"In most ways."
"But not in all?—I hear startling tales of new-shaped waggons and other adventures, to say nothing of your breaking up grass next spring."
"Well, if you don't see any difference between breaking up grass and giving up church ..."
"They are both a revolt from habit."
"Now, don't you talk like that—it ain't seemly. I don't like hearing a man make a mock of good things, and going to church is a good thing, as I should ought to know, having just come out of it."
"I'm sorry," said Martin humbly, and for some reason he felt ashamed. They were walking now along the Pedlinge road, and the whole Marsh, so broad and simple, seemed to join in her rebuke of him.
She saw his contrite look, and repented of her sharpness.
"Come along home and have a bit of our Christmas dinner."
Martin stuttered—he had not expected such an invitation, and it alarmed him.
"We all have dinner together on Christmas Day," continued Joanna, "men and gals, old Stuppeny, Mrs. Tolhurst, everybody—we'd take it kindly if you'd join us. But—I'm forgetting—you'll be having your own dinner at home."