His raiment was disgraceful--an old knickerbocker suit with a ruinous Norfolk jacket, patched at the elbows and with leather at wrist and shoulder.
Apparently he scorned the June sun, for he had no cap.

His pockets seemed bursting with tackle, and a discarded basket lay on the ground.
The whole figure pleased her, its rude health, simplicity, and disorder.
The atrocious men who sometimes came to her father's house had been miracles of neatness, and Mr.Stocks was wont to robe his person in the most faultless of shooting suits.
A fugitive memory began to haunt the girl.

She had met or heard of this man before.

The valley was divided between Glenavelin and Etterick.

He was not the Doctor, and he was not the minister.