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'I see,' said Olive, 'a small slender man in rusty black, with a narrow white tie, a pale yellowish face, long lank black hair, and soft limp hands, a weak voice, and an undecided manner.'

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'How very absurd you are, Olive!' says my wife. Wait and see,' said Olive confidently. 'Papa must have some one before next Sunday, so bad I not better at once write to him in your name?'

Olive was my amanuensis; she spent her mornings usually with me, and used her power by making me more attentive to business, than I must confess I had ever been before.

On Friday morning Mr. Green arrived; I introduced him at luncheon to my wife and daughters. A smile stole over the face of Olive, and she threw a triumphant glance towards me as I said, 'Mr. Green;' for he was very short-Olive's head towered above him-very slightly built, pale and sickly in appearance. His coarse black hair hung straight about his face; he had the weakest of voices, which he cleared each time he began to speak. A pair of green spectacles added the finishing touch to his appearance. Perhaps, poor man, he was conscious of his personal defects; for his shyness was oppressive.

My wife began to make a little conversation, but before the close of the meal, we saw, the kinder part would be to leave him to himself.

'Now, Mr. Green,' I said to him the following morning, I hope you will make yourself quite at home. This dining-room is unoccupied all the mornings, and is at your service for any studies you may wish to pursue.' For Mr. Green had the appearance of a man who devoted those hours to study which ought to be devoted to sleep.

'Thank you, sir,' was his meek reply.

At half-past ten that morning, and at the same hour every other morning during his stay with us, Mr. Green entered the drawingroom, seated himself in an armchair near to the fire, held an unopened book in one hand (the other he allowed to hang listlessly over

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The infliction of such an incubus on my daughters was dreadful; by every means their ingenuity could devise, they sought to convey to him that his presence was an intrusion, but without success. One day they practised music, and singing scales, making a noise so alarming, that I should have thought the fear of a repetition would have kept any one with ears from their presence. Another day they would all be silent. Another morning they would find some occupation in the village, and leave the drawing-room empty. But every effort was fruitless. They could not request a guest to leave the room, and nothing short of such a step would have been successful. Olive sat in my room and laughed at her sisters' perplexity. Mackworth did not afford any furnished lodgings; so that our curate would be obliged to reside with us. as he had two rooms placed at his disposal, we hoped, except at meal times and in the evenings, to be all of us free to follow our various occupations. Alas! that my chief occupation should be sitting over the fire with aching bones, wishing that I were living in a milder climate.

But

Sunday morning dawned. I was curious to hear what my parishioners would say of their new curate.

Mr. Green proceeded slowly through the Morning Service, yet in the weakest of voices, scarcely audible ten yards from the reading-desk. He read with pain to himself, easing his voice at every opportunity. It appeared to me that he had been well taught, and had laboured successfully to overcome some impediment in his speech.

The hymn was concluded; the female portion of my flock shook out their dresses, and made a mysterious rustling of silks and ribbon, symptomatic of giving their undivided attention.

I did not anticipate much from the voice or matter of the preacher.

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