"Upon my word, I can't tell; it depends mainly on the parson's wife and daughters.

There is none at Plumstead." This was almost a fib on the part of the archdeacon, for Mrs.
Grantly has a very nice school.

To be sure it is not a Sunday-school exclusively, and is not so designated, but that exemplary lady always attends there for an hour before church, and hears the children say their catechism, and sees that they are clean and tidy for church, with their hands washed and their shoes tied; and Grisel and Florinda, her daughters, carry thither a basket of large buns, baked on the Saturday afternoon, and distribute them to all the children not especially under disgrace, which buns are carried home after church with considerable content, and eaten hot at tea, being then split and toasted.

The children of Plumstead would indeed open their eyes if they heard their venerated pastor declare that there was no Sunday-school in his parish.
Mr.Slope merely opened his wide eyes wider and slightly shrugged his shoulders.

He was not, however, prepared to give up his darling project.
"I fear there is a great deal of Sabbath travelling here," said he.
"On looking at the 'Bradshaw,' I see that there are three trains in and three out every Sabbath.