Outside, it was the most picturesque and doubtless the oldest house in the village; many-gabled, with very tall ancient chimneys, the roofs of red tiles mottled grey and yellow with age and lichen.  It was a surprise to find a woodman—­for that was what the man was—­living in such a big place.  The woodman himself, his appearance and character, gave us a second and greater surprise.  He was a well-shaped man of medium height; although past middle life he looked young, and had no white thread in his raven-black hair and beard.  His teeth were white and even, and his features as perfect as I have seen in any man.  His eyes were pure dark blue, contrasting rather strangely with his pale olive skin and intense black hair.  Only a woodman, but he might have come of one of the oldest and best families in the country, if there is any connection between good blood and fine features and a noble expression.  Oddly enough, his surname was an uncommon and aristocratic one.  His wife, on the other hand, although a very good woman as we found, had a distinctly plebeian countenance.  One day she informed us that she came of a different and better class than her husband’s.  She was the daughter of a small tradesman, and had begun life as a lady’s-maid:  her husband was nothing but a labourer; his people had been labourers for generations, consequently her marriage to him had involved a considerable descent in the social scale.  Hearing this, it was hard to repress a smile.

The contrast between this man and the ordinary villager of his class was as great in manners and conversation as in features and expression.  His combined dignity and gentleness, and apparent unconsciousness of any caste difference between man and man, were astonishing in one who had been a simple toiler all his life.

There were some grown-up children, others growing up, with others that were still quite small.  The boys, I noticed, favoured their mother, and had commonplace faces; the girls took after their father, and though their features were not so perfect they were exceptionally good-looking.  The eldest son —­the disjointed, fly-away-looking young man who had conquered all his enemies—­had a wife and child.  The eldest daughter was also married, and had one child.  Altogether the three families numbered about sixteen persons, each family having its separate set of rooms, but all dining at one table.  How did they do it?  It seemed easy enough to them.  They were serious people in a sense, although always cheerful and sometimes hilarious when together of an evening, or at their meals.  But they regarded life as a serious matter, a state of probation; they were non-smokers, total abstainers, diligent at their work, united, profoundly religious.  A fresh wonder came to light when I found that this poor woodman, with so large a family to support, who spent ten or twelve hours every day at his outdoor work, had yet been able out of his small earnings to buy bricks and other materials, and, assisted by his sons, to build a chapel adjoining his house.  Here he held religious services on Sundays, and once or twice of an evening during the week.  These services consisted of extempore prayers, a short address, and hymns accompanied by a harmonium, which they all appeared able to play.