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Indignation, wrath, self-hatred, dismay, in undefined confusion, usurped the faculties of sight and hearing and motion. "Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, "I 'ope you fine you'seff O.K., seh, if you'll egscuse the slang expwession." Richling started to move away, but checked himself. "I'm well, sir, thank you, sir; yes, sir, I'm very well." "I billieve you, seh. You ah lookin' well."
"Yes, but maybe I oughtn't to say what I was thinking" "Oh, say it." "Well, then, he don't let his surgeon order it. Doctor," continued Richling, smiling apologetically as his friend confronted him, "you know, as you say, better than any one else, all that Mary and I have gone through nearly all and how we've gone through it.
Much use ut is to be married to a public man! Ah! surs, I'm mighty tired of ut, now I tell ye!" Yet she laughed again, without betraying much fatigue. "And how's Dr. Sevier?" "He's well," said the clergyman. "And Mrs. Richling?" "She's well, too." Kate looked at the little rector out of the corners of her roguish Irish eyes, a killing look, and said: "Ye're sure the both o' thim bees well?"
"Than a great town," said Richling, "where a man of honest intentions and real desire to live and be useful and independent; who wants to earn his daily bread at any honorable cost, and who can't do it because the town doesn't want his services, and will not have them can go" He ceased, with his sentence all tangled. "No!" the Doctor was saying meanwhile. "No! No! No!"
"It may be a bad thing to love, but it's a good thing to have," he said, one day, to the little rector, as this friend stood by him at a corner of the high desk where Richling was posting his ledger. "But not to seek," said the rector. Richling posted an item and shook his head doubtingly. "That depends, I should say, on how much one seeks it, and how much of it he seeks."
She had never seen him before. "Yes, sir," she said. She could see the gentleman, under much rags and dirt. "Are you Mrs. John Richling?" A look of dismay came into his face as he asked the grave question. "Yes, sir," replied Mary. His voice dropped, and he asked, with subdued haste: "Ith it pothible you're in mourning for him?" She nodded. It was the little rector.
"I thought they were sent in order that when I should come to fortune I might take part in correcting some evils that are strangely overlooked." The Doctor nodded, and, after a moment of rest, Richling said again: "But now I see that is not my work. May be it is Mary's. May be it's my little girl's." "Or mine," murmured the Doctor.
Richling called attention to the word painted on a board. He merely pointed to it in playful silence, and then let his hand sink and rest on hers as it lay in his elbow. They were walking under the low boughs of a line of fig-trees that overhung a high garden wall.
Just think; she's with her mother where she is. Imagine her falling ill here, as you've told me she used to do, and you with that bakery on your hands." Richling looked grave. "Oh no," continued the little man. "You've been so brave and patient, you and your wife, both, do be so a little bit longer!
She gave her head a series of movements, as to say she might be angry if she would, but she wouldn't. "Ye won't know uz when Mrs. Richlin' comes." Richling laughed, but she gave a smiling toss to indicate that it was a serious matter. "Come," she insisted, patting the seat beside her with honeyed persuasiveness, "come and tell me all about ud. Mr.
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