I
soon satisfied myself that it was only the usual water-spout occasioned on
the ocean of boyhood by the vacuum of the master. As soon as I entered the
curate's study, there stood the missing master, hat in hand. He had not
sat down, and would not, hearing all the time, no doubt, in his soul, the
far confusion of his forsaken realm. He had but that moment entered.
"You come just in the right time, Smith," said the curate.--We had already
dropped unnecessary prefixes.--"Here is Mr. Bloomfield come to ask us to
spend a final evening with him and Mrs. Bloomfield. And in the name of the
whole company, I have taken upon me to assure him that it will give us
pleasure. Am I not right?"
"Undoubtedly," I replied. "What evening have you fixed upon, Mr.
Bloomfield?"
"This day week," he answered. "Shall I tell you why I put it off so long?"
"If you please."
"I heard your brother, Mr. Armstrong, say that you were very fond of
parables. Now I have always had a leaning that way myself; and for years I
have had one in particular glimmering before my mental sight.
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