"I could wish you'd read some books of mine, Enoch," said Arthur Chaffe.
"So I will then—didn't know you'd got any books."
"Oh yes I have—Sunday reading."
"You chaps that limit yourselves to 'Sunday reading' get narrow-minded," declared Withycombe. "For why? You only see one side of life. I don't blame you, because you've got to do your work on weekdays; but you'd find there's a lot of very fine books just so good on Sunday as Monday. 'The Rights of Man,' for example. There's a proper book, and it don't interfere with the rights of God for a moment."
"Mr. Chaffe be going to ax seventeen and six for the gate and five shillings for the hinges and lachet," said Melinda.
"A very fair price and I shan't quarrel with it."
He handed his tobacco pouch to the visitor. It was covered with otter skin now grown shabby.
Arthur filled his pipe.
"We stand for different things, you and me," he said, "yet, thank God, agree in the virtues. Duty's duty, and a man that's honest with himself can't miss it."
"Oh yes he can, Arthur. There's plenty that be honest enough and don't want to shirk, yet miss the road."