is note-book, in a slow, sober voice.
Evidently it was a matter of moment to him to keep that name well in his
mind.

Public opinion required that Dr. Gaston should employ a Protestant
servant; no one else was obliged to conform, but the congregation felt
that a stand must be made somewhere, and they made it, like a chalk
line, at the parson's threshold. Now it was very well known that there
were no Protestants belonging to the class of servants on the island who
could cook at all, that talent being confined to the French
quarter-breeds and to occasional Irish soldiers' wives, none of them
Protestants. The poor parson's cooking was passed from one incompetent
hand to another--lake-sailors' wives, wandering emigrants, moneyless
forlorn females left by steamers, belonging to that strange floating
population that goes forever travelling up and down the land, without
apparent motive save a vague El-Dorado hope whose very conception would
be impossible in any other country save this. Mrs. Evelina Crangall was
a hollow-chested woman with faded blue eyes, one prominent front tooth,
scanty light hair, and for a form a lattice-work of bones. She
preserved, however, a somewhat warlike aspect in her limp calico, and
maintained that she thoroughly understood the making of coffee, but that
she was accustomed to the use of a French coffee-pot. Anne, answering
serenely that no French coffee-pot could be obtained in that kitchen,
went to work and explained the whole process from the beginning, the
woman meanwhile surveying her with suspicion, which gradually gave way
before the firm but pleasant manner. With a long list of kindred
Evelinas, Anne had had dealings before. Sometimes her teachings effected
a change for the better, sometimes they did not, but in any case the
Evelinas seldom remained long. They were wanderers by nature, and had
sudden desires to visit San Francisco, or to "go down the river to
Newerleens." This morning, while making her explanation, Anne made
coffee too. It was a delicious cupful which she carried back with her
into the library, and the chaplain, far away in the chess country, came
down to earth immediately in order to drink it. Then they opened the
Latin books, and Anne translated her page of Livy, her page of Cicero,
and recited her rules correctly. She liked Latin; its exactness suited
her. Mrs. Bryden was wrong when she said that the girl studied Greek.
Dr. Gaston had longed to teach her that golden tong