“You remember?”
It dawned upon her at last that these were the items that made up the subscription for the half year that was over; but except that her face changed a little, she gave no sign. It is possible the deacon had had some slight misgiving as to how Mrs Nasmyth might receive the statement; certainly his voice took a relieved tone as he drew near the end, and at last read the sum total: “Two hundred and seventy-two dollars sixty-two and a-half cents.”
Again Janet’s eye sought the minister’s, and this time he did not avoid her look. The rather pained surprise had all gone out of his face. Intense amusement at Janet’s changing face, on which bewilderment, incredulity and indignation were successively written, banished, for a moment, every other feeling. But that passed, and by the look that followed Janet knew that she must keep back the words that were rising to her lips. It required an effort, however, and a rather awkward silence followed. Deacon Slowcome spoke first:
“Well, I suppose, we may consider that it stands all right. And I, for one, feel encouraged to expect great things.”
“I doubt, sirs,” said Janet in a voice ominously mild and civil, “there are some things that haena been put down on yon paper. There was a cum apples, and a bit o’ unco spare rib, and—”
“Well, it’s possible there are some folks ain’t sent in their accounts yet. That can be seen to another time.”
Janet paid no attention to the interruption.
“There were some eggs from Mrs Sterne—a dozen and three, I think—and a goose at the New Year from somebody else; and your wife sent a pumpkin-pie; and there was the porridge and milk that Judge Merle brought over when first we came here—”
“Ah! the pie was a present from my wife,” said Deacon Fish, on whom Mrs Nasmyth’s awful irony was quite lost.
“And I presume Judge Merle didn’t mean to charge for the porridge, or hominy, or whatever it was,” said Deacon Slowcome.