‘Well, but now! the winter’s comin’ on, an’ you’ll get wet i’ your feet, an’ Pratt tells me as your constitution’s dillicate, as anybody may see, for the matter o’ that, wi’out bein’ a doctor. An’ this is the light I look at it in, Mr. Tryan: who’s to fill up your place, if you was to be disabled, as I may say? Consider what a valyable life yours is. You’ve begun a great work i’ Milby, and so you might carry it on, if you’d your health and strength. The more care you take o’ yourself, the longer you’ll live, belike, God willing, to do good to your fellow-creaturs.’ ‘Why, my dear Mr. Jerome, I think I should not be a long-lived man in any case; and if I were to take care of myself under the pretext of doing more good, I should very likely die and leave nothing done after all.’ ‘Well! but keepin’ a hoss wouldn’t hinder you from workin’. It ’ud help you to do more, though Pratt says as it’s usin’ your voice so constant as does you the most harm. Now, isn’t it--I’m no scholard, Mr. Tryan, an’ I’m not a-goin’ to dictate to you--but isn’t it a’most a-killin’ o’ yourself, to go on a’ that way beyond your strength? We mustn’t fling ower lives away.’ ‘No, not fling them away lightly, but we are permitted to lay down our lives in a right cause. There are many duties, as you know, Mr. Jerome, which stand before taking care of our own lives.’ ‘Ah! I can’t arguy wi’ you, Mr. Tryan; but what I wanted to say’s this--There’s my little chacenut hoss; I should take it quite a kindness if you’d hev him through the winter an’ ride him. I’ve thought o’ sellin’ him a many times, for Mrs. Jerome can’t abide him; and what do I want wi’ two nags? But I’m fond o’ the little chacenut, an’ I shouldn’t like to sell him. So if you’ll only ride him for me, you’ll do me a kindness--you will, indeed, Mr. Tryan.’ ‘Thank you, Mr. Jerome. I promise you to ask for him, when I feel that I want a nag. There is no man I would more gladly be indebted to than you; but at present I would rather not have a horse. I should ride him very little, and it would be an inconvenience to me to keep him rather than otherwise.’ Mr. Jerome looked troubled and hesitating, as if he had something on his mind that would not readily shape itself into words. At last he said, ‘You’ll excuse me, Mr. Tryan, I wouldn’t be takin’ a liberty, but I know what great claims you hev on you as a clergyman. Is it th’ expense, Mr. Tryan? is it the money?’