Jessie's face flushed crimson. "I don't see what difference that would make, 'Liza," she said with a steady look from her deep grey eyes.
"Well, well, ain't it awful!" commented Mrs. Hamilton for the fifth time, quite overcome by this second disclosure.
"Well, I think it's a pretty queer thing, anyhow," said the narrator, setting the sewing machine whirring again; "I don't set up for no saint myself——"
"That's a good thing, 'Liza," interrupted Maggie, who had recovered somewhat; "just think how it would bother you!"
"But I do say," continued the other, imperturbably, "that ministers ought to act different from common folks. And when I heard about his goin's on, I jist thought it wasn't any wonder he acted so queer about the organ. Bella, let's see if this band fits. Goodness gracious, girls, speak of angels! Who's that comin' in at the front gate?"
"It's him! It's the minister!" cried Maggie, dancing wildly around, "Let's go an' ask him how Miss Thingy-me-bob-with-the-stroke-in-the-middle-of-her-name is!"
"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Hamilton, an ejaculation of no particular meaning, but one she always used under unusual excitement.
"Bella, run an' show him into the settin' room, while I wash my hands out o' this bread. Who'd a' thought of him comin' here this mornin' an' us jist talkin' about him!"
"Mercy me, mother! I can't go to the door in this wrapper. Send somebody else; Jess, you look all right."
"Yes, Jess, you trot out an' show him in. Tell him the President of the Ladies' Aid's here, in a most pious frame of mind, and she'd like to hear him play the bangjo and sing the other Joe—'Old Black Joe,' or whatever you call him, and maybe he'll dance the 'Highland Fling,' too!"