Norwich bulletin. [volume] (Norwich, Conn.) 1895-2011, 1910-04-02
(written for The Bulletin.)

The child loved every day at Grand
pas, except Sunday. ALI the week
day work-a-days were bright and busy;
to her they We're sunny and golden. and
filed "from dawn to dewy eve" with
the glamour and glory of childhood.
From the time when the morning light
drew in through the blinds and lay
in bars across the counterpane, to the
evening hour when all was still and
the far-off stars shone in upon her
sleepy eyes, the day was one long
dream of delight. After her morning
greeting to garden and river and all
her little world, came hours OF play
with her troops of cousins, a drive
with father and mother, a row on the
river, a book and apple and possibly
a nap in the crotch of a friendly tree,
q swing on the gate, a visit with
mother to one of mothers friends, a
ramble in the woods, lunch for hum
cry child and supper for sleepy one,
then rocking to rest In mothers arms,
One day followed another, each to-
morrow brighter and dearer than yes
terday had been; and to the happy
child the world was a world beautiful,
panions the sky was a Luminous prom
Use of unutterable things.
Sunday was different 1t was day
of restriction. The child dreaded its
coming, and endured it as best she
could. She did Not like it for itself,
but there were things about 1t that she
liked. She loved the early stiffness,
the peaceful hush over all familiar
things, and the solemnity of her walk
down the garden path IN the golden
sunshine with the fragrance about her
of Glove pinks and honeysuckle and
single hearted roses. with the twitter-
ing of the birds (wllo did not have to
go to church), the ruStling OF leaves,
the hum of inpious insects. and, by
and by, the ringing of the church, go
iTocr hell ha IN he In
of the bells come breaking over
meadow and river bank and babbling
water to her the child, alone in the
perfumed garden Except for the bells.
she thought, people might forget it was
Sunday.
1t was then that she would be called
in, and obeyed with a sigh. There
followed the swift changing Of gar
ments. the pushing of small feet into
patent leather ties, the slipping over
her head Of the starchy Sunday gown,
the adjusting of her leghorn hat, and.
lastly, the drawing of a pair of white
gloves upon hot little reluctant hands
DecOrously she would follow mother
step by step down the stairs, admiring
her most gentle lady" in her gown of
silk and bonnet all lace and posies.
And now comes something else she
loves-the lifting of the iron latch of
the house door and the long slow re-
verberatinG rumble of the heavy door
Sunday rumble of the house door COM
forted her in the WEAKNESS that was
to follow. The little company of
church goers filed out through the
small front gate and started for the
top of the road, forming in a sort of
procession with the neighbors and
friends who were marching ahead and
pressing after. Stoically the little
child followed her elders, knowing that
neither father nor mother suspected
her sufferings
Suffer she did, dumbly, as children
do, accepting in silence the inevitable.
There were no shade trees along the
stretch OF road leading to the meet
ing house. the sun beat pitilessly down
upon the heat baked earth, the glare
was in her eyes, the dust rose thick
about her polished shoes, the starch OF
her Sunday gown scratched her neck.
and, long before she gained the top Of
the road, the sensitive child was droop-
ing in exhaustion Cingfng to her
fathers hand, she was glad to mount
the wooden steps. and to enter the ves-