The parsonage here's a tumble-down place, sir, not fit for gentry to live in.

He comes here to preach of a Sunday afternoon, sir, an' puts up his hoss here.

It's a grey cob, sir, an' he sets great store by't.

He's allays put up his hoss here, sir, iver since before I hed the Donnithorne Arms.

I'm not this countryman, you may tell by my tongue, sir.