The master resumes his march, and the man resumes his preparation of breakfast. It is not necessarily a lengthened preparation, being limited to the setting forth of very simple breakfast requisites for two and the broiling of a rasher of bacon at the fire in the rusty grate; but as Phil has to sidle round a considerable part of the gallery for every object he wants, and never brings two objects at once, it takes time under the circumstances. At length the breakfast is ready. Phil announcing it, Mr. George knocks the ashes out of his pipe on the hob, stands his pipe itself in the chimney corner, and sits down to the meal. When he has helped himself, Phil follows suit, sitting at the extreme end of the little oblong table and taking his plate on his knees. Either in humility, or to hide his blackened hands, or because it is his natural manner of eating.
"The country," says Mr. George, plying his knife and fork; "why, I suppose you never clapped your eyes on the country, Phil?"
"I see the marshes once," says Phil, contentedly eating his breakfast.
"What marshes?"
"THE marshes, commander," returns Phil.

The master resumes his march, and the man resumes his preparation of breakfast. It involves little more than the broiling of a rasher of bacon at the fire in the rusty grate; but as Phil has to sidle round the gallery for every object he wants, and never brings two objects at once, it takes time.
At length the breakfast is ready. Mr. George knocks the ashes out of his pipe, and sits down to the meal. Phil sits at the extreme end of the little oblong table, taking his plate on his knees.
"Why," says Mr. George, "I suppose you never clapped your eyes on the country, Phil?"
"I see the marshes once," says Phil.
