Everybody in the church was looking at our pew and smiling.

We all felt that we were terribly disgraced; but we could do nothing.

Peg was enjoying herself hugely, beyond all doubt.
From where she sat she could see the whole church, including pulpit and gallery, and her black eyes darted over it with restless glances.
"Bless me, there's Sam Kinnaird," she exclaimed, still aloud.

"He's the man that dunned Jacob Marr for four cents on the church steps one Sunday.

I heard him.