"Who was that you was talkin' with back there?"

"Miss Evelina Leonard."

"That girl that's stayin' there--to the old Squire's?"

"Yes." The son tried to move on, but his father stood before him
dumbly for a minute. "I must be going, father. I've got to work on my
sermon," Thomas said, impatiently.

"Wait a minute," said his father. "I've got something to say to ye,
Thomas, an' this is as good a time to say it as any. There ain't
anybody 'round. I don't know as ye'll thank me for it--but mother
said the other day that she thought you'd kind of an idea--she said
you asked her if she thought it would be anything out of the way for
you to go up to the Squire's to make a call. Mother she thinks you
can step in anywheres, but I don't know. I know your book-learnin'
and your bein' a minister has set you up a good deal higher than your
mother and me and any of our folks, and I feel as if you were good
enough for anybody, as far as that goes; but that ain't all. Some
folks have different startin'-points in this world, and they see
things different; and when they do, it ain't much use tryin' to make
them walk alongside and see things alike. Their eyes have got
different cants, and they ain't able to help it. Now this girl she's
related to the old Squire, and she's been brought up different, and
she started ahead, even if her father did lose all his property. She
'ain't never eat in the kitchen, nor been scart to set down in the
parlor, and satin and velvet, and silver spoons, and cream-pots
'ain't never looked anything out of the common to her, and they