from What Tommy Did by Emily Hungington Miller

The first day, of course, was Sunday. Sunday always comes first in my week, though I have heard people say it came away down at the end, after Saturday. It came first in Tommy’s week, but he didn’t know much about it until he waked up one morning and found the sun shining very bright, and wondered why his mamma didn’t get up and dress him. Then he crept out of bed, and went to the window, and stood there in his night-gown, watching an old robin that was feeding her babies with worms for breakfast. The baby robins opened their mouths very wide, and seemed to relish their breakfast, which reminded Tommy that he wanted his own. But when he turned around from the window, he saw his new red trumpet lying on the floor, and he picked it up and blew it very loud indeed. It waked up everybody in the house. Bridget thought it was the milkman, and clattered out to the door with one foot half way into her shoe; and Tommy’s mamma opened her eyes very wide, and said,

“Why, Tomy Bancroft! didn’t you know it was Sunday morning?”

And that was the first Tommy ever remembered about Sunday. After breakfast, Uncle Jim didn’t go to the city, but sat and read with his pretty new slippers on, and Tommy was dressed up in his white linen clothes and buttoned gaiters, and had his yellow hair curled into queer little curls that didn’t stay in very well, and went with his mamma to a great house with a bell on the top of it. They called it a church. Tommy’s mamma told him he mustn’t talk in church. There were a great many other people there, and nobody talked at all, except one man in a kind of a box high up at one end, and that man talked all the time. Tommy thought perhaps he didn’t know any better. There was a little girl in the next seat, with a blue and white feather in her hat. She looked at Tommy a good deal, and Tommy looked at the feather. He wondered if it was a rooster’s feather. He thought that he should like to have a rooster with such feathers. Then the little girl’s hat began to move about; then there were two hats and two blue and white feathers — Tommy saw them; then three hats, then four, then the whole air was full of them, and Tommy laid his head down on his mother’s lap and didn’t remember any more.

They must have gone home after a while, for Grandma Bancroft was there to dinner, and she had her black velvet bag with beads around the bottom. Tommy liked to play with the beads, and sometimes Grandma Bancroft used to open the bag and give him some caraway seeds, or red and white peppermint candies. This time she gave him two raisins, and asked him if he could tell her about the sermon.

“They didn’t have any of them fings to my church,” said Tommy, innocently.

He thought about it while he was eating his raising, and then he said,

“Was that what the men passed around in the boxes, dramma? I didn’t take any of that. Wish’t I had.”

Grandma tried to explain about the srmon, and told the little boy that the minister was trying to tell the people how to be good. But Tommy didn’t understand.

“He didn’t speak to me, ‘tall,” he insisted; “kept talkin’ to himself all the time. Course if he talked to me I should understood him; what you s’pose?

But, by and by, mamma took Tommy on her lap, and told him all about Samuel, the little boy that talked with God; and about David the shepherd boy that slew the great giant; and about Jesus, the dear Savior, who lived and died to save just such little boys as he; and then Tommy felt very good and very loving, and meant to mind his mamma as long as he lived, and always let the baby have his red ball and his trumpet, and say please to Bridget, and not cry when his face was washed. He said his little prayer very earnestly and heartily, though he was sound asleep two minutes afterward. And after that, Sunday always came regularly in Tommy’s week.