"This is God's day, and as such should be kept holy." "'Holy' ?" "Yes.

You should not fiddle nor laugh nor sing." "But those are good things, and beautiful things," defended David, his eyes wide and puzzled.
"In their place, perhaps," conceded the man, stiffly, "but not on God's day." "You mean--He wouldn't like them ?" "Yes." "Oh!"-- and David's face cleared.

"That's all right, then.

Your God isn't the same one, sir, for mine loves all beautiful things every day in the year." There was a moment's silence.

For the first time in his life Simeon Holly found himself without words.
"We won't talk of this any more, David," he said at last; "but we'll put it another way--I don't wish you to play your fiddle on Sunday.
Now, put it up till to-morrow." And he turned and went down the hall.
Breakfast was a very quiet meal that morning.