Going to Church. 37

body else should come and turn me out. Suppose
I should even be turned back from the door as a
stranger, and, 1] knew, rather a ragged one. I was
thinking over these things on Saturday evening as
I walked home, my heart sinking lower and lower,
* when Tommy Cadwallader suddenly scrambled
over the hedge, and dropped into the lane beside
me.

“Oh, Tommy,” said I, eagerly, “are you going to
church to-morrow ?”

“Dunno,” replied Tommy, brushing the earth off
his trousers. “ Whiles I does and whiles I doesn’t,
accordin’ to. Why, what’s up now? How do you
ax me that?”

“ Oh, nothing ; it does not matter,” Isaid. “ Only
I was thinking of going, and I thought if you

”

meant to go

 

“You would take care of me, or me of you, one
of the both,” said Tommy. “ Well, I don’t mind
if I do, I han’t a got nothing on hand else for Sun-
day night. Meet you me at the green gate below
granny’s—you knows.”

I was at the green gate long before the bells
began to ring, and had had time to get very
impatient before Tommy appeared, well oiled and
brushed, with black shining boots, and a cap, with
a long tassel to it, which was the envy of his class.