'There'd be no room for telling lies, I reckon,' said Tim reflectively.

'Of course not,' replied Stephen.

'That 'ud never answer down yonder,' said Tim, nodding towards the
distant village. 'I tell thee what, lad, I'll come and quarter with thee,
and help thee to be master. It 'ud be prime. Only maybe the victuals
wouldn't suit me. Last Sunday, afore thy father's buryin', we'd a dinner
of duck and green peas, and leg of lamb, and custard pudden, and ale.
Martha doesn't get a dinner like that for thee, I reckon.'

'No,' answered Stephen shortly.

'Maybe it wouldn't suit. But what more is there in thy book?' asked
Tim, whose curiosity was aroused; and Stephen, proud of his new
accomplishment,--a rare one in those days among his own class,--would not
lose the opportunity given him by Tim's inquiry for the display of his
learning. He brought out his Bible with alacrity, and read his chapter in
a loud, clear, sing-song tone, while Tim overlooked him, with his red
face growing redder, and his eyebrows arched in amazement; and Martha,
leaning against the door-post, glanced triumphantly at his wonder.
Already, though his father had been dead only a week, Stephen began
to miscall many of the harder words; but his hearers were not critical,
and the performance gave unbounded satisfaction.

'That beats me!' cried Tim. 'What a headpiece thee must have, Stephen!
But what does it all mean, lad? Is it all English like?'

'How can I know?' answered Stephen, somewhat sadly; 'there's nobody to