He had never felt , or tried to feel , that this narrow sphere was his own world . It was some lower level to which he had come with good tidings and honest intentions but , unconsciously , he had held himself above it , and his people felt and resented this . They expressed it by saying he was `` stuck-up . '' Rykman 's Corner came into view as he drove over the brow of a long hill . He hated the place , knowing it well for what it was -- a festering hotbed of gossip and malice , the habitat of all the slanderous rumours and innuendoes that permeated the social tissue of the community . The newest scandal , the worst-flavoured joke , the latest details of the most recent quarrel , were always to be had at Rykman 's store . As the minister drove down the hill , a man came out of a small house at the foot and waited on the road . Had it been possible Telford would have pretended not to see him , but it was not possible , for Isaac Galletly meant to be seen and hailed the minister cheerfully . `` Good mornin ' , Mr. Telford . Ye wo n't mind giving me a lift down to the Corner , I dessay ? '' Telford checked his horse reluctantly and Galletly crawled into the cutter . He was that most despicable of created beings , a male gossip , and he spent most of his time travelling from house to house in the village , smoking his pipe in neighbourly kitchens and fanning into an active blaze all the smouldering feuds of the place . He had been nicknamed `` The Morning Chronicle '' by a sarcastic schoolteacher who had sojourned a winter at the Corner . The name was an apt one and clung . Telford had heard it . I suppose he is starting out on his rounds now , he thought . Galletly plunged undauntedly into the conversational gap . `` Quite a fall of snow last night . Reckon we 'll have more ` fore long . That was a grand sermon ye gave us last Sunday , Mr. Telford .
Reckon it went home XXXXX some folks , judgin ' from all I 've heard .
As at by for into of on that to with