the day rose
bright and beautiful. The kirk which the Redferns attended lay three
long miles from the farm. The distance and the increasing shabbiness of
little garments often kept the children at home, and Christie, too, had
to stay and share their tasks. They had no conveyance of their own, and
though the others might be none the worse for a little exposure to rain
or wind, her aunt would never permit Christie to run the risk of getting
wet or over-tired. So it was with a face almost as bright as Effie's
own that she hailed the bright sunshine and the cloudless sky. For
Sunday was not always a pleasant day for her at home. Indeed, it was
generally a very wearisome day. It was Aunt Elsie's desire and
intention that it should be well kept. But, beyond giving out a certain
number of questions in the catechism, or a psalm or chapter to be
learned by the little ones, she did not help them to keep it. It was
given as a task, and it was learned and repeated as a task. None of
them ever aspired to anything more than to get through the allotted
portion "without missing." There was not much pleasure in it, nor in
the readings that generally followed; for though good and valuable books
in themselves, they were too often quite beyond the comprehension of the
little listeners. A quiet walk in the garden, or in the nearest field,
was the utmost that was permitted in the way of amusement; and though
sometimes the walk might become a run or a romp, and the childish voices
rise higher than the Sunday pitch when there was no one to reprove, it
must be confessed that Sunday was the longest day in all the week for
the little Redferns.

To none of them all was it longer than to Christie. She did not care to
share the stolen pleasures of the rest. Beading was her only resource.
Idle books were, on Sundays, and on weekdays too, Aunt Elsie's peculiar
aversion; and, unfortunately, all the books that Christie cared about
came under this class, in her estimation. All the enjoyment she could
get in reading must be stolen; and between the fear of detection and the
consciousness of wrong-doing, the pleasure, such as it was, was
generally hardly worth seeking.

So it was with many self-congratulations that she set out with Effie to
the kirk. They were alone. Their father had gone earlier to attend the
Gaelic service, which he alone of all the family understood, and Annie
and Sarah, after the labours of a harvest-week, declared the