“Brother Lute,” said Parson Stump, with sincere affection, “I don’t like to think of you on the road to Whisper Cove to-night. I tell you, it––it––goes against the grain. You’re not well, brother. You’re not well at all. And it’s a long way––and there’s a gale of wind and rain outside––”
“Come, come, now!”
“A dirty night,” Parson Stump mused.
“But it’s the Lord’s business!”
“Of course,” Parson Stump yielded, “if you would be so kind, I––”
Parson Lute’s face brightened. “Very well,” said he. “It’s all settled. Now, may I have a word with you? I’ll need some pointers.” To the five brethren: “One moment, brethren!”
They moved towards the rear, and came to rest, heads close, within my hearing. Parson Lute put his arm over Parson Stump’s shoulder. “Now,” said he, briskly, rubbing his hands in a business-like way, “pointers, brother––pointers!”
“Yes, yes, brother!” Parson Stump agreed. “Well, you’ll find my oil-skins hanging in the hall. Mrs. Stump will give you the lantern––”
“No, no! I don’t mean that. Who is this person? Man or woman?”