He was out of the lane and well into Pine street before he thought to put on his hat.
From afar he saw the butcher, standing in front of his shop--a tall, thin man in blue.

His steel glittered by his side, and a red nightcap hung its tassel among the curls of his gray hair.

He was discussing, over a small joint of mutton, some point of economic interest with a country customer in a check-shawl.

To the minister's annoyance the woman was one of his late congregation, and he would gladly have passed the shop, had he had the courage.

When he came near, the butcher turned from the woman, and said, taking his nightcap by the tassel in rudimentary obeisance.
"At your service, sir." His courtesy added to Mr.Drake's confusion: it was plain the man imagined he had brought him his money! Times were indeed changed since his wife used to drive out in her brougham to pay the bills! Was this what a man had for working in the vineyard the better part of a lifetime?
The property he did not heed.