t was Christmas Eve and a Saturday night when Mrs. Larrabee, the Beulah minister's wife, opened the door of the study where her husband was deep in the revision of his next day's sermon, and thrust in her comely head framed in a knitted rigolette."Luther, I'm going to run down to Letty's. We think the twins are going to have measles; it's the only thing they haven't had, and Letty's spirits are not up to concert pitch. You look like a blessed old prophet to-night, my dear! What's the text?"The minister pushed back his spectacles and ruffled his gray hair."Isaiah VI, 8: 'And I heard the voice of the Lord, saying whom shall I send?... Then said I, Here am I, send me!'""It doesn't sound a bit like Christmas, somehow."
It was Christmas Eve and a Saturday night when Mrs. Larrabee, the Beulah minister's wife, opened the door of the study where her husband was deep in the revision of his next day's sermon, and thrust in her comely head framed in a knitted rigolette.
"Luther, I'm going to run down to Letty's. We think the twins are going to have measles; it's the only thing they haven't had, and Letty's spirits are not up to concert pitch. You look like a blessed old prophet to-night, my dear! What's the text?"
The minister pushed back his spectacles and ruffled his gray hair.
"Isaiah VI, 8: 'And I heard the voice of the Lord, saying whom shall I send?... Then said I, Here am I, send me!'"
"It doesn't sound a bit like Christmas, somehow."
