Mrs. Boutcher had fervently spread a fair white cloth, and poured out two cups of tea. She now begged her guests to be seated, and whilst they refreshed themselves, she again took up the conversation.
"Our minister," she said solemnly, slowly shaking her head, "surpasses all I ever 'eard in the preaching line. Preach? His father preached afore him, and he has two sons what preach."
"A clever family," Paul commented.
Mrs. Boutcher's feelings did not allow her to find words readily, but presently she wisely gave up endeavouring to express herself, and went on in lighter vein.
"It seems to come to them natural like, the moment they ascend the pulpit. It's just child's play to them, father and sons alike, as it was child's play to the minister's father afore them."
For one brief moment the eyes of Paul and Hazel met, but they very creditably maintained their gravity. Paul wondered what a clever preacher, and a good earnest man to boot, would feel if he could hear the strenuous endeavour, the never-ceasing watching, praying, and battling of his life, pronounced child's play.
Hazel could not let it pass. "Mrs. Boutcher," she said gently, "we surely cannot call the great and good work of clergymen child's play to them. It is his work, is not it? and the cleverer he is the more he is bound to do his utmost, as an artist would, for instance."
Mrs. Boutcher was not convinced. "It may be with some," she admitted, "but it's no work to our minister, Miss. You should hear him—it just flows from him, with no effort on his part."
It began to dawn upon Hazel, that her hostess had not used the term child's play in its usual sense, a suspicion that was confirmed a little later, when the good woman placed a large log upon the fire.
"That is a fine fellow," Paul remarked. "Couldn't I chop him in two for you, Mrs. Boutcher?"