"And your eldest son Walter—you hear from him sometimes, I suppose, Mr. Wilson? I hope he is getting on in his new profession," said the clergyman, when one or two other topics of conversation had been exhausted.
"Oh, bravely, sir. Ralph Burgess and Walter yoke together uncommon. Their business is brisk, and Ralph says as how Walter takes to it like anything."
"He has not been home to see you since he left, a year ago or more, I think?"
"No, he hasn't," said the farmer; "he is a longish way off, you see, sir."
"True."
"And a good thing too," said Mrs. Wilson, sharply.
"Indeed, my good friend; now I should have thought you would have been glad for him to have been nearer you, so that you might—"
"Better away," said the mother, interrupting her pastor.
"Dear me!" he ejaculated, quietly.
"You see, sir," interposed the husband, "we should be glad enough to see Walter; but there's others, leastways there's another, would be glad enough too. And that's what we don't want."