“Who reads the evening sky? Who knows if winds be turning?”
“Ursula!”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Come in and shell your pease, while I recite you my sermon.”
“But I must pick them first, father!”
“True. What I love best in you, Ursula, is that you are as logical as if you were not a woman.”
The pastor drew nearer to the scaffolding of greenery, and strove vainly to shelter his tall figure in its shade. He was a spare, soldierly-looking man, with an honest complexion and silvery hair. You knew he had a very gentle countenance until you gave him cause to turn a wrathful look upon you.
“I might as well begin at once,” he said, and, proud though she was of her father’s preaching, the girl’s soul rose in momentary protest on behalf of the birds and flowers. “I have chosen a text for to-morrow, Ursula, which has troubled my thoughts all through the week. All through the week, I couldn’t understand it. And when I came to look it out, it wasn’t there at all.”
Ursula’s dutiful lips said, “I see.”