It looks as if it had just been ironed," Sarah silently commented.
When Mrs. Clyde called to the girls that it was time to go over to
Camp Judson, Miss Blake was nowhere to be found.

The church service was held in the "Druid's Grove," a place of mingled
shade and sunshine, where a little tumbling creek was the only
accompaniment to the hymns, and the birds trilled an obligato. An old
tree-stump served as pulpit, and here Dr. Judson talked rather than
preached to his youthful congregation.

Blue Bonnet, listening to him, unconsciously let her eyes wander, as
they always did in the church at Woodford, in search of the memorial
window 'Sacred to the memory of Elizabeth Clyde Ashe' that was
inseparably linked in her mind with religious service. Instead of the
figure of the Good Shepherd with the lamb in his arms, the branches of
the live oaks here formed a Gothic arch, in the shadow of which sat
Mrs. Judson with little Joe asleep on her lap. The look on the
mother's face was full of the same brooding tenderness that the artist
had given to the eyes of the Shepherd of Old.

When they rose to sing, the young voices rang out clear and joyous,
quite unlike the droning that too often passes for singing in a
grown-up congregation.

"Bright youth and snow-crowned age,
Strong men and maidens meek:
Raise high your free, exulting song!
God's wondrous praises speak!

"With all the angel choirs,
With all the saints of earth,
Pour out the strains of joy and bliss,
True rapture, noblest mirth!"

The stirring verses, sung with a will by every one, seemed to soar to
the very tree-tops, making the branches sway with the rhythm and
spirit of the hymn.

Blue Bonnet heaved a sigh of regret as they rose to leave the grove.
"It's so sweet,--I wish it could last all day."

"I don't remember ever having heard you make a remark like that about
church before," remarked Kitty.

"I don't care much for anything that's held indoors," Blue Bonnet
confessed. "And I don't like preachers who make their voices sound
like the long-stop on an organ. Now that last hymn we sang makes me
fairly bubble inside."

"Don't let Sarah hear you say that. She seems to think one ought to
draw a long face on the Sabbath,--a sort of 'world-without-end'
expression, you know. I believe she thinks it almost wicked to be
happy on Sunday."

"Well, Sarah may be as blue as she likes,--this is th