Going to Church. 48

 

No, it did not sound well. “Hullo” was worse.
With a sudden impulse I uttered my well-known
cry of “Ca-a-ow!” The next moment I heartily
wished that I had not, or at least that she might
not have heard it. But she had, for before I had
time to retreat she looked over the fence, exclaiming,
“Why, Reuben, is that you? Oh, you good boy,
you have brought us some moss !” ,

And she led me into the garden, and straight up
to the place where stood the dreadful Mr. Prickard,
trowel in hand.

“Why, what queer little scamp have you picked
up there ?” he asked, as I stood pulling my forelock
and wishing myself safely away again.

“He is a friend of mine,’ said Miss Churchill ;
“we met one another on the common. See! he has
brought us the very moss we were wanting.”

“ There’s heaps more,” said I, ina whisper; “and
Tl take you there, if you like, Miss, to-morrow.”

“Here, my boy,’ said Mr. Prickard, holding out a
penny ; “here’s for your trouble.”

“Oh no, please, sir,” said I, “I didn’t want
I brought it for the lady.”

 

“And you think the lady must pay you? Well,
I have no objection,” replied Mr. Prickard. Then
he asked my name and age; and turning to Miss
Churchill, who was emptying the moss out of my hat,