I knew
how sorry he felt for poor Charlie, for when he was moved he always said
very short things, and generally something religious.

And for all Charlie's whims and fancies, and in all his pain and
fretfulness, and through fits of silence and sensitiveness, he had never
a better friend than Isaac Irvine. Indeed the bee-master was one of
those men (to be found in all ranks) whose delicate tenderness might not
be guessed from the size and roughness of the outer man.

Our neighbours were all very kind to Mr. Wood, in their own way, but
they were a little impatient of his slowness to be sociable, and had, I
think, a sort of feeling that the ex-convict ought not only to enjoy
evening parties more than other people, but to be just a little more
grateful for being invited.

However, one must have a strong and sensitive imagination to cultivate
wide sympathies when one lives a quiet, methodical life in the place
where one's father and grandfather lived out quiet methodical lives
before one; and I do not think we were an imaginative race.

The school-master (as we used to call him) had seen and suffered so much
more of life than we, that I do not think he resented the clumsiness of
our sympathy; but now I look back I fancy that he must have felt as if
he wanted years of peace and quiet in which to try and forget the years
of suffering. Old Isaac said one day, "I reckon the master feels as if
he wanted to sit down and say to hisself over and over again, 'I'm a
free man, I'm a free man, I'm a free man,' till he can fair trust
himself to believe it."

Isaac was probably right, and perhaps evening parties, though they are
meant for treats, are not the best places to sit down and feel free in,
particularly when there are a lot of strange people who have heard a
dreadful story about you, and want to see what you look like after it.

During the summer holidays Jem and I were out the whole day long. When
we came in I was ready for the Penny Numbers, but Jem always fell
asleep, even if he did not go to bed at once. My father did just the
same. I think their feeling about houses was of a perfectly primitive
kind. They looked upon them as comfortable shelter for sleeping and
eating, but not at all as places in which to pursue any occupation.
Life, for them, was lived out-of-doors.

I know now how dull this must have made the evenings for my mother, and
that it was very selfish of me to wait till my father was asleep (for
fear he