They don't go in till eleven." And she shook her head disapprovingly.
"Eleven's too late, to my thinking," agreed Mrs.Bateson.
"So it is; you never spoke a truer word, Mrs.Bateson.

Half-past ten is the Lord's time--or so it used to be when I was a girl." "And a very good time too! Gives you the chance of getting home and seeing to the dinner properly after chapel.

At least, that is to say, if the minister leaves off when he's finished, which is more than you can say of all of them; if he doesn't, there's a bit of a scrimmage to get the dinner cooked in time even now, unless you go out before the last hymn.

And I never hold with that somehow; it seems like skimping the Lord's material, as you may say." "So it does.

It looks as if the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches had choked the good seed in a body's heart." "In which case it looks what it is not," said Mrs.Bateson; "for nine times out of ten it means nothing worse than wanting to cook the potatoes, so as the master sha'n't have no cause for grumbling, and to boil the rice so as it sha'n't swell in the children's insides.