nly noticed the colours, and the ugly
black lines that separated them. She wondered why the beautiful glass
was divided up into such queer shapes. There are no black lines
between the colours in a real rainbow._

_Gradually, however, she discovered that all the different colours
meant something, that they were all part of a picture on the window,
that a tall figure was standing there, looking down upon her--upon
her, fidgety little Lois, kicking her scarlet hassock in the pew. But
Lois was not kicking her hassock any longer. She was looking up into
the grave, kind face above her on the window. 'Whoever was it? Who
could it be? Was it a man or a woman? A man,' Lois thought at first,
until she saw that he was wearing a robe that fell into glowing folds
at his feet. 'Men never wear robes, do they? unless they are
dressing-gowns. This certainly was not a dressing-gown. And what was
the flat thing like a plate behind his head?' Lois had never seen
either a man or a woman wear anything like that before. 'If it was a
plate, how could it be fastened on? It would be sure to fall off and
break....'_

_The busy little mind had so much to wonder about, that Lois found it
easy to sit still, until the sermon was over, as she watched the
sunlight pour through the different colours in turn, making each one
more beautiful and full of light as it passed._

_At length the organ stopped, and the last long 'AH-MEN' had been
sung. 'Church sings "AH-MEN" out loud, and Meeting says "Amen" quite
gently; p'raps that's what makes the difference between them,' Lois
thought to herself wisely. As soon as the last notes of music had died
away, she nestled close to Aunt Isabel's side and said in an eager
voice, 'What is that lovely window up there? Who is that beautiful
person? I do like his face. And is it a He or a She?'_

_'Hush, darling!' her aunt whispered. 'Speak lower. That is a Saint,
of course.'_

_'But what is a Saint and how do you know it is one?' the little girl
whispered earnestly, pointing upwards to the tall figure through which
the sunshine streamed. Aunt Isabel was busy collecting her books and
she only whispered back, 'Don't you see the halo?' 'I don't know what
a halo can be, but a Saint is a kind of glass window, I suppose,'
thought Lois, as she followed her aunt down the aisle. Afterwards on
her way home, and at dinner, and all the afternoon, there had been so
many other things to see and to think about, that it was not unt