“Come, that’s right. You and I shall be friends. Indeed, it’s not many a one I would bring in here. But I was reading a book this morning, and I could not make it out; it is a book that was left here by mistake one day; I had subscribed to Brother Robinson’s sermons; and I was glad to see this instead of them, for sermons though they be, they’re . . . well, never mind! I took “em both, and made my old coat do a bit longer; but all’s fish that comes to my net. I have fewer books than leisure to read them, and I have a prodigious big appetite. Here it is.” It was a volume of stiff mechanics, involving many technical terms, and some rather deep mathematics. These last, which would have puzzled me, seemed easy enough to him; all that he wanted was the explanations of the technical words, which I could easily give. While he was looking through the book to find the places where he had been puzzled, my wandering eye caught on some of the papers on the wall, and I could not help reading one, which has stuck by me ever since. At first, it seemed a kind of weekly diary; but then I saw that the seven days were portioned out for special prayers and intercessions: Monday for his family, Tuesday for enemies, Wednesday for the Independent churches, Thursday for all other churches, Friday for persons afflicted, Saturday for his own soul, Sunday for all wanderers and sinners, that they might be brought home to the fold. We were called back into the house-place to have supper. A door opening into the kitchen was opened; and all stood up in both rooms, while the minister, tall, large, one hand resting on the spread table, the other lifted up, said, in the deep voice that would have been loud had it not been so full and rich, but without the peculiar accent or twang that I believe is considered devout by some people, “Whether we eat or drink, or whatsoever we do, let us do all to the glory of God.” The supper was an immense meat-pie. We of the house-place were helped first; then the minister hit the handle of his buck-horn carving-knife on the table once, and said,— “Now or never,” which meant, did any of us want any more; and when we had all declined, either by silence or by words, he knocked twice with his knife on the table, and Betty came in through the open door, and carried off the great dish to the kitchen, where an old man and a young one, and a help-girl, were awaiting their meal. “Shut the door, if you will,” said the minister to Betty. “That’s in honour of you,” said cousin Holman, in a tone of satisfaction, as the door was shut. “When we’ve no stranger with us, the minister is so fond of keeping the door open, and talking to the men and maids, just as much as to Phillis and me.