“No—mercy, no, I can't come in!” panted the woman on the steps. “I've got to see Marilla Merritt, right off. When I come calling on you, Cornelia, I want my mind easy so we can have a good time.”
“Poor Mrs. Merritt!”
“Well, Marilla ought to suffer if I do—she's on the Suffering Committee! Good-by, Cornelia. Don't you go and tell anybody how absent-minded I was. They'll say it's catching.”
“It's the minister, then,” mused Cornelia in the doorway, watching the stout figure go down the street. “Now what has the poor man been doing this time?” A gentle pity grew in her beautiful gray eyes. It was so hard on ministers to be all alone in the world, especially certain kinds of ministers. No matter how long-suffering Suffering Committees might be, they could not make allowances enough. “Poor man! Well, the Lord's on his side,” smiled in the doorway Cornelia Opp.
Marilla Merritt was not like Mrs. Leah Bloodgood. Marilla was little where Leah was big, and nothing daunted Marilla. She was shaking a rug out on her sunny piazza, and descried the toiling figure while it was yet afar off.
“There's Leah Bloodgood coming, or my name's Sarah! What is Leah Bloodgood out this time of day for, with the minister's dinner to get? Something is up.” She waved the rug gayly. “Mis' Merritt isn't at home!” she called; “she's out—on the door-steps shaking rugs! Leah Bloodgood,” as the figure drew near, “you look all tuckered out! Come in quick and sit down. Don't try to talk. You needn't tell me something's up—just say what. Has that blessed man been—”
“Yes, he has!” panted the caller, vindictively. It is harder to be long-suffering when one is out of breath. “You listen to this. I've brought his letter to read to you.”
“His letter!” Marilla could not have been much more astonished if the other had taken the minister himself out of her dangling black bag.
“Yes; it came this morn—Mercy! Marilla, don't look so amazed! Didn't you know he'd gone away on his vacation? He forgot it was next month instead of this, and I found him packing his things, and hadn't the heart to tell him. I thought a man with a pleased look like that on his face better go,—but, mercy! didn't I send you word? It is catching. I shall be bad as he is.”
“Good as he is, do you mean? Don't worry about being that!” laughed little Marilla Merritt. “Well, I'm glad he's gone, dear man.”