rbly. "I
see that the child is bathed properly, and if I satisfy myself I
satisfy everybody. She can't keep her stocking up and no garter,
and it isn't the child's fault she was let to go without
one."

The garter trouble continued in varying degrees, but till
each child wore long skirts or long trousers, it was not
removed.

On this day of decorum, the Brangwen family went to church by
the high-road, making a detour outside all the garden-hedge,
rather than climb the wall into the churchyard. There was no law
of this, from the parents. The children themselves were the
wardens of the Sabbath decency, very jealous and instant with
each other.

It came to be, gradually, that after church on Sundays the
house was really something of a sanctuary, with peace breathing
like a strange bird alighted in the rooms. Indoors, only reading
and tale-telling and quiet pursuits, such as drawing, were
allowed. Out of doors, all playing was to be carried on
unobtrusively. If there were noise, yelling or shouting, then
some fierce spirit woke up in the father and the elder children,
so that the younger were subdued, afraid of being
excommunicated.

The children themselves preserved the Sabbath. If Ursula in
her vanity sang:

"Il etait un' bergere
Et ron-ron-ron petit patapon,"

Theresa was sure to cry:

"That's not a Sunday song, our Ursula."

"You don't know," replied Ursula, superior. Nevertheless, she
wavered. And her song faded down before she came to the end.

Because, though she did not know it, her Sunday was very
precious to her. She found herself in a strange, undefined
place, where her spirit could wander in dreams, unassailed.

The white-robed spirit of Christ passed between olive trees.
It was a vision, not a reality. And she herself partook of the
visionary being. There was the voice in the night calling,
"Samuel, Samuel!" And still the voice called in the night. But
not this night, nor last night, but in the unfathomed night of
Sunday, of the Sabbath silence.

There was Sin, the serpent, in whom was also wisdom. There
was Judas with the money and the kiss.

But there was no actual Sin. If Ursula slapped Theresa
across the face, even on a Sunday, that was not Sin, the
everlasting. It was misbehaviour. If Billy played truant from
Sunday school, he was bad, he was wicked, but he was not a
Sinner.

Sin was absolute and everlasting: wickedness and badness were
temporary and relative. When Billy, catch