children were not sent to school. Most of them began to make excuses. Some had no clothes fit to go in, some had no shoes, some were sick with influenza, some were getting well, and others getting ill with small-pox; in fact, some had real excuses, and some made paltry excuses. But Miss Brown was equal to the occasion. Those who were ill were to come to the parsonage for medicine, others were to come for clothes, shoes, or hats. Anything and everything could be had for the fetching of it, and it was really astonishing how Miss Brown came by garments to suit nearly every child in the village; if she had been a marine store dealer, she could not have been possessed of more odds and ends, so that fathers and mothers as well as their children had not a shadow of an excuse for not coming to church or school.

But the funniest thing was that Miss Brown did not let old George Pant escape her notice. She called upon him, and his wife began to make excuse for him, that he had no hair on his head, and that he used to wear a wig, but some mischievous person had stolen it, and that George could not go to church and sit in a draught or he would catch such a cold that he would not get well again for months. Miss Brown listened as patiently as she could, and then said, "Bless your heart, I have a wig that was my uncle's; and if George Pant will come or send to the parsonage he shall be most welcome to it. It will just suit his complexion, bless your heart, and if people will only pray to the Lord, He will always give them what is good for them, bless your heart. You must 'seek the Lord while He may be found, and call upon Him while He is near.'"

The Sunday school was held in the church, there being no school-house in the parish, and every Sunday, in all weathers, at nine in the morning and half-past two in the afternoon, Miss Brown would be at the church door waiting to go in and open school; and I do believe that Miss Brown's great gold watch was always half an hour too fast, for my father, who was the very cream of punctuality, could not keep time with her. Father kept the keys, and he was not always ready to open the church doors when the time was up by Miss Brown's great gold watch, and when he did arrive she would give him a gentle reminder that he was not in time by pulling out of her great wallet that great gold watch, and saying as she did so, "Come, come, children, in to school; we are already two minutes late, and we have no time to lose; come and read." All had to read or learn a text, and were taught the catechism, before the afternoon service, which began at three o'clock. But Miss Brown was very tender-hearted towards her brother-in-law, the curate, and if that gentleman happened to have a cold, or a touch of the gout, which happened very often, then somehow there were fifty or fifty-five minutes between half-past two and three o'clock by Miss Brown's great gold watch, because "bless your heart, Mr. Cornwall has a bad cold and cannot walk very fast."

Also Mr. Cornwall came amongst us most Sunday evenings and gave us some wholesome admonition, and he would tell us of all the most interesting things that were going on in the outer world, and of which we should never have heard without him. And when the dear man stood there in our midst telling us all these stories, his face beaming with goodness and kindness, and his hair as white as snow, I think I almost worshipped him. Then about every sixth or seventh Sunday he would preach a sermon specially to the young. Thus did the Rev. P. M. Cornwall and Miss Brown take possession of the hearts of the people, both old and young, and in a very few years boys and girls grew up, and, as young men and maidens, still attended the Sunday school—a school that could not be matched for miles around. On Easter Monday Mr. Cornwall would invite us to meet him in the churchyard, and we would join hands and encircle the church. Then he would feed us with hot cross buns, and do all in his power, with the help of Miss Brown, to make us happy. It seems needless to record how much these two good people were beloved.

CHAPTER III

STARTING IN LIFE

AT the tender age of eight I was sent to work on a farm belonging to Joseph Greenham. For the princely sum of one shilling a week I had to mind sheep and pull up turnips in all winds and weathers, starting at six o'clock in the morning. Very often I was out in the pouring rain all day and would go home very wet, and then my good mother had something to do to dry, not only my wet clothes, but also those of my four brothers. And I know it took her half the night to mend and tidy all our clothes. As soon as I was able I had to go driving plough, for in those days a man would not think of ploughing without a boy to drive the horses. Now it was my sad fate to be placed under the hands of the most complete vagabond that it was possible for the spirit of all evil to beget. I cannot here tell—and if I could, nobody would credit—the dreadful usage which I received from his hands.

Although Mr. Greenham was my employer, yet to all intents and purposes Jim the ploughman was my master. I was completely in his hands and under his control, and it was in his power to do what he thought fit. There was a public-house in our village kept by a widow, whose name, curiously enough, was Temperance Patch. Jim was one of the best customers that Temperance Patch had. He spent all the money he could earn, beg or steal, in her house, and when he had no cash, he did not scruple to steal his employer's hay, corn, straw, eggs, fowls and potatoes; in fact everything portable was carried away to the New Inn. I once thought it my duty to report to Mr. Greenham that Jim had carried away a large bundle of hay, and when Mr. Greenham taxed him with theft, he cursed and swore, and said that I was a wicked young liar. After this, until I was thirteen years of age, my life was not worth the living; for I was thrashed and kicked and beaten most unmercifully by this brute. So I learned that a still tongue makes a wise head, and never once again did I say anything to any one, not even my mother, about the cruel treatment which it was my lot to receive. Jim used to make me harness the horses long before I was tall enough to reach their heads, and beat and kick me if I could not do it quickly enough for his liking; and I used to wonder every day and all day, and ask myself, "Why was I born?" Sometimes Jim would lie down under the hedge and go to sleep, making me plough the ground the while; and although I was but a child and scarcely tall enough to reach the plough handles, yet if he woke up and found any bad ploughing he would beat me to his heart's content. But with it all, he never could get me to tell the abominable lies that he would put in my mouth to tell Mr. Greenham so as to save him a scolding when he had been neglecting his work. I had learnt from Mr. Cornwall and also from my father that lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, and this feeling was so strong within me that I could never corrupt my conscience and degrade myself to repeat Jim's falsehoods, and I came in for many castigations accordingly.

On one occasion Mr. Greenham took Jim and me to the cellar, to lime some wheat before it was sown. While we were there Mr. Greenham was called away, and directly his back was turned Jim caught up a dipper, as if he had not another moment to live, drew some cider and drank it greedily down; then he drew some more and offered it to me, but I refused. With an oath he pressed the edge of the dipper against my lips until they bled with the pressure; at the same time he held me by my hair, in order as he thought to pour the stolen liquid down my throat; but Jim did not