"
The man was clearly a preacher. He wore a tall beaver hat, though the
day was warm, and a suit of ministerial black. His collar stood out in
points on each side of his chin, and his throat rested on a heavy
stock-cravat which went twice around his neck and was tied in a stout
square knot under his chin on the second turn. Under this black choker
was a shirt of snowy white, as was his collar, while his coat and
trousers looked worn and threadbare. His face was smooth-shaven, and his
hair once black was now turning iron-gray. He was then about sixty
years old.
"A girl," said I deceitfully, "traveling afoot and alone on the prairie?
Going which way?"
The woman in the carriage now leaned forward and took part in the
conversation. She was Grandma Thorndyke, of whom I have formerly made
mention. Her hair was white, even then. I think she was a little older
than her husband; but if so she never admitted it. He was a slight small
man, but wiry and strong; while she was taller than he and very spare
and grave. She wore steel-bowed spectacles, and looked through you when
she spoke. I am sure that if she had ever done so awful a thing as to
have put on a man's clothes no one would have seen through her disguise
from her form, or even by her voice, which was a ringing tenor and was
always heard clear and strong carrying the soprano in the First
Congregational Church of Monterey Centre after Elder Thorndyke had
succeeded in getting it built.
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