“Ah! that’s just what I says to my mate. I says, ‘It’s like the ’lections used to be.’ I’ve had many a glass of whisky for a vote; and I ain’t much of a hand at politics, so I voted honest for the man as treated me most liberal; and so I will now. I ain’t much of a hand at sermons and prayers neither, but I wouldn’t mind obliging either church or chapel for once in a way, if they’re after bidding for us; but, of course, Miss Tom, I values myself at the highest price, as is only natural.” “Quite natural, Nelson. But you are mistaken this time. The churches and chapels are not bidding against each other; the people who”—Tom hesitated—“who are good, you know, are joining together to try and make things a little better and more happy for those who are not as well off as themselves. That is all it means.” “And ain’t we agoing to be persuaded to go neither to church nor to chapel?” “No; though we should all be glad if you went somewhere—we don’t care where. You would have a welcome in either case, of course.” “Well, that beats all!” said Nelson. “And is this ’ere room to be lighted up comfortably every night for us?” “Yes, it is; and we shall be glad if you will all come every night and enjoy it.” “What’s this stuff I’m a-drinking, Miss Tom?” “Beer.” “What sort o’ beer?” “Very nice beer, isn’t it?” “Yes, it’s A 1, and I’ve had four glasses; but it ain’t reg’lar beer, cause, however much you drinks, you don’t get any forrader with it. It won’t make you drunk, will it, now?” “You surely do not want it to make you drunk, do you?” “Well—no—not as I knows on,” said Nelson, slowly; and the men around him laughed. “I used to go to church when I were a boy,” said another man, Benham; “but if I go anywhere now, I goes to the Methodists when they has the open-air service. It don’t agree with my health to be shut up in a close church or chapel.” “I suppose you find a bar-room better ventilated?” said Tom; and this time the laugh was against Benham. “I used to go to church when I were a boy,” echoed another man. “My father were one of the singers, and he left all through a quarrel about a anthem. He wanted ‘All people that on earth do dwell’; but another man wanted ‘I will arise’; my father wouldn’t give way, nor the other man neither. Father says, ‘It shall be “All people that on earth do dwell,”’ and the t’other says, ‘Cuss “All people that on earth do dwell”’; and my father put on his hat, and walked out of the church forthwith, and he never entered it again till he were carried there; and that is the truth, and I do not deceive you.” The last words were spoken so solemnly that Tom had to beat a retreat. But the evening passed pleasantly enough, and Margaret’s singing was greatly appreciated.