John shook himself free of the bark-heap, and came rather
hesitatingly at first.

"Anything I can do for you, sir?"

"Don't call me 'sir'; if I say 'John,' why don't you say 'Phineas'?"

And I held out my hand--his was all grimed with bark-dust.

"Are you not ashamed to shake hands with me?"

"Nonsense, John."

So we settled that point entirely. And though he never failed to
maintain externally a certain gentle respectfulness of demeanour
towards me, yet it was more the natural deference of the younger to
the elder, of the strong to the weak, than the duty paid by a
serving-lad to his master's son. And this was how I best liked it to
be.

He guided me carefully among the tan-pits--those deep fosses of
abomination, with a slender network of pathways thrown between--until
we reached the lower end of the yard. It was bounded by the Avon
only, and by a great heap of refuse bark.

"This is not a bad place to rest in; if you liked to get out of the
carriage I'd make you comfortable here in no time."

I was quite willing; so he ran off and fetched an old horserug, which