r what Judith might disclose to the ladies. Polly had made a
miserable marriage, and Jenny was in service at a public-house, Jem, a
big idle lad, whom no one employed if it could be helped, Judy was still
at home, and a comfort to her aunt.

It was his aunt that chiefly induced John to live at home, though he
could easily have lodged away and have been nearer to the workshop. His
father had let him alone, and not interfered with his Sunday School
going, as long as he was a mere boy, till this second time, when, at
eighteen, and grown to man's stature, he was going up as a candidate
with the younger ones. Then the father swore "he was not going to have
his son make a tomfool of hisself to please that there parson."

"I have promised," said John.

"Promised? What--parson or ladies, or any sneaks that come meddling
where no one wants 'em?"

"'Twere not parson," said John.

"Then 'twas one of they Gobblealls"--with an oath. "That ain't of no
account."

"'Tweren't," again said John.

No more was to be got out of him than "'Tweren't," and "I shall keep my
word." He was too big to be beaten; a tall, strong, well-made youth,
and Dan was obliged to let him alone, and only swear at him for turning
his back on his old father, and being no better than a Methody.

In point of fact, Molly and the two younger children were chiefly
supported by John's earnings and Judith's pension, for whatever Dan
earned at Downhill or picked up in his various fashions was pretty sure
to be swallowed either by the "Blue Lion" or by the "Fox and Hounds."
Judith was entirely in bed upstairs, and the kitchen had lost all the
little semblance of smartness it once had. While Molly might have been
taken for sixty years old instead of forty-five, though that was not
unusual among the hard-working women, who got aged and dried up with
weather in the fields and with toil and care at home--even when they had
kindly, sober husbands.

Judith's room was a place of peace and order, so kept by the help of
little Judy and of John, both of whom loved her heartily, and felt as if
she were a mother to them. She had brought home to them all the good
that they knew. She had always made them say their prayers by her as
children, and John continued to do so still, "for old sake's sake if for
no other reason." They had always repeated to her what they had heard
at school, and by-and-by the text and substance of the sermons as far as
they could; and she t