There, the journeymen’s place was definitely below the salt. At the head of the long, solid oak table sat “the mistress” with an immense dish of meat before her, carving knife in hand. Then came a reserved space, sometimes occupied by visitors, but more often blank table-cloth; then Matthew’s chair, and, after that, another, smaller, blank space, just sufficient to mark the difference in degree between a foreman and ordinary workmen. Beyond that, the three young men sat in a row at the end of the table, facing the mistress. Zillah, the maid, had a little round table to herself by the wall. Unless important visitors were present, she joined freely in the conversation; but the three young men seldom opened their mouths excepting to shovel in food. If, by chance, they had something they thought of sufficient interest to impart, they always addressed their remarks to Miss Lane, and prefixed them by “Ma-am.” “Ma-am, have you heard that Squire Bashford’s sold his Black Beauty?” or “Ma-am, I’ve heard say that two ricks’ve bin burnt down at Wheeler’s. A tramp sleeping under set ‘em afire, they think.” But, usually, the only sound at their end of the table was that of the scraping of plates, or of a grunt of protest if one of them nudged another too suddenly. They had special cups and saucers, very large and thick, and they drank their beer out of horns, instead of glasses or mugs. There were certain small delicacies on the table which were never offered them and which they took obvious pains not to appear to notice. When they had finished their always excellent meal, one of them said “Pardon, Ma-am,” and they all tiptoed out. Then Zillah brought in the tea-tray and Matthew stayed for a cup before he, too, withdrew. At tea-time they all had tea to drink, but Miss Lane said this was an innovation of her own. In her father’s time the family had tea alone, it was their one private meal, and the men had what was called “afternoon bavour,” which consisted of bread and cheese and beer, at three o’clock.