They were very fond of each other, and the prettiest thing about them was their faithful love for their mother, whose memory was kept as green as pastures after rain.
On Sunday Peter Paul went with them to her grave, and then to service.
The ugly little church, the same old clerk, even the look of that part of the seat where Peter Paul had kicked the paint off during sermons--all strengthened the feeling that it could only have been a few days since he was there before.
As they walked home he told his sisters about the various religious services he had seen abroad.

They were curious to hear about them, under a sort of protest, for they disapproved of every form of worship but their own.
"The music in some of the cathedrals is very beautiful," said Peter Paul.

"And the choristers in their gowns, singing as they come, always affect me.

No doubt only some are devout at heart, and others careless--which is also the case with the congregation--but outward reverence is, at the lowest, an acknowledgment of what we owe, and for my own part it helps me.

Those white figures are not angels I know; but they make one think of them, and I try to be worthier of singing GOD'S praises with them." There was a little pause, and Leena's beautiful eyes were full of reflections.
Presently she said, "Who washes all the white gowns ?" "I really don't know," said Peter Paul.
"I fancy they don't bleach anywhere as they do in Holland," she continued.