Nancy stopped to speak to him, quite simply and naturally. She did not blush, or seem to be thinking about herself, but only said, "We have been wanting so to thank you again for what you did that day."
"Yes, I thought you'd have been to see us by this time," remarked Dunn. "Come along with us, lad; unless your mother's waiting for you anywhere."
"No, she don't go in the morning," said Archie. Honesty prompted him to add, "I don't either—most commonly. She and I go of an evening."
"Come with us to-day," suggested Dunn again.
"I don't mind if I do," said Archie. "Only I haven't got a Prayer-book."
"We're close home. Dick 'll run back for one,—mother's old one, Dick. It's on the book-case."
"You won't mind having my old one?" asked Susan. "Nancy and the children gave me a new one my last birthday,—look, isn't it a beauty?" And she unfolded a sheltering silk handkerchief. "I shouldn't like to lend that. But my old one's quite tidy."
Dick ran off at once, and overtook them close to the Church door.
It was a large building with lofty pillars; and low open seats, all free; and a good organ, the gift of Dunn's new employer, Mr. Rawdon. Mr. Wilmot read well, in clear reverent tones; and the congregation—largely composed of working-men and their families—joined heartily in the responses. There was plenty of singing, a good choir taking the lead; but the congregation did not sit or stand and idly listen to the choir. Mr. Wilmot was very particular about having well-known simple tunes, and he often impressed upon his people the duty of every one in Church taking an active personal share in the public worship of God.
So a more hearty yet reverent service could hardly have been found.