"Some bread, Rose, if you please," requested Martin, with intense gravity, serenity, phlegm. The boy had naturally a low, plaintive voice, which in his "dour moods" rose scarcely above a lady's whisper. The more inflexibly stubborn the humour, the softer, the sadder the tone. He rang the bell, and gently asked for his walking-shoes.
"But, Martin," urged his sire, "there is drift all the way; a man could hardly wade through it. However, lad," he continued, seeing that the boy rose as the church bell began to toll, "this is a case wherein I would by no means balk the obdurate chap of his will. Go to church by all means. There is a pitiless wind, and a sharp, frozen sleet, besides the depth under foot. Go out into it, since thou prefers it to a warm fireside."
Martin quietly assumed his cloak, comforter, and cap, and deliberately went out.

"Some bread, Rose, if you please," requested Martin with intense gravity. He rang the bell, and gently asked for his walking-shoes.
"But, Martin," urged his father, "there are snowdrifts all the way; a man could hardly wade through. However, lad, go to church by all means. There is a pitiless wind, and a sharp, frozen sleet. Go out into it, since thou prefers it to a warm fireside."
Martin quietly put on his cloak, scarf and cap, and went out.
