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During this rapid flow of words the listeners, who evidently admired their leader, became so convulsed with laughter as to lose all vestige of respectability, and Mr. Durant's disturbed face appeared in view. "Boys, this is perfectly disgraceful!" he said, speaking in sharp and highly-excited tones, "perfectly disgraceful!
Then Wikacome became the familiar Durant's Neck, and the waters of Weapomeiok and the territory known to the aborigines by the same name, changed to the historic cognomen of Albemarle.
And an old tombstone found in the sound, which is now used as the lower step of the side porch in a beautiful old home, on Durant's Neck, once the property of Mr. Edward Leigh, but now owned by Mr. C.W. Grandy, of Norfolk, is said to have once marked the grave of Seth Sothel.
Durant's career as a lawyer had been brilliant and worldly; he had rarely lost a case.
Like the Christian converts of an earlier day, he would have harried and hurried souls to Christ. But Victorian girls were less docile than the medieval Franks and Goths. They seem, many of them, to have eluded or withstood this forceful shepherding with a vigilance as determined as Mr. Durant's own.
Durant's eyes were slightly drawn with pain. Nevertheless they were very friendly as he made reply. "Do you think you can?" he said. She took his hat from him with an anxious smile, and then the crutch that he held towards her. "Tell me exactly what to do!" she said in her sweet, low voice. "I am very strong." "If I may put my arm on your shoulder," Durant said, "I think it can be managed.
Holyokes. And in 1870, on March 17, the charter of Wellesley Female Seminary was signed by Governor William Claflin. On April 16, 1870, the first meeting of the Board of Trustees was held, at Mr. Durant's Marlborough Street house in Boston, and the Reverend Edward N. Kirk, pastor of the Mt. Vernon Church in Boston, was elected president of the board. Mr.
Durant's ideals for the college were of the highest, and in many respects he was far in advance of his times in his attitude toward educational matters. He meant Wellesley to be a university some day.
Morris Burns they knew, a clear-eyed young Scotchman, with willing hands and feet ever ready to run of errands for all workers; a boy of nineteen or so, whom everybody liked; warm-hearted, unselfish, and thoroughly trustworthy. Annie Powell was one of the older girls in Mr. Durant's Bible-class; a sweet-faced, ladylike little factory girl, who would work in with Morris Burns nicely.
Durant came to the opposite edge of the table, and leaned over it. Challoner wondered how a single blow had knocked him down. "Non, he is not for sale." Durant's voice was low; so low that it seemed to choke him to get it out. It was filled with a repressed hatred. Challoner saw the great cords of his knotted hands bulging under the skin as he gripped the edge of the table.
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