Examination of her larder proved that there were still a few crackers, a small piece of cheese, two slices of dried beef, one banana, and almost half a loaf of bread. There was a little milk left in the bottle too, and she could have that for breakfast. It was not an extensive array for a Sunday dinner, and probably Mrs. Powers’ menu would have offered a more tempting list, but she drew a relieved sigh to think that she did not have to get Mrs. Powers’ dinner that day, no, nor eat it, either. She ate her breakfast of crackers and milk hungrily, for one cannot work as hard as she had worked for the past three days without developing an appetite, and by the time she was finished, and everything put away, the church bells were ringing. It was interesting to be going to a new church. All her life she had attended the same church. It came to her while she was brushing her shoes and putting on her serge dress and hat that, perhaps, some of the dear people would miss her and wonder. Perhaps sometime she would write to the minister or her Sunday-school teacher and explain that she had felt an entire change would be good for her, less sad; and that she had gone thus quietly because she dreaded the good-byes. Yes, that would probably be the right thing to do after she had once established herself, and had a good paying job, and could report herself as doing well. It made her almost homesick to think of how all the old friends were on their way to Sunday School just now--how her place would be vacant in the class and her spot in the pew empty. It wouldn’t be the first time though, for Nannette had contrived both Sundays since Aunt Mary’s death to keep Joyce at home, the first time because she had a sick headache and wanted Joyce to stay and wait on her, the second time because she and Eugene were going somewhere and demanded that Joyce remain at home with the children, who were supposed to be under the weather. People would not think it strange that she had not come this Sunday either, perhaps, and she knew Nannette well enough to be sure that by this time there was some well-arranged story sent about explaining, with perfect plausibility, her absence. So she had no uneasiness on the score of her friends. She chose the pretty church with the stone arches and ivy wreathing for her first entrance into religious worship in her new home. It bore the name of her own denomination on its bronze tablet outside the door, and she entered with a kind of feeling that it partly belonged to her. The church was filled with well-dressed people, and a vested choir was singing an anthem as she entered. She was annoyed to be late and slipped into a seat near the door.