So the old clergyman talked on; his simple and natural words bubbling from his lips like crystal waters, and filling his companions' hearts with new and refreshing truths.
Chester drove up before a handsome white cottage, which was one of a thin cluster of houses grouped around an old-fashioned country meeting-house.
"Here our minister lives," said Mr. Royden. "You must see him, first of any."
He helped the old man out of the wagon, while Chester tied the horse.
"What a delightful residence!" said Father Brighthopes. "Ah! let me stop and take a look at these busy bees!"
There were two small hives perched upon a bench, under a plum-tree, and the happy insects were incessantly creeping in and out, through the small apertures,—flying abroad, humming in the flowers of the sweet thyme that loaded the air with fragrance, and coming home with their legs yellowed from tiny cups and bells. The old man was so charmed with the scene, that he could hardly be prevailed upon to leave it, and walk along the path towards the cottage door.
"We see so little of such delightful exhibitions of nature, in city life," said he, "that in the country I am like a child intoxicated with novelty."
They made but a brief call on the minister, who was a young and boyish-looking man of about twenty-five. He received them in his study, a luxurious little room, with a window open upon the little garden in front of the house, and shaded by thick jasmines, trained on the wall. He showed no very warm inclination to sociability, but deigned to treat the old man with an air of deference and patronage, for which he no doubt gave himself much credit. It seemed quite a relief to him when his visitors arose to go, and he politely bowed them to the door.
"If any man leads an easy life, Mr. Corlis does," muttered Chester, as they went through the little gate.
"Hush, boy!" said his father, good-humoredly. "You can't expect a minister to go into the fields, to work with his hands."