Solomon Black ordered him. There was about her a
fairly masterly maternity. She loved the young minister as firmly for
his own good as if he had been her son. She chuckled happily when she
heard him open the kitchen door. "He'll light into those hot
doughnuts," she thought. She loved to pet the boy in the man.
Wesley Elliot in his study upstairs--a makeshift of a study--sat
munching hot doughnuts and reflecting. He had only about one-third of
his sermon written and it was Saturday, but that did not disturb him.
He had a quick-moving mind. He sometimes wondered whether it did not
move too quickly. Wesley was not a conceited man in one sense. He
never had doubt of his power, but he had grave doubts of the merits
of his productions. However, today he was glad of the high rate of
speed of which he was capable, and did not worry as much as he
sometimes did about his landing at the exact goal. He knew very well
that he could finish his sermon, easily, eat his doughnuts, and sit
reflecting as long as he chose. He chose to do so for a long time,
although his reflections were not particularly happy ones. When he
had left the theological seminary a year ago, he had had his life
planned out so exactly that it did not seem possible to him that the
plans could fail. He had graduated at the head of his class. He had
had no doubt of a city church. One of the professors, a rich man with
much influence, had practically promised him one. Wesley went home to
his doting mother, and told her the news.
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