“The minister who is candidating can’t be too careful what text he chooses,” said Miss Cornelia solemnly.  “I believe Mr. Pierson would have got the call if he had picked a different text.  But when he announced ‘I will lift my eyes to the hills’ he was done for.  Every one grinned, for every one knew that those two Hill girls from the Harbour Head have been setting their caps for every single minister who came to the Glen for the last fifteen years.  And Mr. Newman had too large a family.”

“He stayed with my brother-in-law, James Clow,” said Susan. “’How many children have you got?’ I asked him.  ’Nine boys and a sister for each of them,’ he said.  ‘Eighteen!’ said I.  ’Dear me, what a family!’ And then he laughed and laughed.  But I do not know why, Mrs. Dr. dear, and I am certain that eighteen children would be too many for any manse.”

“He had only ten children, Susan,” explained Miss Cornelia, with contemptuous patience.  “And ten good children would not be much worse for the manse and congregation than the four who are there now.  Though I wouldn’t say, Anne dearie, that they are so bad, either.  I like them—­everybody likes them.  It’s impossible to help liking them.  They would be real nice little souls if there was anyone to look after their manners and teach them what is right and proper.  For instance, at school the teacher says they are model children.  But at home they simply run wild.”

“What about Mrs. Meredith?” asked Anne.

“There’s no Mrs. Meredith.  That is just the trouble.  Mr. Meredith is a widower.  His wife died four years ago.  If we had known that I don’t suppose we would have called him, for a widower is even worse in a congregation than a single man.  But he was heard to speak of his children and we all supposed there was a mother, too.  And when they came there was nobody but old Aunt Martha, as they call her.  She’s a cousin of Mr. Meredith’s mother, I believe, and he took her in to save her from the poorhouse.  She is seventy-five years old, half blind, and very deaf and very cranky.”

“And a very poor cook, Mrs. Dr. dear.”

“The worst possible manager for a manse,” said Miss Cornelia bitterly.  “Mr. Meredith won’t get any other housekeeper because he says it would hurt Aunt Martha’s feelings.  Anne dearie, believe me, the state of that manse is something terrible.  Everything is thick with dust and nothing is ever in its place.  And we had painted and papered it all so nice before they came.”

“There are four children, you say?” asked Anne, beginning to mother them already in her heart.

“Yes.  They run up just like the steps of a stair.  Gerald’s the oldest.  He’s twelve and they call him Jerry.  He’s a clever boy.  Faith is eleven.  She is a regular tomboy but pretty as a picture, I must say.”