They looked upon him as their conqueror, and they came like lambs when he ordered it.

They think they're slaves you know, and don't understand their pay, but they get it every week and same as all the other labourers--and oh, Aunt Ernie, you should see the King work with a pickaxe! He is fat and so clumsy and so furiously angry, but he's too scared of Trent to do anything but obey orders, and there he works hour after hour, groaning, and the perspiration rolls off him as though he were in a Turkish bath.

I could go on telling you odd things that happen here for hours, but I must finish soon as the chap is starting with the mail.

I am enjoying it.

It is something like life I can tell you, and aren't I lucky?
Trent made me take Cathcart's place.