But here she paused; and after a few moments of expectation on my part, and silence on Polly's, she said—
"Is your pew comfortable, Regie dear?"
"Very," said I. "How do you like the pulpit?"
"Very much indeed," said Polly; "but I don't think I can preach without a cushion. Suppose we talk."
Thus the sermon was abandoned; and as Polly refused to let me try my luck in the pulpit, she remained at a considerably higher level than I was. At last I became impatient of this fact, and began to climb higher.
"Stop!" cried Polly; "you mustn't leave your pew."
"I'm going into the gallery," a happy thought enabled me to say.
Polly made no answer. She seemed to be meditating some step; and presently I saw her scramble down to the ground in her own rapid fashion.
"Regie dear, will you promise not to get into my pulpit till I come back?" she begged.