“You have had a long ride of it upon that mountain road, without even a bush to shelther you.”
“It is not less than fourteen miles I think,” replied the curate, “and a cold, desolate road as I ever travelled.”
“You have read your office?”
“I have, sir.”
“You have discharged your duty to that poor, sick widow?”
“I hope so, sir.”
“And you have ridden under a severe night, along a naked road, a distance of fourteen miles?”
“I have, sir.”
“And you feel your mind aisy, and your conscience at rest?”
“I can say so with truth, thank God,” replied the curate.