It was at his bidding
that these people had come together; they waited now for him to speak.
His was no common personality. Neat in his dress, precise though local,
with a curious mixture of dialects in his speech, he was feared by every
man in Feldwick, whether he stood over them labouring or prayed amongst
them in the little chapel, where every Sunday he took the principal
place. He was well set-up for all his unusual height and seventy years,
with a face as hard as the ancient rocks which jutted from the
Cumberland hillside, eyes as keen and grey and merciless as though every
scrap of humanity which might ever have lain behind them had long since
died out. Just he reckoned himself and just he may have been, but
neither man nor woman nor child had ever heard a kindly word fall from
his lips. Children ran indoors as he passed, women ceased their
gossiping, men slunk away from a friendly talk as though ashamed. If
ever at harvest or Christmas time the spirit of good fellowship warmed
the hearts of these country folk and loosened their tongues the grim
presence of Gideon Strong was sufficient to check their merriment and
send them silently apart. He had been known to pray that sinners might
meet with the punishment they deserved, both in this world and
hereafter.
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