Paul shouted, but there was so much noise in the streets that nobody probably heard him.
He descended the staircase, and once more found himself in the body of the church. He went up into the pulpit, but there seemed no hope of escape in that direction. There was a door leading out on one side, but this only led to a little room into which the minister retired before service.
It seemed rather odd to Paul to find himself the sole occupant of so large a building. He began to wonder whether it would not have been better for him to stay in the poorhouse, than come to New York to die of starvation.
Just at this moment Paul heard a key rattle in the outer door. Filled with new hope, he ran down the pulpit stairs and out into the porch, just in time to see the entrance of the sexton.
The sexton started in surprise as his eye fell upon Paul standing before him, with his bundle under his arm.
“Where did you come from, and how came you here?” he asked with some suspicion.
“I came in last night, and fell asleep.”
“So you passed the night here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What made you come in at all?” inquired the sexton, who knew enough of boys to be curious upon this point.