father in Heaven minds a bit about clothes. He clothes us with the 'Best Robe,' and He looks at us in that." "What do you mean by 'the best robe,' Mrs. Seymour?" asked the woman, still plying her needle as fast as she could. She had found in talking to Meg, that there was often a hidden meaning under some quaint little sentence. "Don't you remember in the parable of the prodigal son, how the father says, 'Bring forth the best robe and put it on him?' It seems to me that that is how God looks at us. He covers over all our rags and tatters with the Robe of His Son's righteousness, and He looks at that instead of at our poor doings." "I see," said Mrs. Blunt; "and I'll ask Blunt to think of what you say. I'm sure I miss goin' out of a Sunday dreadful; but I haven't been, I do believe, since the first year I was married."