It was blossom-time, and in the quiet of the early May morning the church bells rung out their loving call. “Come, come, come!” they seemed to say, and, accepting the invitation, we shortly found ourselves sitting, with other strangers, in the Episcopal church of a favorite resort.

It was during the Scripture lesson that a little maiden of about four years of age quietly walked up the long aisle, looking to right and left, scanning the faces in every pew, until she had reached the chancel. The clergyman’s voice was no doubt familiar to her, for she showed no timidity. Not seeing the one she sought, she turned and tripped down the aisle again. But on nearing the door she put out her hands and extended her arms in a pleading baby fashion, as if to say, “I do not want to go away. I cannot find my papa or mamma, but will not some one lift me up? I came to church to stay.” And a kind-hearted man, seeing the gesture, took up the baby beside him.

The little one reverently entered into the worship of the hour. As prayer followed prayer, the blue eyes closed tight, and the wavy golden hair fell forward over the bent head. At the time of singing she rose with others, and her voice carolled out the tune, though her words were those of her own devising. One little hand tightly clasped a penny, and as the collection-plate was passed she eagerly dropped in her contribution.

It was time to go home, and as nearly all present were strangers, many watched to see what the baby girl would do. A mother by my side said to her, “I have a little girl at home, about as big as you. I would not want her to be lost, and if you will tell me where you live I will take you home.” Then a quiet dignity seemed to possess the wee maiden, as with courteous action she pointed to a large white house about one hundred feet away. Lifting the blue eyes to the lady’s face, she replied, “I live there. I love to come to church, and I thought I should find papa; he always goes, but”—gravely shaking her curls—“I couldn’t find him this morning. But I can go home by my own self.” And then, child fashion, she ran on, as though to satisfy us that she knew the way.

Walking under the apple boughs back to the hotel, we thought of the sermon this child’s presence had preached. And the question came, Why do not all parents so train their little ones that they love God’s house? This little girl had given the congregation a lesson which should make a children’s day of every Sabbath the year around. The Bible says, “Their angels do always behold the face of the Father,” and “Unless ye become as a little child, ye cannot enter the kingdom.”

Where young children sit side by side with their parents in church, and so learn to “remember the Sabbath day,” they will early wish to consecrate their lives to Christ. They will not enter heaven “so as by fire,” but “as kings crowned,” for they will not wait to work for the Master until the time when the “grinders shall cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,” but will use the hours of every day as in God’s sight, and in the companionship of Him who is invisible.