"I've nothing to say against his preaching. It's the
fellow himself. And I hope we won't get him tonight for,
the way I feel now, if I see him gawking up the pulpit
steps it'll be as much as I can do to keep in my seat,
and so I just tell you, John."
"You're a little out of patience with him, I see," said
Mr Murchison.
"And it would be a good thing if more than me were out
of patience with him. There's such a thing as too much
patience, I've noticed."
"I dare say," replied her husband, cheerfully.
"If Advena were any daughter of mine she'd have less
patience with him."
"She's not much like you," assented the father.
"I must say I like a girl to have a little spirit if a
man has none. And before I'd have him coming to the house
week after week the way he has, I'd see him far enough."
"He might as well come there as anywhere," Mr Murchison
replied, ambiguously. "I suppose he has now and then time
on his hands?"
"Well, he won't have it on his hands much longer."
"He won't, eh?"
"No, he won't," Mrs Murchison almost shook the arm she
was attached to. "John, I think you might show a little
interest! The man's going to be married."
"You don't say that?" John Murchison's tone expressed
not only astonishment but concern. Mrs Murchison was
almost mollified.
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