"It must have been some other good-looking boy, that you are mistaking me for. What are you going to do about it? I hope, by the way, that the oysters agreed with you."
"Yes, they did," said Paul, "for I came honestly by them."
"He's got you there, Gerald," said the other boy.
Paul made his way out of the theater. As his funds were reduced to twelve cents, he could not have purchased a ticket if he had desired it.
Still he moved on.
Soon he came to another building, which was in like manner lighted up, but not so brilliantly as the theater. This time, from the appearance of the building, and from the tall steeple,--so tall that his eye could scarcely reach the tapering spire,--he knew that it must be a church. There was not such a crowd gathered about the door as at the place he had just left, but he saw a few persons entering, and he joined them. The interior of the church was far more gorgeous than the plain village meeting-house which he had been accustomed to attend with his mother. He gazed about him with a feeling of awe, and sank quietly into a back pew. As it was a week-day evening, and nothing of unusual interest was anticipated, there were but few present, here and there one, scattered through the capacious edifice.
By-and-by the organist commenced playing, and a flood of music, grander and more solemn than he had ever heard, filled the whole edifice.
He listened with rapt attention and suspended breath till the last note died away, and then sank back upon the richly cushioned seat with a feeling of enjoyment.
In the services which followed he was not so much interested. The officiating clergyman delivered a long homily in a dull unimpassioned manner, which failed to awaken his interest.
Already disposed to be drowsy, it acted upon him like a gentle soporific. He tried to pay attention as he had always been used to do, but owing to his occupying a back seat, and the low voice of the preacher, but few words reached him, and those for the most part were above his comprehension.
Gradually the feeling of fatigue--for he had been walking the streets all day--became so powerful that his struggles to keep awake became harder and harder. In vain he sat erect, resolved not to yield. The moment afterwards his head inclined to one side; the lights began to swim before his eyes; the voice of the preacher subsided into a low and undistinguishable hum. Paul's head sank upon the cushion, his bundle, which had been his constant companion during the day, fell softly to the floor, and he fell into a deep sleep.
Meanwhile the sermon came to a close, and another hymn was sung, but even the music was insufficient to wake our hero now. So the benediction was pronounced, and the people opened the doors of their pews and left the church.
Last of all the sexton walked up and down the aisles, closing such of the pew doors as were open. Then he shut off the gas, and after looking around to see that nothing was forgotten, went out, apparently satisfied, and locked the outer door behind him.
Paul, meanwhile, wholly unconscious of his situation, slept on as tranquilly as if there were nothing unusual in the circumstances in which he was placed. Through the stained windows the softened light fell upon his tranquil countenance, on which a smile played, as if his dreams were pleasant. What would Aunt Lucy have thought if she could have seen her young friend at this moment?
