While she's here, she's just the light of the
whole country side."
Mr. Coristine did not care for this turn in the conversation.
"Tell me some more about little Marjorie," he said.
"Ah," replied the minister, "then you know that her cousin is called
Marjorie, too! Little Marjorie went to church once with Miss Du Plessis,
whom Perrowne had got to sing in the choir, that was last summer, if I
mind right, and, when the two rideeclus candles on the altar were
lighted, and the priest, as he calls himself, came in with his surplice
on, she put her face down in Miss Cecile's lap. 'What's the trouble,
Marjorie?' asked Miss Du Plessis, bending over her. 'He's going to kiss
us all good-night,' sobbed the wee thing. 'No he is not, Marjorie; he's
on his knees, praying,' replied the young leddy, soothingly. 'That's
what papa always does, when he's dressed like that, before he kisses me
good-night, but he takes off his boots and things first,' and she sobbed
again, for fear Perrowne was coming to kiss them all, put out the
candles, and go to bed. If Miss Du Plessis had not been a sober-minded
lass, she would have laughed out in the middle of the choir.
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