The Raeburn children are all clever and bright."
"They could hardly help being that, mamma, with such a father and
mother, and the atmosphere of such a home."
All this time there was the hurry and bustle of Sunday morning in a
large family where every one goes to church, and the time between
breakfast and half-past ten is a scramble. Grace kept quietly on with
the work she had that morning assumed, straightening the quilts on the
invalid's chair, bringing her a new book, and setting a little vase with
a few late flowers on the table by her side. Out of Grace's trunks there
had been produced gifts for the whole household, and many pretty things,
pictures and curios, which lent attractiveness to the parlor, grown
shabby and faded with use and poverty, but still a pretty and homelike
parlor, as a room which is lived in by well-bred people must always be.
"Well, when the rest have gone to Sunday-school, and papa has started on
his afternoon rounds, I'll come here and take my seat, where I used to
when I was a wee tot, and we'll have an old-fashioned confab. Now, if
the girls have finished dressing, I'll run and get ready for church. I'm
so glad all through that I can again hear one of Dr. Raeburn's helpful
sermons."
Mrs. Wainwright smiled.
"To hear Frances' and Amy's chatter, one would not think that so great a
privilege, Grace."
"Oh, that amounts to nothing, mamma! Let somebody else criticise their
father and you'd hear another story.
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