—and Nort solemnly read off the names.
I wish I could describe the hush which followed Nort's reading, and the horror in Harriet's face. Fergus was the first to break the tension. He seemed to be slowly strangling, and his face contrived to twist itself into the most alarming contortions. The old Captain finally observed indulgently:
"Nort will have his little joke."
"Joke!" exclaimed Nort. "Isn't every word of it true? I leave it to Miss Grayson if I haven't been absolutely accurate. And I could have said a lot more about the service that would have been equally true—and a great deal funnier."
I could see generations of Puritan ancestors marshalling themselves for the fray in Harriet's horrified countenance. I could scarcely keep from laughing.
"Yes," I began, "every word is true——"
"The piano tuner," broke in Harriet, "couldn't come last week."
"But, Nort," I continued; "you may have seen the church in Hempfield, but have you felt it?"
"Even if old Mrs. Johnson does eat peppermints——" Harriet was saying.
"Then you wouldn't put the truth in the Star?" said Nort.