I stared at the man, whose piercing look took my attentions away from the gnarly hands.  "So what's the favour?", I casually asked, wondering how much change I had handy, figuring this was the obvious request.

"I need some gloves," he said.  "I'm giving a benediction this morning and these gloves won't fit in with your gentry at all."  Ruefully, he rubbed his palms together, as if trying to smooth the roughness away. 

Though my memory was none to sharp for news from these parts, I recalled reading in the local gazette a public notice about blessing the land for the new harvest, an add-on to the Sunday service I so diligently avoided.  The annual event was frequented by churchgoing farm families, a group to which I had no connection, and I wondered what had attracted this odd chap to such a devoutly country gathering.

"Are you a minister, then?", I asked.  "No, I'm an actor," came the careful reply.  "I've been a lot of things, but holy isn't one of them."

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