On the day the new curate called for the first time at the cottage, she found occasion to remark, “As Solomon says: ‘the engineers that go down to the sea in ships behold the wonders of sailor nature’;” when a change in the visitor’s countenance made her stop and stare. “Solomon. . . . Oh! . . . Mrs. Rout,” stuttered the young man, very red in the face, “I must say . . . I don’t. . . .” “He’s my husband,” she announced in a great shout, throwing herself back in the chair. Perceiving the joke, she laughed immoderately with a handkerchief to her eyes, while he sat wearing a forced smile, and,
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