“Oh, my goodness! I thought I got away from him. Go home, Van! Go straight home, I tell you—this minute!”
Van dropped his head, lowered his tail slightly, and turned his back dutifully, looking sideways to see if Betsy were keeping an eye upon him. But she had disappeared in the doorway.
Van went a few steps toward home, then stopped to consider. Betsy being out of sight, at the very least he might take a look around and see what a church was like.
He turned and went back to the stone steps, climbed them slowly, and went inside the open vestibule.
“Get out!” said the sexton to Van, not knowing that he was addressing royalty.
Van got out, and the sexton went into the big empty part of the church, to see that everything was ready for the evening meeting.
Once more Van entered the vestibule. One of the teachers came out of the Sunday School room for a minute, and then returned. He did not bother to look at Van.
But Van saw something. That door swung both ways, and had no latch—like the door between the pantry and dining-room at home. This was luck indeed. Van knew how to work that kind of door. You listen a moment to make sure that no one is coming from the other side to bang into your nose; next you stand on your hind legs and throw your whole weight on the door; then, when it swings open, you make a quick dash through the crack before it can come back at you and squeeze your tail—and there you are!
Van tried it. It worked! No one saw him. There was a man on a platform, but his eyes were shut and his head was bowed. All the little Episcopalian children were kneeling, and their heads, too, were bowed; the teachers were doing the same thing. Van did not know what it meant, but he walked calmly up the aisle.
A familiar white hat was bobbing at the end of one of the seats. Van saw it and made his way in that direction. Just as the prayer ended with a resounding “Amen!” Van plumped himself down contentedly at Betsy’s feet, and looked innocently upward.