“Well, I think you’ve made a pretty good guess at the distance,” said the other; “it is seven miles.”
“Great blessing sometimes, but it makes one’s parish too extended to be pleasant. I find it a long journey to visit all my people in the nooks and corners—”
“And Moas’ Nests.”
“Ay, and Moas’ Nests, they get into. Well, I’ve come to ask a bed and a meal, if you’ll give them to me, friend Lee.”
“Always welcome, parson, so long as you don’t come begging,” said the head of the family.
“But I have come begging,” he said, standing with one hand upon his umbrella, and the other stuck under his grey frock coat. “I want a subscription towards our new church; so, if we are not welcome, Joey and I will have to—There, bless me, child, don’t take away my umbrella!” he exclaimed, to the pretty daughter of the household, who, in true patriarchal fashion, was divesting him of his sunshade and hat, and placing him in a chair.
“There, sit down, do!” exclaimed the settler, laughing; “it’s quite a treat to see a fresh face—and I daresay I can buy you off with a crooked sixpence or so. Fall to, man; you look hot and worn.”
“Little overdone, perhaps,” said the visitor. “Phew! bother the flies! How they always seem to settle on you, when a little out of sorts! Scent sickness, I suppose. Thank you, my child; nothing like a cup of tea for refreshment. Why, our Katie looks more blooming than ever, Mrs Lee.”
“Ay, she grows,” said the father; “and we begin to want to see her married and settled, eh, Mr Bray?”
Kate Lee’s face crimsoned, and she darted an appealing look to her mother, one not misinterpreted by the other visitor, who assumed not to have heard his host’s remark.