duty of being content with dry bread, when
they were not more than seven or eight years
old. The children were dear creatures. Me
and my missis loved them all, and they loved
us. There was the eldest, Master Rupert,
a high-spirited chap, always in mischief
when his father's back was turned—a fine,
free-spirited lad, and the kindest, bravest
heart in the world; and Charles, as quiet as
a lamb, always at his book; and Norman,
the youngest, rather spoiled, but a merry
sharp little grig; and the two young ladies,
the twins that my wife nursed and took to
almost altogether when their poor mother
died;—Miss Maria and Miss Georgina.

They had no playmates; for the Squire
wouldn't let 'em have any if he knew it.
They weren't dressed like other children. The
boys always the same corduroys, except cloth
on Sundays; and then they wore these until
they were too short in the arms and the legs
by half a yard. The poor young ladies were
in the same way; always cotton gowns
and common straw bonnets, and their hair
cut short like boys, until they were quite
big girls. They used to creep into church
ashamed, for they knew they were gentlefolks,
and did not like being so shabby.

They never went to school; the Squire
could not bear the idea of the expense. First
he taught them himself; then he found that
took too much time; so he hired a curate in
the next parish, a curious sort of a snuffy old
man to teach boys and girls. But they only
made fun of him, and did not learn much, I
doubt, except Charles. Then he got a cheap
governess for the ladies; but she did not like
the living, and married Bob Cannon the
forester. I believe the Squire loved his
children dearly; but he was so busy saving
up money for them, and he was so severe
with them about every trifle, and always
lecturing them about one thing or another,
that they feared him too much to love
him.

Lord Splatterdash says, I am told, that all
children are alike. He would not have said
so if he had known my young masters—
Rupert, and Charles, and Norman. Rupert
was proud naturally. He could not do what
his father did. I've seen him cry with shame
and vexation when the Squire has taken him
with us to market to drive the old phaeton,
and he has heard his father disputing about
a groat in the bill with the innkeeper. For
we used to take our own chaff with a
sprinkling of oats in a bag, and feed outside
the town, near a haystack, in fine weather,
and stood out all the time. In wet weather
we were obliged to put up at an inn; and
then we had to bear with a deal of sauce
because Squire Skinflint, as they called him,
was known never to spend a penny if he
could help it. He'd go five miles round, and
creep over any hedge on horseback, to avoid
a turnpike. Many a time at a crowded
fair we have been turned out by landlords
saying, " I can't afford to take in folks that
neither eat nor drink."

But for all that, the Squire was not a bad
man to the poor—far from it; and would
come down handsome at times, by fits and
starts, if there was any case of distress.
But his whole mind seemed eat up with the
notion of saving fortunes for his children.
He used continually to say, "You see they're
five of them; and my father's behaved so
cruel to me that there be very little for them,
Robin, when I'm gone."

Now, when Master Rupert grew to about
fifteen, and the two young ladies thirteen,
although they were kept so close, they got to
hear many things making them think that
their father was not so poor as he always said.
For servants will talk: at that time not one
single bit of furniture had been bought since
the old lawyer died. The carpets were worn
out and patched one with another, like a
patchwork quilt. In the living rooms, they
made up with odd sets of chairs; and he'd
patch the broken windows with paper himself.
They got rid of servants until they had only
two oldish women in the house beside the
farm servants. They used to dine at one
o'clock, in what was the servant's hall, on a
long deal table; and I've known them sit
down day after day to a dish of potatoes,
chosen from the best of those kept for the
pigs (the best of all went to market), with
one egg and one rasher of bacon a-piece, and
dry brown-bread. The flitches and hams,,
and all that could be, were locked up in
the store-room, and the Squire kept the
keys and gave out daily what he thought was
wanted. As for the young ladies, when they
were big enough, they were dressed in their
mother's dresses as long as they would last.
I have seen them shivering in a cold October
day for want of a shawl or a cloak when he
had three or four locked up in the
great wardrobe; but the Squire said it was
too soon to begin warm clothes in October.
No matter what kind of weather, we never
began fires until the ninth of November.

One Saturday just before Christmas—it
was Master Rupert's seventeenth birthday—
not that they kept any birthdays—the
Squire went to Christmas fair with me to
sell a lot of bullocks, the best he ever had,
fed on the summer's grass in the park. An
hour after we were gone, Master Rupert
called his brothers and sisters into the hall
that was never used, and there he had got a
roaring fire in the grate. Old Jenny Crookit,
who told me the story, said he shouted out
like a madman, " Look here, children, I have
got orders to give you a treat on my birthday.
Here's wine." And so there were
several cobwebbed bottles. He must have
broken into the vault. " Here are fowls and
turkeys ready for the gridiron. Georgy,
Molly, and you, Dame Crookit, help to make
a good broil; and while you are doing that,
I will show you something." He went out