"Haven't you seen him yet?"
"Nay. He hain't been down my way yet. In good time he will. He's had sick folks to see arter, Joe told me; old Jemmy Claflin, and Joe Simmons' boy; and Mis' Atwood, and Eliza."
"I think you'll like him," said Diana slowly. "He's not like any minister ever I saw."
"What's the odds?"
"It isn't so easy to tell. He don't look like a minister, for one thing; nor he don't talk like one; not a bit."
"Have we got a gay parson, then?" said the old lady, slightly raising her eyebrows.
"Gay? O no! not in the way you mean. In one way he is gay; he is very pleasant; not stiff or grum, like Mr. Hardenburgh; and he is amusing too, in a quiet way, but he is amusing; he is so cool and so quick. O no, he's not gay in the way you mean. I guess he's good."
"Do you like him?" Mrs. Bartlett asked.
"Yes," said Diana, thinking of the night of Eliza Delamater's accident.
"He is very queer."
"I don't seem to make him out by your telling, child. I'll have to wait, I guess. I've got no sort of an idea of him, so far. Now, dear, if you'll set the table—dinner's ready; and then we'll have some reading."