of about 50, with something of the authority of his profession in
his bearing. But it is an altogether secular authority, sweetened
by a conciliatory, sensible manner not at all suggestive of a
quite thoroughgoing other-worldliness. He is a strong, healthy
man, too, with a thick, sanguine neck; and his keen, cheerful
mouth cuts into somewhat fleshy corners. No doubt an excellent
parson, but still a man capable of making the most of this world,
and perhaps a little apologetically conscious of getting on
better with it than a sound Presbyterian ought.

ANDERSON (to Christy, at the door, looking at Mrs. Dudgeon whilst
he takes off his cloak). Have you told her?

CHRISTY. She made me. (He shuts the door; yawns; and loafs across
to the sofa where he sits down and presently drops off to sleep.)

Anderson looks compassionately at Mrs. Dudgeon. Then he hangs his
cloak and hat on the rack. Mrs. Dudgeon dries her eyes and looks
up at him.

ANDERSON. Sister: the Lord has laid his hand very heavily upon
you.

MRS. DUDGEON (with intensely recalcitrant resignation). It's His
will, I suppose; and I must bow to it. But I do think it hard.
What call had Timothy to go to Springtown, and remind everybody
that he belonged to a man that was being hanged?--and
(spitefully) that deserved it, if ever a man did.

ANDERSON (gently). They were brothers, Mrs. Dudgeon.