roof of the parsonage shone like the New Jerusalem! And how the fantail
pigeons, very rotund denizens of that city, cooed as they walked
gingerly--tiles being cold to pink feet on a frosty morning--up and
down in the early sun!

Edward so much wanted to keep the violet he had found that he decided
he ought to give it to his mother. So he put it on her plate, and
looked for a suitable passage to read at prayers.

The Song of Solomon seemed the only thing really in tune with the
morning, but he decided rather sadly that 'something in Corinthians'
might please his mother better. So he read, 'The greatest of these is
love,' and his voice was so husky and so unmanageable that Mrs.
Marston, who did not notice the golden undertones that matched their
beauty with the blackbird's song, went straight from the chair she
knelt at in the prayers to her store-room, and produced lemon and
honey, which Edward loathed.

'You're very throaty, my dear, and you must take a level spoonful,' she
said.

It is only in poetry that all the world understands a lover. In real
life he is called throaty, and given a level spoonful of that nauseous
compound known as common sense.




Chapter 10