'Not for any reason at all. You must promise to try to remember all the time that you are in church to please God, not to amuse yourselves.'
'But we mustn't speak pwayers out loud.'
'Muvver, you don't always 'member, does you?'
'I'se sure muvver doesn't, 'cause once she laughed an' spoke to Carr something about bonnets,' cried Toddie delightedly.
'Now you are beginning to talk too much, and about matters you do not properly understand,' said Miss Carmichael quickly. 'Say grace, and eat your breakfasts, dears.'
The mother and children, and the companion, sallied forth early to find the village church. Ted and Toddie walked most demurely, one on either side of Catherine, sometimes uttering their quaint criticisms of the people and objects they passed, and proudly carrying their Prayer-books, so that their own destination was plainly intimated to all persons curious on the subject.
'Won't look as though we was goin' no wicked walk,' explained Toddie.
The church proved to be quite a long walk away. It was a beautiful old grey brick building, wreathed and wrapped round by ivies of many species, and stood, in the midst of its little graveyard, on the summit of a hill. Two roads approached it from different sides of the country, and there was also a much-used footpath leading from a vista of park-like meadows to the vestry door.
By this path came the clergyman, a venerable-looking gentleman, whom Catherine guessed to be the Mr. Burnley of whom her uncles had told her many years ago.
Just as Catherine passed at the wicket-gate of the churchyard she became aware of the approach of Mr. Ross Carmichael, who had just stepped out of his carriage. It was a rare event for him to be seen in the precincts of a church. The tall, straight old gentleman was dressed with his accustomed care, from the glossy hat to the perfectly-fitting Suéde gloves, and the white 'spats' over patent-leather boots. Catherine noticed that his step was very firm, unlike that of Uncle Jack, who was approaching from a greater distance, coming slowly uphill, beside Agatha's wheel-chair, which Robert was pushing. The military uncle's face had none of the deep lines which creased that of the business man, yet he seemed the elder and less strong, and his moustache was quite as silvery as was the other's short beard.