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They had come a long distance, for an auction such as this was a most unusual occurrence in Glendow. The Frenelle homestead had belonged to the family from the early Loyalist days, descending from father to son for several generations.
Now I do not have such distractions, and am quite happy. In the quiet parish of Glendow I find all that the heart can desire. The labour to me becomes no more monotonous than the work of parents with their children. They often are weary in their toil for their little ones, but not weary of it. The body gives out at times, but not the love in the heart.
But let a man stay at hum in a parish like Glendow, an' no one hears of his doin's, cause they don't want to." "My! ye didn't say all that?" exclaimed Mrs. McKrigger, "an' to a rale live missionary, too." "Them's the exact words I said, an' them ain't all," rattled on Mrs. Stickles. "I had me tongue on 'im then, an' it did me good to see his face.
Over thirty years have I been in Glendow, and I become more affected by suffering the older I get." The doctor looked keenly into Mr. Westmore's face, as if trying to read his inmost thoughts. "Do you ever become weary of your work?" he at length asked. "Do you not long for a more congenial field?"
The Bishop was visibly affected, although he endeavoured to conceal his emotion. "Westmore," he replied, "I always believed you to be a noble man of God, though I never knew it as I do to-night. But where will you go if you leave Glendow? How will you live?" "I am not worrying about that.
"But perhaps someone else will outbid him," suggested Mr. Westmore. "I would not lose heart yet." "There is no one in Glendow able to bid successfully against Mr. Farrington," Nora replied. "We have learned, however, that Mr. Turpin, a real estate man, arrived from the city last night.
Not a child in the parish of Glendow but knew that familiar sound, and would rush eagerly into the house with the welcome tidings, for did it not mean a piece of candy hidden away in most mysterious pockets, which seemed never to be empty?
"Are you cold, lad?" "No," was the brief reply. Parson John, Rector of Glendow, glanced down at the little muffled figure at his side. He reached over, tucked in the robes more closely about their feet, and spoke one word to Midnight. The horse, noble animal that she was, bounded forward. The ice, glassy and firm, stretched out far ahead.
She went back to the chair where she had been sitting, and kneeling down buried her face in her hands. For some time she remained in prayer, but her earnest pleadings were not for herself or her husband, but for the old grey-headed man the Venerable Rector of Glendow. Wash-Tub Philosophy "I've been up to me neck in soap-suds ever sense daybreak, an' I ain't done yit." So declared Mrs.
Ye see, we all went to the missionary meetin' in the church, an' Mr. Dale told us about that furren land. Somehow I didn't take to the man, an' I liked 'im less as he went on. All the time he was speakin' I noted how eagerly Parson John listened. Often his buzum heaved-like, an' I thought I heerd 'im sigh. But when the speaker 'gun to compare Africy with Canada and Glendow, I got mad.
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