"
"Jerusha won't need us," he said, and shut it.
"You know the doctor said she was not much hurt, only strained and bruised,
and she's quite comfortable now. Well, my dear, now about this letter. Do
you think we might take this child?"
"We?" repeated his wife, with wide eyes. "Why, husband!"
"I know it seems a somewhat peculiar thing to propose"--and the parson
smiled--"with our two boys and Jerusha."
"Yes," said Mrs. Henderson, "it is, and I never thought seriously of it."
"She won't do Peletiah any harm"--and then he laughed--"and she might
brighten him up, if she's the girl Mrs. Fisher's letter indicates. And as
for Ezekiel, there's no harm to be thought of in that quarter. Our boys
aren't the ones, wife, to be influenced out of their orbits."
"Well, there's Jerusha." Mrs. Henderson brought it out fearfully, and then
shut her mouth as if she wished she hadn't said anything.
"I know, dear. You needn't be afraid to speak it out. It is always on my
mind. Oh, I do wish--" and the parson began to pace the floor with troubled
steps.
His wife threw back the old sofa-blanket with which he had tucked her up,
and bounded to his side, passing her hand within his arm.
"Don't, dear," she begged. "Oh, why did I speak!" she cried remorsefully.
"You said no more than what is always on my mind," said the minister again,
and he pressed the hand on his arm, looking at it fondly.
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