"What, done already?" On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted
to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is
sufficient to send us into corners.

'"You forget you have a master here," says the tyrant. "I'll
demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect
sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Frances darling,
pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his fingers."
Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated herself
on her husband's knee, and there they were, like two babies,
kissing and talking nonsense by the hour - foolish palaver that we
should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our means
allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our
pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes
Joseph, on an errand from the stables. He tears down my handiwork,
boxes my ears, and croaks:

'"T' maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not o'ered, und t'
sound o' t' gospel still i' yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking!
Shame on ye! sit ye down, ill childer! there's good books eneugh if
ye'll read 'em: sit ye down, and think o' yer sowls!"

'Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we
might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text
of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment.
I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-
kennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the
same place. Then there was a hubbub!

'"Maister Hindley!" shouted our chaplain. " Maister, coom hither!