What Philip was doing was, gazing at Sylvia--learning her face off by heart.
When every scrap of porridge was cleared out of the mighty bowl, Kester yawned, and wishing good-night, withdrew to his loft over the cow-house.

Then Philip pulled out the weekly York paper, and began to read the latest accounts of the war then raging.

This was giving Daniel one of his greatest pleasures; for though he could read pretty well, yet the double effort of reading and understanding what he read was almost too much for him.

He could read, or he could understand what was read aloud to him; reading was no pleasure, but listening was.
Besides, he had a true John Bullish interest in the war, without very well knowing what the English were fighting for.

But in those days, so long as they fought the French for any cause, or for no cause at all, every true patriot was satisfied.