“I have no doubt of it,” the smiling old doctor replied, patting the shoulder of the child. It was impossible to pat her head with such a church steeple of a hat as she elected to wear. “I have no doubt of it. I shall do myself the honor of calling on Miss Nouvellini, or should I say the Signorita Nouvellini or Mademoiselle Nouvellini?”
But they were entering the church, so the doctor got no reply to his “chaff,” and fortunately did not hear the muttered criticism of Owlet as to his probable deficiency of common sense.
The church was not crowded, but on this fine morning it was full—every pew having its quota of occupants.
Roma led little Owlet up the right-hand aisle to her own pew, which was in the corner, to the right of the pulpit. She was scarcely seated when the rector came in from the vestry and took his place at the reading desk.
The services commenced and proceeded in the usual form of the ritual, and the sermon which followed was excellent in moral and religious instruction, “if people would only live up to it,” as the good old lady remarked concerning the doctrine of total depravity.
As for Owlet, for the first half hour she was as quiet and solemn as her namesake’s most ancient surviving ancestor; the second half hour she grew restless and fidgety; during the third half hour she yawned without the least attempt at disguise, and exclaimed:
“Ah-h-h me!” startling the sexton, who was seated near her, and waking several old women who were decently dozing.
Roma gently shook her head at the delinquent, and by so doing made matters worse, for the imp excused herself by saying, in an audible voice:
“If I hadn’t said ‘Ah me!’ I should ’a’ busted.”
Then she tried to conquer her restlessness and to keep quiet, and, indeed, she became very quiet, for her good intentions were rewarded by a sound sleep that lasted until the benediction was pronounced, and the people began to leave their pews.