At another time I went to read to a poor labourer who was in the last stage of consumption. The young ladies had been to see him, and somehow a promise of reading had been extracted from them; but it was too much trouble, so they begged me to do it instead. I went, willingly enough; and there too I was gratified with the praises of Mr. Weston, both from the sick man and his wife. The former told me that he derived great comfort and benefit from the visits of the new parson, who frequently came to see him, and was “another guess sort of man” to Mr. Hatfield; who, before the other’s arrival at Horton, had now and then paid him a visit; on which occasions he would always insist upon having the cottage-door kept open, to admit the fresh air for his own convenience, without considering how it might injure the sufferer; and having opened his prayer-book and hastily read over a part of the Service for the Sick, would hurry away again: if he did not stay to administer some harsh rebuke to the afflicted wife, or to make some thoughtless, not to say heartless, observation, rather calculated to increase than diminish the troubles of the suffering pair. “Whereas,” said the man, “Maister Weston ’ull pray with me quite in a different fashion, an’ talk to me as kind as owt; an’ oft read to me too, an’ sit beside me just like a brother.” “Just for all the world!” exclaimed his wife; “an’ about a three wik sin’, when he seed how poor Jem shivered wi’ cold, an’ what pitiful fires we kept, he axed if wer stock of coals was nearly done. I telled him it was, an’ we was ill set to get more: but you know, mum, I didn’t think o’ him helping us; but, howsever, he sent us a sack o’ coals next day; an’ we’ve had good fires ever sin’: and a great blessing it is, this winter time. But that’s his way, Miss Grey: when he comes into a poor body’s house a-seein’ sick folk, he like notices what they most stand i’ need on; an’ if he thinks they can’t readily get it therseln, he never says nowt about it, but just gets it for ’em. An’ it isn’t everybody ’at ’ud do that, ’at has as little as he has: for you know, mum, he’s nowt at all to live on but what he gets fra’ th’ Rector, an’ that’s little enough they say.” I remembered then, with a species of exultation, that he had frequently been styled a vulgar brute by the amiable Miss Murray, because he wore a silver watch, and clothes not quite so bright and fresh as Mr. Hatfield’s.