Well! it was a Saturday night, and I’d my baize apron on, and the tails of my bed-gown pinned together behind, down on my knees, pipeclaying the kitchen, when a knock comes to the back door.  ‘Come in!’ says I; but it knocked again, as if it were too stately to open the door for itself; so I got up rather cross, and opened the door; and there stood Jerry Dixon, Mr. Holt’s head-clerk; only he was not head-clerk then.  So I stood, stopping up the door, fancying he wanted to speak to master; but he kind of pushed past me, and telling me summut about the weather (as if I could not see it for myself), he took a chair, and sat down by the oven.  ‘Cool and easy!’ thought I; meaning hisself, not his place, which I knew must be pretty hot.  Well! it seemed no use standing waiting for my gentleman to go; not that he had much to say either; but he kept twirling his hat round and round, and smoothing the nap on’t with the back of his hand.  So at last I squatted down to my work, and thinks I, I shall be on my knees all ready if he puts up a prayer, for I knew he was a Methodee by bringing-up, and had only lately turned to master’s way of thinking; and them Methodees are terrible hands at unexpected prayers when one least looks for ’em.  I can’t say I like their way of taking one by surprise, as it were; but then I’m a parish-clerk’s daughter, and could never demean myself to dissenting fashions, always save and except Master Thurstan’s, bless him.  However, I’d been caught once or twice unawares, so this time I thought I’d be up to it, and I moved a dry duster wherever I went, to kneel upon in case he began when I were in a wet place.  By-and-by I thought, if the man would pray it would be a blessing, for it would prevent his sending his eyes after me wherever I went; for when they takes to praying they shuts their eyes, and quivers th’ lids in a queer kind o’ way—­them Dissenters does.  I can speak pretty plain to you, for you’re bred in the Church like mysel’, and must find it as out o’ the way as I do to be among dissenting folk.  God forbid I should speak disrespectful of Master Thurstan and Miss Faith, though; I never think on them as Church or Dissenters, but just as Christians.  But to come back to Jerry.  First, I tried always to be cleaning at his back; but when he wheeled round, so as always to face me, I thought I’d try a different game.  So, says I, ’Master Dixon, I ax your pardon, but I must pipeclay under your chair.  Will you please to move?’ Well, he moved; and by-and-by I was at him again with the same words; and at after that, again and again, till he were always moving about wi’ his chair behind him, like a snail as carries its house on its back.  And the great gaupus never seed that I were pipeclaying the same places twice over.  At last I got desperate cross, he were so in my way; so I made two big crosses on the tails of his brown coat; for you see, wherever he went, up or down, he drew out the tails of his coat from under him, and stuck them through the bars of the chair;