“Oh, you must not be afraid. Stick to your business, and we’ll make a good workman of you before your time is up. I shall give an eye to you and see how you get on.”
“I am much obliged, sir, for all your kindnes,” cried Peace.
M‘Pherson put up his hands deprecatingly, and walked away.
He was a kindly-disposed man, and was generally liked by everyone in the prison. He was never austere or overbearing in his manner; but he would not be trifled with. If a man did not behave properly or gave him unnecessary trouble, and did not conform to his rules, he very soon got rid of him by getting him removed to some other ward.
He took a great pride in the men under his charge, and it was considered quite a favour by most of the convicts to be placed under his charge. He certainly contrived to have the pick of the convicts, and weeded out those who were of obstinate or refractory dispositions. Indeed, M‘Pherson was not inaptly termed the “old soldier,” and this he certainly was in many ways.
He was an excellent officer, and his superiors were duly impressed with this fact. He had his peculiarities (who has not?), but he was a worthy, kind-hearted man.
Peace had felt assured of this when he first made his acquaintance, and he strove by diligence and good conduct to propitiate him.
The jacket, however, was a little above his comprehension; but he did his best, and while he was at work M‘Pherson came and gave him some valuable hints, and he managed to put the garment together much better than he had anticipated.
“It’s not at all bad for a first attempt,” said the warder. “You’ll do after a bit; with a little more practice you’ll be a first-rate hand. Persevere, my man; Rome wasn’t built in a day. You like this occupation better than mat-making I suppose?”
“Oh, dear me, yes.”