I had never liked him, for he was a stern-eyed man who was always scolding somebody, and I had not forgotten what his son had said of him.
"Good night!" he exclaimed curtly, as he sat down and set his cane between his feet and rested his hands upon it.

He spoke hoarsely and I remember the curious notion came to me that he looked like our old ram.
The stern and rugged face of Mr.Grimshaw and the rusty gray of his homespun and the hoarseness of his tone had suggested this thought to me.

The long silvered tufts above his keen, gray eyes moved a little as he looked at my uncle.

There were deep lines upon his cheeks and chin and forehead.

He wore a thin, gray beard under his chin.