Prudence nudged Cap'n Ira's elbow.
"Ain't it a pretty sight, Ira?" she whispered.
"She looks 'most as sweet as you did, Prue, when I took you to the
altar," sighed the old man windily. "I swan! Women is most alike,
young an' old. All but that dratted Ida May Bostwick. _She_ was a
caution to cats."
"Now you hush, Ira. She's our own rel'tive and we ought not to speak
ill of her."
"Ha!" blew Cap'n Ira, reminding Tunis of the old mare when she
snorted. "Ha! Maybe she is. But even so I want none o' her. An' I
told Elder Minnett so. I got kinder of an idee that the elder won't
be so brash, puttin' his spoon into other folks' porridge again."
"Hush, Ira! Don't be irreverent. Remember he's a minister."
"So he is. So he is," concluded Cap'n Ira. "They say charity covers
a multitude of sins; and I expect the call to be a preacher covers a
multitude of sinners." He chuckled mellowly again. "But sometimes
I've thought that the 'call' some of our preachers hear 'stead o'
being the voice of God is some other noise they mistook for it.
Well, there, Prudence, I won't say no more. But you must allow that
Elder Minnett's buttin' in, as the boys say, come pretty nigh
bustin' everything to flinders.
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