A Farmer’s Life 
cease being serious with him, yet you might all 
the time see the comical side of things. 
I’ll own that sometimes he was tedious, prosy. 
Platitudes which others eschewed had for him 
the savour of profound truths. He almost 
wallowed in any little technicalities of law that 
came his way. For ceremony, especially for 
church ceremony, he had a tiresome appetite. 
When a new church was consecrated—he had 
been active on the committee—he was proud to 
walk as churchwarden in front of the bishop; 
for he, if no one else, felt the solemnity of the 
occasion. Sincerely he was testifying to his 
faith—his grey head helped, his hobbling walk. 
He could show what an old man thought of such 
things. His shrewdness, not small, was kept 
for worldly matters: in church, bishop or none, 
it behoved him to make a show of reverence. 
Those who knew him best knew this side of 
his character and were careful never to distress 
him with any sign of flippancy. And this was 
noticeable: tolerant though he was to others, 
as I have said, he was never tolerant towards 
himself. And, without exacting it, he looked for 
nothing else than decorum in deed and thought 
from all who were truly dear to him. One had 
to be careful, therefore, not to shock him. Yet 
he judged outsiders by no such high standard. 
Their slips tickled him. And, being a great 
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