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The Sky Pilot, a Tale of the Foothills by Pseudonym Ralph Connor
page 22 of 182 (12%)
quite disgusted, evidently.

"What's the matter with him, Hi?"

"Why, HE ain't no parson! I don't go much on parsons, but when I calls
for one I don't want no bantam chicken. No, sirree, horse! I don't want
no blankety-blank, pink-and-white complected nursery kid foolin' round
my graveyard. If you're goin' to bring along a parson, why bring him
with his eye-teeth cut and his tail feathers on."

That Hi was deeply disappointed was quite clear from the selection of
the profanity with which he adorned this lengthy address. It was
never the extent of his profanity, but the choice, that indicated Hi's
interest in any subject.

Altogether, the outlook for the missionary was not encouraging. With
the single exception of the Muirs, who really counted for little, nobody
wanted him. To most of the reckless young bloods of the Company of the
Noble Seven his presence was an offence; to others simply a nuisance,
while the Old Timer regarded his advent with something like dismay; and
now Hi's impression of his personal appearance was not cheering.

My first sight of him did not reassure me. He was very slight, very
young, very innocent, with a face that might do for an angel, except for
the touch of humor in it, but which seemed strangely out of place among
the rough, hard faces that were to be seen in the Swan Creek Country.
It was not a weak face, however. The forehead was high and square, the
mouth firm, and the eyes were luminous, of some dark color--violet, if
there is such a color in eyes--dreamy or sparkling, according to
his mood; eyes for which a woman might find use, but which, in a
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