The weekly messenger. [volume] (St. Martinsville [i.e. St. Martinville] La.) 1886-1948, 1889-05-11


Maud obcyed. Although the elder in
point of years, she had long been accus
toned to be dominccred over by pretty,
positive Marian.
but it is the strangest thing, Mari
am she said, as fifteen or twenty min
utcs later, she handed over a mysterious
tin can and an oblong paper parcel to
her sister. ''Joe Dean is out painting
his door bluc'
"rastes differ said Marian, shrug-
ging her shoulders, now invested in a
preternaturally shabby old calico gown,
suitable only to the EXTREMIST exigencies
of house cleaning time. ''Blue is a
lovely color, but, as applied to a house
door, l am heartily sick of it. Joe
Dean has no more taste than a New
folndland dog"
The Deans are expecting city COM
pany to lunch" said Maud. "They sent
to borrow our butterfly china plates this
morning."
1t must be nice to have city company"
sighed Marian.
"Oh, but think of the work of itm
said Maud, lifting both her hands.
Mrs. Chipley came in at that moment,
also clad in what Marian called her
'scrubbing regimentals, and wearing
an old olive-silk handkerchief tied
around her still bright and glossy hair,
and the three set themselves determined
ly to work.
The Reverend Milo Miner, on reach
ing the railway station, received a tele
gram that his friend, Professor Klingen-
burg, could not possibly meet him that
day.
VERY good" said Mr.. Miner. eIll
just step back home and get a mouthful
Of lunch. and then I'll go to look over
those ancient manuscripts with DR..
Hodges. He has been urging me to do
10 for some time past, and l may never
lave better opportunity than this"
MIR. Miner tucked the umbrella under
lis arm, tipped his black, wide-brimmed
lat over his eyes, and set off on a swift,
winging stride back to Simpson Ter
ace.
The blue door stood wide open. He
walked in, with no sort of ceremony.
"Fresh paint!' he said to himself, ele-
ating his thin nostrils. If there's any,
hing on the face of the earth l detest, it
fresh paint. And I've got it all over
he skirts of my best coat, tool Where
J Mrs. Chipley9 What has become of
he gir!s9 Nobody ever seems to be in
ne way when they're wanted. But,
ortunately. here's lunch ready spread.
wonder, now, how it happenedl How
ould they know l was coming back.
old roast grouse, with currant Jelly
hicken salad picked oysters-really,
ow, this is something quite beyond the
rdinary run of our bills of fare"
The pastor sat down, and ate with an
Scellent appetite. He made yawning
Ole in the chicken-salad mound: he
cked the bones of a crisp, brown
rouse with genuine satisfaction; he but
red f1aky biscuit, and added to its
lvor by several spoonfuls of amber
uince preserve.
'All the same" said he to himself, as
wiped his mouth with damask nap !
n and rose from his chair, with an s
her glance at the vegetable-shaped !
atch; 'this sort of thing is quite be-
md Mrs. Chipley's means. thought {
C had better sense. l must really
eak to her about it. In the meantime ,
must make good speed, if 1 expect to {
we much time at my friend Hodges
ace" =
Away he trudged, much comforted c
| sustained as regarded his inner man.
Joe, Joe" shrieked Miss Francesca h
an, coming into the room few min Ii
IS later, "what have you donel Eaten o
all the company lunch! Oh, you
eedy-"
I'll be blamed if / have," shouted