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Updated: June 17, 2025
She felt cold all over and shivered, as she led Gypsy back, though she knew she was blushing furiously. Concealed behind the barn door, peeping through a crack, was Tess. "It was awful!" moaned Missy. "I can never face Rev. MacGill again!" "Oh, he's a good sport," said Tess. "She gave me an awful calling down." "Oh, grandma's an old fogy."
You could talk to him almost as though he were a boy of the "crowd." It developed that the Reverend MacGill was planning a revival. He said he hoped that Tess and Missy would persuade all their young friends to attend. As Missy agreed to ally herself with his crusade, she felt a sort of lofty zeal glow up in her. It was a pleasantly superior kind of feeling.
"Couldn't you just take off the top crust, mother? Gypsy didn't touch the underneath part. Why can't you just " But her mother's scandalized look silenced her. She must have made a faux pas. Father and Rev. MacGill laughed outright, and Aunt Nettie smiled a withering smile. "That's a brilliant idea," she said satirically. "Perhaps you'd have us pick out the untouched bits of the crust, too!"
No one in Cherryvale ever got a word from Melissa about the true inwardness of the spiritual renaissance she experienced the winter that the Reverend MacGill came to the Methodist church; naturally not her father nor mother nor Aunt Nettie, because grown-ups, though nice and well-meaning, with their inability to "understand," and their tendency to laugh make one feel shy and reticent about the really deep and vital things.
"When, in the terse vernacular of his calling, he gives voice to the sorrows and impatience, the humour and the resignation of his workmen comrades, and lets his songs find their own natural bent, then at length he attains real lyrical strength and sincerity.... For we need have no hesitation in hailing Mr. MacGill as a poet." Sunday Times. Daily Mail.
The service had now reached the stage of prayer for repentant sinners. Reverend MacGill was doing the praying, but members of the congregation were interjecting, "Glory Hallelujah!" "Praise be His Name!" and the other worshipful ejaculations which make a sort of running accompaniment on such occasions.
Those with whom no arguments will avail, are recommended to read the following remarks from the first volume of the Library of Health, p. 119: "It is related, on the authority of Macgill, that in Tunis, after a girl is engaged, or betrothed, she is then fattened.
He had seen her the O'Neill pew was only three rows back. It was too awful. What would he think of her? An agony of embarrassment and shame swept over her. And then could she believe her eyes? right in the midst of his prayer, his harshly melodious voice rising and falling with never a break the Reverend MacGill smiled. Smiled straight at her there could be no mistake.
Her father peered at her through the feathery gloom. "Why, the preacher Reverend MacGill." "Oh, yes." She shook herself mentally. "He's perfectly fasci " she broke off, remembering she was talking to a grown-up. "He's very inspired," she amended. Another pause. Again it was father who spoke first. "Who was the boy who threw the paper-wad?" Involuntarily Missy's hold on his arm loosened.
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