"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 awhile. When he is at home, he is in his own parish at Morton."
"That village a few miles off?"
"Aye."
"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."
