"
"I suppose our Mr. Mullen might have whomsoever he'd set his eyes on,"
pursued Solomon.
"Without a doubt he might. If all else failed him he'd but to ax her in
his pulpit gown an' his prayin' voice, an' thar'd be no gainsayin' him
for a female. Let him boom out 'Dearly Beloved,' as he does in church
an' ten chances to one she'd answer 'Amen' just out of the habit. I'm a
bold man, suh, an' I've al'ays been, but I ain't one to stand up ag'inst
a preacher when thar's a woman in the race."
Wrapping his blue knitted comforter about his throat, Abel nodded,
good-humoredly to the group, and went out to his gig, which he had left
under a shed in the yard. As he removed the blanket from his mare, his
mind dwelt stubbornly on the remarks old Adam had let fall concerning
clergymen and women. He had already convinced himself that the Reverend
Mr. Mullen was the object of Molly's preference, and his nature was big
enough to rejoice that she should have chosen so good a man. At least,
if this were true, Jonathan Gay would not be his rival.
It was the season of the year when the sunny days gave place to frosty
nights, and all the changes of the autumn--the reddening of the fruit,
the ripening of the nuts, the falling of the leaves--appeared to occur
in the hours between sunset and sunrise.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211