Dexter seemed to divine his coming and broke into a kittenish gallop until he reached the Methodist Church.

Here, appearing to believe that he had again eluded pursuit, he stopped to graze on a carefully tended square of grass before the sacred edifice.
He was at once shooed by two scandalized old ladies, but paid them no attention.

They might perhaps even have tickled him, for this was the best grass he had found since leaving home.

Other churchgoers paused in consternation, looking expectantly at the approaching Merton Gill.

The three happy children who came up with him left no one in doubt of the late happening.
Merton was still the artist.