“No,” said the Reverend Arthur, smiling; “I find the difference.”
“I say, old boy,” continued the doctor, “I was in the fort yesterday, talking to some of the men. They say they like your preaching.”
“I am very glad, Harry,” said the chaplain, simply. “I was afraid that I was rather wandering sometimes in my discourse.”
“No, no; just what they like, old fellow! Simple and matter of fact. What they can understand. Going?”
“Yes; I am going across to see Mr Harley.”
“Ah! do. Good fellow, Harley! Don’t make any mistakes though, and step into the river instead of the sampan.”
“Is there any danger, Henry?” exclaimed Mrs Doctor, sharply.
“Not the least, my dear; only Arthur here is a little dreamy sometimes.”
“I’d go with him,” said Mrs Bolter decidedly, “only I want to talk to you, Henry.”
“Phee-ew!” whistled the doctor, softly, “here’s a breeze coming;” and he looked furtively at his wife to see what she meant.