ling. Its pews were
somber with men and its center radiant with women in their fresh Sunday
attire. Suddenly a soft rustling spread through the pulpit. All eyes
were turned toward the minister now appearing above the pulpit.

Although the sermon was spoken slowly, Ben could understand little of
what was said; but when the hymn came, he joined in with all his heart.
A thousand voices lifted in love and praise offered a grander language
than he could readily comprehend.

Once he was startled, during a pause in the service, by seeing a little
bag suddenly shaken before him. It had a tinkling bell at its side
and was attached to a long stick carried by one of the deacons of
the church. Not relying solely upon the mute appeal of the poor boxes
fastened to the columns near the entrance, this more direct method was
resorted to, of awakening the sympathies of the charitable.

Fortunately Ben had provided himself with a few stivers, or the musical
bag must have tinkled before him in vain.

More than once, a dark look rose on our English boy's face that morning.
He longed to stand up and harangue the people concerning a peculiarity
that filled him with pain. Some of the men wore their hats during the
service or took them off whenever the humor prompted, and many put
theirs on in the church as soon as they arose to leave. No wonder Ben's
sense of propriety was wounded; and yet a higher sense would have been
exercised had he tried to feel willing that Hollanders should follow
the customs of their country. But his English heart said over and over
again, "It is outrageous! It is sinful!"

There is an angel called Charity who would often save our hearts a great
deal of trouble if we would but let her in.

Homeward Bound

On Monday morning, bright and early, our boys bade farewell to their
kind entertainers and started on their homeward journey.

Peter lingered awhile at the lion-guarded door, for he and his sister
had many parting words to say.

As Ben saw them bidding each other good-bye, he could not help feeling
that kisses as well as clocks were wonderfully alike everywhere. The
English kiss that his sister Jenny had given him when he left home had
said the same thing to him that the Vrouw van Gend's Dutch kiss said
to Peter. Ludwig had taken his share of the farewell in the most
matter-of-fact manner possible, and though he loved his sister well,
had winced a little at her making such a child of him as to put