U
IL

LINO I S

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN

PRODUCTION NOTE
University of Illinois at
Urbana-Champaign Library
Brittle Books Project, 2012.

COPYRIGHT NOTIFICATION
In Public Domain.
Published prior to 1923.

This digital copy was made from the printed version held
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LONDON
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SAMPLE TWO POUND BAG RIZI1E, together with Book of Recipes, sent Carriage
Paid to any address in the United Kingdom, on receipt of Tenpence in Stamps.

RIZINE

FOOD CO., iTDO.,

Works: 87, Borough High Street, London, S.E.

"THIS DAY MONTH;"
AND

THE FIFTH 'P.'
BY THE

REV.

P.

B.

POWER,

M.A.

Author of " The Oiled Feather," &c.

PUBLISHED UNDER

THE DIRECTION

OF THE

TRACT COMMITTEE.

LONDON:
SOCIETY

FOR

NORTHUMBERLAND

PROMOTING
AVENUE, W.C.;

BRIGHTON;

NEW YORKK;

CHRISTIAN

KNOWLEDGE,

43, QUEEN VICTORIA

135, NORTH

STREET,

STREET.

E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO.

E.C.

"THIS DA'Y MONTH.'
CHAPTER I.

THIS is a
sentence;

important little
indeed, a much more
important one than many, which make
more noise in the world. But we are
wrong in calling it a sentence; it is,
alas! only a part of one; and it is the
first part and the last added together,
which make the whole so bad.
Sometimes the sentence runs thus:
"Please, ma'am, I'll leave this day
month ;" or, " I'm come to give warning that I'll go this day month; " or,
"Mary, you can leave this day month; "
or, "Mary, you must go this day
month."
There may be many little
changes in the way 'tis said; but the
tune, is always played on the same
string, and always ends up with that
horrid phrase-" this day month."
I say, there is no end of misery, and
misunderstanding, and discomfort, and
loss, and sin-yes, sin
downright
hard, real sin, involved in these few
words; and if folk knew how much
there is in them, I don't think they
would be so ready with them as they are.
I shall write a little about their use
(for, like all things in the world, they
have their use), and a good deal about
their abuse; for they are far more
abused than used, to the breaking up
of family comfort, and the great delight of the devil; who has more to do
with them than people think.
Now, Betsey Thorn, I shall begin
with you.
When Betsey was about to start in
life as under housemaid at Pendleton
Hall, her father and her mother each
gave her a present, and some advice.
John Thorn had long looked forward
to the day when Betsey should go into
very

service, and he was pleased at the
thought; for household service is
honourable in the sight of God; and
John knew that it was very suitable
for Betsey's position in life. No doubt,
there were plenty of girls about, wh,
thought service beneath them; and
were growing up with the prospect of
being no good to anyone; but John
wanted none of that sort of thing with
his girls; and with your permission,
John, I'll just pat you on the back,
and say, "You're right."
John Thorn couldn't look after a
girl's clothes; that was her mother's
affair; though, now and again, he let
fall his general ideas on the subject; but
he could do something else for Betsey;
and he determined it should be done.
"Betsey," said he, "shall have a
watch. I'll save up my money until I can
get her a good stout honest-going silver
watch; that she may be able to keep
time in her situation, wherever she
goes to. I should like mine," said
John, "to be a dependable girl; and
she shall have a dependable watch."
When the time came for Betsey to
go to service, she got a great deal of
good advice from her father; which
was wound up with a presentation of
the watch, and a kiss on the girl's
rosy lips.
And it would have been well for
Betsey if she had been then and there
walked out of the house, having this
good advice the last impression on her
mind.
But this was not to be.
Betsey's mother now had her into her
room to pack her things; and to receive
a little advice from her.
The wardrobe which Mrs. Thorn had
provided for her child was of a very
speckled character; i.e., there was

"THIS DAY MONTH."
much in it that was good, and much,
alas ! that was bad. There were useful things, no doubt, for the week, and
for work ; but there were useless things,
for Sunday, and for show. And these
latter had some devil trimmings on
them; i.e., some pride, and vanity, and
upishness, and discontent with things
around, which were not apparently in
keeping with such fine things; all of
which Mrs. Thorn had sewn on, when
she put on cheap finery, though she
didn't know a bit about it.
HIad she had the choosing of Betsey's
watch, she would have bought her a
little trumpery gold thing, which would
have made no scruple of being half-anhour fast to-day, and slow to-morrow;
but that matter had been settled by a
wiser head than hers.
John got his
girl a watch which did an exact day's
work in the day-not a minute more, or
less-an honest, steady-going, healthy
watch,--a pattern in many things for
Betsey herself.
Well, Mrs. Thorn having shown
Betsey all her things, and packed
them up, proceeded to give her some
advice. Mueh of it had relation to
the clothes just mentioned; and, no
doubt, there was also some about her
duties; for Mrs. Thorn had once been
a housemaid herself; but her last
piece of advice was that with which
we are most concerned here: "Don't
be put upon, Betsey, by anyone; keep
yourself up; and if mistress isn't agreeable, and things arn't as you like, you
can give warning."
Betsey seemed to think this would
rather an awful kind of thing to
do; and she evidently shrunk back
from it so much that, her mother
cheered her up on the subject, and
said, "Oh, there's nothing easier in
the world. You just watch, and you'll
be pretty sure to get an opportunity of
speaking to your mistress; or if you
don't, you write a note, and put it on
her table."
"And what shall I say?" asked
Betsey.
SWell," said Mrs. Thorn, " if there's
<@knv
.ivZery
Cdisag'reelo' vnT iiit

,be

say, short and sharp, ' Please, ma'am,
I'm come to give you warning; I'll
leave this day month ;' or if it isn't
so bad, ' Please, ma'am, I should like
to leave this day month;' or if it's
only for a change, '
Please, ma'am, if
you have no objection, I'd like to leave.
this day month.' But you must always
end with ' this day month ;'
that's the
law."
" What's the law ?" asked John
Thorn, coming in at the moment. "I
hope we're not going to have anything
to do with law,-the law won't give
you as much for a shilling, as the
butcher, or baker, - what's the law,
Betsey ?"
"Why, father, that when I give
warning. I'm to
say 'this
day
month.' "
"Yes, give a month's notice ! " said
Mrs. Thorn, coming to Betsey's help.
John Thorn sat himself down in the
nearest chair, and rested the palms of
his two honest hard-working hands
upon the two knees of his well-worn
breeches; and proceeded forthwith to
look like a man who had something to
say, and who was going to say it. Then
he fixed his two eyes first upon his
wife, and then upon his daughter;
which was a pretty plain intimation
that they were to atte..,l to such utterances as were about t proceed out of
his mouth.
"Law indeed !" began John Thorn,
"what have we to do with law; is
there nothing to be done. in the world
but that must be done, because the law
orders it; or to be left undone, because
the law says it must not be done?
'Twould be a pretty world indeed--a
tough, hard world-if this were the
case; and I'd be very sorry to send
you out into it, my girl, as long as I
could give you a morsel at home, if
there were nothing in it but law. There
is too much 'must,' and 'must not,'
'need not,' and all that sort of thing;
but that's because men don't know the
real law-the law of love-to 'do as
you would be done by; and if this last
were the law people lived by, there
'0olld be much less 'giving warning'

" THIS DAY MONTH."

than there is. Giving warning should
never be heard of on either side, except
a mistress is wronging a servant, or a
servant her mistress; and the matter
cannot be otherwise put right.
" I'd like to know, Betsey, what you
are going out into the world for: is it
to go hopping here, and there, like a
water-wag-tail; or to spin about like a
teetotum; or to be knocked about like
a shuttlecock from one to another; or
to be a girl with a home and friends,
and people to value you ? If you don't
care for people, people won't care for
you; and if they see you are always on
the go, 'tis no wonder if they don't
much care to make it worth your while
to stay.
"Mother," said John Thorn to his
wife, "suppose our girl gets nothing
but law, she'll have a fine time of it,
won't she ? If she's only to give law,
she musn't expect to get anything else;
'taint the law that a mistress should say,
'Well, Betsey, how is your mother ?'
or, 'Betsey, I hope you're comfortable
in your place?' or, 'Betsey, how are
you getting on?'-all that is cheering
up, but it ain't law ! Or if a girl looks
bad, and the mistress says, 'iBetsey,
you don't look the thing, go to bed an
hour earlier to-night; ' or, 'Betsey, as
soon as I can, I'll send you home for a
week;' or, 'Betsey, tell the cook to make
you a cup of beef-tea;' that's comfortable, but it ain't law,-there's no law
about beef-tea, and them sort of things.
"'Taint law that rules private families ;
and remember, mother, a servant should
always be one of the family; and when
you take our girl to her first place, you
won't say to her mistress, 'Here, ma'am,
is our girl; and deal with her according
to the law.'
"Betsey, my girl, think of 'love,' not
'law;' or if you must have law; why
then, let it be the law of love.
"The way to grow, my girl, in the
esteem of those about you, is to stay
where you are, unless there be some
very good reason for your going; but if
you let law make your bed; you'll often
have to sleep on the palliasse."
This was much more than good John

Thorn usually said at any one time; so
he now withdrew his hands from his
knees, and taking a key off the chimney,
piece, for which he had originally come
in; he proceeded to take himself off,
without interfering in the mother's
more immediate province of dress.
Mrs. Thorn was bent upon having
things her own way; and though she
felt how wrong it would be, openly to
contradict what her husband had said
(especially as in the depth of her heart
she knew it was true); still she contrived to leave her own views on her
daughter's mind.
This she did by
urging upon the girl that "right was
right;" a doctrine which John would
have subscribed to, as well as she.
"iRight is right! and stick up for
your rights," said Mrs. Thorn, as she
folded up the last of Betsey's things.
And Betsey said, "Yes, mother;" and
the box was locked, not to be opened
again until Betsey Thorn found herself
in her new situation, with a stock of
new clothes, and new ideas too.
CHAPTER II.
EVERYTHING, at first, was very new and

pleasant to Betsey.
The girl took
pleasure in her work, and her fellowservants were kind; mistress, also, was
not unreasonable; and the dangerous
idea of "this day month" was almost
beginning to drop out of her mind.
But fair weather is not destined to last
for ever, either by sea, or land; consequently we need not be surprised to
hear that, a breeze began in course of
time to spring up at Mrs. Clifford's,
where Betsey was; and it gradually
strengthened into a stiff gale.
Now, whenever the wind begins thus
to rise in a family, a wise servant will
act as an experienced sailor; and get
ready for the storm. Mrs. Cleaver,
Mrs. Clifford's cook, was a careful,
prudent woman; and seeing what was
brewing, she became more reserved than
she had been; and kept aloof from
much of the talking that was going on.
She gave Betsey, also, a hint or two;
which might have done her good, had

" THIS DAY

the girl not stood upon her independence by an unfortunate recollection of
"this day month." If things did turn
out disagreeable, she could leave; there
were plenty of other places in the world,
so her mother had told her; but then,
she had forgotten to tell her that,
different places are of different kinds;
and that, although there are plenty of
places, they are not all equally good.
Now, as it is not our intention to mix
ourselves up With downstairs' quarrels,
but only with such matters as immediately concern Betsey Thorn; it must
suffice the reader to know that John
Shanks, the footman, and Rosa Theresa
Dresser, the lady's-maid, had a violent
quarrel; in which several of the servants took sides. 'Tis perfectly true the
matter in dispute was no affair of
theirs; still, some were dragged into
the quarrel, and some deliberately
walked into it; of the latter was Betsey
Thorn; and she never would have meddled with it at all, had it not been for
her idea that, if anything disagreeable
came of it, she could leave that day
month.
into it, however, she did go, as the
friend of Rosa Theresa Dresser-a
young woman who (if the truth were
known) had been in half-a-dozen such
scrimmages, in just as many situations
before.
The row was beyond all bearing,
good natured as Mrs. Clifford was; and
things had come to such a pass that
Rosa Theresa, who was the one in fault,
could not be kept; so Mrs. Clifford, to
prevent all rankling, and fermenting,
during a month, parted with her at once.
One would have thought that here
was an end of the matter, so far (at
least) as Betsey was concerned; but,
alas! it was not so. Rosa Theresa had
not been gone twenty-four hours before
Betsey received a letter from her. The
note was written on pink paper with a
fancy border; and enclosed in an envelope to match. To look at it, without
reading it, one would have said that it
must be the most charming little note,
full of lollipop sentences, and everything that was sweet and nice.

MONTH."

But, alas! this was not the case.
The lady's-maid should have written on
lemon-coloured paper, if she wanted
something to match the spirit of her
note; for, from beginning to end, it
was abuse of John Shanks, varied here
and there with bitter things against her
former mistress; and hints that, if she
were Betsey, she would never stay in a
place where such a creature as Shanks
met her eyes four times a day-breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper; to say
nothing of bread and cheese at eleven
o'clock.
Betsey Thorn had no reason to dislike
John in himself; he had been kind
enough to her; but these notes-now
pink, now lavender, and sometimes a
delicate green- coming continually, at
last worked her up to such a state that,
it was plain if things went on much
farther, she and John could not continue
fellow-servants under the same roof.
Now, Betsey, you should have taken
good old Mrs. Cleaver's advice; you
should have believed there was something in it, wvhen she shook her head.
She didn't do that for nothing, when
she had her best cap on; but no, nothing
would influence you; and so it came to
pass that you made another person's
quarrel, with which you had nothing to
do, your own.
Now, this is the way this matter
came to a head. Rosa Theresa, the
former lady's-maid, wrote a pink and
lace-edged letter to Betsey, asking her
to meet her that evening at seven o'clock,
as she wanted to tell her something very
particular; and Betsey determined to go.
But Mrs. Clifford, who suspectedwhither
she was going, told her that she could
not approve of it, and that she would
much rather she did not go. Very
kindly did Mrs. Clifford speak; she
always spoke kindly, especially to the
young; but even this little denial put
up the girl's spirit. She left the room
in anything but a nice spirit, to return
again in just ten minutes by the clock,
tap at the door, barely insert her nose
into the room, and say, short and sharp,
" Please, ma'am, I'm come to give you
warning; I'll leave this day month ! "

"THIS

DAY MONTH."

CHAPTER III.
BETSEY THORN's first impulse was to
feel rather startled at what she had
done; a thought also floated into her
mind that, perhaps, she had acted
foolishly as well as hastily. But these
thoughts, which might have led to
something good, were soon put down by
other and worse ones. The girl had
only done what her mother had told her
to do. " She wasn't going to have her
private friendships interfered with by
her mistress! " "she wasn't going to
have her independence cut in upon ! "
"there were plenty of other places to
be had; the world was wide enough for
Mrs. Clifford and herself!" and with
several other considerations of this kind,
Betsey's better thoughts were put down ;
or, perhaps, to speak more correctly,
they were never allowed to get up.
There was, moreover. another consideration which greatly influenced her; and
that was the idea that, she could perhaps,
get a place in the same house with Rosa
Theresa; which indeed had been
suggested as a possibility by that
individual, in one of her delicatelycoloured letters.
To this must be added yet another
thought, and that was, that she would be
somewhat a heroine in the sight of her
fellow-servants. Had not she shown her
mistress that she did not care a pinch of
snuff, or a snap of the finger for her or
her place ! had not she done all that a
servant could do to a mistress; what
even elder servants had not done ! She
was a mixture of a heroine and a martyr ;
a martyr to her love for Rosa Theresa;
a heroine in having so far avenged her;
and she expected to be looked upon
accordingly.
It was with some such feelings that
Betsey took her place at supper that
night; and embraced the first opportunity of announcing her intention to
leave. Alas ! her expectations of being
either a heroine, or a martyr, were disappointed. Old Mrs. Cleaver, who was
at the head of the table, shook her head
ominously, and said nothing: the upper
housemaid half tossed hers, and said

"Lawks," not a little indignant that
'her girl" (for Betsey was under housemaid) should have done anything of the
kind, without letting her know; while
John Shanks, the footman, refused to
turn pale, or fall down into a fit; or
spill the beer, or do anything at all,
showing that he thought that the world
was coming to an end; or that there
weren't "as good fish in the sea as ever
were caught."
Moreover, the boy in
buttons tittered; and in Betsey's eyes
generally misbehaved himself; a way
of proceeding to which boys in general
are much given, whether they be in
buttons or not.
That was probably the most uncomfortable meal that Betsey ever ate in her
life; and she retired to bed that night
with, if not altogether " an experience,"
at any rate the beginning of one; and
experiences of this kind seldom cut
themselves short at the beginning, but
go on very uncomfortably for some time ;
and won't stop, even when one wants
them to do so.
Betsey Thorn determined not to cry,
though she felt almost compelled to do
so; for there seemed to be a lump, as
large as a pickled walnut, stuck very
inconveniently in her throat. No, if
she could cry it up, or hem, or sneeze it
up, Mrs. Cleaver would only shake her
head the more: and the housemaid
would only say "Lawks," and there
was no knowing what Shanks would not
do; and what the boy in buttons would
do,-she would keep her sorrows to
herself. And that, good reader, is just
one of the special evils of self-made
sorrows: that we have to keep them to
ourselves; as poor Betsey had now to
do.
For her own satisfaction, Betsey
Thorn determined that she would not
cry, even when she went to bed; and
she tried hard to keep her resolution:
but the novelty of the situation was too
much for her; and, when she got her
head under the bedclothes, she relieved
her pent-up feelings, with a plentiful
flood of tears.
Two considerations, however, cut the
crying short: one was that the house-

-

"THIS DAY

maid was heard to say " Lawks " from
her bed in the other corner of the room;
and in the next place, had not Rosa
Theresa promised to get Betsey a place,
whenever she wanted one ; and she had
no doubt she could get her one with
herself.
For it was Rosa's private
opinion that she could worry any servant
out of her situation, if she wished so to
do; and one of her chief objections to
the imperturbable Shanks was that, he
would not be worried by any one; but
kept on the even tenor of his way. Not
even by a boy in buttons would Mr.
Shanks be worried; and that was saying
more than could be said for most people
in the flesh.
It was only to write to Rosa, and tell
her that the time had come sooner than
had been expected; and that it was for
" her dear sake," Betsey had taken the
first step to throwing herself out on the
world; and surely, Rosa would take care
that all went well with her; and so, she
would weep no more.
Poor Betsey, you have yet to learn
that it won't do to trust too much in this
world to friends, more especially to
those of yesterday: but our business is
to tell how you were taught the lesson.
As a general rule, if two servants
leave their place at the same time, an
employer may be pretty sure that, in
hiring them as fellow-servants again
she is making a mistake. But there
are plenty of people in the world who
don't reflect; and who are only too glad
to be saved the trouble of looking out
for two servants separately; thinking
they have made a great catch, if they
find a pair ready to their hand.
Rosa Theresa hoped speedily to find
one of these. She received Betsey's
letter announcing that, she had given
warning to "leave that day month"
with the liveliest satisfaction; she told
her on lavender-coloured paper that she
was a duck, and a darling, and a plucky
girl; and that Shanks was a demon,
the boy in buttons an imp, and Mrs.
Cleaver an old muff; while the housemaid was a contemptible low creature,
who never opened her mouth but to eat,
and drink, and say something like

MONTH."

" lawks." "Cut the whole of them,
my dear girl," said the lavendercoloured note ; " I only pity you for having to stay the month. Your Rosa will
find you a place where fond hearts need
not be severed. Adieu."
That was the letter that kept Betsey
up; and after she received it she felt
quite sure that, the whole matter was
She had unbounded consettled.
fidence in Rosa, and thought her
such an acquisition that she would be
snapped up immediately; and whoever
snapped up Rosa, must snap up her
friend Betsey too.
How swimmingly both would get on
in the world if only they were bought
at their own price; but unfortunately,
the world is generally a hard bargainer,
and takes off a discount of some eleven
pence halfpenny in the shilling from
the price people put upon themselves;
and the world was at this particular
moment very stupid, or not in want of a
lady's-maid, or something or other was
wrong with it, for it didn't snap up
Rosa Theresa as if she were worth more
than most people knew. The lavendercoloured notes, also the lemon-colour,
the rose, the blue, one and all told the
same story, only with diverse variations,
viz., that Rosa had not yet a place. She
was "'onthe point of going to one,"
and she "had nearly settled about
another," and she " shouldn't be
surprised if she were at another before
next evening," but still, she was practically as far off as ever, which made
poor Betsey not a little anxious.
If Rosa had not a place for herself,

how could she have one for her ?
accordingly, her answers to the imanycoloured epistles began to betray this
anxiety. Rosa Theresa was not of the
very sweetest disposition, so she became
impatient when her friend's notes took
up this style; and perhaps, they might
have had a split, had not Rosa really
found a situation at the right moment.
Moreover, it was exactly the one that
she desired: the housemaid was about
to leave as well as the lady's-maid; and
no doubt she could get the place for
Betsey.
And what promotion: from

" THIS DAY

being "a girl" she would become a
full-blo.wn housemaid, and all through
having such a friend as Rosa !
Henceforth Betsey cheered up. She
felt herself a match even for the boy in
buttons, whose conduct had become
each day more buttonish; and whose
mouth had taken to unnatural twistings,
more and more at supper-time, when
Mrs. Cleaver's eye was not upon him.
For the present at least there seemed
good reason for Betsey Thorn's feeling
comforted, for the expected situation
was offered to her in due time. Rosa
Theresa had given such lavender and
rose-coloured accounts of her that, the
new employer engaged her. And the
two found themselves in the same place
once more.
CHAPTER IV.
THERE are some foolish folk who seem

to think it would be heaven on earth, if
only they could get to certain places, or
be with certain people. A very great
mistake is this; as such folk sooner or
later find out to their cost. The place
they so much desired often proves no
better than the one they have just left,
if so good; and the friend they thought
three-quarters of an angel, turns out a
very shady or seedy kind of angel
indeed.
Such was the case with our poor
friend Betsey Thorn. For awhile,
Betsey got on very well in her new
situation. It was very pleasant to be a
full-blown housemaid, and not " a
girl," and she took such pains that she
gave great satisfaction. Theresa, moreover, was always at hand, and was
always ready with a good word for
Betsey to her mistress; so, everything
gave promise of sunshine for a long
time.

But alas ! what we call ' long times "
of happiness often turn out lamentably
short ones in this uncertain world of
ours; and Betsey Thorn's summer-time
was destined soon to come to an end.
It not unfrequently happens that,
when two servants leave a place together for love of each other, and get

MONTH."

together into a new one, they fall out
eventually, and one ousts the other
from her new situation; or, perhaps
they have a violent quarrel, and both
are turned adrift. Only this time they
leave their situation, not with the intention of coming together again, but of
getting as far away from each other as
they can. And thus it proved in the
,present case.
Rosa Theresa was of a fickle disposition; her love was violent for awhile,
but it never lasted very long. Accordingly, as weeks rolled on, and .Betsey
was thinking how delightfully comfortable she was, Rosa's love towards her
began to cool. Rosa first began to find
fault about little matters connected
with her mistress's room; and proceeded
from that, to interfere about the drawing-room, and the staircases, and all
sorts of places and things, in which she
had no concern whatever. At first, it
was not much; so Betsey, partly because
her place was a very comfortable one,
and partly because she wished to please
Rosa, if she could, put up with it all.
But if people won't be pleased, they
won't; and this, Betsey Thorn gradually
found out.
The less reason Betsey gave Rosa to
be displeased, the more vexed the latter
was, and the more irritating did she
become.
Alas ! poor Betsey did not
know that Rosa was tired of her, and
wanted to get rid of her, and had commenced the process of worrying her out.
Most servants whom Rosa had
previously worried had gone through
the process much more quickly than
Betsey was doing, so the lady's-maid
determined to give her former friend a
help.
"I think you had better give warning, and go," said Rosa; "you're not
giving satisfaction; and unless you can
do your work properly you're better
elsewhere."
"I'm doing my work as well as ever
I can," answered Betsey, quietly ; " and
if mistress points out anything she
wishes different, I'll attend to it. Besides, I don't want to give warning;
I'm very comfortable where I am."

" THIS DAY

MONTH.'

"Oh, indeed," replied Rosa, "you
want mistress to talk to you, do you ?
it's not enough that I do-oh, dear, no!
how grand we've,got since we were only
'a girl'-dear me, we're a 'housemaid'
now-the last fashion in housemaids;
we must have mistress to talk to usdear me; and so we shall.
" And we can't give warning because
we're comfortable; we couldn't give
warning to Mrs. Clifford; oh dear, no ?
we like being comfortable, don't we;
and we wouldn't unsettle ourselves for

how do I know what kind of character
I shall get ? Perhaps Rosa will poison
mistress's mind against me.
No, I
won't go," said Betsey, "let Rosa go
if she likes; why should I disturb myself, when I'm very comfortable ? " and
Betsey set to work more diligently than
ever.
But the girl did not know how strong
and subtle an enemy she had to contend
with, in the person of her former dear
friend: Rosa Theresa had her mistress's
ear. That lady was not very strong-

the world.
But peAh.aps somebody
will be unsettled for all that-dear me,
things sometimes come very unexpected;" and the lady's-maid tossed
her head, and disappeared; leaving the
housemaid standing astonished in the
middle of the floor.
" And was it for this," said poor
Betsey, " that I gave warning so shortly
and sharply to my last mistress; and
am I to turn myself out in the world for
nothing ? How can I ever expect a good
place with these short characters and

minded; she listened too much to what
her insinuating lady's-maid said; and
not a week had passed over Betsey
Thorn's head before it was determined
that she should go.
Theresa contrived to get herself
appointed the messenger to summon
Betsey to her mistress's room. " You're
wanted," was all the breath she condescended to spend upon her former
friend; and, leading the way, she ushered
the housemaid into her mistress's presence.

"THIS

DAY MONTH.'

By a series of dexterous insinuations,
the lady's-maid had worked her mistress
up that morning into a state of wrath
against the housemaid; so, scarcely had
Betsey stood before her, ere she said,
shortly and sharply, "I've sent for you
to give you warning; you leave this day
month !"
This was coming down sharp on the
poor girl; indeed, it was doing so downright cruelly; for if Betsey was to be
dismissed at all, surely warning might
have been given in a quiet, if not a
kind tone.
" Have I done anything wrong,
ma'am," asked Betsey, the tears coming
into her eyes, " or offended you ? I'm
very comfortable where I am; I wish
to do my best, as Theresa here knows.
Why do you give me warning?"
" I don't know anything of the kind,"
said Theresa, " and a great many people
think they are most comfortable, when
they are doing least work;" and she
looked knowingly at her mistress.
" I'm not bound to give any reasons,
or to think of your comforts," answered
Betsey's mistress; " you leave my service this day month "-and Theresa
with a look of triumph and spite, and
managing just to whisper in her ear, as
she opened the door, " So we're so very
comfortable, are we;" let poor Betsey
out of the room.
Betsey plainly saw that, her former
friend had succeeded in turning her out
of her place; and the other servants all
knew it too. This was bad enoughshe had to seek a new home-she had
been deceived in her friend; but what
was worse than all, she had been treated
with injustice, and unkindness, and unthoughtfulness ; yes ! all this was true.
Betsey's mistress had been unkind, unjust, unthoughtful; we are not for a
moment going to take her part. But
Betsey, as she thought, and fretted over
her present trouble, could not but feel
that, she had only been paid in her own
coin ; and had only received back herself
from this mistress what she had given
to the last. Had not she been unjust
and unreasonable to Mrs. Clifford ? had
she not given her warning without any

sufficient reason-and that, in the same
short, sharp way in which she had just
received it herself? had not Mrs. Clifford
tried to reason with her, just as she had
tried to reason with her mistress, but in
vain? Things were not to be all onesided in the world; servants must
remember the annoyance they inflict on
their employers; as well as feel what
their employers inflict on them. Betsey
never thought of this before; but now
it came home to herin her own case. Mistresses have feelings as well as servants;
ah ! there was no way of finding out this
equal to personal suffering; and Betsey
Thorn began to think that " Do unto
others as you would be done by," had to
do with the relationship between servant and mistress, as well as every
other.
CHAPTER V.
WHEN we are fairly started in life with
wrong ideas, it is generally very hard to
get rid of them; even though they bring
us into some discomfort, and trouble.
Thus it was with Betsey Thorn.
There were three points in which the
bad advice given to Betsey by her
mother, told upon her. In the first
place, the idea of change was suggested
to her, and brought prominently before
her mind. She had started in the world,
not with the idea of how long she could
continue in a place, but with the thought
that she could always go. " Going "
was made altogether too easy-much
easier than it really was, if looked at in
all its bearings. Then, she had the idea
that, she " would go some time."
gave her an unsettled kind of feeling;
and thereby deprived her of much comfort. Moreover, she had a notion that,
she could always be "bettering herself,"
as she called it. Bettering one's self is
a great speculation -- hit or miss-not
unfrequently worsering one's self-out
of the frying-pan into the fire.
Then, Betsey was started in the world
with a great deal of self-importance.
There was a good deal of this working
in her, about giving these warnings;
until she was brought to a better mind.
She thought that, talking of giving

'1hat

"THIS

DAY

warning, as if her poor mistress didn't
know what a terrible calamity was always
hanging over her head, gave her consequence in the eyes of her fellow-servants; and of the tradesmen; and of
herself.
Betsey was, further, thus deeply impressed with the fact that, she was her
own mistress. And young people like to
think that, they are their ownmasters and
mistresses; though, whether any man
in the world is his own master, or any
woman is her own mistress, is a matter
upon which we could say something, if
this were the proper place.
However, to come back to Betsey
Thorn's more immediate experiences;
as soon as she left her comfortable place,
she went to service with a lady who was
particular, but not exacting. Mrs. Ogle
was not a sofa lady; nor a tatting lady;
nor a five o'clock cup-of-tea lady, with
dinner at eight, and bed nobody knew
when; but she was a woman of well
ordered mind, and house; and what she
was herself, she liked her servants to be
too.
But, though Mrs. Ogle was particular,
she was reasonable. She knew what
could not be done, as well as what could;
and what need not be done, as well
what need; and she never required anything of a servant, but what, for that
servant's own credit, was really right to
to be done.
For awhile, Betsey got on very well;
but as weeks passed on, and we suppose
the idea of always being able to give
warning, was working in her, she began
not to like the mistress's being so very
particular; and pointing out this and
that. Not but that it was all right; she
could not say a word against any of the
mistress'sremarks. It was quite true that
that Chinese mandarin on the chimneypiece ought not to have been left with a
spot of soot just on the white of his eye,
and that spider's thread twisted round
the end of his pigtail; nor was that
speck of grease exactly ornamental on
the fringe of the drawing-room tablecover. Moreover, Betsey, according to
her own belief, did not think that, the
spot of rust should have been allowed

MONTH."

to come in the corner of the drawingroom fender; but then " mistress needn't
be so very particular." True, Mrs. Ogle
always spoke very kindly; but Betsey
thought she must have a couple of
dozen eyes, instead of a single pair;
and 'twasn't pleasant to have a mistress with so many eyes. There were
plenty of places where the mistresses
were not so particular; she thought
she'd " just go." Betsey did not reflect
that she was going down in the world;
that to seek a careless mistress was to
ensure making herself a bad servant;
'twas very easy to give notice, and so
" she'd go!"
But how was notice to be given this
time ? Betsey had had enough of
giving warning short and sharp; and
her conscience told her that Mrs. Ogle
had always spoken kindly to her; so
she determined to adopt the second form
of notice-giving, with which she had
been furnished when leaving home ; and
to say, " Please, ma'am, I should like to
leave this day month."
There was a lurking thought in
Betsey's mind that, perhaps, Mrs. Ogle
might not like to part with her; that
she would ask why she was leaving;
and on learning, would promise, if
Betsey stayed, not to be so very particular for the future. So, looking at the
matter either way, she determined to go
in that day, about four o'clock, when
Mrs. Ogle was in her boudoir, and give
notice.
Accordingly, at four o'clock, when
Betsey had made sure that, her mistress
was in her accustomed place, she
knocked at the boudoir door. She was
ready primed with all her grievances-from the soot on the white of the mandarin's eye, down to the spot of rust on
the drawing-room fender; and she would
tell mistress that, "her place wasn't
agreeable." But alas! poor Betsey did
not get the chance.
Knock at the door--" Come in," from
inside-Betsey enters from outsideMrs. Ogle is writing at her table-she
looks up-Betsey's heart gives a small
flutter-" Please, ma'am, I should like
to leave this day month." Betsey stands

"
THIS DAY MONTH."

expecting Mrs. Ogle to ask why-- rs.
Ogle only says "Very well," and goes
on with her writing.-Betsey still stands
-is that all ? doesn't Mrs. Ogle care
whether she goes or not ? won't she
enter on the reason why? won't she
give Betsey a chance of starting off
with an account of her grievances?
won't her mistress let her give her her
private opinion of that pig-tail mandarin; and how he had the bad habit
of always getting soot, or something
else, on his pigtail, and in his eye,
and nose, and everywhere else, which
she ought, no doubt, to have cleaned
off ; still it was very aggravating
he was so dirty in his habits? No,
nothing of the kind. Mrs. Ogle, finding
that Betsey did not stir, looked up again
from her writing, and simply said
" Very well;" and Betsey had to leave
the room, feeling two inches smaller;
and with a strange kind of feeling creeping over her that, giving notice was not
such a fine thing after all.
She left her place, without even saying 'good-bye' to the mandarin, much
less asking for a lock of his hair; and
felt rather disgusted than otherwise
with warnings on the part either of
mistress or servant-they were very
unsettling, of that there was no doubt.
Betsey had yet to spend No. 3 of the
forms with which she started in the
world; and we are thankful to say that,
after that there was no more left.
We must now follow her to Mrs.
Lettuce's country house, where she
found a most comfortable situationone far better than she had a right to
expect, considering that she had no
long characters. Characters don't bear
chopping up; one long one is worth a
dozen short ones; but Mrs. Lettuce
knew something of the Thorns, and so
she took Betsey, without going too
closely into the past.
But Betsey had taken to good Mrs.
Lettuce's a remnant of the old bad
advice; shall we not now almost call it
bad habit of giving warning without
any sufficient cause; all that can be
said in her favour being that, she was a
little more cautious about it tkan she

had hitherto been.
She had learned a
little, but not quite enough.
Now, Mrs. Lettuce lived in the country;
and some people, especially servants,
consider the country dull. The most
they can say for it is, " Country not
objected to." No doubt, the country is
not all strawberries and cream; or
spring chickens, or ducks and green
peas; but no more is the town (which
is so often mentioned in advertisements
as " Town preferred ") all that's nice.
Every place has its advantages and its
disadvantages; and if folk would only
bear this in mind, they would often be
more contented with the present than
they are.
When our friend Betsey first went to
Mrs. Lettuce's, she liked everything
very much; but as time wore on, and
the roses faded, and the country began
to look winterish; she began to think
the place dull; and then, on this another
thought began to grow, viz., that she
could better herself; and then it was
but one step from ' could' to ' would';
and she determined to give notice once
more.

But Mrs. Lettuce had been very kind
to her; and her conscience made her feel
that this was but a poor return to make.
She quieted its remonstrances, however,
by determining to give notice in as
kindly a way as possible; for which, if
Mrs. Lettuce knew what was right, she
ought, no doubt, to have been very much
obliged!
But she was not. Perhaps she was
stupid, owing to living always in the
country; but so it was that, when Betsey
said, "Please, ma'am, if you have no
objection, I'd like to leave this day
month," she seemed to have a very
decided objection; for she found Betsey
a very useful servant, and one that
answered her very well.
Mrs. Lettuce remonstrated with
Betsey; she said that it would incon.
venience her very much, to have to
change at the beginning of the winter;
she was in delicate health; in fact, often
very ill, and she would be much better
pleased if Betsey stayed.
But no ! this seemed a kind of breaking

" THIS

DAY

in on the girl's right; she had given
notice to go; and accordingly, it was
settled that she was to leave that day
month.
CHAPTER VI.
A FOnTNIGHT of the month had passed,

when Betsey Thorn slipped downstairs
-which, by the way, we must observe,
she might have done just as well in the
town as in the country-and in that slip
the girl severely sprained her ankle;
and, in fact, gave her whole nervous
system a shock. The doubt at first
was, whether the leg was not broken;
but the calamity was happily not so bad
It was, however sufficiently
as that.
serious. Weeks must elapse, the doctor
said, before the limb could be used as
it had been; no inconsiderable time
must pass before it could be used at all.
And Betsey had only a fortnight before
her! She would go-yes, she would,
that day month; and that would be that
day fortnight now.
Mrs. Lettuce was in bed with one of
her bad rheumatic attacks, but she had
given orders that every care should be
taken of Ietsey, and those orders were
carried out. The girl had her mistress's
doctor to attend her; she had everything that she could fancy to eat and
drink; and every morning and evening
a messenger came from the old lady to
ask how Betsey was.
Ah, Mrs. Lettuce, you didn't know
what misery you were inflicting on that
poor girl. The pain of the twisted
ankle was nothing compared with the
misery of receiving kindness from one
to whom she had been so unkind. She
might have stood the beef-tea, and bits
of chicken, and so forth; but those
regular enquiries were too much for
her.

Why should her mistress care for
her ? had not she given her notice to
leave her, in spite of all she could say ?
was she not going away in a fortnight ?
-yes; and it had now dwindled down
to a week; and
Yes, andwhat-- then Betsey's thoughts
roamed away-out into the wide world;
where wa;s Ahe to go ? for, even if she

MONTH.

could be moved, she had no home now;
for her father and mother were both
dead, and the old cottage belonged to
her family no more.
It was all her own doing, but go she
must; and she could never bring her
mind to ask her mistress to allow her to
stay.
It wanted now but three days of the
"day month" for which Betsey had
given notice; and she was still lying
helplessly in bed. It was dim twilight,
and the cold, bleak world seemed to
outstretch itself before her; and she
shivered at the thought of dragging
herself out into it, with that helpless
foot. For since Betsey had first gone
to service, her good father had died
-and the home was broken up. But
she must soon exert herself, and gather
her few.things together, and get ready
to depart from what had been a comfortable home to her, ever since she
Her heart sank
had come into it.
within her; and the tears ran down her
cheeks-oh ; that she had not been such
a fool; but she had been all for her
rights; and now she had no right to
hope to remain a burden on her littlethought-of mistress.
And thus she thought and wept,
when the sound of a crutch was heard
thumping up the stairs, and a knock
immediately followed at Betsey's door;
and, with her head all muffled in flannel,
in hobbled old Mrs. Lettuce.
The poor old lady evidently moved
with great difficulty; and every step she
took seemed to give her pain; for the
rheumatism was all over her; in that
flannel-covered face; and in her knee
joints; and in her fingers too. But
there was a kindly heart beating in old
Mrs. Lettuce's breast; and the rheumatism had not stiffened that; and who
can tell how often it made her exclaim
" Oh, dear," as she lay on her sick bed.
The servants thought that she was
making these exclamations from pain;
but it was not pain, but the thought of
what would become of the poor girl upstairs, that made the kind - hearted
woman so often call out.
"Ah, my poor girl, I could never get

"THIS DAY

up before; and now I'm hardly able
to speak," gasped the kind old lady.
" But I've just come to say, stop as long
as you like-until your leg is well; and
we'll nurse you, until you're quite
strong; and you needn't go till you
please. I didn't like to send you word
by any of the servants; and this is the
first chance I had of coming myself."
"But my time is up," said Betsey,
timidly.
"No, no; no one's time is up that's
in pain; stay on a visit if you like-not
till 'this day month,' but until the
warm spring-until you're quite well."
"Ah," said Betsey, crying, "you've
done by me, mistress, better than I did
by you; I wasn't doing as I should
wish to be done by when I said ' This
day month."'
"Well, well; don't talk about that
now," said Mrs. Lettuce; "perhaps
you'll soon get well; and won't have
much more pain; oh, dear! oh, dear!
pain is hard to bear, my poor girl; and
I'm afraid you have had a great deal to

MONTH."

bear. Dear! dear ! you must be able
not only to limp, but to walk, and run,
and jump, before you go." And then
good Mrs. Lettuce tried with her poor
crippled fingers to smooth Betsey's
pillow, and to settle the quilt; all of
which made the girl cry more and more
as soon as her mistress had gone.
And there, in that bed, Betsey left in
due time her pride, and unsettledness,
and law; or, to speak more properly,
she confessed these sins and rolled
them on the only One who could get
rid of them; and she came downstairs,
with a settled mind, and an humble,
loving heart.
Weeks rolled on and Betsey Thorn
got well; and years passed away, and
she was found at old Mrs. Lettuce's
still; for Betsey had learned in her
illness many a useful lesson, and one of
them was, not to be in too great a
hurry to say " This day month "-yes,
the folly, and often the wickedness, in..
volved in these words,
"THIS DAY MONTH !"

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THE FIFTH 'P.'
CHAPTER I.

T HIS

here marrying is a serious
business," said Mr. Joseph Peggins
to his nephew by the mother's side, Mr.
Robert, or, as he was commonly called,
Bob Ryecroft.
At the time of delivering this sentiment, Mr. Joseph Peggins was standing
in front of a young man who was sitting
down with a small pot of paint between
his knees, which paint he was stirring
about with a little piece of stick. It
was quite fitting that Mr. JosephPeggins
should find his nephew at this work, for
painting was his line of business, and
the young man aspired some day to be
a " Plumber, Painter,

and Glazier,"

with
general repairs neatly executed
at the shortest notice, and on the most
reasonable terms."
So far, so good;
Mr. Peggins-who had rather a shaky
view of young men in general-was
pleased to find his naphew Bob at his
work; it argued that there might b.e
some hope of him yet.
Under the
circumstances, this was not to be
despised ; for "when a man was married
he was done for," so thought the worthy
old gentleman; and because he himself
would not be done for by any persons

or for any consideration, he had remained
single, and desired that his nephew Bob,
on whom all his affections were fixed,
should do the same.
Mr. Joseph Peggins had been fished
for by many hooks, and he had cruelly
and basely eaten off many baits, and
then swum right away; and had there
been any such wholesome institution in
the country as a matrimonial police, Mr.
Peggins, in the estimation of several
ladies of various ages,wouldnot hav been
allowed to remain at large a single day,
but would have had-first six months'

solitary confinement, and then six
months on the treadmill, and then six
months of pinchings, or some other
general disagreeabilities, it did not
exactly matter what.
He had been fished for with mincepies at Christmas, and roast goose at
Michaelmas, and ducks and green peas
in the early spring. One cunning single
lady had triedto catch him as in a net with
an antimacassar, but he swam through
the meshes of it as if he were merely the
tail of a tadpole. The effect of a teapot
on him was most unexpected; to escape
all dangers from such a quarter henceforth and for ever, he gave up tea and
took to cocoa. As the cocoa agreed with
Mr. Peggins remarkably well, he
accepted this as a further proof that
bachelorhood was the proper thing for
man, and that matrimony was altogether
a mistake. As to the argument once
pressed upon him that, the world could
not go on unless people married, and
that it must come to an end; he replied,
he was sorry to say there would always
be fools enough to keep the world turning, and that if the worst came to the
worst, it was business good enough for
the world to take care of itself. When
a certain Miss Stuff thought to pin him
in a corner, and asked him, in a decided
tone of voice, one day, "Mr. Joseph
Peggins, how can you remain single ? "
she felt as if she had run against a stone
wall when she got the freezing answer,
"You see, ma'am, I can."
The reader will not wonder that, such
being the opinions of Bob Ryecroft's
uncle, that gentleman now stood opposite
his nephew with a very determined air.
He had come to give him a bit of his
mind, and he meant to do it.
Now, the reason why Mr. Peggins
came at this particular time was that, it

THE FIFTH 'P.'

had come to his ears, beyond any further
possibility of doubt, that his only nephew
was about to get married.
For some time there had been rumours
to this effect, but the worthy man contented himself with disbelieving them,

man's own conscience would tell him
what that serious word meant.
And, in truth, Bob Ryecroft had
frequently been startled and puzzled by
this eccentric conduct of his uncle. If
the! old man and he espied each other at

121
I i--~-=- i ''i TI
a .I
]
~~L~lI'~i

and by way of precaution lifting up his
stick, and uttering the one word
"'
Beware.! " when he met his nephew in
the street. Speak to him upon the subject he would not, for fear of putting
such a thing into his head, when perhaps
it- was not there at all; but should it
unhappily be there,, then the young

a distance, Bob always saw the stick
arise in a menacing attitude, and
approach him, from even half a quarter
of a mile off-; and before the uncle said
" Good day," he said "Beware!" or
perhaps simply said "Beware!" and
passed on.
Suddenly, round a corner,
or under any other circumstance, orplace,

thlus

THE FIFTH ' P.'

up went the stick; so that now it was family. He had been butler, and seen
quite a relief to the young man to find good living, and enjoyed the large slice
out the meaning of all this, as his uncle thereof which fell to his own share. On
said, " This here marrying business is this he had thriven, and grown fat; and
he could not understand how it was that,
serious-Beware! "
anyone could live or rather waddle
"Oh, it's all about Rhoda Garnsey,"
said Bob, as he stirred the paint round through life-for this had been the
somewhat hurriedly, as though he was manner of his own existence-without
good living.
When Sir Charles
annoyed; "that's what uncle is on."
As Bob said nothing out loud, the old Trenchard died, Mr. Peggins found
gentleman, seeing hewould not be drawn himself the possessor of £100 a year
out of his shell, determined to pull for life. Moreover, his own father died
him out of it there and then, like a very much about the same time, and
left him a house which was calculated
ready-boiled periwinkle. Accordingly,
he looked his nephew straight in the to be worth £30 a year more.
With these two sums, and savings
face, and said, " Robert Ryecroft, are
which made the income up to £200, the
you going to be married ? "
worthy man determined to withdraw
" Some day, uncle," said Bob.
"Then, sir," said Mr. Peggins, lifting from anything in the way of ublic
and with a life; to trouble himself no more with
his hand, "beware!"
mingled look of indignation, sorrow, dinner-parties and the like, but to retire
surprise, and vexation, the worthy man into lodgings, and be his own master.
One fixed idea the former butler took
turned on his heel, and made forthe door.
Short, however, as was the distance with him into private life, and that was,
he had to travel, a multitude of thoughts that there could be no happiness in wedseemed to rush into his mind, of which ded life without plenty of money. Sir
he felt it absolutely necessary to get rid Charles had always spent lavishly, and
Mr. Peggins could not understand how
before he left the premises.
" Robert," said he, " marriage means a house could be kept up without lots of
money. It was true everyone could not
rent and taxes, and rates, and repairs,
and painting, and papering, and white- have a mansion; still, to keep house involved lots of money, according to the
washing, and food and drink for two or
perhaps twenty-two, and ribbons and condition of life in which a man was.
"Pooh ! pooh ! don't tell me of modelaces, and flys, and a certificate, and
rate means. I'm well of in lodgings
babies, and doctors, and schooling, and
the measles, and vaccination, and the with £200 a year, but even in a fourchicken-pox, and cutting teeth, and roomed house I should be badly off
bibs, and being asked questions, and with double the money. Folk have no
having to walk the room all night with right to marry until they can keep good
a baby, and nobody knows what. houses." And as he reflected on these
Beware! " and the old gentleman van- things in his own mind, as he sat before
the fire on his return home, for want of
ished through the door.
On looking out of the window, Bob his stick he seized the poker, and holdRyecroft saw him walking rapidly and ing it out threateningly, cried, apparently
in an excited manner down the street, to someone up the chimney, "Beware!"
That very night Mr. Peggins deterwith his stick held in a menacing
attitude, which must have seemed, to mined to bring matters to a point, and
say the least of it, slightly peculiar to if his nephew were indeed meditating
matrimony, to put an end to the idea if
the passers-by.
he could; so he sat down, and, after
much thought, composed the following
CHAPTER II.
letter :"Mr. Robert Ryecroft. 'Sir,' that
Ti' to forty-five years of age Mr.
Joseph Peggins had lived in a baronet's is, 'my nephew'--according to which

20

THE FIFTH ' P.'

way you take this letter,-I am told you
are going to get married. If you are,
I'm not going to leave you a threepenny
piece. More people marry than keep
good houses. 'Beware!'
If you are
'my nephew,' I say ' Beware! ' and if
you were nothing, only a plain ' sir,' I
should say ' Beware !' ' Beware!' is the
last word of your affectionate uncle, or
your obedient servant, as you take this
letter,
JOSEPH PEGGINS.
"P.S.-In either case 'Beware!'
N.B.-' Beware ! ! '"
It is quite true, good reader, that Bob
Ryecroft was going to be married some
day to Rhoda Garnsey.
Rhoda was the daughter of the schoolmaster of the parish where Bob lived.
Indeed, Bob had been taught by him,
and had been his favourite pupil. A
man to reverence, and love, was that old
man; and it was Bob's pride that, he
should ever have been thought worthy
of his daughter.
And Rhoda herself was someone to be
proud of. Well brought up-taught
that poverty may be adorned with
beauty-that work was wealth-that
house should be home-that there was
a nobility far above the titles of earththat true love was neither to be bought
nor sold-that God had put on woman
great responsibility and honour in life,
if only she lived up to the position in
which He had placed her-all that was
really noble was Rhoda Garnsey, and
all this Bob Ryecroft knew; and upon
him all this had its effect. For Bob had
ever, as it were, a model before him,
and he would have been ashamed to act
in a manner unworthy of such a girl.
All these good Ihings of which I have
spoken were to be read in Rhoda's dark
hazel eyes. They were those wonderful deep-set eyes, from which the soul
seems to look out; and when, from
time to time, Rhoda, seemed a trifle
absent, Bob knew well, by the look of
her eyes, that she was thinking; and
that something good and practical
would surely come of it; for Rhoda was
not the woman to dream any part of life
away.
And Rhoda had cast in her lot with

Bob Ryecroft ; and Bob, as I have said,
was much the better for it. He would
have been ashamed not to do his best,
when he knew that she would look at
his work, and when she was sure to say
to work badly done, "Bob, that's no
noble man's work, but a poor hireling's;
that's not done to God, but man." Once
Rhoda had said that, and that once was
enough. Bob, I say, was much the
better for it in a general way; and,
indeed, I might say always, though one
day he made a sad slip; and, as that slip
has much to do with the present state of
things, I shall relate it here. Bob
Ryecroft felt that dreadful day, as
Rhoda stood opposite a door he had just
grained, and uttered those words, for
all the world as if she had breathed out
some scorching wind upon him, that
shrivelled him up and half made a cinder
of him; and the little that was left of
him seemed to sink down into his boots
-down at Rhoda's feet; and even that
seemed too good a place for such a common fellow as he. If you had offered
Bob Ryecroft twopencehalfpenny--ready
money, for himself, at that particular
moment, he would not have considered
himself worth the odd coin, so goodfor-nothing did he seem in his own
eyes.
"Bob," said Rhoda, as she looked
him full in the face, "it iswhat God
thinks of our work that is of most consequence;" and, seeing how her lover
blenched before her deep, real eyes,
she said, " Bob, we must be true to all
- true to our employers, and ourselves,
true to our God, true to one another,
true to our home;" and then those
hazel eyes sent forth from their deep
settings such a soft stream of light,
such breathing looks of love, that Bob
Ryecroft felt music running all over
his nerves-little vibrations and shakings, so gentle as to be scarce vibrations
and shakings at all, thrilling all over
him, just as if all his bones were funny
bones, and had been touched half-anhour ago, and the sensation was only
now dying finally away. For a moment
or two he seemed to hesitate as to which
Rhoda was-a saint or a witch, for one

THE FIFTH ' P.'

or other of the two she certainly must
be. I don't know what passed in his
mind, but probably he settled she was
half-way between the two, for Rhoda,
true to the wound-binding instincts of

21

For two minutes Bob Ryecroft stood
opposite the door like a man in a dream;
then he deliberately dipped a brush in
some red paint, and walking up to his
ill-done work, dabbed it over as if it

\A

--

her sex, kissed her lover ; and with that
laying aside of self wherewith women
so often conquers, whispered, "Bob,
you will be always what 'a man' should
be, and I will always try to be worthy of

_

-

had the small-pox, and that in the worst
possible form, so that there was no
chance of its recovery; and the sooner
it was removed to the hospital for fear
of infection the better.
That was a turning-point in the young

THE FIFTH ' P.

22

painter's life.
Henceforth he determined that, come what would, he would
be true-true to his God, true to himself, true to Rhoda, true to home, and
true to his fellow-man.
Had Rhoda
not poured oil into the wound which
she had made, she might have excited
her lover's anger, and done him no
good; but she knew that the reproof
in which there is no love is often of
little use; and, like the One she served,
she was ready, when a wound had done
its work, to pour in a soothing balm.
"Faithful are the wounds of a friend."
Most faithful of all wounrs, are th se of
the Lover of our souls. Fear them not,
fear .Him not; let Him say what -Fre
will, let Him do what He will to you all will be in love.
"Love's wounds, O blessed Lord, I feel,"
"Those wounds," says Jesus Christ, "I
heal."
CHAPTER III.
you think, good reader, that because Rhoda Garnsey's hazel eyes were
so full of deep realities, they were not
also full of human tendernesses and
love; and that they could not be full
of merriment too. The same still, deep
blue lake that reflects in its depths the
high mountains, and the very stars,
can ripple in the sunshine with sportive
little waves, which chase each other as
though they were not playing on the
surface of great depths at all. And
now Rhoda laughed heartily as Bob
said he'd given the door the small-pox,
and Rhoda should see it again some
day if ever it recovered. And as Rhoda
had kissed Bob, it was but fair and
just, and being quits, and a thing that
no lover of fair play could object to,
that Bob should kiss Rhoda. This he
did after a fashion of his own, for he
was very enthusiastic; and that fashion
was putting three, and as near as possible four, kisses into one, which after
all was an economical kind of way of
doing the thing, leaving it to his intended wife to separate them at her
leisure, and if she could not succeed, to
come to him to help her, and show her
DON'T

how it was to be effected; or, if on
reflection she thought he had given too
many, then she might return what she
did not want to keep, and no harm
would be done.
This little performance ended to the
satisfaction of both parties, and Rhoda,
having taken her departure, Bob Ryecroft sat down opposite the spotted door,
and did what it would do us all good to
do a little more-he began to talk with
himself; and that, pretty seriously too.
Bob was tackling himself somewhat
tightly, and he didn't mean to let himself off without going into this matter
pretty thoroughly.
You see, good
reader, that kiss which Rhoda had so
wisely given him, and that bright look
which she had so sweetly fixed on him,
prevented his going into matters in a
sour and melancholy spirit, in which
spirit a man seldom does anything right.
"Aye," he said, "she's right; that
door is not up to the mark. Rhoda
won't have anything but what's up to
the mark.
Well, I'm not up to the
mark myself, by long odds," said Bob,
smitten somewhat by his conscience;
" but a man may try to be, if he isn't;
and here goes. I'll begin upon that
door. Now, first-class work, if you
please, for me for the future; or, if
people won't pay for first-class work,
they shall have second-class if they
like; but they shall know it-first
quality so much; second quality so
much; but every man shall know what
he's getting; and every man shall get
what he pays for. I'm paid first price
here, and it must be first-rate work;
aye, as good as if I were doing it for
my own little house. House-houseRhoda wouldn't let me talk about
' house.' Well, our own little home.
No bad work there. Let me tell you,"
said Bob, "that the graining there
So
shall be fit for an exhibition."
saying he took up a cloth, and rubbed
the door clean, and went home.
CHAPTER IV.
THERE were two old gentlemen much
concerned at this particular time in the,

THE

FIFTH I P.'

caffairs of Mr. Robert Ryecroft and his
intended wife, Rhoda Garnsey. One of
those was Mr. Joseph Peggins, the
other was Rhoda's father, Mr. Garnsey, or, as he was commonly called,
"the Doctor."
These two individuals looked at the
future of these young people in different
lights. Mr. Joseph Peggins, as we
have seen, was going in for the chickenpox, measles, vaccination, together with
rent and taxes, and eventually the
bailiff ; while the Doctor was forecasting much happiness for his daughter
and her intended husband, thinking of
how many of the elements of true
happiness were independent of money.
The one was thinking of a house, the
other of a home.
Not that the Doctor scorned the idea
of chicken-pox, teething, measles, vaccination, and rent and taxes, and breadand-butter, and meat, and milk; he
expected all these things; he had met
them all himself bravely with Rhoda's
mother, and come well through them
all too; he knew well that, as long as
the world was, these things must be,
and that God had given men the means
of meeting them.
The Doctor would not have let Rhoda
do anything rash, even if she had been
inclined so to do; but there was too
much purpose and thought in those
deep-set eyes for anything of the kind;
and Mr. Bob was to "paper, and paint,
and execute all repairs at the shortest
notice, and on the most reasonable
terms," for some time, before he was to
be allowed to have Rhoda, or begin
housekeeping, or making a home.
Meanwhile, he had not to peep at
Rhoda over a hedge, or lounge about
in the twilight like a cat prowling after
a mouse or a bird; but he went in and
out of the Doctor's house like an honest
man upon his lawful business, as indeed his courtship of Rhoda really
was.
Rhoda Garnsey wore no fine clothes,
but she contrived always somehow to
be very attractive in Bob Ryecroft's
eyes, and, for the matter of that, in
other people's too; for what she had,

23

though plain, was tasteful, well chosen,
and well made. And then, she always
wore those wonderful eyes; and as to
new fashions, there were looks of all
kinds out of those eyes, and smiles of
all kinds played from time to time round
the corners of her mouth, and over her
countenance; and give me the freshness of these above and before all the
queer Frenchified cuts and shapes, and
no shapes at all, I call some of them,
which come from the other side of the
water. Bob Ryecroft, too, was very
tidy, as he took his seat at the Doctor's
table. Even if Rhoda had on two pair
of green spectacles, he could have
imagined how those eyes would have
looked behind them, at his appearance
in dirty things, all smelling of paint, in
her home.
The fire was burning brightly on the
hearth, and the Doctor had just commenced the crisp piece of toast which
Rhoda had laid for him, and all prohen a
mised a most delightful tea,
knock was heard at the door-a sufficiently unusual occurrence to startle the
little party.
" I'll go to the door," said the Doctor.
"'Tis Willie Kennedy come to tell me
whether his sister is better"; and accordingly the good man went.
Great was his surprise to see, instead
of little Willie, the dim figure of a
portly man; for the light was not
strong enough to reveal that it was Mr.
Peggins in the flesh.
" Is a misguided young man of the
name of Ryecroft here ?" asked a
decided voice.
" Robert Ryecroft the painter is here,
if it is him you want," answered the
Doctor, quietly.
"If that misguided, and going-toruin young man is here, tell him that he
is wanted."
" Who shall I say wants him ?" said
the Doctor.
"Someone that would save him from
ruin."

"Indeed!" said the Doctor, somewhat startled; but before he could ask
for further information (for in a moment
all sorts of terrible thoughts about

THE FIFTH ' P.'

Rhoda's future happiness shot across
his mind), Bob himself, recognising his
uncle's voice, came to the door.
" Well, uncle i" said Bob.
"Young man-misguided young man
-beware !" was all Mr. Peggins vouchsafed in reply; and with one hand lifting his stick threateningly, and with
the other thrusting the letter he had
recently written into his nephew's hands,
Mr. Peggins disappeared, almost as
quickly and mysteriouslyas he had come.
The little party at the Doctor's teatable had not to wait long to know the
Bob Ryecroft
contents of the letter.
read it out, and when he had done so,
laid it down on the table, and said,
"'What is to be done?"
His first
thought was to pursue the old gentleman, and bring him back, and reason
with him. But the night was dark;
perhaps, he might not have'gone home
at all; and even if he could be found,
he was of that impracticable nature on
the subject of matrimony and housekeeping that, there would be but little
use in catching him, always supposing
that he could be caught.
"What's to be done ?" said Rhoda
Garnsey, echoing her lover's words.
"Why, nothing is to be done, and
everything is to be done. We must
not depend on others. If, Bob, your
uncle chooses not to give us the money,
let us remember that you might have
had no uncle at all; and you are no
worse now, than you would have been
then. I don't think we can do anything about him, but we can do a good
deal ourselves.
You can work and
carry out all those Ps, and then we
shall have a ' home,' Bob, and a home
together, which is better than lodging
by oneself."
"What are the Ps ?" asked Rhoda's
father; "there seems to be something
between you two about them; and they
seem to make you very independent of
Mr. Peggins. I don't want to know
every little secret between you two,"
said the Doctor; "but if 'tis anything
that's going to help you along, as it
appears to be, I should like to know it,
if I may."

"Well, father,' sadRhoda, " if Bob
likes, he may tell nour.
Bob Ryecroft could not get married
just yet, but it seemed to bring him
somewhat nearer to the honourable
estate of matrimony, if he called the
Doctor " father." So he said, " Well,
father, 'tis just a little thing between
Rhoda and me. My uncle Peggins has
been and let out at me for thinking of
marrying Rhoda, or any girl at all. He
says I shall be ruined; and I've been
talking to Rhoda, and she says she's
not afraid, if we'-re P-patient and P-persevering, and if we look before usthat she says is another P-preparation
-and she points to my new watchguard here-though it didn't cost much
-and says, 'P-prudence, Patience, Perseverance, and Preparation. Bob, I'm not
afraid of facing the world if you have
these to face it with.'
"I believe, father, there's a fortune
in those Ps. Now, I spoiled a door
one day just for want of those Ps. If I
had prepared my paint properly, and
had patience with my work, and persevered, I dare say I should have done
it all right. I don't know exactly how
to work in the Prudence, but no doubt
it comes in somewhere."
"Well, 'tis plain enough where it
comes," said the Doctor. "Nothing
can be more imprudent for a tradesman
than to, do bad work; it will lose him
his custom, and give him a bad name;
and the want of it in any of the affairs
of life is enough to ruin a man, or at
any rate to prevent him from getting
on. But, Bob, there's another P that
I have found work well in life, though
too many don't care about it now-adays; and, indeed, whatever jibes and
jeers they have, they keep for that.
Now, guess what that. 'P' is."
" Oh, father, I'd never make it out,"
said Bob. "I never could have put
anything on to these Ps; it was Rhoda
who did it. You know you have made
a great scholar of her, and she knows
no end of words; and these are very
good ones, and I mean to stick to them
when I'm married."
"Well, you must guess."

THE FIFTH 'P.

Hereupon Bob Ryecroft first put his
two elbows on the table, and buried his
head in them, and began to mutter"P, P, P, P, P-pears, P-pence, P-pipes,
P, P;" and Bob changed his position,
and, putting his arms behind his chair,

25

with a face full of interest and earnestness.

"P, P, P," continued Bob, still looking at the ceiling, and finally turning
to the right and left, as if by some
lucky chance he might find it there.

\

looked up to the ceiling, as though he
hoped to find what he wanted there.
"P-plenty, P-paint, P-price, P-piecework, P, P, P--"
Meanwhile, a serious expression had
been stealing over Rhoda Garnsey's
face; and the Doctor was surveying his
former pupil, and intended son-in-law,

I

A little turn of Bob's head to one
side, and a slight movement of Rhoda's
bringing hers nearer to his, and a little
whisper from her half-parted lips, and
Bob blurted out in a moment, like a
shot out of a gun, "P-piety !"
" That's it," said Mr. Garnsey,
quietly. So long as Bob had the idea,

THE

FIFTH 'P.'

the Doctor did not particularly care
where he got it from; but he was too
well up to prompting in class not to
suspect that Rhoda had supplied the
word, and got her lover out of his
difficulty.
" Piety," said the Doctor, "is sneered
at; and, no doubt, many people professing to be pious have so behaved themselves as to bring discredit on the word;
but, after all, that is not just, Bob.
They have merely shown that they were
not pious; but the real thing, Bob ! ah,
that will do wonders for a man! Believe me, nothing will make a man's
home happier-nothing will make himself happier-than a daily walk with
God. Piety works in with all those
other Ps; with Patience, and Preparation, and Prudence, and Perseverance.
Who was the most pious person that
ever lived; and, if you read the Gospels,
who was so much given to all these, as
Christ ? Mind, Bob, when the world
laughs at piety, either they know
nothing at all about it, or they have
got hold of the wrong kind. Get the
genuine thing. If your Saviour died
for you; why, accept Him as freely as
He offers Himself, and then live always,
and in all things, as you think He
would like ; and that is real piety."
"I wish, Rhoda," said Bob, as she
came to the door to see him off (for you
see if she hadn't helped him to find his
hat, there's no knowing how long he
might have been getting it, considering
how long he was, even with her help),
"I wish I had known of this fifth P
when I wrote to uncle after he left me
this morning, and told him what kind
of a girl you really were, and how we
must surely get on with those Ps of
yours; I think he must have written the
letter he brought here to night, before
he got mine; perhaps he'll feel differently when he sees we are going to be
careful."
And Bob Ryecroft, having at last
found his hat, was off.
CHAPTER V.
never was such a hall-door
painted in all the neighbourhood round
THERE

as that, which Bob Ryecroft turned out,
a week or so after this conversation
with his intended father-in-law. The
fact was, Bob put religion and piety
into that door--aye, and there they
were on that piece of wood, just as
truly as if they had been put into the
finest church that ever was built. To
begin with, Bob put great preparation
into smoothing the door and mixing the
paint; then he put prudence into his
work, by giving every coat time to dry,
and by keeping off every particle of
dust; then he gave patience to it, not
hurrying over any of the finer part of
the work; and he persevered at every
knot and swirl of the wood, until at
last he produced one of the finest pieces
of oak graining that could be seen.
At first Bob was somewhat amused
at the idea of P-piety (which was a very
good thing in its place) being brought
into his daily common work; and then
he was somewhat annoyed; " because,"
said he, "if it comes into this door it
must come into all doors, and into
window-sashes, and everything else ;"
but when he found himself saying,
" Now I wonder, if our Lord had been
a painter, instead of a carpenter, how
He would have done this door?" he
somehow or other, always took more
interest in his work, and gave it a great
many little touches of grace and beauty
he never would have thought of giving
otherwise.
Very wonderful, under these circumstances, was a good deal of the work
which our friend Bob Ryecroft turned
out; so much so that, his custom increased to quite an unexpected extent;
and his prospects of marriage became
brighter.
Indeed, the happy day grew nearer
by several months than had appeared
likely. Folk were sure of Bob Ryecroft's work; they knew he did not
need looking after; what he said he'd
do, he would do; he always let folk
know exactly what they were agreeing
to have; and the consequence was, his
little home with Rhoda was coming
full in view.
How Bob would have got on in what

THE FIFTH 'P.'

some of his jeering friends callc:l " the
pious line " I don't know, h li it not
been for his intended father-in-law the
Doctor. 'That good man had planted
that evening, with his fifth P, the good

27

make a cart draw a horse, any more in
the things of the soul than of the body.
The first thing must be put first, and
the second thing must be put second,
and so right on.

vT~
^
r

s
\\'

seed in the young man's heart; and he
felt himself bound to look after it, and
water it, and train it up for God. The
Doctor put Bob on the right foundation.
You can't walk about upon your head
in the spiritual world, any more than
you can in the natural; nor can you

c

-

ic

The Doctor told Bob not only to do
his work as he thought Christ would
have him do it; but he told him, moreover, to look in .certain parts of the
Scriptures, and see what work the Lord
came to do; and when Bob did this,
the whole thing came out as clear

28

THE FIFTH 'P.'

before him as if it had been painted
with a brush, that what the Lord came
for was to save men from the guilt, and
punishment, and power of their sins;
and when he got hold of the great truth
that Jesus was honest in all He said,
and meant it, and that when He said
that a man who believed should be
saved, then Bob took Him at His word.
There weire no roundabouts in the
matter at all. If He said it He meant
it, and if I take Him I mean it; and
that was how it was done. And that,
good reader, is the way it is always to
be done, and how I hope you have
done, or will do it, at once - and for ever!
CHAPTER VI.
had mysteriously disappeared from the town the day after
he left the letter for his nephew. He
did not mean to leave him a single sixpence; and he did not want to be living
amongst people who might be expecting
something from him, though the thought
had crossed his mind, whether it would
not be better so to continue living, in
order that they might be more disappointed in the end.
Mr. Joseph Peggins being a single
man, and consequently not having
much luggage, had little more to do
than pay his rent, pack up a portmanteau and carpet-bag, and be off. I
am free to confess that here single men
have an advantage. Far be it from me
to grudge them their little all.
The course of life on which Mr.
Joseph Peggins entered when he settled
down in Smallford was not conducive to
health, wealth, or length of life. The
last that had been seen of Mr. Peggins
was his portly figure on the top of the
coach, with his stick well held up before
him, and the last word he had been
heard to utter was "Beware !" though
what it referred to none of the bystanders
could exactly ascertain.
However, it would have been well
for him if he had followed his own
advice; for, putting up at the inn at
Smallford, there he remained, taking
much more port than was good for him,
and finally marrying the landlady.
MR.

PEGGINS

The reader is quite warranted in demanding an explanation of this circumstance, and requiring to know how it
came about. Well, Mr. Peggins did it
just to have some one to leave his
money to; for not a penny should Bob
Ryecroft have, and he had no other
relation in the world.
But Mr. Peggins' matrimonial joys
or sorrows, whichever they were, did
not last long, as Mrs. Peggins died in
about two years, leaving Peggins in
the hotel alone. She left no will, and
her husband came in for all.
What good, however, was the "all"
to him ? Gouty, and really friendless,
he was likely to become a prey to those
around him. There was not much for
him here, and there was nothing hereafter.
It was while gloomy thoughts of this
kind were preying on his mind, one
dull October night, and he was sitting
up by the fireside, propped up in an
easy-chair, that the minister dropped in
upon him, and, after some talk on things
of another world, gave him some advice
about this.
On inquiring into what relatives the
sick man had, the only one he could
hear of was a ne'er-do-well, "ruined,
spendthrift, nephew, named Ryecroft,
who had been warned, but would not
beware; and, if not hanged or transported, was doubtless in some jail; or
anyhow, could give no home to him.
"Sir," said Mr. Peggins, "I warned
him, and he would not beware."
The minister, however, was a man
who liked to go into things; so he
wrote to the clergyman of the town
where the wicked nephew lived, and
received back for answer that, there
was a young man of the required name,
in highly flourishing circumstances, with
an admirable wife, a comfortable home,
and one baby just weaned, and beginning to crawl. Moreover, the baby's
name was 'Joseph Peggins Ryecroft,'
which name it had been called at the
special request of Mrs. Ryecroft's husband, as a memento of an uncle, now
probably dead, but who had paid for
the young man's education in early life.

THE

rH

FIFT

'P.'

29

"Write," said Mr. Joseph Peggins
to the clergyman, "and ask if the young
man has a wart behind his left ear, and
a younger one, about .the size of a pin's
head, in the corner of his right eye, for
nothing but those marks would persuade
me he's the man."

to be in this world, and help you on to
a better one hereafter."
"But they won't have me; I know
they won't ! When they married they
set up with four Ps. They've thriven
with them it seems, but what good is
that to me ?"

An answer soon came back that, the
warts were there all right.
"Now, take my advice," said the
clergyman; "you can't be long here,
and if this young man will have you to
live with him, go; and he and his good
wife will nurse you to the end. They'll
do you good for the little time you have

" What are the four Ps? " asked the
minister.
With great difficulty Mr. Peggins
wriggled to a desk in the corner of the
room, and took out his nephew's letter,
and said to the clergyman, "There they
are."'

" 'P-patience.'

You'll want a deal of

THE FIFTH P.'

bearing with, Mr. Peggins ; why, there
is the very thing for you; and 'P-perseverance.' They'll often have to try to
please you; but you see they'll perse'P-preparation.'
vere and stick to it.
There you are again, as if it was made
for you-an armchair in the chimneycorner, your bed warmed at night, your
toast not burned; and 'P-prudence."'
"Ah, they haven't much of that,"
said the sick man, "if they take me
in." Then he buried his head in his
hands for a Tfew minutes, and at last
looked up and said, "Write and say
I'll go to them if they'll have me, but
that I don't think they will. Oh dear !
oh dear! I remember when I got
that letter from my nephew, I said
'Stuff and nonsense ! P-pickles, P-port,
P-pastry, and P-plenty of them;' but
his Ps have the best of it now."
The next post brought a letter, to
say that a room was ready, and a welcome too; and that Bob Ryecroft himself would come with his own spring
van, which would hold a bed if necessary, to fetch his uncle, and share with
him his home; which delightful news
Mr. Peggins received with as loud a
hurrah as he was capable of, and an
excited waving of his nightcap.
And the old man went, and he sat in
the chimney-corner, and thought; and
lay down in his warmed bed, and
thought; and at last, feeling that he
must become quite bewildered if he
continued thus to work his brain, he
determined not to think any more. But
in spite of himself, the Ps would keep
uppermost in his mind, and he would
keep counting them up on his four
fingers, saying "P, P, P, P, 'tisn't
any of them brings me here." ' I say,

Bob," shouted out Mr. Joseph Peggins
one evening, suddenly, so loud as to
startle both his nephew and his wife,
"what brings an unworthy Peggins
here ? Why has he this chair, and
bed, and board, and a baby to play
with, all complete, when he deserves
nothing? Which P of the four has
done all this ?"
" None, uncle," said the young man;
"'tis a fifth P that Rhoda put in, called
Piety. We know our Lord would like
it, and so we do it, and like to do it
too."

"That's good," said the old man.
"You can teach me all about that P
too; if 'tis good for you 'tis good for
me."
And so, in his old days, bald and
pale, Mr. Peggins gave up all his four
Ps-his pickles, and port, and pastry,
and plenty of them. What had they,
or such things, done for him ? And the
fifth P became his joy.
It used to be the delight of Rhoda to
sit by his bedside or easy-chair, and
answer all his questions as to what this
fifth P of theirs really meant. And in
his humble way he took it all in. He
saw that their faith was a real thing,
filling and influencing their daily life.
The old man died with a hand in each
of his children's, as he called themone in Bob's, another in Rhoda's, and
little Joseph Peggins, his namesake,
calmly sleeping at the bottom of the
bed.
And when the Ryecrofts rose in the
world on all their uncle left them, they
never deserted old friends-the four Ps
which had done so much for them in
life, and the fifth, which was better than
all!

Printed by PERRY, GARDNER & CO., Farringdoi Road, London, E.O.

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