Only a fat farmer reading _The Glebeshire Times_.
"Marnin', sir," said the farmer.

"Warm Christmas we'll be havin', I reckon.

Yes, indeed.

I see the Bishop's dying--poor old soul too." When they arrived at Clinton he caught himself turning round as though to collect his charges; he thought that the farmer looked at him curiously.
"Coming back again has turned my wits....

Now, Angelina, hurry up, can't wait all day." He stopped then abruptly, to pull himself together.