"What?" said Paul, in great astonishment. "Don't you remember me, and how you told me you were the Governor's son?"

Both boys laughed.

"You must be mistaken. I haven't the honor of being related to the distinguished gentleman you name."

The speaker made a mocking bow to Paul.

"I know that," said Paul, with spirit, "but you said you were, for all that."

"It must have been some other good-looking boy, that you are mistaking me for. What are you going to do about it? I hope, by the way, that the oysters agreed with you."

"Yes, they did," said Paul, "for I came honestly by them."

"He's got you there, Gerald," said the other boy.

Paul made his way out of the theater. As his funds were reduced to twelve cents, he could not have purchased a ticket if he had desired it.

Still he moved on.

Soon he came to another building, which was in like manner lighted up, but not so brilliantly as the theater. This time, from the appearance of the building, and from the tall steeple,--so tall that his eye could scarcely reach the tapering spire,--he knew that it must be a church.

There was not such a crowd gathered about the door as at the place he had just left, but he saw a few persons entering, and he joined them.

The interior of the church was far more gorgeous than the plain village meeting-house which he had been accustomed to attend with his mother. He gazed about him with a feeling of awe, and sank quietly into a back pew. As it was a week-day evening, and nothing of unusual interest was antic.i.p.ated, there were but few present, here and there one, scattered through the capacious edifice.

By-and-by the organist commenced playing, and a flood of music, grander and more solemn than he had ever heard, filled the whole edifice. He listened with rapt attention and suspended breath till the last note died away, and then sank back upon the richly cushioned seat with a feeling of enjoyment.

In the services which followed he was not so much interested. The officiating clergyman delivered a long homily in a dull unimpa.s.sioned manner, which failed to awaken his interest. Already disposed to be drowsy, it acted upon him like a gentle soporific. He tried to pay attention as he had always been used to do, but owing to his occupying a back seat, and the low voice of the preacher, but few words reached him, and those for the most part were above his comprehension.

Gradually the feeling of fatigue--for he had been walking the streets all day--became so powerful that his struggles to keep awake became harder and harder. In vain he sat erect, resolved not to yield. The moment afterwards his head inclined to one side; the lights began to swim before his eyes; the voice of the preacher subsided into a low and undistinguishable hum. Paul's head sank upon the cushion, his bundle, which had been his constant companion during the day, fell softly to the floor, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Meanwhile the sermon came to a close, and another hymn was sung, but even the music was insufficient to wake our hero now. So the benediction was p.r.o.nounced, and the people opened the doors of their pews and left the church.

Last of all the s.e.xton walked up and down the aisles, closing such of the pew doors as were open. Then he shut off the gas, and after looking around to see that nothing was forgotten, went out, apparently satisfied, and locked the outer door behind him.

Paul, meanwhile, wholly unconscious of his situation, slept on as tranquilly as if there were nothing unusual in the circ.u.mstances in which he was placed. Through the stained windows the softened light fell upon his tranquil countenance, on which a smile played, as if his dreams were pleasant. What would Aunt Lucy have thought if she could have seen her young friend at this moment?

XV.

A TURN OF FORTUNE.

Notwithstanding his singular bedchamber, Paul had a refreshing night's sleep from which he did not awake till the sun had fairly risen, and its rays colored by the medium through which they were reflected, streamed in at the windows and rested in many fantastic lines on the richly carved pulpit and luxurious pews.

Paul sprang to his feet and looked around him in bewilderment.

"Where am I?" he exclaimed in astonishment.

In the momentary confusion of ideas which is apt to follow a sudden awakening, he could not remember where he was, or how he chanced to be there. But in a moment memory came to his aid, and he recalled the events of the preceding day, and saw that he must have been locked up in the church.

"How am I going to get out?" Paul asked himself in dismay.

This was the important question just now. He remembered that the village meeting-house which he had been accustomed to attend was rarely opened except on Sundays. What if this should be the case here? It was Thursday morning, and three days must elapse before his release. This would never do. He must seek some earlier mode of deliverance.

He went first to the windows, but found them so secured that it was impossible for him to get them open. He tried the doors, but found, as he had antic.i.p.ated, that they were fast. His last resource failing, he was at liberty to follow the dictates of his curiosity.

Finding a small door partly open, he peeped within, and found a flight of steep stairs rising before him. They wound round and round, and seemed almost interminable. At length, after he had become almost weary of ascending, he came to a small window, out of which he looked. At his feet lay the numberless roofs of the city, while not far away his eye rested on thousands of masts. The river sparkled in the sun, and Paul, in spite of his concern, could not help enjoying the scene. The sound of horses and carriages moving along the great thoroughfare below came confusedly to his ears. He leaned forward to look down, but the distance was so much greater than he had thought, that he drew back in alarm.

"What shall I do?" Paul asked himself, rather frightened. "I wonder if I can stand going without food for three days? I suppose n.o.body would hear me if I should scream as loud as I could."

Paul shouted, but there was so much noise in the streets that n.o.body probably heard him.

He descended the staircase, and once more found himself in the body of the church. He went up into the pulpit, but there seemed no hope of escape in that direction. There was a door leading out on one side, but this only led to a little room into which the minister retired before service.

It seemed rather odd to Paul to find himself the sole occupant of so large a building. He began to wonder whether it would not have been better for him to stay in the poorhouse, than come to New York to die of starvation.

Just at this moment Paul heard a key rattle in the outer door. Filled with new hope, he ran down the pulpit stairs and out into the porch, just in time to see the entrance of the s.e.xton.

The s.e.xton started in surprise as his eye fell upon Paul standing before him, with his bundle under his arm.

"Where did you come from, and how came you here?" he asked with some suspicion.

"I came in last night, and fell asleep."

"So you pa.s.sed the night here?"

"Yes, sir."

"What made you come in at all?" inquired the s.e.xton, who knew enough of boys to be curious upon this point.

"I didn't know where else to go," said Paul.

"Where do you live?"

Paul answered with perfect truth, "I don't live anywhere."

"What! Have you no home?" asked the s.e.xton in surprise.

Paul shook his head.

"Where should you have slept if you hadn't come in here?"

"I don't know, I'm sure."

"And I suppose you don't know where you shall sleep to-night?"

Paul signified that he did not.

"I knew there were plenty of such cases," said the s.e.xton, meditatively; "but I never seemed to realize it before."