got your hair-brush
and things in your box there."

She pointed at the corded box which stood in front of the table.

"If there's anything you want you can ask. I hope you'll be very
clean."

"I'll try to be, ma'am," I said, feeling quite uncomfortable, she looked
at me so coldly.

"You can use those drawers, and your box can go in the back room.
Good-night!"

She went away and shut the door, looking wonderfully clean and prim, but
depressing instead of cheering me; and as soon as she was gone I
uncorded my box, wondering whether I should be able to stay, and wishing
myself back at Isleworth.

I had taken out my clothes and had reached the bottom of my box, anxious
to see whether the treasures I had there in a flat case, consisting of
pinned-out moths and butterflies, were all right and had not been shaken
out of place by the jolting of the cart, when there was a sharp tap at
the door and Mr Solomon came in.

"Hullo!" he said; "butterflies and moths!--eh?"

He spoke quite angrily, as it seemed to me, and chilled me, as I felt
that he would not like me to do such a thing as collect.

"Hah!" he said. "I used to do that when I was a boy. There's lots
here; but don't go after them when you're at work."

"No, sir," I said.

"Thought I'd come up, my lad, as it's all strange to you. I haven't
much to say to you, only keep away from those boys. Let 'em talk, but
never you mind."

"I'll try, sir."

"That's right. Work to-morrow morning at six. You may begin sooner if
you like. I often, do. Breakfast at eight; dinner at twelve; tea at
five, and then work's supposed to be done. I generally go in the houses
then. Always something wants doing there."

He stood thinking and looking as cold and hard as could be while I
waited for him to speak again; but he did not for quite five minutes,
during which time he stood picking up my comb and dropping it back into
the hair-brush.

"Yes," he said suddenly, "I should go in for those late lettuces if I
was Ezra. He'd find a good sale for them when salads were getting
scarce. Celery's very good, but people don't like to be always tied
down to celery and endives--a tough kind of meat at the best of times.
If you write home--no, this is home now--if you write to Brother Ezra,
you say I hope he'll keep his word about the lettuces. Good-night!"

I felt puzzled as soon as he had gone, and had not the slightest idea
how I felt towards the people with whom I was to