“I should be proud if one of my sons were to enter the Navy.”
“Ay—well—we’re not all of us made alike——”
The minister rose. He put down a large folded paper.
“I’ve brought the almanac,” he said.
Mrs. Durant unfolded it.
“I do like a bit of colour in things,” she said, petulantly.
The clergyman did not reply.
“There’s that envelope for the organist’s fund—” said the old woman, and rising, she took the thing from the mantelpiece, went into the shop, and returned sealing it up.
“Which is all I can afford,” she said.
Mr. Lindley took his departure, in his pocket the envelope containing Mrs. Durant’s offering for Miss Louisa’s services. He went from door to door delivering the almanacs, in dull routine. Jaded with the monotony of the business, and with the repeated effort of greeting half-known people, he felt barren and rather irritable. At last he returned home.
In the dining-room was a small fire. Mrs. Lindley, growing very stout, lay on her couch. The vicar carved the cold mutton; Miss Louisa, short and plump and rather flushed, came in from the kitchen; Miss Mary, dark, with a beautiful white brow and grey eyes, served the vegetables; the children chattered a little, but not exuberantly. The very air seemed starved.
“I went to the Durants,” said the vicar, as he served out small portions of mutton; “it appears Alfred has run away to join the Navy.”
