--Well, well--a preacher! What has Rhodora become
that she has blinded the eyes of a preacher? Not that their eyes are not
easily blinded!"
"Why do you say 'preacher?'" inquired his wife. "Grandmother's letter
says a young clergyman."
"He's no clergyman," insisted the Skeptic. "He's not even a minister.
He's just a preacher--a raw youth, just out of college--knows as much
about women as a puppy about elephant training. Rhodora probably sang a
hymn at one of his meetings and finished him. Well, well--I suppose this
means another wedding present?" He looked dubiously at Hepatica.
"It does, of course," she admitted.
"Send her a cut-glass punch-bowl," he suggested, preparing savagely to
carve a plump, young duck. "Anything less adapted to the use of a
preacher's family I can't conceive. And that's the main object in buying
wedding gifts, according to my observation."
The day of Rhodora's wedding arrived, and we went down together to
Grandmother's lovely old country home--a stately house upon the banks of
a wide, frozen river.
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