The fun lasted until night.  It was Saturday, and they rode until sunset without further stops.

“We’ll rest awhile and then go on by moonlight,” Old Tilly said.  “It will be jolly and cool then.  Besides, we don’t want to be on the road to-morrow.  I promised mother I’d see that you all kept Sunday.”

“And go to church ?” Jot said.

“Yes, and go to church, it there’s one to go to anywhere,” Old Tilly rejoined quietly.  “I told mother I’d see that you fellows went to church quiet and nice, if possible.  She put in the extra collars and neckties on purpose.”

A long rest, with a hearty lunch, and then they were off again in the clear moonlight.  It was splendid.  The trees, the road, the pale, ghostly houses—­everything had a weird, charmed aspect.  They might have been riding through fairyland.  It was growing late, they knew, and at last they stopped, out of sheer weariness.

A great, square bulk loomed faintly before them in the waning moonlight.  It might be a house—­might be a mountain!  Jot spurted on ahead to reconnoiter.

“House!” he shouted back.  “Doors open—­all quiet—­guess it’s on a picnic ground.  I felt a stair that seemed to lead up to a balcony or something.”

“Well, we’re sleepy enough.  We’ll take anything we can get!” yawned Kent.

“Come on, then.”

And, riding into what seemed a yard, they found a good place for their wheels under some bushes.  The moon was too low to give them any light, but the boys found the doorway to the big building and went up the stairs, guided by their hands along the narrow passageway.  They could only discern a queer little enclosure, topped by a little rail.  They were too thoroughly tired out to be curious, and, feeling some narrow seats, they lay down, and, making themselves comfortable, were soon asleep.

Jot was dreaming that Old Tilly had made him go to church and the people were singing, when suddenly he opened his eyes.  Was he dreaming?  Over him floated a sweet hymn, one his mother loved to join in singing at church Sunday morning.  The boy’s eyes opened wider still at sight of flecks of sunshine dancing on the walls near, and, raising his head, he saw through the clear little panes of a long window, where the green leaves were dancing against the glass.  The singing went on, and the boy raised himself in a wondering fashion upon his elbow.  Where were they?  Jot lifted his head still higher, and, glancing over the railing, he looked down upon a goodly company.  The amazement on his face grew greater instead of less.  They were in church!—­that was sure.  Jot looked back to his sleeping companions and held his breath as one of them stirred uneasily.  What if he should roll off the bench?  The hymn grew louder and sweeter, and Jot smoothed out his hair and straightened his necktie and sat up straight.  The branches outside tapped the narrow, small paned window near him, and from the open windows below the sweet beauty of the summer morning stole in.  But as the minister rose to give out his text, a sound from one of the boys back of him caused Jot to turn.