1 90 Winter 



turmits wi' bits o' white gowan here an' there,' was 

 his description of it. Between the curate and him 

 there used to be many curious passages. ' I wish 

 you good evening,' the polite clergyman would say, 

 and Isaac would reply, ' Drumly a bit/ or ' Wettish 

 like ' ; for the village heathen will exchange a remark 

 about the weather, but he knows nothing of courteous 

 expressions of ceremony like ' Good-morning,' or 

 4 Good-bye.' Farewells and greetings are not in his 

 vocabulary. And still Isaac was very kindly. Once 

 the parson determined to get him to church, and 

 calling at the wretched little cottage, sat on a stool 

 for two hours talking theology that was quite utterly 

 beyond the carter's comprehension. ' I grieve sin- 

 cerely for your soul,' at last said the priest in a 

 voice that throbbed with emotion and despair. Old 

 Isaac felt that something was wrong, though he could 

 not exactly say what. Puzzled as to what could be 

 amiss with the curate, he took, his short black cutty 

 from his mouth, rubbed the stern back and forward 

 on his waistcoat sleeve, and handing it to his visitor, 

 answered kindly, ' Have a draw of that, mister it's 

 grand for the stamach ! ' An act of civilisation that 

 he did not learn till his dying day was the very 

 simple ceremony of shaking hands. Village heathen 

 meet and part without it indeed, one comes and 

 another goes away without farewell or greeting of 

 any kind. On the rare occasions whereon Isaac saw 

 two people pump-handling one another's arms, I have 



