Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 29, 2025
The first man drew a little nearer. "He's been telling us that the Adventists that means folks that are always expecting the end of the world all about Chellaston believe the end's coming to-night." Alec made an exclamation. It was a little like hearing that some one sees a ghost at your elbow. The idea of proximity is unpleasant, even to the incredulous. "Why to-night?" he asked.
So spoke Robert Trenholme, Principal of the New College and Rector of the English church at Chellaston, in the Province of Quebec. He sat in his comfortable library. The light of a centre lamp glowed with shaded ray on books in their shelves, but shone strongly on the faces near it.
That afternoon Alec Trenholme had essayed to bring his friend John Bates to Chellaston. Bates was in a very feeble state, bowed with asthma, and exhausted by a cough that seemed to be sapping his life.
Bates sat subjecting all he knew of Alec to a process of consideration. The result was not a guess; it was not in him to hazard anything, even a guess. "What does your brother do?" "Clergyman, and he has a school." "Where?" "Chellaston, on the Grand Trunk." "Never heard of it. Is it a growing place?" "It's thriving along now. It was just right for my business."
This place was nothing but a humble, disused, and untidy burying-ground, that occupied the next lot in the narrow strip of land that here for a mile divided road and river. Winifred ran over the road between the Harmon garden and the college fence, and, climbing the log fence, stood among the quiet gravestones that chronicled the past generations of Chellaston.
A few days went a long way in Chellaston towards making a stranger, especially if he was a young man with good introduction, feel at home there, and the open friendliness of Chellaston society, acting like the sun in Æsop's fable, had almost made this traveller take off his coat.
All on the platform had come together in close group. The wind-blown light of the station lamp was on their faces. In the distance the smouldering storm rumbled and flashed. "All religious folks believe that," continued the speaker, a little scornfully, "and the Advents think it'll be now; but old Cameron we've had in Chellaston for a year, he tells them it'll be to-night."
But, as it was, she gave the young man a sharp glance and questioned him further. Where had he come from? When had he arrived? He had come, he said, from the next station on the railway. He had been looking there, and in many other places, for an opening for his work, and for various reasons he had now decided that Chellaston was a more eligible place than any.
At first folks had calculated it would be 1843, but since then they had found they were thirty years out somehow. "That would make it this year," agreed the first man. Some others that had gathered round laughed in chorus. They vented some bad language to; but the Chellaston man, excited with his tale, went on. "All the Advent folks believe that.
He saw her as clearly with his mind as a moment before he had seen her with his eyes, and he pondered now the expression on her face when she looked out of the window. It told him, however, absolutely nothing of the secret he was trying to wring from her. There was no square in Chellaston, no part of the long street much wider than any other or more convenient as a public lounging place.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking