Indeed , nobody seemed to notice him at all . The lamps were not yet lighted and the church was filled with a soft twilight and hush . Outside , the sky was purple and gold and silvery green , with a delicate tangle of rosy cloud above the elms . `` Is n't it awful nice and holy in here ? '' whispered Peter reverently . `` I did n't know church was like this . It 's nice . '' Felicity frowned at him , and the Story Girl touched her with her slippered foot to remind him that he must not talk in church . Peter stiffened up and sat at attention during the service . Nobody could have behaved better . But when the sermon was over and the collection was being taken up , he made the sensation which his entrance had not produced . Elder Frewen , a tall , pale man , with long , sandy side-whiskers , appeared at the door of our pew with the collection plate . We knew Elder Frewen quite well and like him ; he was Aunt Janet 's cousin and often visited her . The contrast between his week-day jollity and the unearthly solemnity of his countenance on Sundays always struck us as very funny . It seemed so to strike Peter ; for as Peter dropped his cent into the plate he laughed aloud ! Everybody looked at our pew . I have always wondered why Felicity did not die of mortification on the spot . The Story Girl turned white , and Cecily turned red . As for that poor , unlucky Peter , the shame of his countenance was pitiful to behold . He never lifted his head for the remainder of the service ; and he followed us down the aisle and across the graveyard like a beaten dog .
None XXXXX us uttered a word until we reached the road , lying in the white moonshine of the May night .
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