"I wish I had a family plot," said Peter, rather wistfully. "I
haven't ANYTHING you fellows have. The Craigs are just buried
anywhere they happen to die."

"I'd like to buried here when I die," said Felix. "But I hope it
won't be for a good while yet," he added in a livelier tone, as
we moved onward to the church.

The interior of the church was as old-fashioned as its exterior.
It was furnished with square box pews; the pulpit was a
"wine-glass" one, and was reached by a steep, narrow flight of
steps. Uncle Alec's pew was at the top of the church, quite near
the pulpit.

Peter's appearance did not attract as much attention as we had
fondly expected. 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.

"Isn't it awful nice and holy in here?" whispered Peter
reverently. "I didn'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.