"Well, it's no use being anything else that I can see," said Tom, getting tired of being talked down and jumped on, in a manner of speaking. "A'm ashamed on yo', Tom. Aw thowt better things on yo', after all my talkin' to yo'. Nah, my motto is, Be content just as long as yo' can't better yo'sen; but it's yo'r bounden duty to yo'r sen an' yo'r fam'ly, when yo' get one, an' yo'r fellow-men, to be as discontented as ever yo'n reason to be, an' to try all yo' know to better yo'sen an' them. Discontent, lad, 's th' basis o' all progress, an' yo'll nooan be a reformer till yo'r chock full on it. Look at Moses, nah!" But Mrs. Garside might be seen at the cottage door beckoning them to tea, for there was ever a cup of tea on Sunday afternoon with wheat bread and fresh butter, and lettuce or watercress and radishes and spring onions, when the season served, and these fresh pulled from Ben's little garden patch, or gathered from the brim of the purling brook. Tea over, Ben seated himself by the hearth on which was spread the large warm list rug, like Joseph's coat of many colours, lists which Lucy had herself cut and her own mother stitched into the stout canvas backing. Ben justly regarded this rug as a work of art, and when he ventured to plant his feet upon it of a Sunday night, did so, as it were, apologetically. "But we hannot finished our talk yet, Tom," he began, puffing vigorously at his clay pipe to assure that well-gripped glow that permits of soliloquy or monologue. "Aw wer' sayin' when Hannah ca'ed us in." "Now, father," interrupted Lucy, "remember what day it is, don't let us have any o' those horrid politics, they only put yo' in a fash an' a tantrum." "Tom 'll ha' to bide it," said Hannah, who was pleased to see her husband settle down by his own fireside and cross his legs upon his own hearth, as what wife is not. "Tom 'll ha' to bide it. Yo'r father's like a eight-day clock. If Tom's wun' 'im up, Tom mun let 'im run daan." "Well, aw wer' sayin'--at what wer' aw sayin'?--guise-'ang-me if aw hannot forgotten wheer aw left off--Oh! Abaat Moses. Nah, tak' th' Book theer. Reick it daan, Hannah, reick it daan, Tom 'll happen mash a ornament or crumple a fal-de-lal" and Ben winked at Tom in token that this must be taken as a subtle innuendo at Hannah's over-tidiness. But Hannah was impervious to innuendo, and carefully lifted down the ponderous family Bible, bound in stout leather covers with brass corners, and containing on the front leaf in faint ink and sprawling characters the brief records of marriages, births and deaths. The book had been given to Hannah by her grandmother on her death-bed, and never did priest of Levi touch the Ark of the Covenant with more reverent hand than hers as it held the sacred volume. "Nah, lad, read that abaat th' ovverseer an th' Hebrew." Tom looked at Lucy for further explication.