"This is the Sunday school," said Matilda. "They are singing; don't you hear them? We are late."
"It seems a queer Sunday school," said Norton. "Don't they let folks in here?"
"In ten minutes"—said the boy who stood by the door.
"Ten minutes!" echoed Norton. "It's quite an idea, to shut the door in people's faces and then hang out a sign to tell them it is shut!"
"O no, Norton;—that door isn't this door."
"That isn't this?" said Norton. "What do you mean, Pink? Of course I know so much; but it seems to me this is this."
"No, Norton; it means the door spoken of in the Bible—in the New Testament;—don't you know? don't you remember?"
"Not a bit," said Norton. "I can't say, Pink, but it seems to me this is not just exactly the place for you to come to Sunday school. Don't look like it."
"Mr. Richmond told me to come here, you know, Norton."
But Norton looked with a disapproving eye upon what he could see of the neighbourhood; and it is true that nobody would have guessed it was near such a region as Blessington avenue. The houses were uncomely and the people were poor; and more than that. There was a look of positive want of respectability. But the little boy who was keeping the door was decent enough; and presently now he opened the door and stood by to let Norton and Matilda pass in.