"But I can see from the expression of your eyes and mouth a very plain answer to the contrary. Mr. Hemstead, you could be a very stubborn man if you chose."
"I hope I could be a very resolute one."
"Yes, so we explain ourselves when we will have our own way. I think Aunt Marchmont's suggestion a very good one."
"If we go to the donation we shall have to take something," said
Bel.
"O, yes," exclaimed Addie; "I am told all sorts of queer things are brought. Let us take the oddest and most outlandish we can think of. Uncle, there is your old blue dresscoat; we will take that for the minister. Wouldn't he look comical preaching in it? And, mother, there is your funny low-necked satin dress that you wore when a young lady. I will take that for his wife."
"I understand everybody brings pies to a donation," said Harcourt. "I shall be more pious than any of them, and bring over fifty from town this afternoon. I will buy all the bake-shops out, in my zeal,—enough to give the parson and all his people the dyspepsia for a month."
"If he lives on six hundred, nothing could give him the dyspepsia save his own sermons, I imagine," said De Forrest. "My young lady friends have half filled one of my bureau drawers with smoking-caps. I have one with me, and will give it to the minister."
"You vain fellow," laughed Lottie. "I never gave you one."
"Rest assured, no minister—even were he a minister to the Court of St. James—should get it, if you had."
"What will you take, Mr. Hemstead?" asked Lottie, noting his grave face.