p the best
teathings, as a mode of getting forward with the sadly-retarded business
of the day.

'This way, Mr. Tryan, this way,' said the old gentleman; 'I must take you
to my pastur fust, an' show you our cow--the best milker i' the county.
An' see here at these backbuildins, how convenent the dairy is; I planned
it ivery bit myself. An' here I've got my little carpenter's shop an' my
blacksmith's shop; I do no end o' jobs here myself. I niver could bear to
be idle, Mr. Tryan; I must al'ys be at somethin' or other. It was time
for me to lay by business an mek room for younger folks. I'd got money
enough, wi' only one daughter to leave it to, an' I says to myself, says
I, it's time to leave off moitherin' myself wi' this world so much, an'
give more time to thinkin' of another. But there's a many hours atween
getting up an' lyin' down, an' thoughts are no cumber; you can move about
wi' a good many on 'em in your head. See, here's the pastur.'

A very pretty pasture it was, where the large-spotted short-horned cow
quietly chewed the cud as she lay and looked sleepily at her admirers--a
daintily-trimmed hedge all round, dotted here and there with a
mountain-ash or a cherry-tree.

'I've a good bit more land besides this, worth your while to look at, but
mayhap it's further nor you'd like to walk now. Bless you! I've welly an'
acre o' potato-ground yonders; I've a good big family to supply, you
know.' (Here Mr. Jerome winked and smiled significantly.) 'An' that puts
me i' mind, Mr. Tryan, o' summat I wanted to say to you. Clergymen like
you, I know, see a deal more poverty an' that, than other folks, an' hev
a many claims on 'em more nor they can well meet; an' if you'll mek use
o' my purse any time, or let me know where I can be o' any help, I'll tek
it very kind on you.'

'Thank you, Mr. Jerome, I will do so, I promise you. I saw a sad case
yesterday; a collier--a fine broad-chested fellow about thirty--was
killed by the falling of a wall in the Paddiford colliery. I was in one
of the cottages near, when they brought him home on a door, and the
shriek of the wife has been ringing in my ears ever since. There are
three little children. Happily the woman has her loom, so she will be
able to keep out of the workhouse; but she looks very delicate.'

'Give me her name, Mr. Tryan,' said Mr. Jerome, drawing out his
pocket-book. 'I'll call an' see her.'

Deep was the fountain of pity in the good old man's heart! He often a