But the deacons and the minister did not like this, for it disturbed the congregation, and of course it was a wrong thing for Danny to have done.
Because of that trick, the boys had been forbidden to go up in the gallery unless their parents were with them. All this Bert thought of as he stood in the silent church, trying to find out what it was that Danny had come in about.
“I’ll follow after him as easy as I can,” said Bert to himself. “Maybe I can watch him. But I mustn’t let him see me.”
Bert wore his rubber boots. So, for that matter, did Danny Rugg, for the snow was so deep that boots were needed. But Bert walked more softly in his boots than did Danny, who tramped around in the balcony as if he did not care who heard him. Bert went on his tiptoes, and the rubber soles of his boots made very little noise.
Up the balcony stairs the Bobbsey boy followed the other lad. It was very still and quiet in the church, and the footsteps of Danny echoed with a strange, hollow sound. On account of the snow covering the ground outside there was no noise of rattling wagons or trucks, so the church was even more quiet than usual.
How different it was from Sundays, when the people were coming in or going out, when the place was lighted, and when there was organ music and singing.
“I don’t like church on week days,” thought Bert.
But he had come in for a special purpose, and he was going to carry it out. Step after step he went up to the gallery floor, making no noise. He could still hear Danny moving about.
At last Bert reached a place where, in the dim light that came through the stained-glass window, he could see Danny walking along between the rows of pews.
“He’s right near the broken window,” whispered Bert to himself. “And he’s looking on the floor for something. I wonder what it is? He can’t be looking for the broken bits of stained glass, to put them back—they were picked up long ago. I wonder what it is he’s looking for?”