“Yes,” said the somewhat rough voice of Mr Wright of Fairholm; “a minister’s life is a very hard life, Miss Buchanan; we have to labour as you say; the very Sabbath, which is a resting day to everybody else, is a hard-working day to a minister.”
Helen turned rapidly away; it was a strange anticlimax.
“Miss Buchanan did not mean that,” said Mrs Whyte. “Miss Buchanan likes the good, wholesome work. She thinks we do too little, instead of too much, Mr Wright.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” said the cumbrous, heavy man, “there is a great deal of truth in that. The people ought to know their own duty, and not leave the work entirely to us as they do; and the elders really need stirring up; but a minister—few people know how much is laid on the shoulders of a minister.”
“And you, Mr Insches?” asked Mrs Whyte, smiling, as her quick eye glanced over the great, stooping, uncouth figure of the strong man beside her in whom was no impulse to work, and who actually felt fatigue more easily than would the nervous delicate girl.
Mr Insches hesitated; it was not his policy to differ with Helen; but he had not received the inspiration much more than his sluggish brother. He was still, to a considerable extent, a matter-of-course man, doing what he must do, and not very much more.
“The ministerial life,” said the Reverend Robert, with some dignity, “is a life of great exertion. We are never perfect of course, but it is a most laborious life, the life of a conscientious minister.”
It was a compromise—it pleased nobody. Helen turned away, unconsciously disappointed. She had expected something better.
“’Deed, Robert,” said Miss Insches, “I’m aye feared the ither way about you. It’s my terror, Mrs Whyte, that he’ll just wear himsel out, and I’m sure if he was to get a wife and I kent beforehand wha she was to be, I would warn her no to put such nonsense notions into his head; for ye see, Miss Buchanan—Eh! Robert, is there onything ails ye?—are ye no weel?”
But Robert was not “no weel”—he was only frowning upon his too-honest sister, and making an elaborate face. It was too late; all the eyes in the room were turned to the blushing, angry countenance of the Reverend Robert, and he heard tittering in the corners. He turned away full of wrath—it would not do; there was no putting the restraints of delicacy or prudence over the simplicity of Janet.