“Ugh,” said Faith, sitting up in bed with a shiver. “It’s raining. I do hate a rainy Sunday. Sunday is dull enough even when it’s fine.”
“We oughtn’t to find Sunday dull,” said Una sleepily, trying to pull her drowsy wits together with an uneasy conviction that they had overslept.
“But we DO, you know,” said Faith candidly. “Mary Vance says most Sundays are so dull she could hang herself.”
“We ought to like Sunday better than Mary Vance,” said Una remorsefully. “We’re the minister’s children.”