As they walked home very little was said; there had been many praying during that little service for the man who had hardly moved a finger, but had sat with bowed head during the whole time, and they believed that their prayers had been heard. When they parted at the door of their home, Blunt looked up and wrung Jem's hand. "Thankye kindly," he said. "If ye don't mind, I should like to come next Sunday." Mrs. Blunt, like a wise woman, did not stop to speak, but followed her husband into their room, where their little daughter Kittie stood, clean and smiling, ready to meet them, with their frugal meal set out on the table. [Illustration: All day long the two sat out under the apple-trees basking in the sunshine.--p. 220.] That was a happy Sunday. How Dickie was praised for sitting so still, and what a soft little colour mantled in his face when he heard that they were pleased with him! That evening Meg left Cherry to take care of Dickie, and went to the service with her husband. When they came home, the sound of singing on the staircase made them pause. It came from the top of the house, and Jem and Meg went up to see who it could be. Their mother's door was ajar, and through it they could see Cherry sitting by the fire, singing in a clear, bell-like voice, Dickie resting on her lap. Miss Hobson's door was open, and she lay propped up on her pillow listening with a peaceful look on her face. "Whiter than the snow!" sang Cherry. "Whiter than the snow-- Wash me in the Blood of the Lamb, And I shall be whiter than snow." "Sing it again, Cherry," said Dickie, "'cause I do like it so. Did we sing that this mornin', Cherry?" "Not this one," answered Cherry. "I 'fought we did--sing it again, Cherry. Do you fink He'll wash _me_ whiter than snow?" "Of course He will, Dickie, if you come to Him." "What do it mean, Cherry, 'whiter than snow'?" "I think it means being washed in the Blood of Jesus." "But how, whiter than the snow?" "Don't you remember, Dickie, when there was snow, afore mother-Meg took us away from old Sairy,--don't you remember how there weren't a spot on it when we got up one morning?" "Yes--I 'member," said Dickie. "Shall we be like that?" "I 'spose so. Them as is washed, He can't see no spot on us, more than we can on the snow." "Mother-Meg says as there ain't no sin in _Heaven_," murmured Dickie. "Let's go to sleep now, Cherry." So Meg and Jem came in at that, and Jem carried him down-stairs at once to his own little bed, too sleepy to say more than a very soft "It is nice!" as he laid his head on his pillow. After that Cherry prepared the supper which she was allowed to stay up for, as it was Sunday night--a great treat, but Meg liked nice things to happen on Sundays. "That child sings like the angels," said Miss Hobson, when Mrs. Seymour came in from her service. "She's been up here this hour, and I feel as if I'd been nigh the gate of heaven." "How's she learnt them?" asked Mrs. Seymour.