There was a little busy, pleasant bustle, for a time; and then Matilda, with Norton's help, had got everything in order for the evening meal. The sun was near setting, and threw bright lines of light in at the two little west windows, filling the small dining-room with pure gold; then it went down, and the gold was gone, and only in the low western sky the brightness remained.
"It's time for the minister to be at home," Norton said.
"He has a great deal to do," Matilda answered.
"What?" said Norton. "I always thought the parsons had an easy time of it. I could write two themes a week, I think, if I tried hard."
"Norton!" Matilda exclaimed, "it isn't that; and Mr. Richmond doesn't write themes, as you call it, to begin with."
"That must be harder then," said Norton; "to stand up and speak to people without anything to say."
"Why he doesn't!" said Matilda. "Mr. Richmond always has plenty to say. I suppose he could talk all day, if he didn't get tired."
"I mean preaching," said Norton.
"Yes, and I mean preaching," said Matilda.
"Where is it to come from?" said the boy, pursing his lips ready for a whistle.