But though Peggotty's eye wanders, she is much offended if mine does, and frowns to me, as I stand upon the seat, that I am to look at the clergyman.

But I can't always look at him--I know him without that white thing on, and I am afraid of his wondering why I stare so, and perhaps stopping the service to inquire--and what am I to do?
It's a dreadful thing to gape, but I must do something.

I look at my mother, but she pretends not to see me.

I look at a boy in the aisle, and he makes faces at me.

I look at the sunlight coming in at the open door through the porch, and there I see a stray sheep--I don't mean a sinner, but mutton--half making up his mind to come into the church.