On she flew, past the staring, gaping
people, and for a mile beyond the church.
By this time Fraser was so far in the rear that he gave up the race.
Beaten and crestfallen he turned to the left, made for the shore and
disappeared.
At length Parson John was able to bring Midnight under control, when she
trotted quietly down the river with a triumphant gleam in her handsome
eyes. After the funeral had been conducted, a group at once surrounded the
parson and questioned him concerning the strange occurrence on the river.
Some were pleased with Fraser's ignominious defeat, and treated it as a
huge joke. But others were sorely scandalized. What would the members of
the other church in Glendow say when they heard of it? To think that their
clergyman should be racing on the river, and on a Sunday, too, while on
his way to attend a funeral--the most solemn of all occasions!
"Well, you see," continued the parson, after he had explained the
circumstance, "Fraser is a hard man to deal with, and in some ways I am
really glad it happened as it did."
"Why, what do you mean?" gasped several of the most rigid.
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