]
"Stop!" cried Polly; "you mustn't leave your pew."
"I'm going into the gallery," a happy thought enabled me to say.
Polly made no answer. She seemed to be meditating some step; and
presently I saw her scramble down to the ground in her own rapid
fashion.
"Regie dear, will you promise not to get into my pulpit till I come
back?" she begged.
I gave the promise; and, without answering my questions as to what she
was going to do, she sped off towards the house. In about five minutes
she returned with something held in the skirt of her frock, which
seemed greatly to incommode her in climbing. At last she reached the
pulpit, but she did not stay there. Up and on she went, much hindered
by her burden.
"Polly! Polly!" I cried. "You mustn't go higher than the pulpit. You
know it isn't fair. The pulpit is the top one, and you must stay
there. The clergyman never goes into the gallery."
"I'm not going into the gallery," she gasped; and on she went to the
topmost of the large branches. There she paused, and from her lap she
drew forth the dinner-bell.
"I'm in the belfry," she shouted in tones of triumph, "and I'm going
to ring the bell for service.
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