I fed
the horse, cleared out the stable, spruced myself up, and so to
breakfast with 'The Gabbitular One.' Three meat meals and two
snacks--'the eleven o'clock' and 'the four o'clock'--were the order of
the day in this establishment. The snacks consisted of tea, which was
also served at every meal, including dinner, and scones and butter; the
meals included always some sort of flesh food and varying adjuncts.
After the lean dietary of St. Peter's this regime seemed almost
startling to me at first, a thing which could hardly be expected to
last. But I adapted myself to it without difficulty or complaint, and
thrived upon it greatly.

During the day my main work was the cultivation of the garden, and the
care of the front lawn, in which Mr. Perkins took a very special pride
and interest; chiefly, I think, because it was the foreground of his
wife's daily outlook. But the routine work of the garden, which always
was demanding a little more time than one had to spare for it, was
subject, of course, to interruptions. I did the churning twice a week,
and Mrs. Gabbitas the 'working' and 'making up' of the butter. And
there were other matters, including occasional errands to the town--a
message for a storekeeper, or a note for the master at his office.

Over the entrance to this office of Mr. Perkins's hung a huge board on
which were boldly painted in red letters on a white ground the name of
George Perkins, and the impressive words--'Dursley's Omnigerentual and
Omniferacious Agent.' It really was a remarkable notice-board, and
residents invariably pointed it out to visitors as one of the sights
of the town. Indeed, Dursley was very proud of its Omniferacious
Agent, who for three successive years now had been also its mayor.

But I gathered from veteran gossips in the town's one street that this
had not always been so. Mr. Perkins had originally arrived in the town
but very slightly more burdened with worldly gear than I was. The
tools of his craft as a cobbler had left room enough in one bundle for
the rest of his property. Dursley did not want a cobbler at that time,
I gathered; so in this respect Mr. Perkins had been less fortunate
than I was; for when I arrived some one had wanted a handy lad.
However, what proved more to the point was the fact that the cobbler
did want Dursley. He stayed long enough to teach the townsfolk to
appreciate him as a cobbler of boots--and of affairs, of threatened
legal proceedings, frayed f