"No, I fear he never saw Carlyle," informed Mr. Furvell; "he's too young, I fancy. At least, that's the impression I got."
"Is he married?" Charlie suddenly broke in, holding the ebony cane out before him as if in deadly earnest.
"No, he's not—I'm quite sure of that part," the minister answered promptly; "for Dr. Paine said I mustn't have him stay where he'd be liable to catch any affection of the heart."
"Then don't send him here," cried Charlie Giddens, "for this is the danger zone." And everybody laughed but me.
"But really, speaking seriously, what do you think we'd better do about it?" pressed my Aunt Agnes, rising to adjust an awning that had got awry. Mental intensity with some women always runs to domestic observation. "I'd hate to put an Edinburgh minister in the attic," she continued thoughtfully.
"The attic hasn't anything to do with it," pronounced Uncle Henry, silent hitherto. "But I say—I say," as he looked around the company, "it's going to be the elder. I've made up my mind to that—I took a notion to this Pollocksville elder as soon as I heard of him. So we'll consider that settled, Mr. Furvell, if you please. I've got a queer kind of a notion he's going to do us all good. When does his train arrive, sir?"
"This evening at five," said Mr. Furvell. "I'll have him driven up to the house."
"Thank you, I'll meet the train myself," said my uncle.
"But, Henry," his wife expostulated, "I made an engagement for you for that very hour—Judge Burton and his wife are coming to call."
"Can't help it," said my uncle firmly; "not when there's a guest to be met. I'll have to leave them to the ladies," from which resolve my aunt knew well no argument could turn him.