When my aunt remarked that I looked like a "monk" father eyed me
thoughtfully, saying: "Perhaps there is something to Darwin's theory
after all," but mother took me to her arms, withering her sister with
scornful glances of her flashing eyes. "Certainly does he look like a
monk, the poor little tiddledee-diddy darling," she said; "what else
would you expect of him, being the son of a preacher and a descendant
of priests?"
On a certain fateful summer day when assembled at dinner we heard the
rumble of wheels as an imperial post-chaise hove into view, lumbering
lazily past the parsonage.
The postillion's horn sounded a letter-call and my sisters rushed
out, racing over our lawn to the gate, in order to take the message.
They returned with a large envelope bearing great official seals,
both girls struggling for its possession and fighting like cats for
the privilege of carrying the precious document. Mother's face was
wreathed in smiles of ecstacy.
"Your salary, papa," she whispered, but father was very solemn. "No,
dear, it is not due," he answered. He took the missive from my
sister's hands and turned it over and over, guessing at its contents
until mother who was favored with more of that quality which is
commonly called "presence of mind" urged him to open it, and see.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148