Mrs. Douglas sighed again, and shook her head. "Oh--sic a worrit-lookin' wumman!" Ann quoted. Then, "I must say I enjoyed the tea-party. Mother, don't you like Mr. Sharp? I do. You needn't have rubbed it in about sermons being no use if they are read. He sat with such a guilty look like a scolded dog. I like his painstaking sermons and his sincere, difficult little prayers. He will never make a preacher, but he is a righteous man. Miss Ellen Scott cheered him by saying read sermons were generally more thoughtful. I do wish we could see the Scotts oftener. They have promised to come to luncheon one day, and go thoroughly into the garden question. They go south, they told me, in the early spring, so that the servants may get the house-cleaning done, and they weary all the time to get back. I wonder if they carry about them in London that sort of fragrance of the open air." "They are nice women," said Mrs. Douglas, "and good, but they aren't my kind of people. We don't care about the same things. But Mr. Sharp makes me feel young again; he has the very atmosphere of a manse about him." "The atmosphere of Mr. Sharp's Manse is chiefly paraffin oil," said Ann. At that moment Marget came into the room, ostensibly to remind Ann of something needed at the village shop the next day, but really to talk over the tea-party. "I think the minister enjoyed his tea," she remarked, "for there was an awfu' wheen scones eaten." "He did, indeed, Marget," her mistress assured her. "He said he didn't know when he had tasted such good scones. He was asking me what I thought about him entertaining the office-bearers. He would like to, but his housekeeper is delicate and afraid of work; and he's afraid to suggest anything in case she departs." "Tets!" said Marget. "That wumman fair angers me. She's neither sick nor sair, an' she's no' that auld aither, but she keeps that puir laddie in misery a' the time in case she's gaun to break doon. She never bakes him a scone, juist loaf breed a' the time, an' she'll no' bother to mak' him a bit steamed pudden' or a tert, juist aye a milk-thing, an' a gey watery milk-thing at that. She boasts that he carries trays for her and breaks sticks--the wumman should be ashamed to let the minister demean himsel'. If he wants to gie an Elders' Supper, what's to hinder me and Mysie to gang doon and gie a hand?' "Why, Marget," Ann cried, "I haven't heard that expression since I was a child. It was at Kirkcaple we had Elders' Suppers, wasn't it, Mother--never in Glasgow?' "Only in Kirkcaple. They were held after the November Communions to purge the roll." "_Purge the roll_," Ann murmured to herself; "of all delicious phrases!" "If ye'll excuse me, Mem," said Marget, "I'll tak' a seat for a meenit. Mysie has just gone doon the road a step or two wi' the lassie Ritchie frae the cottages." She seated herself primly on a chair and said: "I think ye should pit in yer _Life_ about the Elders' Suppers."