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A knock at the Reverend Mr. Fairweather's study door called his eyes from the book on which they were intent. He looked up, as if expecting a welcome guest. The Reverend Pierrepont Honeywood, D. D., entered the study of the Reverend Chauncy Fairweather. He was not the expected guest. Mr. Fairweather slipped the book he was reading into a half-open drawer, and pushed in the drawer.
Among those whom I met most frequently was Miss Agnes Honeywood, a calm, quiet, unobtrusive girl, the characteristic of whose face was sweetness rather than beauty, while the first feeling she inspired was respect rather than admiration. She had just that amount of self-possession which conceals without conquering the sweet timidity of woman.
His bereaved congregation immediately began pulling candidates on and off, like new boots, on trial. Some pinched in tender places; some were too loose; some were too square-toed; some were too coarse, and did n't please; some were too thin, and would n't last; in short, they could n't possibly find a fit. At last, people began to drop in to hear old Doctor Honeywood.
Th' minister, he come down 'n' prayed 'n' talked good, he's a good man, that Doctor Honeywood, 'n' I tol' him all 'bout our Elsie, but he did n' tell nobody what to do to stop all what I' been dreamin' about happenin'. Come close up to me, Doctor!" The Doctor drew his chair close up to that of the old woman. "Doctor, nobody mus'n' never marry our Elsie 's longs she lives!
The time came when Elsie was to be laid by her mother in the small square marked by the white stone. It was not unwillingly that the Reverend Chauncy Fairweather had relinquished the duty of conducting the service to the Reverend Doctor Honeywood, in accordance with Elsie's request.
I suppose we'd better begin down Pump Lane. I know my way about the place, Honeywood, as well as if it was my bed-room. And so I ought, Trigger." "I suppose you've seen the inside of pretty nearly every house in Percycross," said Trigger. "There's some I don't want to see the inside of any more. I can tell you that. How are these new householders going to vote?" "Betwixt and between, Mr.
To settle everything the Widow made out a diagram, which the reader should have a chance of inspecting in an authentic copy, if these pages were allowed under any circumstances to be the vehicle of illustrations. At the head of the table, the Hostess, Widow Marilla Rowens. Opposite her, at the other end, Rev. Dr. Honeywood.
Th' minister, he come down 'n' prayed 'n' talked good, he's a good man, that Doctor Honeywood, 'n' I tol' him all 'bout our Elsie, but he didn' tell nobody what to do to stop all what I been dreamin' about happenin'. Come close up to me, Doctor!" The Doctor drew his chair close up to that of the old woman. "Doctor, nobody mus'n' never marry our Elsie 's long 's she lives!
The Reverend Mr. Fairweather had been dyspeptic and low-spirited of late, and was too languid for controversy. The Reverend Doctor Honeywood had been very busy with his benevolent associations, and had discoursed chiefly on practical matters, to the neglect of special doctrinal subjects.
The Reverend Doctor Honeywood rose and left the priest and his disciple together. There was nobody, then, to counsel poor Elsie, except her father, who had learned to let her have her own way so as not to disturb such relations as they had together, and the old black woman, who had a real, though limited influence over the girl. Perhaps she did not need counsel.
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