little rest."

"Well, I must say it was not the way my mother brought me up," said Mrs.
Roberts; "and I really can't feel it to be right."

This last part of the discourse had been listened to by two
sleepy-looking boys, who had, meanwhile, taken their seats at table with
that listless air which is the result of late sleeping.

"O, by the by, my dear, what did you give for those hams Saturday?" said
Mr. Roberts.

"Eleven cents a pound, I believe," replied Mrs. Roberts; "but Stephens
and Philips have some much nicer, canvas and all, for ten cents. I think
we had better get our things at Stephens and Philips's in future, my
dear."

"Why? are they much cheaper?"

"O, a great deal; but I forget it is Sunday. We ought to be thinking of
other things. Boys, have you looked over your Sunday school lesson?"

"No, ma'am."

"Now, how strange! and here it wants only half an hour of the time, and
you are not dressed either. Now, see the bad effects of not being up in
time."

The boys looked sullen, and said "they were up as soon as any one else
in the house."

"Well, your father and I had some excuse, because we were out late last
night; you ought to have been up full three hours ago, and to have been
all ready, with your lessons learned. Now, what do you suppose you shall
do?"

"O mother, do let us stay at home this one morning; we don't know the
lesson, and it won't do any good for us to go."

"No, indeed, I shall not. You must go and get along as well as you can.
It is all your own fault. Now, go up stairs and hurry. We shall not find
time for prayers this morning."

The boys took themselves up stairs to "hurry," as directed, and soon one
of them called from the top of the stairs, "Mother! mother! the buttons
are off this vest; so I can't wear it!" and "Mother! here is a long rip
in my best coat!" said another.

"Why did you not tell me of it before?" said Mrs. Roberts, coming up
stairs.

"I forgot it," said the boy.

"Well, well, stand still; I must catch it together somehow, if it is
Sunday. There! there is the bell! Stand still a minute!" and Mrs.
Roberts plied needle, and thread, and scissors; "there, that will do for
to-day. Dear me, how confused every thing is to-day!"

"It is always just so Sundays," said John, flinging up his book and
catching it again as he ran down stairs.

"It is always just so Sundays." These words struck rather unpleasantly
on Mrs. Roberts's conscience, for something told her