was not bad-looking.  He was a sturdy, honest fellow, too,—­slow of speech but sure of his points when he had got them within his grip,—­ fond of his beer but not often drunk, and the very soul of industry at his work.  But though she had known him all her life she had never known him otherwise than dusty.  The meal had so gotten within his hair, and skin, and raiment, that it never came out altogether even on Sundays.  His normal complexion was a healthy pallor, through which indeed some records of hidden ruddiness would make themselves visible, but which was so judiciously assimilated to his hat and coat and waistcoat, that he was more like a stout ghost than a healthy young man.  Nevertheless it was said of him that he could thrash any man in...