His voice was a very pleasant one, full of tones that went straight to my heart and filled me with confidence.

His face did not give the lie to it, or cause me any disappointment.

He was no gentleman, that was plain; his face was bronzed and weather-beaten, as if he often encountered rough weather.
But his deep-set eyes had a steadfast, quiet power in them, and his mouth, although it was almost hidden by hair, had a pleasant curve about it.

I could not guess how old he was; he looked a middle-aged man to me.
His great, rough hands, which had never worn gloves, were stained and hard with labor; and he had evidently been taking a share in the toil of the night, for his close-fitting, woven blue jacket was wet through, and his hair was damp and rough with the wind and rain.

He raised his cap as my eyes looked straight into his, and a faint smile flitted across his grave face.
"I want," I said, suddenly, "to find a place where I can live very cheaply.