The minister was spiritual, frail,
and a trifle prone to self-depreciation; the minister's new wife was
spirited, vigorous, courageous, and clever. She was also Western-born,
college-bred, good as gold, and invincibly, incurably gay. The
minister grew younger every year, for Reba doubled his joys and halved
his burdens, tossing them from one of her fine shoulders to the other
as if they were feathers. She swept into the quiet village life of
Beulah like a salt sea breeze. She infused a new spirit into the bleak
church "sociables" and made them positively agreeable functions. The
choir ceased from wrangling, the Sunday School plucked up courage and
flourished like a green bay tree. She managed the deacons, she braced
up the missionary societies, she captivated the parish, she cheered
the depressed and depressing old ladies and cracked jokes with the
invalids.
"Ain't she a little mite too jolly for a minister's wife?" questioned
Mrs. Ossian Popham, who was a professional pessimist.
"If this world is a place of want, woe, wantonness, an' wickedness,
same as you claim, Maria, I don't see how a minister's wife _can_ be
too jolly!" was her husband's cheerful reply. "Look how she's melted
up the ice in both congregations, so't the other church is most
willin' we should prosper, so long as Mis' Larrabee stays here an' we
don't get too fur ahead of 'em in attendance.
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