Mr. Hazard was not to blame if the scene before him made a sudden and
sharp picture on his memory. The autumn sun was coming in at the
windows; the room was warm and pleasant to look at; on a wide brick
hearth, logs of hickory and oak were burning; two tall iron fire-dogs
sat up there on their hind legs and roasted their backs, animals in
which the children were expected to take living interest because they
had large yellow glass eyes through which the fire sparkled; with this,
a group of small invalids whose faces and figures were stamped with the
marks of organic disease; and in the center--Esther!
Mr. Hazard had come here this afternoon partly because he thought it his
duty, and partly because he wanted to create closer relations with a
parishioner so likely to be useful as Mrs. Murray. He was miserable with
a cold, and was weak with fatigue. His next sermon was turning out dull
and disjointed. His building committee were interfering and quarreling
with Wharton. A harsh north-west wind had set his teeth on edge and
filled his eyes with dust. Rarely had he found himself in a less
spiritual frame of mind than when he entered this room. The contrast was
overwhelming. When Esther at first said quite decidedly that nothing
would induce her to go on with her story, he felt at once that this was
the only thing necessary to his comfort, and made so earnest an appeal
that she was forced to relent, though rather ungraciously, with a
laughing notice that he must listen very patiently to her sermon as she
had listened to his. The half hour which he now passed among kings and
queens in tropical islands and cocoanut groves, with giants and talking
monkeys, was one of peace and pleasure. He drew so good a monkey on a
cocoanut tree that the children shouted with delight, and Esther
complained that his competition would ruin her market. She rose at last
to go, telling him that she was sorry to seem so harsh, but had she
known that his pictures and stories were so much better than hers, she
would never have voted to make him a visitor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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