One day, Tom’s master, Mr. Grimes, was sent for to sweep all the chimneys at Sir John Harthover’s mansion, Harthover Place.

At four in the morning they passed through the silent town together and along the peaceful country roads to Sir John’s, Mr. Grimes riding the donkey in front and Tom and the brushes walking behind.  On the way they came up with an old Irishwoman, limping slowly along and carrying a heavy bundle.  She walked along with Tom and asked him many questions about himself, and seemed very sad when he told her that he knew no prayers to say.  She told him that she lived far away by the sea; and, how the sea rolled and roared on winter nights and lay still in the bright summer days, for the children to bathe and play in it; and many a story more till Tom longed to go and see the sea and bathe in it likewise.

When, at length, they came to a spring, Grimes got off his donkey, to refresh himself by dipping his head in the water.  Because Tom followed his example, his master immediately thrashed him.

“Are you not ashamed of yourself, Thomas Grimes?” said the Irishwoman.

Grimes looked up, startled at her knowing his name; but he answered:  “No, nor never was yet,” and went on beating Tom.

“True for you.  If you ever had been ashamed of yourself, you would have gone into Vendale long ago.”

“What do you know about Vendale?” shouted Grimes; but he left off beating Tom.

“I know about Vendale and about you, too, and if you strike that boy again I can tell you what I know.”

Grimes seemed quite cowed and got on his donkey without another word.

“Stop!” said the Irishwoman.  “I have one more word for you both, for you will see me again.  Those that wish to be clean, clean they will be; and those that wish to be foul, foul they will be.  Remember.”

She turned away into a meadow and disappeared.  And Tom and Grimes went on their way.  When they came to Harthover Place, the housekeeper turned them into a grand room all covered up in sheets of brown paper.  Up the chimney went Tom with a kick from his master.

How many chimneys Tom swept I cannot say; but he swept so many that he got tired, and puzzled too, for they ran into one another so that he fairly lost his way in them.  At last he came down.  But it was the wrong chimney, and he found himself in a room the like of which he had never seen before.  The room was all dressed in white:  white window-curtains, white bed-curtains, white furniture, and white walls.  There was a washhand-stand, with ewers and basins, and soap and brushes and towels; and a large bath full of clean water.  What a heap of things—­all for washing!

And then he happened to look towards the bed, and there lay the most beautiful little girl Tom had ever seen.  He wondered whether all people were as white as she when they were washed.  Thinking of this, he tried to rub some of the soot from his own wrist, and thought, perhaps, he might look better himself if he were clean.