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Meade, L. T., 1854-1914

"The Children's Pilgrimage"


Undoubtedly she was very plain. She had not a good feature, not even
a good point about her ungainly figure. Never in her youngest days
could this woman have been fair to see, but the two children, who
gazed at her with beating hearts, thought her beautiful. Goodness and
loving-kindness reigned in that homely face; so triumphantly did they
reign, these rare and precious things, that the little children, with
the peculiar penetration of childhood, found them out at once.
"She's a _lovely_ woman," pronounced Maurice. "I'm quite sure
she has got a night's lodging. I'll run and ask her."
"No, no, she might not like it," whispered the more timid Cecile.
But just then Toby, who had been standing very quiet and motionless
behind Maurice, perceived a late, late autumn fly, sailing lazily by,
within reach of his nose. That fly was too much for Toby; he made a
snap at it, and the noise which ensued roused the woman's attention.
"Oh! my little Honies," she said, coming forward, "we don't allow
dogs in the church. Even a nice dog like that is against the rules.
I'm very sorry, my loves, but the dog must go out of church."
"Don't Jesus like dogs then?" asked Maurice.
"And please, ma'am," suddenly demanded Cecile, before the woman had
time to answer Maurice, "_is_ that Jesus the Guide playing the
beautiful music up there?"
"That, my dears! You shock me! That is only Mr. Ward the organist.
He's practicing for tomorrow. To-morrow's Sunday, you know.


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