wife's Christian name was Phillis, anyhow her maiden name was
Green.'

'Relations of yours?' asked Mr Holdsworth.

'No, sir--only my mother's second-cousins. Yes, I suppose they
are relations. But I never saw them in my life.'

'The Hope Farm is not a stone's throw from here,' said the
officious landlord, going to the window. 'If you carry your eye
over yon bed of hollyhocks, over the damson-trees in the orchard
yonder, you may see a stack of queer-like stone chimneys. Them is
the Hope Farm chimneys; it's an old place, though Holman keeps it
in good order.'

Mr Holdsworth had risen from the table with more promptitude than
I had, and was standing by the window, looking. At the landlord's
last words, he turned round, smiling,--'It is not often that
parsons know how to keep land in order, is it?'

'Beg pardon, sir, but I must speak as I find; and Minister
Holman--we call the Church clergyman here "parson," sir; he would
be a bit jealous if he heard a Dissenter called parson--Minister
Holman knows what he's about as well as e'er a farmer in the
neighbourhood. He gives up five days a week to his own work, and
two to the Lord's; and it is difficult to say which he works
hardest at. He spends Saturday and Sunday a-writing sermons and
a-visiting his flock at Hornby; and at five o'clock on Monday
morning he'll be guiding his plough in the Hope Farm yonder just
as well as if he could neither read nor write. But your dinner