Beholding such nobleness, gentleness and dignity of his face and
bearing, only the most suspicious could associate him with any underhanded
dealing. What connection had such a man with the base things of life?
Mounting the pulpit, he gave a short, impressive address. There was no
sentiment, or flowery language. He glossed nothing over, but in a few
words sketched Billy Fletcher's life, and pointed him out as a warning to
those who become careless and indifferent to higher things.
"The parson talked mighty plain to-day," said one man in a low voice to
another, as they wended their way to the graveyard. "He didn't put poor
Billy in Heaven, that's certain, and perhaps he's right. I guess he hit
the Fletchers pretty hard."
"Oh, yes," the other replied. "The parson got his say from the pulpit, hut
the Fletchers will have theirs later."
"Why, what have they to say?"
"Oh, you'll see."
"About that box?"
"Yes."
"Tut, tut, man. Why, they haven't a leg to stand on in that matter."
"But they'll make legs. Surely you know Tom Fletcher by this time. He'll
stop at nothing when once he gets started, and though he may not be able
to do anything definitely, he'll do a lot of talking, and talk tells in
Glendow, mark my word.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59