“Out of the mouths of children,” Mr. Compton murmured to himself.
“I didn’t quite hear you, uncle.”
“I was saying,” translated the elder, “that whether you knew it or not you have given the true secret of popularity.”
“Have we time to go in?” asked Bobby as they neared the Church of the Blessed Sacrament.
“Why, yes, and I’ll be glad to go in with you.”
Mr. Compton’s sign of the cross was beyond criticism, his genuflection not so bad; also, he knelt straight, and, in a word, showed the outward signs of intelligence so lacking on the occasion of his first visit.
“I say, uncle,” Bobby remarked as they came out, “you’ve improved a lot. You didn’t look around a bit.”
“Why should I?”
“People often do, you know, when they’re praying; but it’s not right. Did you notice me looking around at the walls when I said the prayer ‘Angel of God’ last night?”
“Now that you come to speak of it, I believe I did.”