“On pleasant Sundays I should say as many as twenty-five. They shrink quite a bit if the weather’s bad.”
“Good gracious me!”
“She means her Sunday-school class,” explained Mr. Sage hurriedly. He had the worried manner of one who never knows what is coming next.
His wife looked up into his face and smiled—a lovely, good-humored smile that was slowly transformed into a mischievous grimace.
“I’m always making breaks, am I not, Herby dear? It’s a terrible strain, Mr. Gooch, being a parson’s wife. I sometimes wish that Herbert—I mean Mr. Sage—had been a policeman or a bartender or something like that.”
“Umph!” grunted Mr. Gooch.
“Well, I suppose it ain’t as hard to live up to a policeman or a bartender as it is to live up to a minister of the gospel,” said Mrs. Gooch, feeling of the tip of her nose as she turned away from the stove.
Mr. Sikes and Mr. Link, having something of a private nature to say to each other, had retired to a position near the door, which by design or accident was pretty thoroughly blocked by their heavy figures. Mrs. Gooch sniffed unnecessarily.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Sage over her shoulder; “you’re right, Mrs. Gooch. Live and learn is my motto.” She winked at her husband.
“My dear Josephine!” exclaimed Mr. Sage reproachfully.