e very high people, whom we durst never invite. And Uncle Ben, as we
all knew well, was a great hand at his pipe, and would sit for hours
over it, in our warm chimney-corner, and never want to say a word,
unless it were inside him; only he liked to have somebody there over
against him smoking.

[Illustration: 105.jpg Uncle Ben in our warm chimney-corner]

Now when I came in, before one o'clock, after seeing to the cattle--for
the day was thicker than ever, and we must keep the cattle close at
home, if we wished to see any more of them--I fully expected to find
Uncle Ben sitting in the fireplace, lifting one cover and then another,
as his favourite manner was, and making sweet mouths over them; for he
loved our bacon rarely, and they had no good leeks at Dulverton; and
he was a man who always would see his business done himself. But there
instead of my finding him with his quaint dry face pulled out at me,
and then shut up sharp not to be cheated--who should run out but Betty
Muxworthy, and poke me with a saucepan lid.

"Get out of that now, Betty," I said in my politest manner, for really
Betty was now become a great domestic evil. She would have her own
way so, and of all things the most distressful was for a man to try to
reason.

"Zider-press," cried Betty again, for she thought it a fine joke to call
me that, because of my size, and my hatred of it; "here be a rare get
up, anyhow."

"A rare good dinner, you mean, Betty. Well, and I have a rare good
appetite." With that I wanted to go and smell it, and not to stop for
Betty.

"Troost thee for thiccy, Jan Ridd. But thee must keep it bit langer, I
reckon. Her baint coom, Maister Ziderpress. Whatt'e mak of that now?"

"Do you mean to say that Uncle Ben has not arrived yet, Betty?"

"Raived! I knaws nout about that, whuther a hath of noo. Only I tell 'e,
her baint coom. Rackon them Dooneses hath gat 'un."

And Betty, who hated Uncle Ben, because he never gave her a groat,
and she was not allowed to dine with him, I am sorry to say that
Betty Muxworthy grinned all across, and poked me again with the greasy
saucepan cover. But I misliking so to be treated, strode through the
kitchen indignantly, for Betty behaved to me even now, as if I were only
Eliza.

"Oh, Johnny, Johnny," my mother cried, running out of the grand
show-parlour, where the case of stuffed birds was, and peacock-feathers,
and the white hare killed by grandfather; "I am so glad you are come at