"Oh!" But, this time, the monosyllable was breathy, and not sharp.
"Yes, and there will be a choir as good as those people who sang at the town hall, last Thanksgiving, and flowers, lots of them, roses in winter, even," he went on eagerly. "And you can hear a pin drop while I am preaching, only once in a while somebody will sob a little in the pauses, and then put in a roll of hundred-dollar bills when the contribution box comes round."
Catie drew another long breath, and her eyes sparkled.
"Lovely!" she said, and she stretched out the word to its full length by way of expressing her contentment. "And where'll I be?"
Scott withdrew his eyes from distant space and gazed upon her blankly.
"I hadn't thought about that," he said.
Then, for an instant, the glory of his dream was shattered.
"Pig!" Catie said concisely.
However, it was not within the limits of her curiosity to drop the prediction at this piquant point. The framing of the picture, for so she regarded it, had pleased her. Scott failing, she must fill in the portrait to suit herself.
"I'll tell you, then. I shall be there, in the very front seat, dressed in flowing curls," Catie's hair, at this epoch, was pokery in its stiff straightness; "and a real lace dress. And, after service, all the rich people in the church will ask us out to dinner. Of course, in a church like that, the minister's wife is always at the top of things, and I shall help along your work by making people like me and be willing to listen to your sermons because you are my husband."