"I haven't got to the enjoyable stage yet," was her husband's rejoinder. "I'm interested in Bolland's sermons, he seems to make an extraordinary lot out of quite a commonplace text, and he's original and interesting; but to be frank, the service itself bores me!"
"It won't always bore you."
He shook his head sceptically, and changed the subject, but he managed to get his way. An organist was found, and Anstice enjoyed her Sundays more when she was no longer responsible for the church music. She did not entirely give up the organ. Sometimes in the week, when she passed that way, she would go into the church and have a quiet time by herself. She could always get an organ-blower from the sexton's cottage next the church, for there were boys there of different ages.
Ruffie got his wish, and was taken to church in his chair, but in the sermon, he always found his way into his father's arms. The Rector had found favour in his sight, and he expressed his opinion very quaintly after his first experience in church.
"The organ and singing are lovely, specially when I know the words and the tunes, but I get tired of the reading and muttering. I like Mr. Bolland's part most."
"What do you mean by muttering?" his father asked.
"Oh, when the people put their heads down and mutter into the floor under their seats. I s'pose it's their prayers. I used to mutter prayers into my hands. Brenda taught me to, but now Steppie says I can talk to God just as I like, and so I always have the window open and speak up into the sky."
"And you like the sermon best? So do I. Your mother would tell you worship ought to come first."
"I like it when Mr. Bolland smiles at us; he always smiles when he says something 'ticularly nice, like God and Jesus loving us."
"Don't make Ruffie too good," said Justin to Anstice a day or two later. "I don't want him to sprout wings and fly away from us. It's unnatural for a small boy to be religious. I never was, as a boy."