The Conversion of St. Wilfrid
They had bought peppermints up at the village, and were coming home past little St. Barnabas’s church, when they saw Jimmy Kidbrooke, the carpenter’s baby, kicking at the churchyard gate, with a shaving in his mouth and the tears running down his cheeks.
Una pulled out the shaving and put in a peppermint. Jimmy said he was looking for his grand-daddy—he never seemed to take much notice of his father—so they went up between the old graves, under the leaf-dropping limes, to the porch, where Jim trotted in, looked about the empty church, and screamed like a gate-hinge.
Young Sam Kidbrooke’s voice came from the bell-tower, and made them jump.
‘Why, Jimmy,’ he called, ‘what are you doin’ here? Fetch him, Father!’
Old Mr. Kidbrooke stumped downstairs, jerked Jimmy on to his shoulder, stared at the children beneath his brass spectacles, and stumped back again. They laughed: it was so exactly like Mr. Kidbrooke.
‘It’s all right,’ Una called up the stairs. ‘We found him, Sam. Does his mother know?’
‘He’s come off by himself. She’ll be just about crazy,’ Sam answered.