put in a deep bass voice, until household prayer-time came, at eight o’clock, when Mrs Peters came in, smoothing down her apron, and the maid-of-all-work followed, and first a sermon, and then a chapter was read, and a long impromptu prayer followed, till some instinct told Mr Peters that supper-time had come, and we rose from our knees with hunger for our predominant feeling.  Over supper the minister did unbend a little into one or two ponderous jokes, as if to show me that ministers were men, after all.  And then at ten o’clock I went home, and enjoyed my long-repressed yawns in the three-cornered room before going to bed.  Dinah and Hannah Dawson, so their names were put on the board above the shop-door—­I always called them Miss Dawson and Miss Hannah—­considered these visits of mine to Mr Peters as the greatest honour a young man could have; and evidently thought that if after such privileges, I did not work out my salvation, I was a sort of modern Judas Iscariot.  On the contrary, they shook their heads over my intercourse with Mr Holdsworth.  He had been so kind to me in many ways, that when I cut into my ham, I hovered over the thought of asking him to tea in my room, more especially as the annual fair was being held in Eltham market-place, and the sight of the booths, the merry-go-rounds, the wild-beast shows, and such country pomps, was (as I thought at seventeen) very attractive.  But when I ventured to allude to my wish in even distant terms, Miss Hannah caught me up, and spoke of the sinfulness of such sights, and something about wallowing in the mire, and then vaulted into France, and spoke evil of the nation, and all who had ever set foot therein, till, seeing that her anger was concentrating itself into a point, and that that point was Mr Holdsworth, I thought it would be better to finish my breakfast, and make what haste I could out of the sound of her voice.  I rather wondered afterwards to hear her and Miss Dawson counting up their weekly profits with glee, and saying that a pastry-cook’s shop in the corner of the market-place, in Eltham fair week, was no such bad thing.  However, I never ventured to ask Mr Holdsworth to my lodgings.

There is not much to tell about this first year of mine at Eltham.  But when I was nearly nineteen, and beginning to think of whiskers on my own account, I came to know cousin Phillis, whose very existence had been unknown to me till then.  Mr Holdsworth and I had been out to Heathbridge for a day, working hard.  Heathbridge was near Hornby, for our line of railway was above half finished.  Of course, a day’s outing was a great thing to tell about in my weekly letters; and I fell to describing the country—­a fault I was not often guilty of.  I told my father of the bogs, all over wild myrtle and soft moss, and shaking ground over which we had to carry our line; and how Mr Holdsworth and I had gone for our mid-day meals—­for we had to stay here for two days and a night—­to a pretty village hard by, Heathbridge proper; and how