`` I never saw anyone so pretty , not even Miss C'rona . You look like a picture I once saw on Mr. Sherwood 's table when I was up at the manse one day ` fore I got so bad I could n't walk . It was a woman with a li'l baby in her arms and a kind of rim round her head . I would like something most awful much . '' `` What is it , dear ? '' said Frances gently . `` If I can get or do it for you , I will . '' `` You could , '' he said wistfully , `` but maybe you wo n't want to . But I do wish you 'd come here just once every day and sit here five minutes and let me look at you -- just that . Will it be too much trouble ? '' Frances stooped and kissed him . `` I will come every day , Jacky , '' she said ; and a look of ineffable content came over the thin little face . He put up his hand and touched her cheek . `` I knew you were good -- as good as Miss C'rona , and she is an angel . I love you . '' When morning came Frances went home . It was raining , and the sea was hidden in mist . As she walked along the wet road , Elliott Sherwood came splashing along in a little two-wheeled gig and picked her up . He wore a raincoat and a small cap , and did not look at all like a minister -- or , at least , like Frances 's conception of one . Not that she knew much about ministers .
Her own minister at home -- that is to say , the minister of the fashionable uptown church which she attended -- was a portly , dignified old man with silvery hair and gold-rimmed glasses , who preached scholarly , cultured sermons and was as far removed from XXXXX 's personal life as a star in the Milky Way .
C'rona Frances Jacky Sherwood day manse ministers minutes raincoat sea