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I had grown quite attached to Mr Boulderstone by this time, not because he was what is called interesting, for he was not; not because he was clever, for he was not; not because he was well-read, for he was not; not because he was possessed of influence in the parish, though he had that influence; but simply because he was true; he was what he appeared, felt what he professed, did what he said; appearing kind, and feeling and acting kindly.
More of Dr Duncan by and by. Except Mr and Miss Boulderstone, I had not yet seen any common people. They were all decidedly uncommon, and, as regarded most of them, I could not think I should have any difficulty in preaching to them.
Miss Boulderstone, however, though not very interesting, was quite a favourite before she died. She left Wynnie for she and her brother were the last of their race a death's-head watch, which had been in the family she did not know how long. I think it is as old as Queen Elizabeth's time.
I tell the reader all this about my daughter that he may be the more able to understand what will follow in due time. He will think that as yet my story has been nothing but promises. Let him only hope that I will fulfil them, and I shall be content. Mr. Boulderstone did not long outlive his sister.
I went and received Mr and Miss Boulderstone, and was at least thus far rewarded that the EERIE feeling, as the Scotch would call it, which I had about my parish, as containing none but CHARACTERS, and therefore not being CANNIE, was entirely removed. At least there was a wholesome leaven in it of honest stupidity. Please, kind reader, do not fancy I am sneering.
"But a harvest-day will come at last When the watery winter all is past; The waves so gray Will be shorn away By the angels' sickles keen and fast; And the buried harvest of the sea Stored in the barns of eternity." Genuine applause followed the good doctor's song. I turned to Miss Boulderstone, from whom I had borrowed a piano, and asked her to play a country dance for us.
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