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 about the little village. There are three rows of huts sloping upward from the school towards the wood; besides these are a few outlying buildings which bring the number up to thirty-five. Each of these huts is inhabited by a married couple, who are landlord and landlady to as many lodgers as they can find room for. Just now, when the work is in full swing, the huts are very full, over-crowded some would say, as I think rightly, but it is a crowd that goes and comes and does not complain. Most of the men are still in bed this winter morning, some are within at their breakfasts, but of some we get a sight without entering the huts. Several of those we encounter have an appearance the reverse of prepossessing—the appearance of men who were very drunk last night, and with whom the bad beer and the raw spirit which pleased them then have left a splitting headache and a bad temper for their morning's entertainment. They are nursing a thirst which they cannot quench till mid-day, when the beershop will open. Others we see who have just turned out, and are standing outside the huts with bare arms and neck, having a good wash. The navvy is generally a man of clean habits, and knows well the value and the pleasures of a wash after his day's work and his night's rest. One man turns as we pass, and lifts his streaming face to look at us. I recognize a friend, and stop.

"Hullo, Somerset! not at the school this morning?"

"No, sir, not this morning; I laid a bit later than usual, but I'll come in this afternoon."

My friend, whose grand name does not imply connection with any noble family, but merely that his home is in Somersetshire, is a regular Sunday scholar, and I don't like to see him absent, but I know what his work is,