He told me, and it proves what a kindly word will
sometimes do, that the Squire of his village, who also employed him
largely, said to him, after praising some of his work, "There's only
one thing the matter with you, Tom, and that's the drink." "I went
home," said Tom, "and I thought to myself, if the drink is all that's
wrong with me, what a fool I must be to continue it. Next day I went
to Evesham and signed the pledge, and I've never touched a drop since,
though the smell and the sight of a public-house have been so sore a
temptation that many a time after a long day's work, and with money in
my pocket, I've gone a mile or two out of my way in order not to pass
a place of the sort."
His training as a carpenter had induced habits of great accuracy,
exact method, and lucid thought, and a chat with him, and watching his
quick and clever workmanship, was an educational opportunity. I have
always been fascinated by such work, and one of my earliest
recollections is of being taken by my father to interview a carpenter
about some small household job. His name was Snewin--I am not sure of
the spelling, for I was only about eight years old at the time--and we
found him in his workshop vigorously using a long plane on some red
deal boards, his feet buried in beautifully curled shavings, and the
whole place redolent of the delicious scent of turpentine.
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