Something's bound to happen to the
ones who do it."
Farrington could stand this no longer. He had met with such success during
the afternoon that to hear this rebuke from Mrs. Burchill was most
annoying.
"Woman!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet. "I don't want to hear all this.
I didn't come here to be preached to about sich old-fashioned trash as the
'Lord's anointed!' I came here to git ye to sign that paper, an' not to be
preached to! Will ye sign it or will ye not?"
"No, I shall not sign it!" was the quiet response.
"Very well, then, that's all I want to know. But remember, Mrs. Burchill,
there's a little unpaid account on my books against your husband. Please
tell 'im to call and settle it at once. If not--oh, well you know the
result," and Farrington looked significantly around the room. "So,
good-day. I must be off."
Mrs. Burchill stood at the window and watched Farrington drive away. Then
a sigh escaped her lips. She went back to the chair where she had been
sitting, and kneeling down buried her face in her hands. For some time she
remained in prayer, but her earnest pleadings were not for herself or her
husband, but for the old grey-headed man--the Venerable Rector of Glendow.
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