Good Books

Everything was
still and peaceful as became a Sunday afternoon,--so that when the sound
of a heavy advancing footstep disturbed the intense calm, the girl was
almost nervously startled, and rose from her seat with so much
precipitation, that the butterflies, who had possibly been considering
whether her hair might not be some new sort of sunflower, took fright
and flew far upwards, and the demure kitten scared out of its absurd
self-consciousness, scrambled hastily up the nearest little tree. The
intruder on the quietude of Gueldmar's domain was the Rev. Mr.
Dyceworthy,--and as Thelma, standing erect in the porch, beheld him
coming, her face grew stern and resolute, and her eyes flashed
disdainfully.
Ignoring the repellant, almost defiant dignity of the girl's attitude,
Mr. Dyceworthy advanced, rather out of breath and somewhat heated,--and
smiling benevolently, nodded his head by way of greeting, without
removing his hat.
"Ah, Froeken Thelma!" he observed condescendingly.


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