u feel?" "Much better," said I, "than I could have expected." "I
am glad of it," said Peter. "Art thou hungry? yonder comes our
breakfast," pointing to the same young woman I had seen the preceding
night, who was again descending the hill, bearing the tray upon her head.

"What dost thou intend to do, young man, this day?" said Peter, when we
had about half finished breakfast. "Do," said I, "as I do other days,
what I can." "And dost thou pass this day as thou dost other days?" said
Peter. "Why not?" said I; "what is there in this day different from the
rest? it seems to be of the same colour as yesterday." "Art thou aware,"
said the wife interposing, "what day it is? that it is Sabbath? that it
is Sunday?" "No," said I, "I did not know that it was Sunday." "And how
did that happen?" said Winifred with a sigh. "To tell you the truth,"
said I, "I live very much alone, and pay very little heed to the passing
of time." "And yet of what infinite importance is time," said Winifred.
"Art thou not aware that every year brings thee nearer to thy end?" "I
do not think," said I, "that I am so near my end as I was yesterday."
"Yes thou art," said the woman; "thou wast not doomed to die yesterday;
an invisible hand was watching over thee yesterday; but thy day will
come, therefore improve the time; be grateful that thou wast saved
yesterday; and, oh! reflect on one thing; if thou hadst died yesterday,
where wouldst thou have been now?" "Cast into the earth, perhaps," said
I. "I have heard Mr. Petulengro say that to be cast into the earth is
the natural end of man." "Who is Mr. Petulengro?" said Peter,
interrupting his wife, as she was about to speak. "Master of the horse-
shoe," said I, "and, according to his own account, king of Egypt." "I
understand," said Peter, "head of some family of wandering Egyptians--they
are a race utterly godless. Art thou of them?--but no, thou art not,
thou hast not their yellow blood. I suppose thou belongest to the family
of wandering artisans called ---. I do not like you the worse for
belonging to them. A mighty speaker of old sprang up from amidst that
family." "Who was he?" said I. "John Bunyan," replied Peter,
reverently, "and the mention of his name reminds me that I have to preach
this day; wilt thou go and hear? the distance is not great, only half a
mile." "No," said I, "I will not go and hear." "Wherefore?" said Peter.
"I belong to the church," said I, "and not to the