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 the country. I one day tapped at her door, and she opened it in a gown all spotted with white-wash. 'What! cleaning, Mrs. Matts?' I exclaimed in surprise. 'Why, yes, Miss,' she replied, 'for my husband's brother has just been up from London, where he works, to see us, and brought us a beautiful pictur of the Queen, all in a gilt frame, Miss; and when he'd hung it up, it made the walls look so shocking dirty, that I couldn't abear the sight of 'em, so I'm cleaning, you see.'

But enough has been said about the rights of other people; let us now turn to Mr. Bryce, the baker.

Bryce was working for a baker in the village near which my grandfather lived. His master died suddenly, leaving a widow and nine children. Bryce was an enterprising young man, and had been thinking of setting up for himself. My grandfather, however, heard that after his master's death he gave up this wish, and continued to work at his former wages, trying to keep the business together for the widow. Happening to meet him, he asked him if this report were true?

'Why, yes, sir,' said Bryce; 'you see nobody else would manage everything for her without a share of the profits; and nine children—what a tug they are! so as I have nobody belonging to me—nobody that has any claim on me—'

'But I thought you wanted to set up for yourself?'

'And so I did, sir; and if I'd a wife and family, I'd make a push to get on for their sakes,—but I've none; and so, as I can live on what I get, and hurt Rh