If inquiries are made why they did not come, a hundred excuses are ready; the rain, a bad foot, illness of the infant, a cow taken ill and requiring attention, and so on.
After some months of such experience the curate's spirits gradually decline; his belief in human nature is sadly shaken.

Men who openly oppose, who argue and deny, are comparatively easy to deal with; there is the excitement of the battle with evil.

But a population that listens, and apparently accepts the message, that is so thankful for little charities, and always civil, and yet turns away utterly indifferent, what is to be done with it?
Might not the message nearly as well be taken to the cow at her crib, or the horse at his manger?
They, too, would receive a wisp of sweet hay willingly from the hand.
But the more bitter the experience, the harder the trial, the more conscientiously the curate proceeds upon his duty, struggling bravely through the mire.

He adds another mile to his daily journey: he denies himself some further innocent recreation.

The cottages in the open fields are comparatively pleasant to visit, the sweet fresh air carries away effluvia.