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It was in vain that Mrs. Murray, in her daily visits to Macdonald Dubh, sought to find out Ranald and to come to speech with him. Aunt Kirsty never knew where he was, and to her calls, long and loud, from the back door and from the front, no response ever came. It was Hughie Murray who finally brought Ranald once more into touch with the minister's wife.
Very seldom, indeed, were books to be found in a community except at the minister's. And during the Seventeenth Century, and well into the Eighteenth, he combined in himself the offices of doctor, lawyer, preacher and teacher. Mr. Lowell has said: "I can not remember when there was not one or more students in my father's household, and others still who came at regular intervals to recite.
Some hearts break quicker than others; Plummer hearts hold out splendidly, but in the end In the end Aunt Olivia went to see the minister and was closeted with him for a little. The minister's wife could hear them talking mostly the minister but she could not hear what they said. "It's come," she nodded, sagely. "I was sure it would.
"Who is that?" asked the soldier, awkwardly. "Mrs. Service Miss Duran that was now one of our most dashing I should say, charitable, ladies. Plenty of men at Service's church now. She's dressed in Watteau-fashion to-night, so if you see any one skipping around, looking as though she had just stepped from the Embarkation for the Island of Venus, set her down for the minister's pretty wife!"
I have been present at more than one gypsy wedding in my time, and at the wild, weird orgies that followed them, but what is interesting to such as I may not be for a minister's eyes, and, frowning at my proposal, Gavin turned his back upon the Toad's- hole.
"Robert," the minister's wife said that night to the minister, "it's an awful quilt, but you ought to have seen her eyes! It's taken her three years to make it maybe you wouldn't be proud yourself!" "Maybe YOU wouldn't, if Rhoda had made it." "RHODA! Robert, she sewed one square of patchwork once and it made her sick. I had to put her to bed.
Some one up in the choir loft was playing the wedding march, and the minister's wife and young daughter sat waiting to witness the ceremony. The minister met them at the door with a welcoming smile and hand-shake, and led them forward. As the music hushed for the words of the ceremony, he leaned forward to the young man and whispered: "I neglected to ask you her name, Tryon." "Oh, yes."
And so guilt took hold of my mind," she said to the Interpreter, "and would have drawn me to the pond!" A minister's widow once told me that she had gone home after hearing a sermon of mine on the text, "What profit is there in my blood?" and had destroyed a paper of poison she had purchased in her despair on the previous Saturday night.
"Oh, Lord bless your honour, there are plenty on us!" answered Paul, feeling his bashfulness wear off in consequence of the minister's kind manner.
The minister and the triumphant mistress of ceremonies came next, followed by the blacksmith, leading the minister's wife, and growing more cheerful each moment as he neared his dinner.
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