“I do not, sir.”

“Well, I am glad of that.  It struck me that you did.  Will you really take no refreshment?  Are you not fatigued?”

“Not in the least, sir.  This lovely prospect, for one who has seen so little of nature as I have, is refreshment enough for the present.”

“Ah,” said Mr Fairman, sighing faintly, “you will get accustomed to it.  There is something in the prospect, but more in your own mind.  Some of our poor fellows would be easily served and satisfied, if we could feed them on the prospect.  But if you are not tired you shall see more of it if you will.  I have to go down to the village.  We have an hour till dinner-time.  Will you accompany me?”

“With pleasure, sir.”

“Very well.”  Mr Fairman then rang the bell, and the servant girl came in.

“Where’s Miss Ellen, Mary?” asked the incumbent.

“She has been in the village since breakfast, sir.  Mrs Barnes sent word that she was ill, and Miss took her the rice and sago that Dr Mayhew ordered.”

“Has Warden been this morning?”

“No, sir.”

“Foolish fellow.  I’ll call on him.  Mary, if Cuthbert the fisherman comes, give him that bottle of port wine; but tell him not to touch a drop of it himself.  It is for his sick child, and it is committing robbery to take it.  Let him have the blanket also that was looked out for him.”

“It’s gone, sir.  Miss sent it yesterday.”

“Very well.  There is nothing more.  Now, Mr Stukely, we will go.”

I have said already that the first opinion which I formed of the disposition of Mr Fairman was not a flattering one.  Before he spoke a word, I felt disappointed and depressed.  My impression after our short conversation was worse than the first.  The natural effect of the scene in which I suddenly found myself, had been to prepare my ever too forward spirit for a man of enthusiasm and poetic temperament.  Mr Fairman was many degrees removed from warmth.  He spoke to me in a sharp tone of voice, and sometimes, I suspected, with the intention of mocking me.  His manner, when he addressed the servant-girl, was not more pleasing.  When I followed him from the room, I regretted the haste with which I had accepted my appointment; but a moment afterwards I entered into fairyland again, and the passing shadow left me grateful to Providence for so much real enjoyment.  We descended the hill, and for a time, in silence, Mr Fairman was evidently engaged in deep thought, and I had no wish to disturb him.  Every now and then we lighted upon a view of especial beauty, and I was on the point of expressing my unbounded admiration, when one look at my cool and matter-of-fact companion at once annoyed and stopped me.

“Yes,” said Mr Fairman at length, still musing.  “It is very difficult—­very difficult to manage the poor.  I wonder if they are grateful at heart.  What do you think, Mr Stukely?”

“I have nothing to say of the poor, sir, but praise.”