China oil paintings

wandered away: always repelled by the consciousness of having no claim
to ask- no right to expect interest in my isolated lot. Meantime,
the afternoon advanced, while I thus wandered about like a lost and
starving dog. In crossing a field, I saw the church spire before me: I
hastened towards it. Near the churchyard, and in the middle of a
garden, stood a well-built though small house, which I had no doubt
was the parsonage. I remembered that strangers who arrive at a place
where they have no friends, and who want employment, sometimes apply
to the clergyman for introduction and aid. It is the clergyman's
function to help- at least with advice- those who wished to help
themselves. I seemed to have something like a right to seek counsel
here. Renewing then my courage, and gathering my feeble remains of
strength, I pushed on. I reached the house, and knocked at the
kitchen-door. An old woman opened: I asked was this the parsonage?
'Yes.'
'Was the clergyman in?'
'No.'
'Would he be in soon?'
'No, he was gone from home.'
'To a distance?'