that shining light and apostle,
Mrs. Iden, and read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest what he says:--

"A man who cannot live on bread is not fit to live. A family may live,
laugh, love and be happy that eats bread in the morning with good water,
and water and good bread at noon, and water and bread at night."

Does that sound like an echo of the voice that ceased on the Cross?

Guilty Mrs Iden, ignorant farmer's wife; hide your beef and ale, your
rabbit and potatoes.

To duchesses and earlesses, and plump City ladies riding in carriages,
and all such who eat and drink five times a day, and have six or eight
courses at dinner, doubtless once now and then a meal of vegetable
pot-bouilli, or oatmeal porridge, or lentil soup (three halfpence a
pound lentils), or haricot beans and water would prove a scientifically
wholesome thing.

But to those who exist all the week on hunches of dry bread, and not
much of that, oatmeal porridge doesn't seem to come as a luxury. They
would like something juicy; good rumpsteak now, with plenty of rich
gravy, broad slices from legs of mutton, and foaming mugs of ale. They
need something to put fresh blood and warmth into them.

You sometimes hear people remark: "How strange it is--the poor never buy
oatmeal, or lentils!"

Of course they don't; if by any chance they do get a shilling to spend,
they like a mutton chop. They have enough of farinaceous fare.

What Mrs. Iden ought to have done had she been scientific, was to have
given each of these poor hungry children a nicely printed little
pamphlet, teaching them how to cook.

Instead of which, she set all their teeth going; infinitely wicked Mrs.
Iden!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"YOU must drink it all--every drop," said Amaryllis, masterfully, as
Amadis lingered over the glass of milk she had brought him. He had but
half finished it; she insisted, "Come, drink it all." Amadis made an
effort, and obeyed.

But his heart was bitter as absinthe.

Everyone else was strong, and hardy, and manly; even the women were
manly, they could eat and drink.

Rough-headed Jearje, at the churn, ate hard cheese, and drank ale, and
turned the crank at the same time.

Round-headed Bill Nye sat on the form, happily munching cheese, oh so
happily! Gabriel (of the Koran) would never believe how happily, sipping
his tall quart-mug.

Mrs. Iden bustled to and fro, for all her fifty years, more energetic
th