"Honey! look!—look!"
Honey looked, and there before their very eyes stood as clerical a looking person as ever announced a strawberry festival.
Mallory stared and stared, till Marjorie said:
"Don't you see? stupid! it's a preacher! a preacher!"
"It looks like one," was as far as Mallory would commit himself, and he was turning away. He had about come to the belief that anything that looked like a parson was something else. But Marjorie whirled him round again, with a shrill whisper to listen. And he overheard in tones addicted to the pulpit:
"Yes, deacon, I trust that the harvest will be plentiful at my new church. It grieves me to leave the dear brothers and sisters in the Lord in Omaha, but I felt called to wider pastures."
And a lady who was evidently Mrs. Deacon spoke up:
"We'll miss you terrible. We all say you are the best pastor our church ever had."
Mallory prepared to spring on his prey and drag him to his lair, but Marjorie held him back.