He was about to protest. Mother seized him by the
hair (which had n't been cut since Dan went shearing) and hissed:
"Put--it--back--sir!" Joe put it back.
The minister came in. Dad said he was pleased to see him--poor Dad!--and
enquired if he had had dinner. The parson had not, but said he did n't
want any, and implored Mother not to put herself about on his account.
He only required a cup of tea--nothing else whatever. Mother was
delighted, and got the tea gladly. Still she was not satisfied. She
would be hospitable. She said:
"Won't you try a scone with it, Mr. Macpherson?" And the parson said he
would--"just one."
Mother passed the rescued scone along, and awkwardly apologised for the
absence of plates. She explained that the Andersons were threshing their
wheat, and had borrowed all our crockery and cutlery--everybody's, in
fact, in the neighbourhood--for the use of the men. Such was the custom
round our way. But the minister did n't mind. On the contrary, he
commended everybody for fellowship and good-feeling, and felt sure that
the district would be rewarded.
It took the Rev. Macpherson no time to polish off the scone.
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