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oil painting artist
my dress, 'lest,' as she said, 'I should mucky it.'
'Ye've not been used to sarvant's wark, I see by your hands,' she
remarked. 'Happen ye've been a dressmaker?'
'No, you are wrong. And now, never mind what I have been: don't
trouble your head further about me; but tell me the name of the
house where we are.'
'Some calls it Marsh End, and some calls it Moor House.'
'And the gentleman who lives here is called Mr. St. John?'
'Nay; he doesn't live here: he is only staying a while. When he
is at home, he is in his own parish at Morton.'
'That village a few miles off?'
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'And what is he?'
'He is a parson.'
I remembered the answer of the old housekeeper at the parsonage,
when I had asked to see the clergyman. 'This, then, was his father's
residence?'
'Aye; old Mr. Rivers lived here, and his father, and grandfather,
and gurt (great) grandfather afore him.'
'The name, then, of that gentleman, is Mr. St. John Rivers?'
'Aye; St. John is like his kirstened name.'
'And his sisters are called Diana and Mary Rivers?'
'Yes.'
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