The boy looked as if he had not a penny in
those ragged pockets of his, but one of his grimy hands clutched
tightly the lost pocketbook, which his sharp eyes had seen as it fell
beneath the feet of the horses, and which he had deftly appropriated
as he wriggled through the mud.
Heedless of wind and rain the boy lounged along the street. It was not
often that he found himself in this section of the city, and it was
much less familiar to him than some other localities. He seemed to be
wandering aimlessly along, but his restless eyes were on the watch for
some retired spot where he might safely examine his prize and see how
much money he had secured. For a long time he saw no place that seemed
to him a safe one for his purpose, so he went on and on until suddenly
he realised that he was tired. He was passing a large brownstone
church at the moment, and he sat down on the steps to rest.
"My! But this is a gay ol' church!" he thought, as he looked curiously
at the beautiful building. "Wonder where them steps go to."
Springing up he ran across the pillared porch to the foot of the stone
stairs that led to the upper entrance to the chapel. Following a
sudden impulse he started hastily up these stairs, his bare feet
making no sound. At the top of the stairs he found himself shut in on
two sides by a high stone balustrade, the chapel door forming the
third side.
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