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THROUGH THE FRAY:
A TALE
OF THE LUDDITE RIOTS.
By G. A. HENTY,
Author of "True to the Old Flag," "Et. George for England,” “In
Freedom's Cause," "With Clive in India," "By Sheer
Pluck." "Facing Death," etc., etc.
VITA TWELVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. M. PAGET
CHICAGO:
M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
407-429 DEARBORN ST.



NTY SERIE
The Henty
Series
ILLUSTRATED For Boys
BY G. A. HENTY
This is a new and superior edi.
tion of this famous author's books
for boys. They are printed from
new plates on an excellent quality
of paper and are profusely illus-
trated. Olivine edges, bound in
substantial cloth, with handsomne
dosigns by Blancho McManus.
12mo, cloth.
PRICE PER VOLUME.... 75c,
1 A Final Teckoning, A Tale of 20 Jack Archer, A Tale of The
• Bush Life in Australia
Crimea
2 Boy Knight, The, A Tale of 21 Lion of the North, A Tale of
the Crusades
Gustavus Adolphus and the
3 Bonnie Prince Charlie. A Tale Wars of Religion
of Fontenoy and Culloden 22 Lion of St. Mark, A Taie of
4 Bravest of the Brave, or with Venice in the 14th Century
Peterborough in Spain
23 Maori and Settler, A Talo of
S By England's Aid, or The
the New Zealand War
Freeing of the Netherlands 24 Orange and Greon, A Tale of
6 By Pike and Dyke, A Tale of
the Boyne and the Limerick
the Rise of the Dutch Re 25 One of the 28th, A Tale of
public
Waterloo
7 By Right of Conquest, or With 26 Out on the Pampas, A Tale of
Cortez in Mexico
South America
8 By Sheer Pluck, A Tale of the 27 St. George for England. A
Ashantee War
Tale of Croissy and Poitiers
Cat of Bubastes, A Story of 28 Through the Fray, A Story of
Ancient Egypt
the Luddite Riots
so Cornet of Horse, A Tale of 29 True to the Old Flag, A Tale
Marlborough's Wars
of the American War of In
u Captain Bayley's Heir. A Tale dependence
of the Gold Fields of Cali 39 Under Drake's Flag. A Tale
fornia
of the Spanish Main
72 Dragon and The Raven, or 31 With Clive in India, or the
The Days of King Alfred
Beginning of an Empire
13 Facing Death, A Tale of the 32 With Lee in Virginia, a Story
Coal Mines
of the American Civil War
14 Friends, Though Divided, A 33 With Wolfe in Canada, or the
Tale of the Civil War in Eng Winning of a Continent
land
34 Young Carthaginians, a Story
15 For Name and Fame, or of the Times of Hannibal
Through Afghan Passes
35 Young Buglers, A Tale of the
16 For the Temple, A Tale of the
Peninsular War
Fall of Jerusalem
36 Young Franc-Tireurs, a Tals
17 In Freedom's Cause, A Story of the Franco-Prussian War
of Wallace and Bruce
37 Young Colonists
18 In Times of Peril, A Tale of 38 Among the Malays
India
39 Sturdy and Strong
bo In the Reign of Terror, The 40 Young Midshipman, A Tale
Adventures of a Westminster the Siege of Alexandrir
Boy
41 Golden Canon
M. A. DONOHVE & CO., CHICAGO.


PREFACE.
MY DEAR LADS: The beginning of the present cen.
tury, glorious as it was for British arms abroad, was a
dark time to those who lived by their daily labor at
home. The heavy taxation entailed by the war, the in-
jury to trade, and the enormous prices of food, all pressed
heavily upon the working-classes. The invention of
improved machinery, vast as has been the increase of
trade which it has brought about, at first pressed heavily
upon the hand workers, who assigned all their distress to
the new inventions. Hence a movement arose, which
did much damage and for a time threatened to be ex-
tremely formidable. It had its ramifications through all
the manufacturing districts of England, the object being
the destruction of the machinery, and a return to the old
methods of work. The troubles which occurred in vari-
ous parts of the country were known as the Luddite
Riots, and the secret body which organized them was
called King or General Lud. In the present story I have
endeavored to give you an idea of the state of things
which prevailed in Yorkshire, where, among the crop-
pers and others employed in the woolen manufactures,
was one of the most formidable branches of the secret
association. The incidents of the murder of Mr. Hors-
fall and the attack upon Mr. Cartwright's mill are strictly
accurate in all their details.
In this story I have left the historical battle-fielas,
across so many of which I have taken you, and have en-


PREFACE.
deavored to show that there are peaceful battles to be
fought and victories to be won every jot as arduous ani
as difficult as those contested under arms. In “Facia
Death” my hero won such a battle. IIe had to fight
against external circumstances, and step by step, liy pare
severance, pluck, and determination, made his way in
life. In the present tale my hero's enemy was within,
and although his victory was at last achieved the vietor
was well-nigh worsted in the fray. We have all suri
hattles to fight; dear lads; may we all coma upecathed
and victorious through the fray!
Yours sincerely,
G, A. HENTY,


CONTENTS.
CHAPTER 1.
A Fishing Expedition...
| CHẮPTER .
The Fight on the Moor.
CHAPTER 111.
Å Cropper Village.....
..............
CÍÅPTER IV.
The Worms Turñ...
CHAPTER V.
The New Master......:
........ 105
CHAPTER VI.
The Thief Detected..
CHAPTER VII.
A Terrible Shock. .......
CHAPTER VIII.
Ned is Sorely Tried...
CHAPTER IX.
A Painful Time........
CHAPTER X.
Troubles at Home........
CHAPTER XI.
The New Machinery.......
CHAPTER XII.
Murderedl. .......
.......
.......... 161
........
164


CONTENTS.
...... 178
....... 193
........... 208
....... 222
CHAPTER XIII.
Committed for Trial..
CHAPTER XIV.
Committed for Trial.......
CHAPTER XV.
Not Guilty.........
CHAPTER XVI.
Luke Marner's Sacrifice......
CHAPTER XVII.
A Lonely Life.............
CHAPTER XVIII.
Ned is Attacked.,
CHAPTER XIX.
The Attack on Cartwright's Mill........
CHAPTER XX.
Cleared at Last.........
........ 236
....... 259
Сн
......... 299


THROUGH THE FRAY.
CHAPTER I.
A FISHING EXPEDITION.
It has just struck one, and the boys are streaming out
from the schoolroom of Mr. Hathorn's academy in the
little town of Marsden in Yorkshire. Their appearance
would create some astonishment in the minds of lads of
the present generation, for it was the year 1807, and
their attire differed somewhat materially from that now
worn. They were for the most purt dressed in breeches
tight at the knee, and buttoning up outside the close-
fitting jacket nearly under the arms, so that they seemed
almost devoid of waist. At the present moment they
were bareheaded; but when they went beyond the pre-
cincts of the school they wore stiff caps, flat and very
large at the top, and with far-projecting peaks.
They were not altogether a happy looking set of boys,
and many of their cheeks were stained with tears and
begrimed with dirt from the kuuckles which had been
used to wipe them away; for there was in the year 1807
but one known method of instilling instruction into the
youthful mind, namely, the cane, and one of the chief
qualifications of a schoolmaster was to be able to hit hard
and sharp.
Mr. Hathorn, judged by this standard, stood very high
in his profession; his cane seemed to whiz throngn the
air, so rapidly and strongly did it descend, and he had


2
THROUGH THE FRAY.
the knack of finding out tender places, and of hitting
them unerringly. Any one passing in front of the
schoolhouse during the hours when the boys were at
their lessons would be almost sure to hear the sharp
cracks of the cane, followed sometimes by dead silence,
when the recipient of the blows yąs of a sturdy and
Spartan disposition, but more frequently by shrieks and
cries.
That Hathorn's boys hated their master was almost a
matter of course. At the same time they were far from
regarding him as an exceptional monster of cruelty, for
they knew from their friends that flogging prevailed
almost everywhere, and accepted it as a necessary por-
tion of the woes of boyhood. Indeed, in some respects,
when not smarting under the infliction, they were in-
clined to believe that their lot was, in comparison with
that of others, a fortunate one; for whereas in many
schools the diet was so poor and bad that the boys were
half-starved, at Hathorn's if their food was simple and
coarse it was at least wholesome and abundant.
Mr. Hathorn, in fact, intended, and as he quite be-
lieved with success, to do his duty by his boys. They
were sent to him to be taught, and he taught them
through the medium then recognized as most fitting for
the purpose—the cane; while, as far as an abundance of
porridge for breakfast, and of heavy pudding at dinner,
with twice a week an allowance of meat, the boys were
unstinted. He would indeed point with pride to his
pupils when their parents assembled at the annual pre-
sentation of prizes.
“Look at them!” he would say proudly. "None of
your half-starved skeletons here-well-filled out and in
good condition every boy of them-no stint of porridge
here. It keeps them in good health and improves their
learning; for, mark you, & plump boy feels the cano


THROUGH THE FRAY
3
twice as much as a skinny one; it stings, my dear sir, it
stings, and leaves its mark; whereas there is no getting
at a boy whose clothes hang like bags about him.”
This was no doubt true, and the boys themselves were
conscious of it, and many had been the stern resolutions
made while smarting in agony that henceforward food
shonld be eschewed, or taken only in sufficient quantities
to keep life together. But boys' appetites are stronger
than boys' resolutions, and in the end there was never
any marked falling off in the consumption of viands at
Hathorn's.
Like other things punishment fails when administered
in excess. There was no disgrace whatever in what was
common to all; for although some boys of superior ability
and perseverance would escape with a smaller amount of
punishment than their fellows, none could hope to escape
altogether. Thus it was only the pain that they had to
bear, and even this became to some extent deadened by
repetition, and was forgotten as soon as inflicted, save
when a sudden movement caused a sharp pain in back or
leg. Once in the playground their spirits revived, and
except a few whose recent punishment incapacitated
them for a time from active exercise, the whole were
soon intent upon their games...
One only of the party wore his cap, and he after a few
minutes left the others, and went toward a door which led
from the playground into the road.
"Don't be long, Sankey; come back as soon as you
can, you know we agreed to go fishing this afternoon.”
"All right, Tompkins; I will come back directly I have
done my dinner. I expect I shall have finished quite as
soon as you will.”
Edward Sankey, who was regarded with envy by his
school-fellows, was the only home boarder at Hathorn's;
for, as a general thing, the master set his face against


THROUGII THE FRAY.
the introduction of home boarders. They were, ho con-
sidered, an element of disturbance; they carry tales to
and from the school; they cause discontent among the
other boys, and their parents are in the habit of protest-
ing and interfering.
Not, indeed, that parents in those days considered it
in any way a hardship for their boys to suffer corporal
punishent; they had been flogged at school, and they
believed that they had learned their lessous all the better
for it. Naturally the same thing would happen to their
sons. Still mothers are apt to be weak and soft-hearted,
and therefore Mr. Hathorn objected to home boarders.
He had made an exception in Sankey's case; his father
was of a different type to those of the majority of his
boys; he had lost his leg at the battle of Assaye, and had
been obliged to leave the army, and having but small
means beyond his pension, had settled near the quiet
little Yorkshire town as a place where he could live
more cheaply than in more bustling localities.
He had, when he first came, no acquaintances what-
ever in the place, and therefore would not be given to
discuss with the parents of other boys the doings in the
school. Not that Mr. Hathorn was afraid of discussion,
for he regarded his school as almost perfect of its kind.
Still it was his fixed opinion that discussion was, as a
general rule, unadvisable. Therefore, when Captain
Sankey, a few weeks after taking up his residence in the
locality, made a proposal to him that his son should at-
tend his school as a home boarder, Mr. Hathorn aceeded
to the proposition, stating frankly his objections, as a
rule, to boys of that class.
"I shall not interfere," Captain Sankey said. “Of
course boys must be thrashed, and provided that the
punishment is not excessive, and that it is justly admin-
istered, I have nothing to say against it. Boys unust be


THROUGIT TIE FRA Y.
Š
punished, and if you don't flog you have to confine them,
and in my opinion that is far worse for a boy's temper,
spirit, and health."
So Ned Sankey went to llathorn's, and was soon a
great favorite there. Just at first he was regarded as a
disobliging follow because he adhered strictly to a stip-
lation which Mr. Hathorn had made, that he should not
bring things in from the town for his school-fellows.
Only once a week, on the Saturday half-holiday, were
the boys allowed outside the bounds of the wall round
the playground, and although on Wednesday an old
woman was allowed to come into those precincts to sell
fruit, cakes, and sweets, many articles were wanted in
the course of the week, and the boys took it much amiss
for a time that Ned refused to act as their messenger;
but he was firm in his refusals. His father had told him
not to do so, and his father's word was law to him; but
when the boys saw that in all other respects he was a
thoroughly good fellow, they soon forgave him what they
considered his undue punctiliousness, and he became it
prime favorite in the school.
It is due to Mr. llathorn to say that no fear of inter-
ference induced him to mitigate his rule to thrash when
he considered that punishment was necessary, and that
Ned received his full share of the general discipline. He
was nerer known to utter a cry under punishment, for
he was, as his school-fellows said admiringly, as hard as
nails; and he was, moreover, of a dogged disposition
which would have enabled him, when he had once deter-
mined upon a thing, to carry it through even if it killed
him.
Mr. IIathorn regarded this quality as obstinacy, the
boys as iron resolution; and while the former did his
best to conquer what he regarded as a fault, the boys
encouraged by their admiration what they viewed as a
virtue.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
period of their marriage given up all attempt to manage
the affairs of the household, and her nerves were wholly
unequal to the strain of looking after her children. It
was noticeable that though her health was unequal to
the discharge of her duties, she was always well enougli
to take part in any pleasure or gayety which might be
going on; and as none of the many doctors who attended
her were able to discover any specific ailment, the general
opinion was that Mrs. Sankey's ill health was the creation
of her own imagination.
This, however, was not wholly the case. She was not
strong; and although, had she made an effort; she would
have been able to look after her children like other
women, she had neither the disposition nor the training
to make that effort. Her son regarded her with the sort
of pity, not unmingled with contempt, with which young
people full of life and energy are apt to regard those
who are weak and ailing without having any specific dis-
ease or malady which would account for their condition.
“All the bothers fall upon father," he would say to
himself; and if mother did but make up her mind she
could take her share in them well enough. There was
he walking about for two hours this evening with little
Lucy in his arms, because she had fallen down and hurt
herself; and there was mother lying on the sofa reading
that book of poetry, as if nothing that happened in the
house was any aflair of hers. She is very nice and very
kind, but I do wish she wouldn't leave everything for
father to do. It might have been all very well before he
lost his leg, but I do think she ought to make an effort
now.”
However, Mrs. Sankey made no effort; nor did her
husband ever hint that it would be better for herself as
well as her family if she did so. He accepted the situa-
tion as inevitable, and patiently, and indeed willingly,


THROUGH THE FRAY.
bore her burden as well as his own. Fortunately she
had in the children's nurse an active and trustworthy
woman.
Abijah Wolf was a Yorkshire woman. She had in her
youth been engaged to a lad in her native village. In a
moment of drunken folly, a short time before the day
fixed for their wedding, he had been persuaded to enlist.
Abijah had waited patiently for him twelve years. Then
he had returned a sergeant, and she had married him
and followed him with his regiment, which was that in
which Captain Sankey-at that time a young ensign-
served. When the latter's first child was born at Madras
there was a difficulty in obtaining a white nurse, and
Mrs. Sankey declared that she would not trust the child
to a native. Inquiries were therefore made in the regi-
ment, and Sergeant Wolf's wife, who had a great love
for children although childless herself, volunteered to
fill the post for a time.
A few months afterward Sergeant Wolf was killed in a
fight with a marauding hill tribe. His widow, instead
of returning home and living on the little pension to
which she was entitled at his death, remained in the
service of the Sankeys, who soon came to regard her as
invaluable..
She was somewhat rough in her ways and sharp with
her tongue; but eren Mrs. Sankey, who was often ruffled
by her brusque independence, was conscious of her value,
and knew that she should never obtain another servant
who would take the trouble of the children so entirely
off her hands. She retained, indeed, her privilege of
grumbling, and sometimes complained to her husband
that Abijah's ways were really unbearable. Still she
never pressed the point, and Abijah appeared established
as a permanent fixture in the Sankeys' household.
She it was who, when, after leaving the service, Cap-


THROUGH TAE FRAY,
tain Sankey was looking round for a cheap and quiet
residence, had reconimended Marsden.
"There is a grand air from the hills,” she said, “which
will be just the thing for the children. There's good
fishing in the stream for yourself, captain, and you can't
get a quieter and cheaper place in all England. I ought
to know, for I was born upon the moorland but six miles
away from it, and should have been there now if I hadn't
followed my man to the wars."
"Where are you going, Master Ned?” she asked as
the boy, having finished his dinner, ran to the high cup-
board at the end of the passage near the kitchen to get
his fishing-rod.
“I am going out fishing, Abijah."
“Not by yourself, I hope?"
“Xo; another fellow is going with mo. We are going
up into the hills."!!
“Don't ye go too far, Master Ned. They say the
croppers are drilling on the moors, and it were bad for
ye if you fell in with them.” i
"They wouldn't hurt me if I did.”
"I don't suppose they would,” the nurse said, “but
there is never no saying. Poor fellows! they're druv
well-nigh out of their senses with the bad times. What
with the machines, and the low price of labor, and the
high price of bread, they are having a terrible time of it.
And no wonder that we hear of frame-breaking in Not-
tingham, and Lancashire, and other places. How men
can be wicked enough to make machines, to take the
bread out of poor men's mouths, beats me altogether.”
"Father says the machinery will do good in the long
run, Abijah—that it will largely increase trade, and so
give employment to a great many more people than at
present. But it certainly is hard on those who have
learned to work in one way to see their living taken away
from them.”


10
TAROUGH THE FRAY.
“Hard!” the nurse said. "I should say it were hard.
I know the croppers, for there were a score of them in
my village, and a rough, wild lot they were. They worked
hard and they drank hard, and the girl as chose a cropper
for a husband was reckoned to have made a bad match
of it; but they are determined fellows, and you will see
they won't have the bread taken out of their mouths
without making a fight for it."
"That may be," Ned said, "for every one gives them
the name of a rough lot; but I must talk to you about it
another time, Abijah, I have got to be off;" and having
now found his fishing-rod, his box of bait, his paper of
hooks, and a basket to bring home the fish he intended
to get, Ned ran off at full speed toward the school,
As Abijah Wolf had said, the croppers of the West
Riding were a rough set. Their occupation consisted in
shearing or cropping the wool on the face of cloths.
They used a large pair of shears, which were so set that
one blade went under the cloth while the other worked
on its upper face, mowing the fibers and ends of the wool
to a smooth, even surface. The work was hard and re-
quired considerable skill, and the men earned about
twenty-four shillings a week, à sum which, with bread
and all other necessities of life at famine prices, barely suf-
ficed for the support of their families. The introduction
of power-looms threatened to abolish their calling. It
was true that although these machines wove the cloth
more evenly and smoothly than the hand-looms, croppers
were still required to give the necessary smoothness of
face; still the tendency had been to lower wages.
The weavers were affected even more than the crop-
pers, for strength and skill were not so needed to tend
the power-looms as to work the hand-looms. Women
and boys could do the work previously performed by
men, and thë tendency of wages was everywhere to fall.


THROUGH THE FRAY,
.
11
For years a deep spirit of discontent had been seething
among the operatives in the cotton and woolen manufac-
tures, and there had been riots more or less serious in
Derbyshire, Nottingham, Lancashire and Yorkshire,
which in those days were the headquarters of these
trades. Factories had been burned, employers threat-
ened and attacked, and the obnoxious machines smąshed.
It was the vain struggle of the ignorant and badly paid
people to keep down production and to keep up wages,
to maintain manual labor against the power of the steam-
engine. Hitherto factories had been rare, men working
the frames in their own homes, and utilizing the labor of
their wives and families, and the necessity of going miles
away to work in the mills, where the looms were driven
by steam, added much to the discontent.
Having found his fishing appliances Ned hurried off
to the school, where his chum Tompkins was already
waiting him, and the two set out at once on their expe-
dition. They had four miles to walk to reach the spot
where they intended to fish.
It was a quiet little stream with deep pools and many
shadows, and had its source in the heart of the moor-
lands. Neither of them had ever tried it before, but
they had heard it spoken of as one of the best streams
for fish in that part. On reaching its banks the rods
were put together, the hooks were baited with worms,
and a deep pool being chosen they set to work.
After fishing for some time without success they tried
a pool higher up, and so mounted higher and higher up
the stream, but ever with the same want of success.
“How could they have said that this was a good place
for fish?” Tompkins said angrily at last. “Why, by
this time it would have been hard luck if we had not
caught a dozen between us where we usually fish close to
the town, and after our long walk we have not had even
a bite."


12
THROUGH THE FRAT.
“I fancy, Tompkins," Ned said, “that we are a couple
of fools. I know it is trout that they catch in this
stream, and of course, now I think of it, trout are caught
in clear water with a fly, not with a worm. Father said
the other day he would take me out some Saturday and
give me a lesson in fly-fishing. How he will laugh when
I tell him we have wasted all our afternoon in trying to
catch trout with worms!”
“I don't see anything to laugh at," Tompkins grum-
bled. "Here we waste a whole half-holiday, and nothing
to show for it, and have got six or seven miles at least to
tramp back to school.”
"Well, we have had a nice walk," Ned said, “even if
we are caught in the rain. However, we may as well
put up our rods and start. I vote we try to make a
straight cut home; it must be ever so much shorter to
go in a straight line than to follow all the windings of
this stream."
They had long since left the low lands, where trees
and bushes bordered the stream, and were in a lonely
valley where the hills came down close to the little
stream, which sparkled among the boulders at their feet.
The slopes were covered with a crop of short wiry grass
through which the gray stone projected here and there.
Tiny rills of water made their way down the hillside to
swell the stream, and the tinge of brown which showed
up wherever these found a level sufficient to form a pool
told that they had their source in the bogs on the moor-
land above. Tompkins looked round him rather discon-
certedly.
"I don't know,” he said. “It's a beastly long way to
walk round; but suppose we got lost in trying to make
our way across the hills."
"Well, just as you like," Ned said, "I am game to
walk back the way we came or to try and make a straight


THROUGH THE FRAY.
13
cut, only mind don't you turn round and blame me after-
ward. You take your choice; whichever you vote for I
am ready to do."
"My shoes are beginning to rub my heels," Tompkins
said, “so I will take the shortest way and risk it. I
don't see we can go far out of our way.”
“I don't see that we can," Ned replied. "Marsden
lies to the east, so we have only to keep our backs to the
sun; it won't be down for another two hours yet, and be-
fore that we ought to be in.”
By this time they had taken their rods to picces,
wound up their lines, and were ready to start. A few
minutes' sharp climbing took them to the top of the
slope. They were now upon the moor, which stretched
away with slight undulations as far as they could see.
“Now," Ned said, “we will make for that clunip of
rocks. They seem to be just in the line we ought to
take, and by fixing our cyes upon them we shall go
straight.”
This, however, was not as easy to do as Ned had fan-
cied; the ground was in many places so soft and boggy
that they were forced to make considerable detours.
Nevertheless the rocks served as a beacon, and enabled
them to keep the right direction; but although they
made their way at the best of their speed it was an hour
after starting before they approached the rock. When
they were within fifty yards of it a figure suddenly rose.
It was that of a hoy some fifteen years of age.
“Goa back,” he shouted; "dang yer, what be'esi
cooming here vor?”
The two boys stopped astonished.
“We are going to Marsden,” Ned replied; “but what's
that to you?”
“Doan't ee moind wot it be to oi," the boy said; "oi
tell ee ee can't goa no further; yoi've got ter go back."


14
THROUGH THE FRAY.
“We shan't go back," Ned said; “we have got as
much right to go this way as you have. This is not your
land; and if it is, we ain't hurting it.” By this time
they were at the foot of the pile of rocks, and the lad
was standing some ten feet above them.
"Oi tell ee," he repeated doggedly, "yoi've got vor to
go back,” The boy was so much bigger and stronger
than either Ned or his companion that the former, al-
though indignant at this interference, did not deem it
prudent to attempt to climb the crag, so he said to
Tompkins:
“Of course we ain't going back, but we had better
take a turn so as to get out of the way of this fellow.'
So saying they turned to the right and prepared to
scout round the rock and continue their way; but this
did not suit their obstructor.
"If ee doan't go back at oncet oi'll knock the heads
off thee shoulders.”
“We can't go back," Tompkins said desperately, "we
are both as tired as we can be, and my heel is so sore
that I can hardly walk. We shouldn't get to Marsden
to-night if we were to turn back."
“That's nowt to oi,” the boy said. "Oi bain't a-going
to let ee pass here.”
“What are we to do, Ned?" Tompkins groaned.
“Do!" Ned replied indignantly. “Why, go on, of
course. Marsden cannot be more than three miles off,
and I ain't going to walk twelve miles round to please
this obstinate brute."
“But he is ever so much bigger than we are," Tomp-
kins said doubtfully.
“Well, there are two of us," Ned said, "and two to
one is fair enough when he is as big as the two of us to-
gether."
“We are going on," he said to the boy, "and if you
interfere with us it will be the worse for you."


THROUGH THE FRAY.
15
The boy descended leisurely from his position on the
rocks.
"Oi don't want to hurt ee, but oi've got to do as oi
were bid, and if ee doan't go back oi've got to make ee.
There be summat a-going on thar,” and he jerked his
head behind him, “as it wouldn't be good vor ee to see,
and ye bain't a-going vor to see it."
But Ned and Tompkins were desperate now, and drop-
ping their rods made a rush together against him.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
CHAPTER II.
THE FIGHT ON THE NOOR.
The lad threw himself into a position of defense as
the two boys rushed at him.
“Oi doan't want vor to hurt ee,” he said again, “but if
ee will have it, why, it won't be moi vault;" and swing-
ing his arm round, he brought it down with such force
upon the nose of Tompkins that the latter was knocked
down like a nincpin, and, once down, evinced no inten-
tion of continuing the conflict.
In Ned, however, the lad found an opponent of a dif-
ferent stamp. The latter saw at once that his opponent's
far greater weight and strength rendered it hopeless for
him to trust to close fighting, and he worked round and
round him, every now and then rusliing at him and de-
livering a telling blow, and getting off again before his
heavy and comparatively unwieldy companion could re-
ply. Once or twice, indeed, the lad managed to strike
him as he came in, each time knocking him fairly off his
feet; but in the fair spirit which at that time animated
English men and boys of all classes he allowed Ned each
time to regain his feet without interference.
“Thou bee'st a plucky one,” he said, as Ned after his
third fall again faced him, “but thou bain't strong
enough for oi."
Ned made no reply, but nerved himself for a fresh
effort. The blows he had received liad been heavy, and
the blood was streaming from his face; but he had no


THROUGH THE FRAY.
17
idea of giving in, although Tompkins, in spite of his
calis and reproaches, refused to raise himself beyond a
sitting position.
“It's no good, Ned,” he replied, “the brute is too big
for us, and I'd rather try to walk home all the way round
than get another like the last. My nose feels as big as
my head.”
Ned hardly heard what his companion said. He would
have been killed rather than yield now, and gathering all
his strength he sprang at his opponent like a tiger.
Avoiding the blow which the boy aimed at him, he
leaped upon him, and flung his arms round his neck.
The sudden shock overthrew him, and with a crash both
boys came to the ground together. Ned at once loosened
his hold, and springing to his feet again, awaited the
rising of his opponent. The latter made a movement to
get up, and then fell back with a cry:
“Thou hast beaten me," he said. "Oi think moi leg
be broke."
Ned saw now that as the lad had fallen his leg had
been twisted under hin, and that he was unable to extri-
cate it. In a moment he was kneeling before the pros-
trate lad.
“Oh! I am sorry,” he exclaimed; “but you know I
didn't mean to do it. Here, Tompkins, don't sit there
like a fool, but come and help me move him and get his
leg straight.”
Although the boys did this as gently as they could, a
groan showed how great was the agony.
“Where is it?" Ned asked.
“Aboove the knee somewhere,” the lad said, and Ned
put his hand gently to the spot, and to his horror could
putats and you pre
feel something like the end of a bone.
"Oh! dear, what is to be done? Here, Tompkins,
either you or I must go on to the town for help.”'


THROUGÜ THE FRA Y.
"It's getting dark already," Tompkins said; "the sun
has set some time. How on earth is one to find the
way?”
“Well, if you like I will go,” Ned said, "and you stop
here with him."
The lad, who had been lying with closed eyes and a
face of ghastly pallor, now looked up.
"There be soom men not a quarter of a mile away;
they be a-drilling, they be, and oi was sot here to stop
any one from cooming upon em; but if so bee as thou
wilt go and tell em oi has goi hurt, oi don't suppose as
they will meddle with ye.”
Ned saw now why the lad had opposed liis going any
further. Some of the croppers were drilling on the
moor, and the boy had been placed as sentry. It wasn't
a pleasant business to go up to men so engaged, especially
with the news that he had seriously injured the boy they
had placed on watch. But Ned did not hesitate a mo-
ment. “You stop here, Tompkins, with him," he said
quietly, "I will go and fetch help. It is a risk, of course,
but we can't let him lie here."
So saying, Ned mounted the rock to get a view over
the moor. No sooner had he gained the position thai
he saw some thirty or forty men walking in groups across
the moor at a distance of about half a mile. They had
evidently finished their drill, and were making their way
to their homes.
This at least was satisfactory. He would no longer
risk their anger by disturbing them at their illegal prac-
tices, and had now only to fear the wrath which would
be excited when they heard what had happened to the
boy. He started at a brisk run after them, and speedily
came up to the last of the party. They were for the
most part men between twenty and thirty, rough and
strongly built, and armed with bill-hoobs and heavý
This at ver by distus to fear had happers


THROUGH THE FRAY.
bludgeons, two or three of them carrying guns. One of
them looked round on hearing footsteps approaching,
and gave a sudden exclamation. The rest turned, and
on seeing Ned, halted with a look of savage and menac-
ing anger on their faces.
“Who be'est, boy? dang ee, what brings ye here???
Ned gulped down the emotion of fear excited by their
threatening appearance, and replied as calmly as he
could:
"I am sorry to say that I have had a struggle with a boy
over by that rock yonder. We fell together, and he has
broken his leg. He told me if I came oyer in this direc-
tion I should find some one to help him.”
“Broaken Bill's leg, did'st say, ye young varmint?” one
of the men exclaimed. “Di'ye a good moinde to wring
yer neck.”
“I am very sorry,'' Ned said; “but I did not mean it.
I and another boy were walking back to Marsden from
fishing, and he wouldn't let us pass; it was too far to go
back again, so of course we had to try, anıl then there
was a fight, but it was quite an accident his breaking his
leg."
“Did'st see nowt afore ye had the yoight?” one of the
other men inquired.
"No," Ned replied; "we saw no one from the time we
left the stream till we met the boy who would not let 18
pass, and I only caught sight of you walking this way
from the top of the rock.”
“If 'twere & vair yoight, John, the boy bain't to be
blamed, though oi be main grieved about thy brother
Bill; but we'd best go back for him, yoor on ug. And
moind, youngster, thee'd best keep a quiet tongue in
thy head as to whaat thou'st seen here,”
"I haven't seen anything,” Ned said; "byt of course
if you wish it I will say nothing about it."


THROUGH THE FRAM.
"It were best for ec, for if thou go'st aboot saying
thou'st seen men with guns and clubs up here on the
moor, it ull be the worsest day's work ee've ever done."
“I will say nothing about it," Ned replied, “but
please come on at once, for I am afraid the boy is in
terrible pain."
Four of the men accompanied Ned back to the rock.
“Hullo, Bill! what's happened ee?” his brother asked.
“Oi've had a fight and hurted myself, and broke my
leg; but it wa’nt that chap's fault; it were a vair voight,
and a right good ’un he be, Doan't do nowt to him."
“Well, that's roight enough then," the man said,
"and you two young ’uns can go whoam. Marsden lies
over that way; thou wilt see it below ye when ye gets to
yon rock over there; and moind what I told ee."
“I will," Ned said earnestly; “but do let me come up
cosce how he is getting on, I shall be so anxious to
know.”
The man hesitated, but the lad said, “Let um coom,
John, he bee a roight good un."
“Well, if thou would'st like it, Bill, he shall coom."
"If thou coom oop to Varley and ask vor Bill Swinton,
anyone will show ce the place.”
“Good-by," Ned'said to the boy, “I am so sorry you
have got hurt. I will come and see you as soon as I
can.” Then he and Tompkins set off toward the rock
the man had pointed out, which by this time, in the fast
growing darkness, could scarce be made out. They
would indeed probably have missed it, for the distance
was fully a mile and a half; but before they had gone
many yards one of the four men passed by them on a run
on his way down to Marsden to summon the parish doc-
tor, for a moment's examination had sufficed to show
them that the boy's injury was far too serious to treat by
themselves. Tired as the boys were, they get off in his


THROUGH THE FRAY.
21
footsteps, and managed to keep him in sight until they
reached the spot whence Marsden could be seen, and
they could no longer mistake the way.
“Now, look here, Tompkins," Ned said as they made
their way down the hill; “don't you say a word about
this affair. You haven't got much to boast about in it,
sitting there on the grass and doing nothing to help me.
I shan't say anything more about that if you hold your
tongue; but if you blab I will let all the fellows know
how you behaved."
“But they will all notice my nose directly I get in,”
Tompkins said. “What am I to say?"
“Yes, there's no fear about their not noticing your
nose," Ned replied. “I don't want you to tell a lie.
You can say the exact truth. We were coming home
across the moors; a boy interfered with us, and would
not let us pass; we both pitched into him, and at last he
got the worst of it, and we came home."
“But what's the harm of saying that you and he fell,
and he broke his leg?”
“A great deal of harm,” Ned replied. "If it was
known that a boy's leg got broke in a fight with us it
would be sure to come to Hathorn's ears; then there
would be an inquiry and a row. Like enough he would
go up to see the boy and inquire all about it. Then the
men would suppose that we had broken our words, and
the next time you and I go out on a fishing expedition
there's no saying what mightn't happen to us. They
are a rough lot those moor men, and don't stick at
trifles.”
"I will say nothing about it," Tompkins replied has-
tily; "you may rely on that. What a lucky fellow you
are to be going home! Nothing will be said to you for
being an hour late. I shall get a licking to a certainty,
How I do hate that Hathorn, to be sure!"


22
THROUGH TIE FRAY.
They now came to the point where the road separated
and each hurried on at his best speed.
“You are late to-night, Ned,” the boy's father kuid
when he entered. “I don't like your being out after
dark. I don't mind how far you go so that you aro in
by sunset; but, halloo!” he broke off, as he canght sig:t
of the boy's face as he approached the table at which the
rest of the party were sitting at tea; “what have you
been doing to your face?”
Captain Sankey might well be surprised. One of the
boy's eyes was completely closed by a swelling which
covered the whole side of his face. His lip was badly
cut, and the effect of that and the swelling was to give
his mouth the appearance of being twisted completely on
one side.
"Oh! there's nothing the matter," Ned replied cheer.
fully; "but I had a fight with a boy on the moor."
"It is dreadfull-quite dreadful!” Mrs. Sankey said;
"your going on like this. It makes me feel quite faint
and ill to look at you. I wonder you don't get killed
with your violent ways.”
Ned made no reply but took his seat at the table, and
fell to work upon the hunches of thick brown bread and
butter.
“I will tell you about it afterward, father," he said;
“it really wasn't my fault.”
“I am sure I don't wish to hear the story of your quer-
rels and fighting, Edward,” Mrs. Sankey said; "the sight
of you is quite enough to upset my nerves and make me
wretched. Of course if your father chooses to support
you in such goings on I can say nothing. Neither le
nor you seem to remember how trying such things as
these are to any one with a broken constitution like
mine."
Captain Sankey, knowing from experience liow useless


THROUGH THE FRAY.
23
it was to attempt to argue with his wife when she was in
this mood, continued to eat his meal placidly. Ned
seized his mug of milk and water, and took an impatient
drink of it..
“Is there anything I had better do for my face?” he
asked his father presently
"I don't think anything you can do, Ned, will make
you presentable for the next few days. I believe that a
raw beefsteak is the best thing to put on your face; but
there is not such a thing in the house, and if there was,
I don't think that I should be justified in wasting it for
such a purpose. I should say the next best thing would
be to keep a cloth soaked in cold water on your face;
that will probably take down the swelling to some
extent.”
After tea Ned repaired to the kitchen, where Abijah,
with much scolding and some commiseration, applied a
wet cloth to his face, and fastened a handkerchief over
it to keep it in its place. Then the boy went into the
little room which his father called his study, where he
used to read the papers, to follow the doings of the Brit-
ish armies in the field, and above all to smoke his pipe
in quiet. He laughed as Ned entered.
"You look like a wounded 'hero, indeed, Ned. Now
sit down, my boy, and tell me about this business; not,
you know, that I have any objection to your fighting
when it's necessary. My experience is that it is the na-
ture of boys to fight, and it is no use trying to alter boys'
nature. As I have always told you, don't get into a fight
if you can help it; but, if you once begin, fight it out
like a man."
“Well, I couldn't help it this time, father, and I will
tell you all about it. I promised not to tell; but what
was meant by that was that I should not tell any one
who would do anything about it; and as I know you
won't, why, of course I can tell you."


24
THROUGII TIE FRAI.
"I don't know what you mean in the least, Ned; a
promise, whatever it is about, is a promise.”
“I know, father; but all that was meant in my case
was that I would say nothing which would cause injury
to those to whom I promised; and it will do them no in-
jury whatever by telling you in confidence. Besides, it
is probable you may learn about it in another way; be-
cause, unfortunately, I broke the other fellow's leg very
badly, and there is nu saying what may come of it, so I
think you ought to know all the circumstances.”
“Very well, Ned,” his father said quietly; "this seems
to be a serious business. Go on, my boy."
Ned related the whole circumstances, his father saying
no word until he had finished.
"You have been in no way to blame in the matter, nor
could you have acted otherwise. The breaking of the
boy's leg is unfortunate, but it was a pure accident, and
even the boy's friends did not blame you in the matter.
As to the illegal drilling, that is no new thing; it has
been known to be going on for many months, and, in-
deed, in some places for years. The authorities take but
little notice of it. An outbreak of these poor fellows
would, indeed, constitute a considerable local danger.
Mills might be burned down, and possibly some obnox.
ious masters killed, but a few troops of dragoons, or half
a regiment of light infantry, would scatter them like
chaff.
"The Irish rebellion thirteen years ago was a vastly
more formidable affair. There it may be said that the
whole country was in arms, and the element of religious
fanaticism came into play; but in spite of that the resist-
ance which they opposed to the troops was absolutely
contemptible; however, it is just as well that you did not
see them drill, becanse now, if by any chance this lad
should die, and inquiry were made about it, there would


THROUGH THE TRA Y.
bé no occasion for you to allude to the subject at all.
You would be able to say truthfully that finding that he
was hurt, you went off, and happened to come upon four
men on the moor and brought them to his assistance.”
"I promised to go up to see the boy, father. I suppose
that there is no harm?”
“None at all, Ned, it is only natural that you should
entertain the wish; in fact you have injured him seri-
ously, and we must do all in our power to alleviate his
pain. I will go in the morning and see Dr. Green. I
shall, of course, tell him that the boy was hurt in a tussle
with you, and that you are very sorry about it. The
fact that he is some two years older, as you say, and ever
so much stronger and bigger, is in itself a proof that you
were not likely to have wantonly provoked a fight with
him. I shall ask the doctor if there is anything in the
way of food and comforts I can send up for him.”
Accordingly, the next morning, the first thing after
breakfast, Captain Sankey went out and called upon the
doctor. Ned awaited his return anxiously. "The doctor
says it's a bad fracture, Ned, a very bad fracture, and
the boy must have had his leg curiously twisted under
him for the bone to have snapped in such a way. Ile
questions whether it will be possible to save the leg; in-
deed, he would have taken it off last night, but the boy
said he would rather die, and the men were all against it.
By the help of half a dozen men he got the bones into
their places again, and has bandaged the leg up with
splints; but he is very doubtful what will come of it.”
Ned was crying now. "I would give anything if it
hadn't happened, father, and he really seemed a nice
fellow. He said over and over again he didn't want to
hurt us, and I am sure he didn't, only he thought he
oughtn't to let us pass, and as we would go on he had to
stop us,"


THROUGH THE FRAY.
“Well, it can't be helped, Ned,” his father said kindly.
"It is very natural that you should be grieved about it;
but you see it really was an accident; there was nothing
willful or intentional about it, and you must not take it
to heart more than you can help.”
But Ned did take it to heart, and for the next fort-
night was very miserable. The doctor's reports during
that time were not hopeful. Fever had set in, and for
some days the boy was delirious, and there was no saying
how it would turn out. At the end of that time the
bulletins became somewhat more hopeful. The lad was
quiet now from the complete exhaustion of his strength.
He might rally or he might not; his leg was going on
favorably. No bad symptom had set in, and it was now
purely a question of strength and constitution whether
he would pull through it.
Mrs. Sankey had been kept in entire ignorance of the
whole matter. She had once or twice expressed a lan-
guid surprise at Ned's altered manner and extreme quiet-
ness; but her interest was not sufficient for her to
inquire whether there were any reasons for this change.
Åbijah had been taken into Captain Sankey's counsels,
and as soon as the fever had abated, and the doctor pro-
nounced that the most nourishing food was now requi,
site, she set to work to prepare the strongest broths and
jellies she could make, and these, with bottles of por:
wine, were taken by her every evening to the doctor, who
carried them up in his gig on his visits to his patient in
thie morning. On the third Saturday the doctor told
Ned that he considered that the boy had fairly turned
the corner and was on the road to recovery, and that he
might now go up and see him. His friends had expressed
their warm gratitude for the supplies which had been
sent up, and clearly cherished no animosity against Ned.
The boy had been informed of the extreme anxiety of


THROUGH THE FRAY.
27
his young antagonist as to his condition, and had nodded
feebly when asked if he would see Ned should he call
upon him. It was therefore without any feeling of trepi-
dation as to his reception that Ned on the Saturday
afternoon entered Varley.
Varley was a scattered village lying at the very edge
of the moor. The houses were built just where the val.
ley began to dip down from the uplands, the depression
being deep enough to shelter them from the winds which
swept across the moor. Some of those which stood low-
est were surrounded by a few stumpy fruit-trees in the
gardens, but the majority stood bleak and bare. From
most of the houses the sound of the shuttle told that
hand-weaving was carried on within, and when the
Weather was warm women sat at the doors with their
spinning-wheels. The younger men for the most part
worked as croppers in the factories in Marsden.
In good times Varley had been a flourishing village,
that is to say its inhabitants had earned good wages; but
no one passing through the bare and dreary village would
hare imagined that it had ever seen good days, for the
greater proportion of the earnivgs had gone in drink,
and the Varley men had a bad name even in a country
and at a time when heavy drinking was the rule rather
than the exception. But whatever good times it may
have had they were gone now. Wages had fallen greatly
and the prices of food risen enormously, and the wolf
was at the door of every cottage. No wonder the men
became desperate, and believing that all their sufferings
arose from the introduction of the new machinery, had
bound themselves to destroy it whatever happened.
A woman of whom he inquired for John Swinton's
cottage told him that it was the last on the left. Al-
though he told himself that he had nothing to be afraid
of, it needed all Ned's determination to nerve himself to



THE VISIT TO SEE BILL SWINTON.





THROUGH THE FRAY.
29
*
I have brought you up some of my books for you to look
at the pictures."
The boy looked pleased.
"Oi shall loiko that,” Bill said; "but oi shan't know
what they be about."
“But I will come up every Saturday if you will let me,
and tell you the stories all about them.”
"Willée now? That will be main koinde o' ye."
“I don't think you are strong enough to listen to-day,"
Ned said, seeing how feebly the boy spoke; “but I hope
by next Saturday you will be much stronger. And now
I will say good-by, for the doctor said that I must not
talk too long."
So saying Ned left the cottage and made his way back
to Marsdeni in better spirits than he had been for the last
three weeks.
From that time Ned went up regularly for some weeks
erery Saturday to see Bill Swinton, to the great disgust
of his school-fellows, who could not imagine why he re-
fused to join in their walks or games on those days; but
he was well repaid by the pleasure which his visits af-
forded. The days passed very drearily to the sick boy,
accustomed as he was to a life spent entirely in the open
air, and he looked forward with eager longing to Ned's
visits.
On the occasion of the second visit he was strong
enough to sit up in bed, and Ned was pleased to bear
that his voice was heartier and stronger. He listened
with delight as Ned read through the books he had
brought him from end to end, often stopping him to ask
questions as to the many matters beyond his understand-
ing, and the conversations on these points were often so
long that the continuance of the reading had to be post-
poned until the next visit.
To Bill everything he heard pas wonderful. Hitherto


30
THROUGH THE FRAY.
his world had ended at Marsden, and the accounts of voy-
ages and travels in strange lands were full of surprise
and interest to him. Especially he lored to talk to Ned
of India, where the boy had lived up to the time when
his father had received his wound, and Ned's account of
the appearance and manners of the people there were
even more interesting to him than books.
At the end of two months after Ned's first visit Bill
was able to walk about with a stick, and Ned now dis-
continued his regular visits; but whenever he had a Sat-
urday on which there was no particular engagement he
would go for a chat with Bill, for a strong friendship
had now sprung up between the lads.
On Ned's side the feeling consisted partly of regret
for the pain and injury he had inflicted upon his com-
panion, partly in real liking for the honesty and fearless-
ness which marked the boy's character. On Bill's side
the feeling was one of intense gratitude for the kindness
and attention which Ned had paid him, for his giving up
his play-hours to his amusement, and the pains which he
had taken to lighten the dreary time of his confinement.
Added to this there was a deep admiration for the supe.
rior knowledge of his friend. "There was nothing," he
often said to himself, “as oi wouldn't do for that young
in,"


rinoUGH TÚE FRA Y.
CHAPTER III.
A CROPPER VILLAGE.
BAD as were times in Varley, the two public-houses,
one of which stood at either end of the village, were for
the most part well filled of an evening; but this, as the
landlords knew to their cost, was the result rather of
habit than of thirst. The orders given were few and far
between, and the mugs stood empty on the table for a
long time before being refilled. In point of numbers
the patrons of the “Brown Cow” and the “Spotted Dog"
were not unequal; but the “Dogdid a larger trade than
its rival, for it was the resort of the younger men, while
the “Cow” was the meeting-place of the elders. A man
who had neither wife nor child to support could manage
even in these hard times to pay for his quart or two of
liquor of an evening; but a pint mug was the utmost
that those who had other mouths than their own to fill
could afford.
Fortunately tobacco, although dear enough if pur-
chased in the towns, cost comparatively little upon the
moors, for scarce a week passed but some lugger ran in
at night to some little bay among the cliffs on the eastern
shore, and for the most part landed her bales and kegs
in spite of the vigilance of the coast-guard. So there
were plenty of places scattered all over the moorland
where tobacco could be bought cheap, and where when
the right signal was given a ncggin of spirits could be
had from the keg which was lying concealed in the wood-


THROUGH THE FRAY.
stack or rubbish heap. What drunkenness there was on
the moors profited his majesty's excise but little.
The evenings at the “Cow” were not lively. The men
smoked their long pipes and sipped their beer slowly,
and sometimes for half an hour no one spoke; but it was
as good as conversation, for every one knew what the
rest were thinking of-the bad times, but no one had
anything new to say about them. They were not bril-
liant, these sturdy Yorkshiremen. They suffered pa-
tiently and uncomplainingly, because they did not see
that any effort of theirs could alter the state of things.
They accepted the fact that the high prices were due to
the war; but why the war was always going on was more
than any of them knew. It gave them a vague satisfac-
tion when they heard that a British victory had been
won; and when money had been more plentiful, the oc-
casion had been a good excuse for an extra bout of
drinking, for most of them were croppers, and had in
their time been as rough and as wild as the younger men
were now; but they had learned a certain amount of
wisdom, and shook their heads over the talk and doings
of the younger men who met at the “Dog.”
Here there was neither quiet nor resignation, but fiery
talk and stern determination; it was a settled thing here
that the machines were responsible for the bad times.
The fact that such times prevailed over the whole coun-
try in no way affected their opinion. It was not for
them to deny that there was a war, that food was dear,
and taxation heavy. These things might be; but the
effect of the machinery came straight home to them,
and they were convinced that if they did but hold to-
gether and wreck the machines prosperity would return
to Varley.
The organization for resistance was extensive. There
were branches in every village in West Yorkshire, Lipno


THROUG! THE FRAY.
33
cashire, Nottingham, and Derby-all acting with a com-
mon purpose. The members were bound by terrible
oaths upon joining the society to be true to its objects,
to abstuin on pain of death from any word which might
betray its secrets, and to carry into execution its orders,
even if these should involve the playing of a near relation
proved to have turned traitor to the society.
Hitherto no very markod success had attended its
doings. There had been isolated riots in many places;
mills had been burned, and machinery broken. But the
members looked forward to better things. So far their
only successes had been obtained by threats rather than
deeds, for many manufacturers had been deterred from
adopting the new machinery by the receipt of threatening
letters signed “King Lud,” saying that their factories
would be burned and themselves shot should they ven-
ture upon altering thọir machinery.
The organ of communication between the members of
the society at Varley and those in other villages was the
blacksmith, or as he preferred to be called, the minister,
John Stukeley, who on week-days worked at the forge
next door to the "Spotted Dog," and on Sundays held
services in “Little Bethel”-a tiny meeting-house stand-
ing back from the road.
Had John Stukeley been busier during the week he
wonld have had less time to devote to the cause of “King
Lud;" but for many hours a day his fire was banked up,
for except to make repairs in any of the frames which
had got out of order, or to put on a shoo which a horse
had cast on his way up the hill from Marsden, there was
but little employment for him.
The man was not a Yorkshireman by birth, but came
from Liverpool, and his small, spare figure contrasted
strongly with those of the tall, square-built Yorkshiremen
among whom he lived.
O road.


34
THROUGH THE FRAY.
He was a good workman, but his nervous irritability,
his self-assertion, and impatience of orders had lost him
so many places that he had finally determined to become
his own master, and, coming into a few pounds at the
death of his father, had wandered away from the great
towns, until finding in Varley a village without a smith,
he had established himself there, and having adopted the
grievances of the men as his own, had speedily become a
leading figure among them.
A short time after his arrival the old man who had
officiated at Little Bethel had died, and Stukeley, who
had from the first taken a prominent part in the service,
and who possessed the faculty of fluent speech to a de-
gree rare among the Yorkshiremen, was installed as his
successor, and soon filled Little Bethel as it had never
been filled before. In his predecessor's time, small as
the meeting-house was, it had been comparatively empty;
two or three men, half a dozen women, and their chil.
dren being the only attendants, but it was now filled to
crowding.
Stukeley's religion was political; his prayers and dis-
courses related to the position of affairs in Varley rather
than to Christianity. They were a down-trodden people
whom he implored to burst the bonds of their Egyptian
taskmasters. The strength he prayed for was the
strength to struggle and to fight. The enemy he de-
nounced was the capitalist rather than the devil.
Up to that time “King Lud” had but few followers in
Varley; but the fiery discourses in Little Bethel roused
among the younger men a passionate desire to right their
alleged wrongs, and to take vengeance upon those de-
nounced as their oppressors, so the society recruited its
numbers fast. Stnkeley was appointed the local secre-
tary, partly because he was the leading spirit, partly
because he alone among its members was able to write,


THROUGII TIE FRAY.
35
and under his vigorous impulsion Varley became one of
the leading centers of the organization in West York-
shire.
It was on a Saturday evening soon after Bill Swinton
had become convalescent. The parlor of the “Brown
Cow” was filled with its usual gathering; a peat-fire
ylowed upon the hearth, and two tallow-candles burned
somewhat faintly in the dense smoke. Mugs of beer
stood on the tables, but they were seldom applied to the
lips of the smokers, for they had to do service without
being refilled through the long evening. The silence
was broken only by the short puffs at the pipes. All
were thinking over the usual topic, when old Gideon
Jones unexpectedly led their ideas into another channel.
“Oive heern,” he said slowly, taking his pipe from his
mouth, "as how Nance Wilson's little gal is wuss."
“Ay, indeed!” “So oi've heern;" “Be she now?” and
various other exclamations arose from the smokers.
Gideon was pleased with the effect he had produced,
and a few minutes later continued the subject.
“It be the empty coopbud more nor illness, I expect.”
There was another chorus of assent, and a still heartier
one when he wound up the subject: “These be hard
toimes surely.”
Thinking that he had now done sufficient to vindicate
his standing as one of the original thinkers of the village,
Gideon relapsed into silence and smoked away gravely,
with his eyes fixed on the fire, in the post of honor on
one side of which was his regular seat. The subject,
however, was too valuable to be allowed to drop alto-
gether, and Luke Marner brought it into prominence
again by remarking:
“They tell oi as how Nance has asked Bet Collins to
watch by the rood soide to catch doctor as he droives
whoam, He went out this arternoon to Retlow."


36
THROUGH THE FRAY.
"Oi doubt he woant do she much good; it be food,
and not doctor's stuff as the child needs,” another
remaked.
"That be so, surely," went up in a general chorus,
and then a newcomer who had just entered the room
said:
"Oi ha' joost coom vrom Nance's and Bill Swinton ha'
sent in a basin o’soup as he got vrom the feyther o' that
boy as broke his leg. Nance war a feeding the child wi'
it, and maybe it will do her good. He ha' been moighty
koind to Bill, that chap hay."
"He ha' been that,” Gideon said, after the chorus of
approval had died away.
“Oi seed t' young un to-day a-sitting in front o'tn'
cottage, a-talking and laughing wi' Bill."
“They be good uns, feyther and son, though they tells
oi as neither on them bain't Yaarkshire.”
The general feeling among the company was evidently
one of surprise that any good thing should be found out-
side Yorkshire. But further talk on the subject was
interrupted by a slight exclamation at the door.
“O what a smoke, feyther! I can't see you, but I
suppose you're somewhere here. You're wanted at
home.”
Altough the speaker was visible to but few in the room
there was no doubt as to her identity, or as to the person
addressed as feythor. Mary Powlett was indeed the
piece and not the daughter of Luke Marner, but as he
bad brought her up from childhood she looked upon him
as her father. It was her accent and the tone of her
voice which rendered it unnecessary for any of those
present to see her face.
Luke was a bachelor when the child had arrived fifteen
years before in the carrier's cart from Marsden, haring
made the journey in a similar conveyance to that town


THROUGH THE FRAY.
-37
from Sheffield, where her father and mother, had died
within a week of each other, the last request of her
mother being that little Polly should be sent off to the
care of Luke Marner at Varley.
Luke had not then settled down into the position of
one of the elders of the village, and he had been some-
what embarrassed by the arrival of the three-year-old
girl. He decided promptly, however, upon quitting the
lodgings which he had as a single man occupied and tak-
ing a cottage by himself. His neighbors urged upon
him that so small a child could not remain alone all day
while he was away at Marsden at work-a proposition to
which he assented; but to the surprise of every one,
instead of placing her during the day under the care of
one of the women of the place, he took her down with
him to Marsden and placed her under the care of a re-
spectable woman there who had children of her own.
Starting at five every morning from his cottage with
Polly perched on his shoulder hè tramped down to the
town, leaving her there before going to work, and calling
for her in the evening. A year later he married, and
the village supposed that Polly would now be left behind.
But they were mistaken. When he became engaged he
had said:
“Now, Loiza, there's one point as oi wish settled. As
oi have told ye, oi ha? partly chosen ye becos oi knowed
as how ye would maake a good mother to my little Polly;
but oi doan't mean to give up taking her down with me
o' days to the town. Oi likes to ha' her wi' me on the
roade-it makes it shorter loike. As thou knowest thy-
Belf, oi ha? bin chaanged man sin she coom. There
warn't a cropper in the village drank harder nor oi; but
oi maad oop moi moind when she came to gi’ it up, and
oi have gi'd it up.”
"I know, Luke," the girl said. “I wouldna have had


38
THROUGH THE FRAY.
ye, hadn't ye doon so, as I told ye two years agone. I
know the child ha' done it, and I loves her for it, and
will be a good mother to her.”
“Oi knows you will, Loiza, and oi bain't feared as ye'll
be jealous if so be as ye’ve children o’ your own. Oi
shan't love 'em a bit the less coss oi loves little Polly.
She be just the image o' what moi sister Jane was when
she war a little thing and oi used to take care o' her.
Mother she didn't belong to this village, and the rough
ways of the men and the drink frightened her. She war
quiet and tidy and neat in her ways, and Jane took arter
her, and glad she was when the time came to marry and
get away from Varley. Oi be roight sure if she knows
owt what's going on down here, she would be glad to
know as her child ain't bein' brought oop n Varley ways.
I ha' arranged wi’ the woman where she gets her meals
for her to go to school wi' her own children. Dost thee
object to that, lass?-if so, say so noo afore it's too late,
but doon't thraw it in moi face arterwards. Ef thou'st.
children they shalt go to school too. Oi don't want to
do more for Polly nor oi'd do for moi own.”
“I ha' no objection, Luke. I remembers your sister,
how pretty and quiet she wor; and thou shalt do what
you likest wi' Polly, wi’out no grumble from me.”
Eliza Marner kept the promise she had made before
marriage faithfully. If she ever felt in her heart any
jealousy as she saw Polly growing up a pretty bright little
maiden, as different to the usual child product of Varley
as could well be, she was wise enough never to express
her thoughts, and behaved with motherly kindness to
her in the evening hours spent at home. She would
perhaps have felt the task a harder one had her own
elder children been girls; but three boys came first, and
a girl was not born until she had boen married eleven
years. Polly, who wae now fourteon, had just come


THROUGH THE FRAY.
39
home from her schooling at Marsden for good, and was
about to go out into service there. But after the birth
of her little girl Mrs. Marner, who had never for a Var-
ley girl been strong, faded rapidly away; and Polly's stay
at home, intended at first to last but a few weeks, until
its mother was about again, extended into months.
The failing woman reaped now the benefit of Polly's
training. Her gentle, quiet way, her soft voice, her neat-
ness and tidiness, made her an excellent nurse, and she
devoted herself to cheer and brighten the sick-room of
the woman who had made so kind an adopted mother to
her. Her influence kept even the rough boys quiet; and
all Varley, which had at first been unanimous in its con-
demnation of the manner in which Luke Marner was
bringing up that “gal” of his, just as if the place was
not good enough for her, were now forced to confess that
the experiment had turned out well.
“Polly, my dear,” the sick woman said to her one
afternoon when the girl had been reading to her for some
time, and was now busy mending some of the boys'
clothes, while baby, nearly a year old, was gravely amus-
ing herself with a battered doll upon the floor, “I used
to think, though I never said so, as your feyther war
making a mistake in bringing you up different to other
gals here; but I see as he was right. There ain't one of
them as would have been content to give up all their
time and thoughts to a sick woman as thou hast done.
There ain't a house in the village as tidy and comfortable
as this, and the boys mind you as they never minded me.
When I am gone Luke will miss me, but thar won't be
no difference in his comfort, and I know thou'lt look
arter baby and be a mother to her. I don't suppose as
thou wilt stay here long; thou art over fifteen now, and
the lads will not he long afore they begin to come a-coort-
ing of thee, But doan't ce marry in Varley, Polly, y


THROUGH THE FRAY.
Luke's been a good husband to me. But thou know'st
what the most of them bemthey may do for Varley-bred
gals, but not for the like of thee. And when thou goest
take baby wi' thee and bring her up like thysel till she
be old enough to coom back and look arter Luke and the
house.”
Polly was crying quietly while the dying woman was
speaking. The doctor, on leaving that morning, had
told her that he could do no more and that Mrs. Marner
was sinking rapidly. Kneeling now beside the bed she
promised to do all that her adopted mother asked her,
adding, "and I shall never, never leave feyther as long
as he lives.” The woman smiled faintly. .
"Many a girl ha' said that afore now, Polly, and ha'
changed her moind when the roight man asked her.
Don’t ee make any promises that away, lass. 'Tis natu-
ral that, when a lassie's time comes, she should wed; and
if Luke feels loanly here, why he's got it in his power to
get another to keep house for him. He be but a little
over forty now; and as he ha' lived steady and kept his-
self away from drink, he be a yoonger man now nor
many a one ten year yoonger. Don't ge think to go to
sacrifice your loife to hissen. And now, child, read me
that chapter over agin, and then I think I could sleep a
bit."
Before morning Eliza Marner had passed away, and
Polly became the head of her uncle's house. Two years
had passed, and so far Mary Powlett showed no signs of
leaving the house, which, even the many women in the
village, who envied her for her prettiness and neatness
and disliked her for what they called her airs, acknowl-
edged that she managed well. But it was not from lack
of suitors. There were at least half a dozen stalwart
young croppers who would gladly have paid court to her
had there been the smallest sign on her part of willing-


THROUGH THE FRAY,
ness to accept their attentions; but Polly, though bright
and cheerful and pleasant to all, afforded to none of
them an opportunity for anything approaching intimacy.
On Sundays, the timos alone when their occupations
enabled the youth of Varley to derote themselves to at-
tentions to the maidens they favored, Mary Powlett was
not to be found at home after breakfast, for, having set
everything in readiness for dinner, she always started for
Marsden, taking little Susan with her, and there spent
the day with the woman who had oven more than Eliza
Marner been her mother. She had, a month after his
wife's death, fought a battle with Luke and conquered.
The latter had, in pursuance of the plans he had origi-
nally drawn up for her, proposed that she should go into
service at Marsden. .
“Oi shall miss thee sorely, Polly,” he said; “and oi
doan't disguise it from thee, vor the last year, lass, thou
hast been the light o' this house, and oi couldna have
spared ye. But oi ha' always fixed that thou shouldst
go into service at Marsden-Varley is not fit vor the
loikes o' ye. We be a rough lot here, and a drunken;
and though oi shall miss thee sorely for awhile, oi must
larn to do wi'out thee."
Polly heard him in silence, and then positively refuse1
to go. “You have been all to me, feyther, since I was a
child, and I am not going to leave you now. I don't say
that Varley is altogether nice, but I shall be very happy
here with you and the boys and dear little Susan, and I
am not going to leave, and so—there!"
Luke knew well how great would be the void which
her absence would make, but he still struggled to carry
out his plans. “But, Polly, oi should na loike to see
thee marry here, and thy mother would never ha' loiked
it, and thou wilt no chance of seeing other men here."
"Why, I am only sixteen, feyther, and we need not


12
TIROUGH THE FRAY.
talk of my marriage for years and years yet, and I prom-
ise you I shan't think of marrying in Varley when the
time comes; but there is one thing I should like, and
that is to spend Sundays, say once a fortnight, down
with Mrs. Mason; they were so quiet and still there, and
I did like so much going to the church; and I hate that
Little Bethel, especially since that horrible man came
there; he is a disgrace, feyther, and you will see that
mischief will come out of his talk.”
“Oi don't like him myself, Polly, and maybe me and
the boys will sometoimes come down to the church thou
art so fond of. However, if thou wilt agree to go down
every Sunday to Mrs. Mason, thou shalt stay here for a
bit till oi see what can best be done.”
And so it was settled, and Polly went off every Sunday
morning, and Luke went down of an evening to fetch
her back.
“Well, what is't, lass?” he asked as he joined her out-
side the “Brown Cow.”
“George has scalded his leg badly, feyther. I was
just putting Susan to bed, and he took the kettle off the
fire to pour some water in the teapot, when Dick pushed
him, or something, and the boiling water went over his
leg.”
"Oi'll give that Dick a hiding,” Luke said wrathfully
as he hastened along by her side. “Why didn't ye send
him here to tell me instead of cooming thyself?”
“It was only an accident, feyther, and Dick was so
frightened when he saw what had happened and heard
George cry out that he ran out at once. I have put some
flour on George's leg; but I think the doctor ought to
see him, that's why I came for you."
“It's no use moi goaing voor him now, lass, he be er.
pected along here every minute. Jack Wilson, he be on
the lookout by the roadside yor to stop him to ask him


THROUGH THE FRAY.
43
to see Nance, who be taken main bad. I will see him
and ask him to send doctor to oor house when he comes,
and tell Jarge I will be oop in a minute."
Upon the doctor's arrival he pronounced the scald to
be a serious one, and Dick, who had been found sobbing
outside the cottage, and had been cuffed by his father,
was sent down with the doctor into the town to bring up
some lint to envelop the leg. The doctor had already
paid his visit to Nance Wilson, and had rated her father
soundly for not procuring better food for her.
"It's all nonsense your saying the times are bad," he
said in reply to the man's excuses. “I know the times
are bad; but you know as well as I do that half your
wages go to the public-house; your family are starving
while you are squandering money in drink. That child
is sinking from pure want of food, and I doubt if she
would not be gone now if it hadn't have been for that
soup your wife tells me Bill Swinton sent in to her. I
tell you, if she dies you will be as much her murderer as
if you had chopped her down with a hatchet.”
The plain speaking of the doctor was the terror of his
parish patients, who nevertheless respected him for the
honest truths he told them. He himself used to say that
his plain speaking saved him a world of trouble, for that
his patients took good care never to send for him except
when he was really wanted.
The next day Mary Powlett was unable to go off as
usual to Marsden as George was in great pain from his
scald. She went down to church, however, in the even-
ing with her father, Bill Swinton taking her place by the
bedside of the boy.
“Thou hast been a-sitting by moi bedside hours every
day, Polly," he said, "and it's moi turn now to take thy
place here. Jack ha' brought over all moi books, for oi
couldn't maake a shift to carry them and use moi crutches,


THROUGH THE FRAY.
and oi'll explain all the pictures to Jarge jest as Maister
Ned explained 'em to oi."
The sight of the pictures reconciled George to Polly's
departure, and seeing the lad was amused and comforta-
ble, she started with Luke, Dick taking his placo near
the bed, where he could also enjoy a look at the pictures
"Did you notice that pretty girl with the sweet voice
in the aisle in a line with us, father," Ned asked that
evening, “with a great, strong, quiet-looking man by the
side of her?”
“Yes, lad, the sweetness of her singing attracted my
attention, and I thought what a bright, pretty face it
was!"
“That's Mary Powlett and her uncle. You have heard
me speak of her as the girl who was so kind in nursing
Bill."
"Indeed, Ned! I should goaroely have expected to
find so quiet and tidy-looking a girl at Varley, still less
to meet her with a male relation in church."
“She lives at Varley, but she can bardly be called a
Varley girl," Ned said. “Bill was telling me about her.
Her uncle had her brought up down here. She used to
go back to sleep at night, but otherwise all her time was
spent here. It seems her mother never liked the place,
and married away from it, and when she and her hus-
band died and the child came back to live with her uncle
he seemed to think he would be best carrying out his
dead sister's wishes by having her brought up in a differ-
ent way to the girls at Varley. He has lost his wife now,
and she keeps house for him, and Bill says all the young
men in Varley are mad about her, but she won't have
anything to say to them."
"She is right enough there,” Captain Sankey said
smilingly. “They are mostly oroppers, and rightly or
wrongly--rightly, I am afraid they have the reputation


THROUGH THE FRAY.
45
of being the most drunken and quarrelsome lot in York-
shire. Do you know the story that is current among the
country people here about them?”
“No, father, what is it?”
“Well, they say that no cropper is in the place of pun-
ishment. It was crowded with them at one time, but
they were so noisy and troublesome that his infernal
majesty was driven to his wits' end by their disputes.
He offered to let them all go. They refused. So one
day he struck upon å plan to get rid of them. Going
outside the gates he shouted at the top of bis voice,
'Beer, beer, who wants beer?' every cropper in the place
rushed out, and he then slipped in again and shut the
gates, and has taken good care ever since never to admit
a cropper into his territory.”
Ned laughed at the story. “It shows at any rate,
father, what people think of them here; but I don't
think they are as bad as that, though Bill did say that
there are awful fights and rows going on there of an
evening, and even down here if there is a row there is
sure to be a cropper in it. Still you see there are some
good ones; look at Luke Marner, that's the man we saw
in church, see how kind he has been to his niece.”
"There are good men of all sorts, and though the
croppers may be rough and given to drink, we must not
blaine them too severely; they are wholly uneducated
men, they work hard, and their sole pleasure is in the
beer-shop. At bottom they are no doubt the same as the
rest of their countrymen, and the Yorkshire men, though
a hard-headed, are a soft-hearted race; the doctor tells
me that except that their constitutions are ruined by
habitual drinking' he has no better patients; they bear
pain unfinchingly, and are patient and even-tempered.
I know he loves them with all their faults, and I consider
him to be a good judge of character.”


THROUGH THE FRAY.
CHAPTER IV.
THE WORMS TURN.
"I SAY, it's a shame, a beastly shame!” Ned Sankey
exclaimed passionately as the boys came out from school
one day.
Generally they poured out in a confused mass, eager
for the fresh air and anxious to forget in play the re-
membrance of the painful hours in school; but to-day
they came out slowly and quietly, each with a book in
his hand, for they had tasks set them which would oc-
cupy every moment till the bell sounded again.
"Every one says they know nothing about the cat. I
don't know whether it's true or not, for I am sorry to
say some of the fellows will tell lies to escape the cane,
but whether it is so or not he's no right to punish us all
for what can only be the fault of one or two."
That morning the cat, which was the pet of Mr. Ha-
thorn and his wife, had been found dead near the door
of the schoolhouse. It had been most brutally knocked
about. One of its eyes had been destroyed, its soft fur
was matted with blood, and it had evidently been beaten
to death. That the cat was no favorite with the boys
was certain. The door between the schoolroom and the
house was unfastened at night, and the cat, in her pur-
suit of mice not unfrequently knocked over inkstands,
and the ink, penetrating into the desks, stained books
and papers, and more than one boy had been caned se.
verely for damage due to the night prowlings of the cat.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
Threats of vengeance against her had often been ut-
tered, and when the cat was found dead it was the general
opinion in the school that one or other of their comrades
had carried out his threats, but no suspicion fell upon
any one in particular. The boys who were most likely
to have done such a thing declared their innocence
stoutly. Mr. Hathorn had no doubt on the subject.
The cane had been going all the morning, and he had
told them that extra tasks would be given which would
occupy all their playtime until the offender was given up
to judgment.
In point of fact the boys were altogether innocent of
the deed. Pussy was a noted marauder, and having been
caught the evening before in a larder, from which she
had more than once stolen tit-bits, she had been attacked
by an enraged cook with a broomstick, and blows had
been showered upon her until the woman, believing that
life was extinct, had thrown her outside into the road;
but the cat was not quite dead, and had, after a time,
revived sufficiently to drag her way home, only, however,
to die.
"I call it a shame!" Ned repeated. “Mind, I say it's
a brutal thing to ill-treat a cat like that. If she did
knock down inkstands and get fellows into rows it was
not her fault. It's natural cats should run after mice,
and the wainscoting of the schoolroom swarmed with
them. One can hear them chasing each other about and
squeaking all day. If I knew any of the fellows had
killed the cat I should go straight to Hathorn and tell
him.
“You might call it sneaking if you like, but I would
do it, for I hate such brutal cruelty. I don't see how it
could have been any of the fellows, for they would have
had to get out of the bedroom and into it again; besides,
Ban't see how they oould have equght the at they


48
THROUGH THE FRAY.
did get out; but whether it was one of the fellows or not
makes no difference. I say it's injustice to punish every
one for the fault of one or two fellows.
"I suppose he thinks that in time we shall give up the
names of the fellows who did it. As far as I am con-
cerned, it will be just the other way. If I had known
who had done it this morning, when he accused us, I
should have got up and said so, because I think fellows
who treat dumb animals like that are brutes that ought
to be punished, but I certainly would not sneak because
Hathorn punished me unjustly. I vote we all refuse to
do the work he has set us.”
This bold proposition was received with blank aston-
ishment.
"But he would thrash us all fearfully,"
ompkins
said.
"He daren't if we only stuck together. Why, he
wouldn't have a chance with us if we showed fight. It
we were to say to him, "We won't do these extra tasks,
and if you touch one of us the whole lot will pitch into.
you,' what could he do then?”
" "I will tell you what he could do, Sankey,” Tom
Room, a quiet, sensible boy, replied. “If we were in a
degert island it would be all well enough, he could not
tyrannize over us then; but here it is different. He
would just put on his hat and go into the town, and in
ten minutes he would be back again with the six consta-
bles, and if that wasn't enough he could get plenty of
other men, and where would our fighting be then? We
should all get the most tremendous licking we have ever
had, and get laughed at besides through the town for a
pack of young fools.”
Ned broke into a good-tempered laugh.
Of course you are right, Room. I only thought
about Hathorn himself. Still, it is horribly unfair. I


THROUGH TIIE FRAY.
will do it to-day. But if he goes on with it, as he
threatens, I won't do it, let him do what he likes."
For some days this state of things continued. There
was no longer any sound of shouting and laughter in the
playground. The boys walked about moody and sullen,
working at their lessons. They were fast becoming des-
perate. No clue had been obtained as to the destroyer
of the cat, and the schoolmaster declared that if it took
him months to break their spirits he would do it. Ned
Sankey had said nothing at home as to his troubles. His
father noticed that he ran off again as soon as his dinner was
over, and that he no longer said anything as to the sports
in which he was engaged in playtime; also, that his les-
sons occupied him from tea-time until he went up to bed.
“Anything is better than this," Ned said one day to
some of the boys of his own age. “In my opinion it's
better to have a regular row. What Room said was quite
true; we shall get the worst of it; but the story will then
come out, and it will be seen what a beastly tyranny we
have been undergoing. I tell you, I for one will not
stand it any longer, so here goes,' and he threw his book
up into a tree, in whose branches it securely lodged.
His comrades followed his example, and the news that
Sankey and some of the other fellows were determined
to put up with it no longer soon spread, and in five min-
utes not a book was to be seen in the playground. The
spirit of resistance became strong and general, and when
the bell rang the boys walked into the schoolroom silent
and determined, but looking far less moody and downcast
than usual. Mr. Hathorn took his seat at his desk.
“The first class will come up and say their tasks.”
Not a boy moved in his seat.
“The first class will come up and say their tasks," the
master repeated, bringing his oane down with angry em.
phasis on the desk,


50
THROUGH THE FRAY.
Still no one moved.
“What does this mean?” he shouted, rising from his
seat.
“It means, sir," Ned Sankey said, rising also, “that
we are determined, all of us, that we will learn no more
extra tasks. None of us, so far as we know, ever touched
your cat, and we are not going to submit to be punished
any longer for a fault which none of us have committed.”
“No, no,” rose in a general chorus through the school.
room, "we will do no more tasks.”
Mr. Hathorn stood petrified with astonishment and
white with anger.
"So you are at the bottom of this, Sankey. I will
make an example of you."
So saying, he took a stride forward toward Ned. In
an instant a shower of books flew at him from all parts of
the room. Infuriated by the attack, he rushed forward
with his cane raised. Ned caught up a heavy inkstand.
"If you touch me," he shouted, “I will fing this at
your head."
Mr. Hathorn hesitated. The shower of books had not
affected him, but the heavy missile in Ned's hand was a
serious weapon. In another moment he sprang forward
and brought his cane down with all his force npon Ned's
back.
Ned at once hurled the heavy inkstand at him. The
schoolmaster sprang on one side, but it struck him on
the shoulder, and he staggered back.
“You have broken my shouldor, you young scoundrel!"
he exclaimed.
"I shouldn't care if I had broken your head," Ned re-
torted, white with passion; “it would have served you
right if I had killed you, you tyrant."
“One of you go and fetch a constable,” Mr. Hathorn
said to the boys.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
51
"Let him send his servant. He will find me at home.
Mr. Hathorn, I am not going to run away, you need not
think it. Give me in charge if you dare; I don't care
what they do to me, but the whole country shall know
what a tyrant you are."
So saying, he collected his books, put his cap on his
head, and walked from the schoolroom, the boys cheer-
ing him loudly as he went. On reaching home he went
at once to his father's study.
"I am sorry to say, sir, that there has been a row in
the school, and Hathorn has threatened to send a consta-
ble here after me for throwing an inkstand at him."
“Throwing an inkstand!” Captain Sankey exclaimed.
“Is it possible?”
“It is quite possible and quite true; he has been treat-
ing us shamefully for the last ien days; he has been
always a cruel brute all along, though I never wanted to
make a fuss about it, but it has been getting worse and
worse. Ten days ago some one killed his cat, and I am
almost sure it was none of the boys, but he chose to be.
lieve it was, and because he couldn't find out who, he has
punished the whole school, and all our play hours have
been taken up with lessons ever since, and he said he
would keep on so till he found out who did it, if it was
months.
"So at last we could not stand any longer, and we
all agreed that we wouldn't do the extra tasks, and that
we would stick together when we told him so. He rushed
at me with his cane, and gave me one with all his might,
and I threw an inkstand at him, and it caught him on
the shoulder, and he says it has broken it, and that he
would send for a constable. So I told him to do so if he
dared, and kere I am.”
“This is a very serious business, Ned,” his father said
gravely. "In the first place, there is something like a


52
THROUGA THE FRAY.
rebellion in the school, of which, I suppose, you were
one of the leaders or he would not have singled you out.
In the second place, you threw a missile at him, which
has broken his shoulder, and might have killed him had
it struck him on the head. I have warned you, my boy,
over and over again against giving way to that passionate
temper of yours, and have told you that it would lead
you into serious trouble.”
“I can't help it, sir," Ned said doggedly. “I've put
up with a tremendous lot there, and have said nothing
about it, because I did not wish to give you trouble; but
when it came to downright tyranny like this I would
rather be killed than put up with it. I warned him fairly
that if he struck me I would throw the inkstand at him,
and he brought it on himself."
Captain Sankey seeing that in his son's present state
of mind talking would be useless to him, ordered him to
remain in his study till his return, and putting on his
hat went toward the school. Ned's temper had always
been a source of anxiety to him. The boy was, no doubt,
of a passionate nature, but had he had the advantage of
a proper supervision and care when he was a child the
tendency might have been overcome. Unfortunately this
had not been the case. His mother had left the children
entirely to the care of ayahs, he himself had been far too
occupied with his regimental duties to be able to super-
intend their training, while Abijah's hands had been too
full with the management of the house, which entirely
devolved upon her, and with the constant attention de-
manded by Mrs. Sankey, to give them any close superin-
tendence. Thus like most children born in India and
left entirely in the charge of colored nurses, Neà had ac-
quired the habit of giving way to bursts of ungoverrable
passion; for the black nurses have no authority over their
young charges, unless seconded and supported by the


7 HROUGH THE FRAY.
83
drmness of their mothers. In this case no such support
had been forthcoming.
Mrs. Sänkey hated being troubled, and the ayahs
always found that any complaints to her recoiled upon
themselves, for she always took the part of her children,
and insisted that the fault lay on the side of the nurses
and not on them. The natural result was, that the
ayahs ceased to trouble her, and found it easier to allow
the children to do as they chose, and to give way quietly
to Ned's outbursts of passion,
Captain Sankey knew nothing of all this, Ned was
Fery fond of him, and was always bright and good-tem-
pered when with his father, and it was not until he left
India and was thrown more with him that Captain Sankey
discovered how grievously Ned's disposition, which was
in other respects a fine one,, was marred by the habit
which had been encouraged by indulgence and want of
control. Then he set to work earnestly to remedy the
mischief, but the growth of years is hard to eradicate,
and although under the influence of the affection for his
father and his own good sense Ned had so far conquered
himself that his fits of passion were few and far between,
the evil still existed, and might yet, as his father feit,
lead to consequences which would mar his whole life.
Thinking the matter sadly over, Captain Sankey was
proceeding toward the school when he inet one of the
constables. The man touched his hat and stopped.
"This be a moighty oonpleasant business, captain," he
said; "your boy, he ha' been and battered schoolmaister;
and t' doctor says he ha’ broke his collar-bone. Oi ha'
got to take him afore t'magistrate.”
"Very well, Harper,” Captain Sankey said quietly;
"of course you must do your duty. It is a sad business,
and ļ was on my way to the school to see if the matter
could vot be arranged; however, as it has been put in


THROUGH THE FRAY.
your hands it is now too late, and things must take their
course; the magistrates are not sitting to-day. I will
guarantee that my son shall be present at the sitting on
Thursday, I suppose that will be sufficient?"
“Yes, oi supposes if you promises to produce him, that
ull do," the constable said. “Oi doan't suppose as
nought will come o’t; these schoolmaister chaps does
thrash t'boys cruel, and oi ain't surprised as t' little
chaps roises ag'in it soometoimes. Tothers all seem
moighty glad o'it: oi heard 'em shouting and cheering
in t' yard as if they was all mad.”
Captain Sankey shook his head. “I'm afraid the
magistrates won't see it in that light, Harper; discipline
is discipline. However, we must hope for the best."
The story that there had been a rebellion among the
boys at Hathorn's, that the schoolmaster had his shoulder
broken, and that Captain Sankey's son was to go before
the magistrates, spread rapidly through Marsden, and
the courthouse was crowded at the sitting of the magis-
trates on Thursday.
There were two magistrates on the bench, Mr. Thomp-
son the local banker, and Squire Simmonds of Lathorpe
Hall, three miles from the town. Several minor cases
were first disposed of, and then Ned's name was called.
Captain Sankey had been accommodated with a seat near
the magistrates, with both of whom he had some personal
acquaintance. Ned was sitting by the side of the lawyer
whom his father had retained to defend him; he now
moved quietly into the dock, while Mr. Hathorn, with
his arm in a sling, took his place in the witness-box.
Ned had recovered now from his fit of passion, and
looked amused rather than concerned as the schoolmaster
gave his evidence as to the fray in the schoolroom.
“I have a few questions to ask you, Mr. Hathorn,"
Mr. Wakefield, Ned's lawyer, said. “Had you any reason


THROUGH THE FRAY.
55
por expecting any outbreak of this kind among your
boys?”
“None whatever," Mr. Hathorn said.
“You use the cane pretty freely, I believe, sir."
“I use it when it is necessary,” Mr. Hathorn replied.
“Ah! and how often do you consider it necessary?”
"That must depend upon circumstances.”
“You have about thirty boys, I think?”
"About thirty."
“And you consider it necessary that at least fifteen
ont of that thirty should be caned every day. You must
have got a very bad lot of boys, Mr. Hathorn?”
“Not so many as that,” the schoolmaster said, flushing.
“I shall be prepared to prove to your worships,” the
lawyer said, "that for the last six months the average of
boys severely caned by this man has exceeded sixteen a
day, putting aside such minor matters as one, two, or
three vicious cuts with the cane given at random. It
fortunately happened, as I find from my young friend in
the dock, that one of the boys has, from motives of curi-
osity, kept an account for the last six months of the
number of boys thrashed every day. I have sent round
for him, and he is at present in court.”
Mr. Hathorn turned pale, and he began to think that
it would have been wiser for him to have followed Ned's
advice, and not to have brought the matter into court.
“Your worships,” the lawyer saill, "you have been
boys, as I have, and you can form your own ideas as to
the wretchedness that must prevail among a body of lads
of whom more than half are caned daily. This, your
worships, is a state of tyranny which might weil drive
any boys to desperation. But I have not done will wir.
Hathorn yet.
“During the ten days previous to this affair things were
even more unpleasant than usual in your establishment,


88
THROUGH THE PŘAY.
were they bot, sir! I understand that the whole of the
boys were deprived of all play whatever, and that every
minute was occupied by extra tasks, and moreover the
prospect was held out to them that this sort of thing
would continue for months.”
There had already been several demonstrations of feel-
ing in court, but at this statement by the lawyer there
was a general hiss. The schoolmaster hesitated before
replying.
“Now, Mr. Hathorn,” the lawyer said briskly, we
want neither hesitation nor equivocation. We may as
well have it from you, because if you don't like telling
the truth I can put the thirty miserable lads under your
charge into the box one after the other."
“They have had extra tasks to do during their play-
time,” Mr. Hathorn said, “because they refused to reveal
which among them brutally murdered my cat."
“And how do you know they murdered your cat?"
“I am sure they did," the schoolmaster said shortly.
“Oh! you are sure they did! And why are you so
sure? Had tliey any grudge against your cat?"
"They prétended they had a grudge.”
“What for, Mr. Hathorn?”
“They used to accuse her of upsetting the ink-bottles
when they did it themselves."
“You did not believe their statements, I suppose !!!
“Not at all."
“You caned them just the same as if they had done it
themselves. At least I am told so."
“Of course I caned them, especially as I knew that
they were telling a lie.”
"But if it was a lie, Mr. Hathorn, if this cat did not
upset their ink, why on earth should these boys have a
grudge against her and murder her?”
The schoolmaster was síient.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
57
"Now I want an answer, sir. You are punishing thirty
boys in addition to the sixteen daily canings divided
among them; you have cut off all their play-time, and
kept them at work from the time they rise to the time
they go to bed. As you see, according to your own
statement, they could have had no grudge against the
cat, how are you sure they murdered her?”
“I am quite sure,” Mr. Hathorn said doggedly.
“Boys have always a spite against cats."
“Now, your honors, you hear this,” Mr. Wakefield
said. "Now I am about to place in the witness-box a
very respectable woman, one Jane Tytler, who is cook to .
our esteemed fellow-townsman, Mr. Samuel Hawkins,
whose residence is, as you know, not far from this school.
She will tell you that, having for some time been plagued
by a thieving cat which was in the habit of getting into
her larder and carrying off portions of food, she, finding
it one day there in the act of stealing a half-chicken, fell
upon it with a broomstick and killed it, or as she thought
killed it, and I imagine most cooks would have acted the
same under the circumstances.
“She thought no more about it until she lieard the
reports in the town about this business at the school,
and then she told her master. The dates have been
compared, and it is found that she battered this cat on
the evening before the Hathorn cat was found dead in
the yard. Furthermore, the cat she battered was a
white cat with a black spot on, one side, and this is the
exact description of the Hathorn cat; therefore, your
honors, you will see that the assumption, or pretense, or
excuse, call it what you will, by which this man justiîes
his tyrannical treatment of these unfortunate boys has
no bage or foundation whatever. You can go now, Mr.
Hathorn; I have nothing further to say to you."
A loud biss rosa again from the crowded court as the


58
THROUGH THE FRAY.
schoolmaster stepped down from the witness-box, and
Jane Tytler took his place. After giving her evidence
she was succeeded by Dick Tompkins in much trepida-
tion. Dick was a most unwilling witness, but he pro-
duced the notebook in which he had daily jotted down
the number of boys caned, and swore to the general ac-
zuracy of the figures.
Mr. Wakefield then asked the magistrates if they would
like to hear any further witnesses as to the state of things
in the schoolroom. They said that what they had heard
was quite sufficient. He then addressed them on the
merits of the case, pointing out that although in this
case une of the parties was a master and the other a pupil
this in no way removed it in the eye of the law from the
category of other assaults. “In this case," he said,
“your worships, the affair has arisen out of a long course
of tyran.y and provocation on the part of one of the
parties, and you will observe that this is the party who
first commits the assault, while my client was acting
solely in sell-defense.
"It is he who ought to stand in the witness-box, and
the complainant in the dock, for he is at once the ag-
gressor and the assailant. The law admits any man who
is assaulted to defend himself, and there is, so far as I
am aware, no enactment whatever to be found in the
statute-book placing boys in a different category to
grown-up persons. When your worships have discharged
my client, as I have no doubt you will do at once, I shall
advise him to apply for a summons for assault against
this man Hathorn.”
The magistrates consulted together for some time,
then the squire, who was the senior, said:
“Ve are of opinion that Master Sankey, by aiding this
rebellion against his master, has done wrongly, and that
he erred grievously in discharging a heavy missile at his


THROUGII TIE TRHY.
65
master; at the saine time we think that the provocation
that he received by the tyranny which has been proved
to have been exercised by Mr. Hathorn toward the boys
under his charge, and espocially by their unjust punish-
ment for an offense which the complainant conceived
without sufficient warrant, or indeed without any war-
rant at all, that they had committed, to a great extent
justifies and excuses the conduct of Master Sankey.
Therefore, with a reprimand as to his behavior, and a
caution as to the consequences which might have arisen
from his allowing his temper to go beyond bounds, we
discharge him. .
"As to you, sir," he said to the schoolmaster, “we
wish to express our opinion that your conduct has been
cruel and tyrannical in the extreme, and we pity the un-
fortunate boys who are under the care of a man who
treats them with such cruel harshness as you are proved
to have done."
The magistrates now rose, and the court broke up.
Many of those present crowded round Ned and shook his
hand, congratulating him on the issue; but at a sign
from his father the boy drew himself away from them,
and joining Captain Sankey, walked home with him.
“The matter has ended better than I expected, Ned,"
he said gravely; “but pray, my boy, do not let yourself
think that there is any reason for triumph. You have
boen gravely reprimanded, and had the missile you used
struck the schoolmaster on the head, you would now be
in prison awaiting your trial for a far graver offense, and
that before judges who would not make the allowances
for you that the magistrates here have done. “Beware
of your temper, Ned, for unless you overcome it, be
assured that sooner or later it may lead to terrible
consequences."
Ned, who had in fact been inclined to feel triumph.


60
-
THROUGH THE FRAY.
ant over his success, was sobered by his father's grave
words and manner; and resolved that he would try hard
to conquer his fault; but evil habits are hard to over-
come, and the full force of his father's words was still to
come home to him.
He did not, of course, return to Mr. Hathorn's, and
indeed the disclosures of the master's severity made at
the examination before the magistrates obtained such
publicity that several of his pupils were removed at once,
and notices were given that so many more would not re-
turn after the next holidays that no one was surprised to
hear that the schoolmaster had arranged with a successor
in the school, and that he himself was about to go to
America.
The result was that after the holidays his successor
took his place, and many of the fathers who had intended
to remove their sons decided to give the newcomer a
trial. The school opened with nearly the original num-
ber of pupils. Ned was one of those who went back.
Captain Sankey had called on the new master, and had
told him frankly the circumstances of the fracas between
Ned and Mr. Hathorn.
“I will try your son at any rate, Mr. Sankey," the
master said. “I have a strong opinion that boys can be
managed without such use of the cane as is generally
adopted; that, in my opinion, should be the last resort.
Boys are like other people, and will do more for kindness
than for blows. By what you tell me, the circumstances
of your son's bringing up in India among native servants
have encouraged the growth of a passionate temper, but
I trust that we may be able to overcome that; at any
rate I will give him a trial.” And so it was settled that
Ned should return to Porson's, for so the establishment
was henceforth to be known.


THROUGH THE FRAT.
CHAPTER V.
THE NEW MASTER.
It was with much excitement and interest that the
boys gathered in their places for the first time under the
new master. The boarders had not seen him upon their
arrival on the previous evening, but had been received
by an old housekeeper, who told them Mr. Porson would
not return until the coach came in from York that night.
All eyes were turned to the door as the master entered.
The first impression was that he was a younger man than
they had expected. Mr. Hathorn had been some forty-
five years old; the newcomer was not over thirty. He
was a tall, loosely made man, with somewhat stooping
shoulders; he had heavy eyebrows, gray eyes, and a firm
mouth. He did not look round as he walked straight to
his desk; then he turned, and his eyes traveled quietly
and steadily round the room as if scanning each of the
faces directed toward him,
“Now, boys," he said in & quiet voice, “a few words
before we begin. I am here to teach, and you are here
to learn. As your master I expect prompt obedience.
I shall look to see each of you do your best to acquire
the knowledge which your parents have sent you here to
obtain. Above all, I shall expect that every boy here
will be straightforward, honorable, and truthful. I shall
not expect to find that all are capable of making equal
progrees; there are plever boys and stupid boys, just as


62
THROUGH THE FRAY.
there are clever men and stupid men, and it would be
unjust to expect that one can keep up to the other; but
I do look to each doing his best according to his ability.
On my part I shall do my best to advance you in your
studies, to correct your faults, and to make useful men
of you.
“One word as to punishments. I do not believe that
knowledge is to be thrashed into boys, or that fear is the
best teacher. I shall expect you to learn, partly because
you feel that as your parents have paid for you to learn
it is your duty to learn, partly because you wish to please
me. I hope that the cane will seldom be used in this
school. It will be used if any boy tells me a lie, if any
boy does anything which is mean and dishonorable, if
any boy is obstinately idle, and when it is used it will be
used to a purpose, but I trust that the occasion for it
will be rare.
“I shall treat you as friends whom it is my duty to in.
struct. You will treat me, I hope, as a friend whose
duty it is to instruct you, and who has a warm interest
in your welfare; if we really bear these relations to each
other there should be seldom any occasion for punish.
ment. And now as a beginning to-day, boys, let each
come up to my desk, one at a time, with his books. I
shall examine you separately, and see what each knows
and is capable of doing. I see by the report here that there
are six boys in the first class. As these will occupy me
all the morning the rest can go into the playground.
The second class will be taken this afternoon."
The boys had listened with astonished silence to this
address, and so completely taken aback were they that
ail save those ordered to remain rose from their seats and
went out in a quiet and orderly way, very different from
the wild rush which generally terminated school-time.
Ned being in the second class was one of those who


THROUGH THE FRA Y
went out. Instead of scattering into groups, the boys
gathered in a body outside.
“What do you think of that, Sankey?” Tompkins said.
“It seems almost too good to be true. Only fancy, no
more thrashing except for lying and things of that sort,
and treating us like friends! and he talked as if he meant
it too."
“That he did," Ned said gravely; "and I tell you,
fellows, we shall have to work now, and no mistake. A
fellow who will not work for such a man as that deserves
to be skinned.”
"I expect,” said James Mathers, who was one of the
biggest boys in the school though still in the third class,
"that it's all gammon, just to give himself a good name,
and to do away with the bad repute the school has got
into for Hathorn's flogging. You will see how long it
will last! I ain't going to swallow all that soft snap."
Ned, who had been much touched at the master's ad-
dress, at once fired up:
“Oh! we all know how clever you are, Mathers--quite
a shining genius, one of the sort who can see through a
stone wall. If you say it's gammon, of course it must
be so."
There was a laugh among the boys.
"I will punch your head if you don't shut up, Sankey,”
Mathers said angrily; "there's no ink-bottle for you to
shy here."
Ned turned very white, but he checked himself with
an effort.
"I don't want to fight to-day-it's the first day of the
half-year, and after such a speech as we've heard I don't
want to have a rosv on this first morning. But you liad
better look out; another time you won't find me so pa.
tient. Punch my head, indeed! Why, you daren't try
it.”


THROUGH THE FRAY.
But Mathers would have tried it, for he had for the
last year been regarded as the cock of the school. How-
ever, several of the boys interfered:
“Sankey is right, Mathers; it would be a beastly shame
to be fighting this morning. After what Porson said
there oughtn't to be any rows to-day. We shall soon see
whether he means it.”
Mathers suffered himself to be dissuaded from carrying
his threat into execution, the rather that in his heart of
hearts he was not assured that the course would have
been a wise one. Ned had never fought in the school,
but Tompkins' account of his fight on the moor with Bill
Swinton, and the courage he had shown in taking upon
himself the office of spokesman in the rebellion against
Hathorn, had given him a very high reputation among
the boys; and in spite of Mather's greater age and weight
there were many who thought that Ned Sankey would
make a tough fight of it with the cock of the school.
So the gathering broke up and the boys set to at their
games, which were played with a heartiness and zest all
the greater that none of them were in pain from recent
punishments, and that they could look forward to the
afternoon without fear and trembling.
When at twelve o'clock the boys of the first class came
out from school the others crowded round to hear the
result of the morning's lessons. They looked bright and
pleased.
“I think he is going to turn out a brick," Ripon, the
head of the first class, said. “Of course one can't tell
yet. He was very quiet with us and had a regular exam-
ination of each of us. I don't think he was at all satis-
fied, though we all did our best, but there was no shout-
ing or scolding. We are to go in again this afternoon
with the rest. He says there's something which he for-
got to mention to us this morning.”


THROUGH THE FRAY.
65
“More speeches!" Mathers grumbled. “I hate all this
jaw.”
"Yes,” Ripon said sharply; "a cane is the thing which
suits your understanding best. Well, perhaps he will
indulge you; obstinate idleness is one of the things he
mentioned in the address.”
When afternoon school began Mr. Porson again rose.
“There is one thing I forgot to mention this morning
I understand that you have hitherto passed your play-
time entirely in the playground, except on Saturday
afternoons, when you have been allowed to go where you
like between dinner and tea-time. With the latter regu-
lation I do not intend to interfere, or at any rate I shall
not do so so long as I see that no bad effects come of it;
bat I shall do so only with this proviso, I do not think it
good for you to be going about the town. I shall there-
fore put Marsden out of bounds. You will be free to
ramble where you like in the country, but any boy who
enters the town will be severely punished. I am not yet
sufficiently acquainted with the neighborhood to draw
the exact line beyond which you are not to go, but I
shall do so as soon as I have ascertained the boundaries
of the town.
“I understand that you look forward to Saturday for
making such purchases as you require. Therefore each
Saturday four boys, selected by yourselves, one from each
class, will be allowed to go into the town to make pur-
chases for the rest, but they are not to be absent more
than an hour.
“In the second place, I do not think that the playground
affords a sufficient space for exercise, and being graveled,
it is unsuitable for many games. Therefore I have hired
a field, which I dare say you all know; it is called 'The
Four-acre Field,' about a hundred yards down the road
on the left-hand side. This you will use as your play-


66.
THROUGH THE FRAY.
.
ground during the six summer months. I have brought
with me from York a box which I shall place under the
charge of Ripon and the two next senior to him. It
contains bats, wickets, and a ball for cricket; a set of
quoits; trap-bat and ball for the younger boys; leaping-
bars and some other things. These will give you a start.
As they become used-up or broken they must be replaced
by yourselves; and I hope you will obtain plenty of en-
joyment from them. I shall come and play a game of
cricket with you myself sometimes.
“You will bear in mind that it is my wish that you
should be happy. I expect you to work hard, but I wish
you to play hard too. Unless the body works the brain
will suffer, and a happy and contented boy will learn as
easily again as a discontented and miserable one. I will
give you the box after tea, so that you can all examine
them together. The second and third classes will now stay
in; the fourth class can go out in the playground with
the first. I shall have time to examine them while the
others are doing their work to-morrow.”
There was a suppressed cheer among the boys and
Ripon, as the senior, said:
“I am sure, sir, we are all very much obliged to you
for your kindness, and we will do our best to deserve it."
There was a chorus of assent, and then the elder and
younger boys went out into the playground while the
work of examination of the second and third classes
began.
On the following day lessons began in earnest, and the
boys found their first impressions of the new master more
than justified. A new era had commenced. The sound
of the cane was no longer heard, and yet the lessons were
far better done than had been the case before. Then
the whole work had fallen on the boys; the principal
part of the day's lessons had been the repeating of tasks


THROUGH THE FRAY.
learned by heart, and the master simply heard them and
punished the boys who were not perfect.
There was comparatively little of this mechanical work
now; it was the sense and not the wording which had to
be mastered. Thus geography was studied from an atlas
and not by the mere parrot-like learning of the names of
towns and rivers. In grammar the boys had to show
that they understood a rule by citing examples other
than those given in their books. History was rather a
lecture from the master than a repetition of dry facts
and dates by the boys. Latin and mathematics were
made clear in a similar way. “It was almost too good to
last," the boys said after the first day's experience of this
new method of teaching; but it did last. A considerable
portion of the work out of school was devoted to the
keeping up the facts they had learned, for Mr. Porson
was constantly going back and seeing that their memo-
ries retained the facts they had acquired, and what they
called examinations were a part of the daily routine.
In some points upon which Mr. Hathorn had laid the
greatest stress Mr. Porson was indifferent-dates, which
had been the bane of many a boy's life and an unceasing
source of punishment, he regarded but little, insisting
only that the general period should be known, and his
questions generally took the form of, “In the beginning
or at the end of such and such a century, what was the
state of things in England or in Rome?” A few dates
of special events, the landmarks of history, were required
to be learned accurately, all others were passed over as
unimportant.
It was not that the boys worked fewer hours than be-
fore, but that they worked more intelligently, and there-
fore more pleasantly to themselves. The boys and there
were some—who imagined that under this new method
of teaching they could be idle, very soon found out their


68
THROUGH THE FRAY.
mistake, and discovered that in his way Mr. Porson was
just as strict as his predecessor. He never lost his tem-
per; but his cold displeasure was harder to bear than
Mr. Hathorn's wrath; nor were punishments wanting.
Although the cane was idle, those who would not work
were kept in the the schoolroom during play hours; and
in cases where this was found to be ineffectual Mr.
Porson coldly said:
“Your parents pay me to teach you, and if you do not
choose to be taught I have only to write home to them
and request them to take you away. If you are one of
those boys who will only learn from fear of the cane you
had better go to some school where the cane is used.”
This threat, which would have been ineffective in Mr.
Hathorn's time, never failed to have an effect now; for
even Mather, the idlest and worst boy there, was able to
appreciate the difference between the present regime and
the last. In a marvelously short time Mr. Porson seemed
to have gauged the abilities of each of the boys, and
while he expected much from those who were able to
master easily their tasks, he was content with less from
the duller intellects, providing they had done their best.
After a week's experience of Mr. Porson, Ned gave so
glowing an account to his father of the new master and
his methods that Captain Sankey went down to the school
and arranged that Charlie, now ten years old, should ac-
company his brother. There were several boys no older
than he; but Charlie differed widely from his elder
brother, being a timid and delicate child, and ill-fitted
to take care of himself. Captain Sankey felt, however,
after what Ned had told him of Mr. Porson, that he
could trust to him during the school hours, and Ned
would be an active protector in the playground.
It was not until a fortnight after the school began
that the Four-acre Field was ready. By that time a


THROUGI THE FRAY.
69
fock of sheep bad been turned into it, and had eaten
the grass smooth, and a heavy horse-roller had been at
work for a day making a level pitch in the center. It
was a Saturday afternoon when the boys took possession
of it for the first time. As they were about to start in
the highest glee, Mr. Porson joined them. Some of
their faces fell a little; but he said cheerfully:
"Now, boys, I am going with you; but not, you know,
to look after you or keep you in order. I want you all
to enjoy yourselves just in your own way, and I mean to
enjoy myself too. I have been a pretty good cricketer
in my time, and played in the York Eleven against Leeds,
so I may be able to coach you up a little, and I hope
after a bit we may be able to challenge some of the vil-
lage elevens round here. I am afraid Marsden will be
too good for us for some time; still, we shall see.”
On reaching the field Mr. Porson saw the ground
measured and the wickets erected, and then said:
“Now I propose we begin with a match. There are
enough of us to make more than two elevens; but there
are the other games. Would any of the bigger boys like
to play quoits better than cricket?”
Mather, who felt much aggrieved at the master's pres-
ence, said he should prefer quoits; and Williamson, who
always followed his lead, agreed to play with him.
“Now," Mr. Porson said, “do you, Ripon, choose an
eleven. I will take the ten next best. The little ones
who are over can play at trap-bat, or bowls, as they
like."! There was a general approval of the plan. Ripon
chose an eleven of the likeliest boys, selecting the biggest
ayd most active; for as there had been no room for cricket
in the yard their aptitude for the game was a matter of
guess-work, though most of them had played during the
holidays. Mr. Porson chose the next ten, and after tops.
ing for innings, which Ripon won, they set to work. Ms.


r0
THROUGH THE FRAY.
Porson played for a time as long-stop, putting on two of
the strongest of his team as bowlers, and changing them
from time to time to test their capacity. None of them
turned out brilliant, and the runs came fast, and the
wickets were taken were few and far between, until at
last Mr. Porson himself took the ball.
“I am not going to bowl fast,” he said, "just straight
easy lobs;" but the boys found that the straight lobs
were not so easy after all, and the wickets of the boys
who had made a long score soon fell. Most of those who
followed managed to make a few runs as well off Mr.
Porson's bowling as from that at the other end; for the
master did not wish to discourage them, and for a few
overs after each batsman came to the wicket aimed well
off it so as to give them a chance of scoring.
The last wicket fell for the respectable score of fifty-
four. The junior eleven then went in, the master not
going in until the last. Only twenty runs bad been made
when he took the bat. In the five balls of the over which
were bowled to him he made three fours; but before it
came to his turn again his partner at the other end was
out, and his side were twenty-two behind on the first
innings. The other side scored thirty-three for the first
four wickets before he again took the ball, and the re-
maining six went down for twelve runs. His own party
implored him to go in first, but he refused.
“No, no, boys,” he said; "you must win the match, if
you can, without much aid from me.”
The juniors made a better defense this time and scored
forty before the ninth wicket fell. Then Mr. Porson
went in and ran the score up to sixty before his partner
was out, the seniors winning the match by nine runs.
Both sides were highly pleased with the result of the
match. The seniors had won after a close game. The
juniors were well pleased to have run their elders so hard,


THROUGH THE FRAY.
71
They all gathered round their master and thanked him
Warmly.
"I am glad you are pleased, my boys,” he said; “I
will come down two or three times a week and bowl to
you for an hour, and give you a few hints, and you will
find that you get on fast. There is plenty of promise
among you, and I prophesy that we shall turn out a fair
eleven by the end of the season.”
The younger boy“ had also enjoyed themselves greatly,
and had been joined by many of the elders while waiting
for their turn to go in. Altogether the opening day of
the Four-acre Field had been 4 great success.
The old cake-woman who had previously supplied the
boys still came once a week, her usual time being Wed-
nesday evening, when, after tea, the boys played for half
an hour in the yard before going in to their usual lessons.
Ned was not usually present, but he one evening went
back to fetch a book which he needed. As he came in
at the gate of the yard Mather was speaking to the
woman.
“No, I won't let you have any more, Master Mather.
You have broken your promises to me over and over
again. That money you owed me last half ain't been paid
yet. If it had only been the money for the cakes and
sweets I shouldn't ha’minded so much, but it's that ten
shillings you borrowed and promised me solemn you would
pay at the end of the week and ain't never paid yet. I
have got to make up my rent, and I tell ye if I don't get
the money by Saturday I shall speak to t’ maister about
it and see what he says to such goings on.”
“Don't talk so loud,” Mather said hurriedly, "and I
will get you the money as soon as I can."
“I don't care who hears me," the woman replied in a
still louder voice, and as soon as you can won't do for I.
I have got to have it on Saturday, so that's flat. I will


THROUGH THE FRAY.
come up to the field, and you'll best have it ready for
me.”
Ned did not hear the last few words, but he had heard
enough to know that Mather owed ten shillings which
he had borrowed, besides a bill for cakes. Mather had
not noticed him come into the yard, for his back was-
toward the gate, and the noise which the boys made run.
ning about and shouting prevented him hearing the gate
open and close,
"It's a beastly shame," Ned muttered to himself as he
went off to school, "to borrow money from an old woman
like that. Mather must have known he couldn't pay it,
for he has only a small allowance, and he is always short
af money, and of oğurse he could not expect a tip before
the holidays. He might have paid her when he came
back, but as he didn't I don't see how he is to do so now,
and if the old woman tells Porson there will be a row.
It's just the sort of thing would rile him most.”
On the next Saturday he watched with some curiosity
the entry of the old woman into the field. Several of
the boys went up and bought sweets. When she was
standing alone Mather strolled up to her. After a word
or two he handed her something. She took it, and said
a few words. Mather shook his head positively, and in
a minnte or two walked away, leaving her apparently
satisfied.
"I suppose he has given her something on account,”
Ned said to himself. "I wonder where he got it. When
Ripon asked him last Monday for a subscription to buy
another set of bats and wickets, so that two lots could
praotise at once, he said he had only sixpence left, and
Mather would not like to seem mean now, for he knows
he doesn't stand woll with any one except two or three
of his own got, because he is always running out against
everything that Porson does,"



MH
VA
-
THE OLD CAKE WOMAN DUNS MASTER MATHER FOR PER MONEY,





THROUGH THE FRAY.
A week later Mr. Porson said, at the end of school:
“By the way, boys, have any of you seen that illustrated
classical dictionary of mine. I had it in school about
ten days ago when I was showing you the prints of the
dress and armor of the Romans, and I have not seen it
since. I fancy I must have left it on my table, but I
cannot be sure. I looked everywhere in my library for
it last night and cannot find it. Perhaps if I left it on
the desk one of you has taken it to look at the pictures."
There was a general silence.
“I think it must be so," Mr. Porson went on more
gravely. “If the boy who has it will give it up I shall
not be angry, as, if I left it on the desk, there would be
20 harm in taking it to look at the pictures.”
Still there was silence.
“I value the book," Mr. Porson went on, “not only
because it is an expensive work, but because it is a prize
which I won at Durham.”
He paused a moment, and then said in a stern voice:
"Iset every boy open his desk.”
The desks were opened, and Mr. Porson walked round
and glanced at each.
“This is a serious matter now,” he said. “Ripon, will
you come to the study with me and help me to search
again. It is possible it may still be there and I may
have overlooked it. The rest will remain in their places
till I return."
There was a buzz of conversation while the master was
absent. On his return he said:
"The book is certainly not there. The bookshelves
are all so full that it could only have been put in its own
place or iaid upon the table. Ripon and I have searched
the room thoroughly and it is certainly not there. Now,
boys, this is a serious business. In the first place, I will
give a last chance to whoever may have taken it to rise
in his place and confess it.”


THROUGH THE FRAY.
He paused, and still all were silent.
“Now mind," he said, “I do not say that any of you
have taken it-I have no grounds for such an accusation.
It may have been taken by a servant. A tramp may
have come in at the back gate when you were all away
and have carried it off. These things are possible. And
even were I sure that it had been done by one of you I
should not dream of punishing all; therefore for the
present we will say no more about it. But in order to
assure myself and you I must ask you for the keys of
your boxes. The servants' boxes will also be searched,
as well as every nook and corner of the house; and then,
when we have ascertained for a certainty that the book
is not within these four walls, I shall go on with a lighter
heart."
The bo.ys all eagerly opened their trunks and play-
boxes, searched under the beds, in the cupboards, and in
every nook and corner of their part of the house, and an
equally minute search was afterward made in the other
apartments; but no trace of the book was discovered.
For days the matter was a subject of conversation among
the boys, and endless were the conjectures as to what
could have become of the dictionary. Their respect and
affection for their master were greatly heightened by the
fact that his behavior toward them was in no way altered
by the circumstances. His temper was as patient and
equable as before in the schoolroom; he was as cheerful
and friendly in the cricket-field. They could see, how-
ever, that he was worried and depressed, though he
strove to appear the same as usual. Often did they dis-
cuss among themselves how different the state of things
would have been had the loss happened to Mr. Hathorn,
and what a life they would have led under those circum-
Btances.
At the end of a week the happy thought struck Ripon


THROUGH THE FRAY.
just such a book as I had described was on sale in the
window of one of the booksellers there. It was a second-
hand copy, but in excellent preservation. The fly-leaf
was missing. On going over yesterday I found that it
was my book, and was able to prove it by several mar.
ginal notes in my handwriting.
"The bookseller said at once that it was sent him by
a general dealer at Marsden who was in the habit of
picking up books at sales in the neighborhood and send-
ing them to him; he had given eighteen shillings for it.
This morning I have called upon the man, whose name
is White, accompanied by a constable. He admitted at
once that he had sent the book to York, and said that he
bought it from some one about a month ago. His cus-
tomer came late, and as White is short-sighted, and there
was only x tallow-candle burning in the shop, he said
that he should not know him again, and could say noth-
ing about his age; however, I shall call him in; he is
now outside with the constable. I am sure that for your
own sakes you will not object to his taking a look at you."
Mr. Porson went to the door, and the constable and
White entered. The chief constable, when Mr. Porson
had called upon him to ask for one of his men to accom-
pany him to the dealer's, had told him that White bore a
very bad reputation. He was suspected of being the
medium through whom stolen goods in that part of
Yorkshire were sent up to London for disposal. A high-
wayman who had been caught and executed at York,
had in his confesssion stated that this man had acted as
his go-between for the disposal of the watches and other
articles he took from travelers, and White's premises
had then been thoroughly searched by the constables;
but as nothing suspicious was found, and there was only
the unsupported confession of the highwayman against
him, he had got off scot-free, “I don't think you will


78
THROUGH THE FRAY.
get anything out of him, Mr. Porson,” the constable
said. “The fact that he has been trusted by these fel.
lows shows that he is not a man to peach upon those
with whom he deals; and in the next place he would
know well enough that if any one were convicted of
stealing this book he would be liable to a prosecution as
receiver; and though we could scarcely get a conviction
against him, as we could not prove that he knew that it
was stolen, it would do him no good.”
The boys all stood up in a line. “I will look at 'em,
sir,” White said; “but, as I have told you, I should not
know the man as I bought that book from, from Adam.
Anyhow none of these little ones couldn't be he. If it
weren't a man, he were as big as a man. You don't
suppose an honest tradesman woulä buy an expensive
book like that from a kid.”
So saying he placed a pair of norn spectacles on his
nose and walked round the line.
“I don't see any one here whose face I ever see before
as far as I knows; but bless you, the man as I bought it
of might have had hair all over his face, and I be none
the wiser looking at him across that counter of mine in
the dark.”
"Thank you," Mr. Porson said; "then it is of no use
troubling you further, I have got my book back; but I
confess that this affords me but small gratification in
comparison to that which I should feel if I could unravel
this mystery.”
The discovery of the book reopened the interest in the
matter, and nothing else was talked of that evening in
the playground,
“Ripon," Ned said, putting his arm in that of the
head-boy, "I want to tell yon & thing that has been in
my mind for the last three weeks; mind, I don't any
that there's anything in it, and I hate to think herm of


THROUGH THE FRAY.
19
“What a logot to say anything, and I want
any one. There is another thing; he and I ain't good
friends. If it hadn't been for that I should have spoken
to you before; but I was afraid that it would look like a
piece of dirty spite on my part; but I do think now that 88
head-boy you ought to know, and I want your advice
whether I ought to say anything about it or not.”
“What a long-winded chap you are, Sankey! What is
it all about?"
"Well, you know, Ripon, when we got up that sub-
scription for the cricket things, Mather didn't give any.
thing. He said he had no money."
“No; and he hadn't any," Ripon said, "for I had only
the day before lent him twopence to buy some string,
and he paid me when he got his allowance on Saturday,"
“Well, a day or two after that I came back after tea
for a book that I had left behind me, and as I came in
at the gate there Mather was standing at the corner
talkivg to Mother Brown. He had his back to the door,
and they didn't see me. She was talking loud and angry
and I couldn't help hearing what she said.”
"Well, what did she say?" Ripon said rather imp&
tiently.
"She said, 'You have disappointed me over and over
again, and if you don't pay me that ten shillings you
borrowed of me last half, and the bill for the cakes, by
Saturday, I will see the master and tell him all about it.'
I didn't hear any more; but on the Saturday I saw him
go up to her in the field and pay her something. Of
course I don't know what it was; not all, I think, by the
manner in which she took it; still, I suppose it was
enough to content her. About ten days afterward we
heard the book was missing. It didn't strike me at the
time; but afterward, when I thought of it, I remembered
that the last time Porson brought it out was on the
Thursday, which was the day after Mathor had been


THROUGH THE FRAY.
81
Mather paid her. We may as well settle that question
first."
As this was Wednesday and the cake-woman was com-
ing that evening there was not long to wait. Ripon
chose a time when most of the boys had made their pur-
chases and the old woman was alone.
“Don't you give too much tick to any of the fellows,
Mother Brown,” he began. “You know it isn't always
easy to get money that's owing.”
“I should think not, Master Ripon; I wish they would
always pay money down as you do. There's Master
Mather, he been owing me money ever since last half.
He borrowed ten shillings of me and promised solemn he
would pay at the end of the week, and he has only paid
five shillings yet, a month ago, and that was only 'cause
I told him I would tell the master about him; there's
that five shillings, and seven shillings and eightpence
for cakes and things; but I have been giving him a piece
of my mind this afternoon; and if I don't get that other
five shillings by Saturday, sure enough I will speak to t’
maister about it. No one can say as Mother Brown is
hard on boys, and I am always ready to wait reasonable;
but I can't abear lies, and when I lent that ten shillings
I expected it was going to be paid punctual.”
"Then he knows you are going to speak to Mr. Porson
on Saturday if he doesn't pay up another five shillings?”
"He knows it,” the old woman said, nodding. “When
I says a thing I mean it. So he had best pay up.”
When Ripon met Ned next day he said: “I talked to
her last night. Mather paid her five shillings, and she
has told hinı if he doesn't pay her the other five by Sat-
urday she will speak to Porson; so I think the best plan
is to wait till then and see what comes of it. She will
tell the whole story and Porson will learn it without our
interference, and can think what he likes about it.”


THROUGH THE FRAY.
88
the last to get in. So he was to-day, but I don't know
that he was later than usnal."
"I think, Ripon, we ought to speak to Porson.”
"I think so too,” Ripon rejoined gravely; "it is too
serious to keep to ourselves. Any ordinary thing I would
not peach about on any account, but å disgraceful theft
like this, which throws a doubt over us all, is another
thing; the honor of the whole school is at stake. I have
been thinking it over. I don't want Mather to suspect
anything, so I will go out at the back gate with you, as if I
was going to walk part of the way home with you, and then
we will go round to the front door and speak to Porson."
The master was sitting on a low seat in the window of
his study. Hearing footsteps coming up from the front
gate he looked round.
"Do you want to speak to me, boys?” he asked in
some surprise through the open window. “What makes
you come round the front way?”
“We want to see you privately, sir,” Ripon said.
“Very well, boyể, I will open the door for you. Now,
what is it?” he asked as the boys followed him into the
study. .
"Well, sir, it may be nothing, I am sure I hope so,"
Ripon said, “but Sankey and I thought you ought to
know and then it will be off our minds, and you can do
as you like about it. Now, Sánkey, tell what you know
first, then I will tell what Mother Brown said to me on
Wednesday.”
Ned told the story in the same words in which he had
related it to Ripon; and Ripon then detailed his conver-
sation with the cake-woman, and her threats of reporting
Mather on Saturday were the debt not paid. Ned had
already given his reason for keeping silence in the matter
hitherto, and Ripon now explained that they had deteta
mined to wait till Saturday to see what came of it, but


THROUGH THE FRAÝ.
that after that new theft they deemed it their duty to
speak at once. Mr. Porson sat with his face half-shaded
with his hand and without speaking a single word until
the boys had concluded.
“It is a sad business,” he said in a low tone, "a very
sad business. It is still possible that you may have come
to false conclusions; but the circumstances you have re-
lated are terribly strong. I am grieved, indeed, over the
business, and would rather have lost a hundred books
and pencil-cases than it should have happened. You
have done quite right, boys; I am greatly obliged to you
both, and you have acted very well. I know how painful
it must be to you both to have been obliged to bring so
grave a matter to my ears. Thank you; I will consider
what is the best course to adopt. If it can be avoided, I
shall so arrange that your names do not appear in the
matter."
For some little time after the boys had left him Mr.
Porson remained in deep thonglit; then he rose, put on
his hat, and went out, first inquiring of the servant if
she knew where the woman who sold cakes to the boys
lived.
“Yes, sir; she lives in a little house in Mill Street;
it's not a regular shop, but there are a few cakes in one
of the windows; I have bought things there for the
kitchen, knowing that she dealt with the young gentle..
men.”
Mr. Porson made his way to Mill Street and easily
found the house he was in search of. On being ques-
tioned the old woman at first showed some reluctance in
answering his questions, but Mr. Porson said sharply:
"Now, dame, I want no nonsense; I am acquainted
with the whole affair, but wish to have it from your own
ips. Unless you tell me the whole truth not a cake will
you sell my boys in future.”


TIROUGII TIE FRAY.
Thus pressed Mrs. Brown at once related the story of
Mather having borrowed some money of her; of her
threats to report him unless he paid, and of his having
giren her five shillings on the following Saturday, saying
that he would give her the rest in a few days, but could
pay no more then; and how, after repeated disappoint-
ments, she had now given him till Saturday to settle the
debt.
"If he didn't pay, sir, I meant to have come to ye and
telled ye all about it, for I hate lies, and Master Mather
has lied to me over and over again about it; but seeing
that Saturday hasn't come I don't like telling ye the
story, as he may have meant to keep his word to ine this
time."
"Here are the five shillings which he borrowed of you;
as to the other money, you will never get it, and I hope
it will be a lesson to you; and mind, if I find that you
ever allow the boys to run an account with you further
than the following Saturday after it is incurred, you will
never come into my field or playground again."
Mr. Porson then went to the chief constable's, and after
a short conversation with him a constable was told off to
accompany him. He and the master took their station
at a short distance from the shop of the man White and
waited quietly. A little after nine a figure was seen
coming down the street from the other end. He passed
quickly into the shop.
"That is the boy,” Mr. Porson said.
“Wouldn't it be better, sir,” the constable asked, “to
wait till the deed is completed, then we can lay our hands
on White as a receiver?"
"No," Mr. Porson replied, "for in that case the boy
would have to appear with him in the dock, and that I
wish of all things to avoid.”
So saying he walked quickly on and entered the shop.


TÜROUGH THE FRAT.
Mother was leaning across the counter while the man
was examining the pencil-case by the light of the candle.
"Five shillings," the man said, “and no more. I was
Dearly getting into trouble over that last job of yours."
"But it's worth a great deal more than that," Mather
said. “You might give me ten."
“Well, take it back then," the man said, pushing it
across the counter.
"Thank you, I will take it myself," Mr. Porson said
quietly, as he advanced and stretched out his hand.
Mather turned round with a sudden cry, and then
stood the picture of silent terror.
"As for you," the master said indignantly to the
dealer, "you scoundrel, if you had your deserts I would
hand you over to the constable, who is outside the door,
as a receiver of stolen gaods, and for inciting this boy to
theft. I heard you offer him a sum of money for it
which shows that you knew it was stolen; but your time
will come, sir, and you will hang over the gate of York
prison as many a poor wretch far less guilty than your.
self has done;' for in those days death was the punish-
ment of receivers of stolen gaods, as well as of those
convicted of highway robbery and burglary.
“Have mercy, sir, oh, spare me!" Mather exclaimed,
falling on his knees. “Don't give me in charge."
“I am not going to do so," the master said. “Get up
and come with me.” Not a word was spoken on the way
back to the school.
Mr. Porson then took Mather into his study, where
they remained for half an hour. What passed between
them was never known. In the morning the boys who
slept in the room with Mather were surprised to find that
his bed was empty and the window open. He had gone
to bed at half-past eight as usual, and saying he was
sleepy had threatened to punch the head of any boy who


THROUGH THE FRAY.
87
spoke, so that all had gone off to sleep in a very short
time. A stout ivy grew against the wall, and some fallen
leaves on the ground showed them that he had climbed
down with the assistance of its stem. But why he should
have gone, and what on earth possessed him to run away,
none could imagine. The news ran rapidly through the
other bedrooms, and brimful of excitement all went
down when the bell rang for prayers before breakfast.
The list of names was called out by the master as usual,
and the excitement grew breathless as the roll of the
third class was called; but to the astonishment of all,
Mather's name was omitted. When the list was con-
cluded Mr. Porson said:
“Mather has left; I grieve to say that I have discovered
that it was he who stole the book and pencil-case. He
has confessed the whole to me, and he is, I trust, sin-
cerely penitent. He slept last night on the sofa in my
study, and has gone off this morning by the coach. I
may tell you that I have written to his parents stating
the whole circumstances under which he was driven to
commit the theft, and that although I could not permit
him to remain here, I trusted and believed that his re-
pentance was sincere, and that it would be a lesson to
him through life, and I urged them to give him a further
trial, and not to drive him to desperation by severity.
“There is a lesson which you may all learn from this.
Mather committed these crimes because he had borrowed
money which he could not repay. Most foolishly and
mistakenly the woman who supplies you with cakes bad
lent him money and when he could not repay it accord.
ing to his promise to hor, threatened to report the case
to me, and it was to prevent the matter coming to my
ears that he took these things. Let this be a warning to
you, boys, through life. Never borrow money, never
spend more than your means afford. An extravagance


88
THROUGH THE FRAY.
may seem to you but a small fault, but you see crime
and disgrace may follow upon it. Think this well over,
and be lenient in your hearts to your late schoolfellow.
He was tempted, you see, and none of us can tell what
he may do when temptation comes, unless we have God's
help to enable us to withstand it, and to do what is right.
Now let us fall to at our breakfast."
It was a strangely silent meal. Scarce & word was
spoken, even in a whisper. It came as a shock to every-
body there, that after all the dictionary should have been
taken by one of their number, and that the master's
kindness on that occasion should have been requited by
another robbery seemed a disgrace to the whole school.
That Mather, too, always loud, noisy, and overbearing,
should have been the thief was surprising indeed. Had
it been some quiet little boy, the sort of boy others are
given to regard as a sneak, there would have been less
surprise, but that Mather should do such a thing was
astounding. These were probably the first reflections
which occurred to every boy as he sat down to breakfast.
The next impression was how good Mr. Porson had
been about it. He might have given Mather in charge,
and had him punished by law. He might have given
him a terrific flogging and a public expulsion before all
the school. Instead of that he had sent him quietly
away, and seemed sorry for rather than angry with him.
By the time the meal was finished there was probably
not a boy but had taken an inward resolution that there
was nothing he would not do for his master, and although
such resolutions are generally but transient, Mr. Porson
found that the good effect of his treatment of Mather
was considerable and permanent. Lessons were more
carefully learned, obedience was not perhaps more prompt,
but it was more willing, and the boys lost no opportunity
of showing low anxious they were to please in every
respect.


THROUGH THE FRA Y.
Ned and his brother were not present when Mr. Porson
explained the cause of Mather's absence to the others,
but they were surrounded by their schoolfellows, all
eager to tell the news upon their arrival in the play-
ground a few minutes before the school began.
Before breaking up in June, Porson's played their
first cricket-match with a strong village team, and beat
them handsomely, although, as the boys said, it was to
their master's bowling that their success was due. Still
the eleven all batted fairly, and made so long a score
that they won in one innings; and Mr. Porson promised
them that before the season ended they should have a
whole holiday, and play the Marsden eleven.
Ned enjoyed his holiday rambles, taking several long
walks across the moors accompanied by Bill Swinton,
who had now perfectly recovered. The discontent
among the croppers, and indeed among the workers in
the mills generally through the country was as great as
ever; but the season was a good one; bread had fallen
somewhat in price, and the pinch was a little less severe
than it had been. The majority of the masters had been
intimidated by the action of their hands from introduc-
ing the new machinery, and so far the relations between
master and men, in that part of Yorkshire at any rate,
remained unchanged. But although Ned enjoyed his
rambles he was glad when the holidays were over. He
had no friends of his own age in Marsden; his brother
was too young to accompany him in his long walks, and
Bill obtained a berth in one of the mills shortly after the
holidays began, and was no longer available. Therefore
Ned looked forward to meeting his schoolfellows again,
to the fun of the cricket-field and playground, and even
to lessons, for these were no longer terrible.
The school reopened with largely increased numbers.
The reports which the boys had taken home of the


90
THROUGH THE FRAY.
changed conditions of things and of their master's kind-
ness excited among all their friends an intense longing
to go to a school where the state of things was so differ-
ent to that which prevailed elsewhere; and the parents
were equally satisfied with the results of the new mas-
ter's teaching. Such as took the trouble to ask their
boys questions found that they had acquired a real grasp
of the subjects, and that they were able to answer clearly
and intelligently. The consequence was, the house was
filled with its full complement of fifty boarders, and in-
deed Mr. Porson was obliged to refuse several applications
for want of room. As he had not the same objection as
his predecessor to receive home boarders, the numbers
were swelled by eighteen boys whose parents resided in
Marsden.
To meet the increased demands upon his teaching
powers Mr. Porson engaged two ushers, both of them
young men who had just left Durham. They were both
pleasant and gentlemanly young fellows; and as Mr.
Porson insisted that his own mode of teaching should be
adopted, the change did not alter the pleasant state of
things which had prevailed during the past half-year.
Both the ushers were fond of cricket, and one turned
out to be at least equal to Mr. Porson as a bowler.
Therefore the boys looked forward to their match with
Marsden with some confidence.
Captain Sankey saw with great pleasure the steady
improvement which was taking place in Ned's temper.
It was not to be expected that the boy would at once
overcome a fault of such long standing, but the outbursts
were far less frequent, and it was evident that he was
putting & steady check upon himself; so that his father
looked forward to the time when he would entirely over-
come the evil consequences engendered by his unchecked
and undisciplined childhood.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
91
CHAPTER VII.
À TERRIBLE SHOCK.
NED had been looking forward with great anticipations
to Michaelas day, upon which the great match was to
take place; for he was one of the eleven, being the
youngest of the boys included in it. An event, hows
over, happened which deprived him of his share in the
match, and caused the day to pass almost unnoticed.
On the 20th of September the servant came in to Mr.
Porson during morning school to say that he was wanted.
A minute or two later she again re-entered and said that
Ned and his brother were to go to the master's study.
Mich sürprised at this summons they followed her. Mr.
Porson was looking exceedingly grave.
"My dear boys," he said, “I have bad news for you.
Very bad news. You mus's bear it brayely, looking for
support and consolation 13 Him who alone can give it.
Dr. Green's boy has just bien here. He was sent down
by his master to say that there has been a serious acci-
dent in the town.”
The commencement of the master's speech and the
gráveness of his tone sent a serious thrill through the
hearts of the boys. Mr. Eyrson would never have spoken
thus had not the news been serious indeed.
When he paused Ned gave a little gasp and exclaimed,
"My father!”
“Yes, Ned, I am grieved to say that it is your brave


02
THROUGH THE FRAY.
father who has suffered from the accident. It seems
that as he was walking down the High Street one of
Ramsay's heavy wagons came along. A little girl ran
across the street ahead, but stumbled and fell close to
the horses. Your father, forgetful of the fact of his
wooden l-g, rushed over to lift her; but the suddenness
of the movement, he being a heavy man, snapped the
wooden leg in sunder, and he fell headlong in the street.
IIe was within reach of the child, and he caught her by
the clothes and j'rked her aside; but before he could, in
his crippled condit on, regain his feet, the wheel was
upon him, and he has suffered very serious injuries.”
“He is not dead, sir?" Ned gasped, while his brother
began to cry piteous.y.
“No, Ned, he is not dead,” Mr. Porson said; "but I
fear, my dear boy, that it would be cruel kindness did I
not tell you to prepare yourself for the worst. I fear
from what I hear that he is fatally injured, and that
there is but little hope. Get your hats, my boys, and I
will walk home with you at once.”
There were but few words exchanged during that dis-
mal walk, and these were addressed by Mr. Porson to
Ned. "Try to calm yourself, my boy,” he said, putting
his hand on his shoulder, which was shaking with the
boy's efforts to keep down bis convulsive sobs; "try and
nerve yourselves for the sake of your father himself, of
your mother, and the little ones. The greatest kindness
you can show to your father now is by being calm and
composed."
“I will try, sir," Ned said as steadily as he could;
“but you don't know how I loved him!”
when I was just your age. God's ways are not our ways,
Ned; and be sure, although you may not see it now, that
he acts for the best."



ཟླe:
S།
"THE BOYS FELL ON TOEIR KNEES BY THEIR FATHER'S SIDE. *





94
THROUGH THE FRAY.
key, leaned closely over him; then he laid his arm gently
down, and putting his hand on Ned's shoulder said softly:
“Come, my boy, your father is out of pain now.”
Ned gave one loud and bitter cry, and threw himself
down by the side of the corpse, and gave way to his
pent-up emotion.
The doctor led the younger boy from the room, and
gave him into the care of Abijah. Then he returned
and stood for awhile watching Ned's terrible outburst of
grief; then he poured some wine into a glass. “My
boy,” he said tenderly, "you must not give way like this
or you will make yourself ill. Drink this, Ned, and then
go up and lie down on your bed until you feel better.
Remember you must be strong for the sake of the others.
You know you will have to bear your mother's burdens
as well as your own.”.
He helped Ned to his feet and held the glass to his
lips, for the boy's hand was shaking so that he could not
have held it. After drinking it Ned stumbled upstairs
and threw himself on the bed, and there 'cried silently
for a long time; but the first passion of grief had passed,
and he now struggled with his tears, and in an hour rose,
bathed his flushed and swollen face, and went downstairs.
“Abijah,” he said, in a voice which he struggled in
vain to steady, “what is there for me to do? How is my
mother?”
"She has just cried herself off to sleep, Master Ned,
and a mercy it is for her, poor lady, for she has been
going on dreadful ever since he was brought in here;
but if you go in to Master Charlie and Miss Lucy and
try and comfort them it would be a blessing. I have
not been able to leave your mother till now, and the
poor little things are broken-hearted. I feel dazed my-
self, sir. Think of the captain, who went out so strong
and well this morning, speaking so kind and bright just


THROUGH TIE FRAY.
93
as usual, lying there!” and here Abijah broke down and
for the first time since Captain Sankey was carried into
the house tears came to her relief, and throwing her
arms round Ned's neck she wept passionately.
Ned's own tears flowed too fast for him to speak for
some time. At last he said quietly, “Don't cry so, Abi-
jah. It is the death of all others that was fitted for him,
he, so brave and unselfish, to die giving his life to save a
child. You told me to be brave; it is you who must be
brave, for you know that you must be our chief depend-
ence now."
"I know, Master Ned; I know, sir," the woman said,
choking down her sobs, and wiping her eyes with her
apron, “and I will do my best, never fear. I feel better
now I have had a good cry. Somehow I wasn't able to
cry before. Now, sir, do you go to the children and I
will look after things.”,
A fortnight passed. Captain Sankey had been laid in
his grave, after such a funeral as had never been seen in
Marsden, the mills being closed for the day, and all the
shutters up throughout the little town, the greater part
of the population attending the funeral as a mark of re-
spect to the man who, after fighting the battles of his
country, nad now given his life for that of a child. The
great cricket-match did not come off, it being agreed on
all hands that it had better be postponed. Mr. Porson
had called twice to see Ned, and had done much by his
comforting words to enable him to bear up. He came
again the day after the funeral.
“Ned,” he said, "I think that you and Charlie had better
come to school again on Monday. The sooner you fall
into your regular groove the better. It would only do
you both harm to mope about the house here; and al-
though the laughter and noise of your schoolfellows will
jar upon you for awhile, it is better to overcome the feel-


96
THROUGH THE FRAY.
thie
aoine aree
ing at once; and I am sure that you will best carry out
what would have been his wishes by setting to your work
again instead of wasting your time in listless grieving.”
"I think so too, sir," Ned said, “but it will be awfully
hard at first, and so terrible to come home and have no
one to question one on the day's work, and to take an
interest in what we have been doing.”
“Very hard, Ned; I thoroughly agree with you, but it
has to be borne, and remember there is One who will
take interest in your work. If I were you I should take
your brother out for walks this week. Get up into the
hills with him, and try and get the color back into his
cheeks again. He is not so strong as you are, and the
confinement is telling upon him—the fresh air will do
you good too."
Ned promised to take his master's advice, and the next
morning started after breakfast with Charlie. His
mother had not yet risen, and indeed had not been
downstairs since the day of the accident, protesting that
she was altogether unequal to any exertion whatever.
Ned had sat with her for many hours each day, but he
had indeed found it hard work. Sometimes she wept,
her tears being mingled with self-reproaches that she
had not been able to do more to brighten her husband's
life. Sometimes sbe would break off and reproach the
boy bitterly for what she called his want of feeling. At
other times her thoughts seemed directed solely toward
the fashion of her mourning garments, and after the
funeral she drove Ned almost to madness by wanting to
know all the details of who was there and what was done,
and was most indignant with him because he was able to
tell her nothing, the whole scene having been as a mist
to him, absorbed as he was in the thought of his father
alone.
But Nod had never showed the least sign of impatience


TUROUGH THE FRAY.
or
or hastiness, meeting tears, reproaches, and inquiries
with the same stoical calmness and gentleness. Still it
was with a sigh of relief that he took a long breath of
fresh air as he left the house and started for a ramble on
the moor with his brother. He would have avoided
Varley, for he shrank even from the sympathy which
Bill Swinton would give; but Bill would be away, so as
it was the shortest way he took that road. As he passed
Luke Marner's cottage the door opened and Mary came
down to the gate. One of the little ones had seen Ned
coming along the road and had run off to tell her. Lit.
tle Jane Marner trotted along by Polly's side.
“Good-morning, Polly!” Ned said, and walked on.
He dreaded speech with any one. Polly saw his inten-
tion and hesitated; then she said:
“Good-morning, Master Ned! One moment, please,
sir."
Ned paused irresolutely.
“Please don't say anything," he began.
“No, sir, I am not a-going to—at least" and then she
hesitated, and lifted up the child, who was about four
years old, & soft-eyed, brown-haired little maiden. “It's
little Jenny,” she said; "you know sir, you know;" and
she looked meaningly at the child as the tears stood in
her eyes.
Ned understood at once.
“What!” he said; “was it her? I did not know; I
had not heard."
“Yes, sir; she and all of us owe her life to him. Fey.
ther wanted to come down to you, but I said better not
yet awhile, you would understand.”
“How did it happeni?” Ned said, feeling that here at
least his wound would be touched with no rough hand.
"She went down to the town with Jarge, who was
going to fetch some things I wanted. He left her look-


98
THROUGH THE FRAY.
ing in at a shop window while he went inside. They
were some time serving him as there were other people
in the shop. Jenny got tired, as she says, of waiting,
and seeing some pictures in a window on the other side
of the street started to run across, and her foot slipped,
and-and---"
"I know,” Ned said. “I am glad you have told me,
Polly. I am glad it was some one one knows something
about. Don't say anything more now, I cannot bear it.”
“I understand, sir,” the girl said gently. “God bless
you!”
Ned nodded. He could not trust himself to speak,
and turning he passed on with Charlie through the vil-
lage, while Mary Powlett, with the child still in her arms,
stood looking sorrowfully after him as long as he was in
sight.
"So thou'st seen the boy?” Luke said, when on his
return from work Polly told him what had happened.
“Thou told's him, oi hope, how we all felt about it, and
how grateful we was?”
"I didn't say much, feyther, he could not bear it; just
a word or two; if I had said more he would have broken
out crying, and so should I.”
“Thou hast cried enoo, lass, the last ten days. Thou
hast done nowt but cry,” Luke said kindly, "and oi felt
sore inclined to join thee. Oi ha' had hard work to keep
back the tears, old though oi be, and oi a cropper."
"You are just as soft-hearted as I am, feyther, every
bit, so don't pretend you are not;" and indeed upon the
previous day Luke Marner had broken down even more
completely than Jary. Ile had followed the funeral at
a short distance, keeping with Mary aloof from the
crowd; but when all was over, and the churchyard was
left in quiet again, Luke had gone and stood by the still
open grave of the man who had given his life for his


100
THROUGH THE FRAY.
thy, but to let them settle quietly into their places.
“Sankey will know you all feel for him, Ripon, he will
need no telling of that."
Ripon passed the word round the school, and accord-
ingly when the boys came into the playground, two or
three minutes before the bell rang, Ned, to his great re-
lief, found that with the exception of a warm silent wring
of the hand from a few of those with whom he was most
intimate, and a kindly nod from others, no allusion was
made to his fortnight's absence or its cause.
For the next month he worked hard and made up the
time he had lost, running straight home when he came
out from school, and returning just in time to go in with
the others; but gradually he fell into his former ways,
and by the time the school broke up at Christmas was
able to mix with the boys and take part in their games.
At home he did his best to make things bright, but it
was uphill work. Mrs. Sankey was fretful and com-
plaining. Their income was reduced by the loss of Cap-
tain Sankey's half-pay, and they had now only the inter-
est of the fortune of four thousand pounds which Mrs.
Sankey had brought to her husband on her marriage.
This sum had been settled upon her, and was entirely
under her own control. The income was but a small
one, but it was sufficient for the family to live upon with
care and prudence.
Captain Sankey had made many friends since the time
when he first settled at Marsden, and all vied with each
other in their kindness to his widov. Presents of game
were constantly left for her; baskets of chickens, egys,
and fresh vegetables were sent down by Squire Simmonds
and other county magnates, and their carriages often
stopped at the door to make inquiries. Many people
who had not hitherto called now did so, and all Marsden
seemed anxious to testify its sympathy witb the widow


THROUGH THE FRAY.
101
of the brave offioer. Ned was touched with these evi-
donoes of respect for his father's memory. Mrs. Sankey
was pleased for herself, and she would of an evening in-
form Ned with much gratification of the visits she had
received.
Ned was glad that anything should occur which could
rouse his mother, and divert her from her own griev-
ancés; but the tone in which she spoke often jarred pain-
fully upon him, and he wondered how his mother could
find it in her heart to receive these people and to talk
over bis father's death. But Mrs. Sankey liked it. She .
was consoiots she looked well in her deep mourning, and
that even the somber cap was not unbecoming with her
golden hair peeping out beneath it. Tears were always
at her command, and she had ever a fet ready to drop
upon her dainty embroidered handkerchief when the
occasion commanded it; and her visitors, when they
agreed among themselves, what a soft gentle woman that
poor Mrs. Sankey was, but sadly delicate you know-had
no idea of the querulous complaining and fretfulness
whose display was reserved for her own family only. To
this Ned was so acoustomed that it passed over his head
almost unheeded; not so her constant allusions to his
father. Wholly unconscious of the agony which it in-
flicted upon the boy, Mrs. Sankey was incessantly quot-
ing his opinions or utterances.
“Ned, I do wish you would not fidget with your feet.
You know your dear father often told you of it;" or,
“As your dear father used to say, Ned;” until the boy
in despair would throw down his book and rush out of
the room to calm himiself by a rún in the frosty night air;
while Mrs. Sankey would murmur to herself, “That boy's
temper gets worse and worse, and with my poor nervés
how am I to control him?”
Mr. Porson was very kind to him in those days. Dur.


109
THROUGH THE FRAY.
ing that summer holiday he had very frequently spent
the evening at Captain Sankey's, and had formed a pretty
correct idea of the character of Ned's mother. Thus
when he saw that Ned, when he entered the school after
breakfast or dinner, had an anxious hunted look, and was
clearly in a state of high tension, he guessed he was hav-
ing a bad time of it at home.
Charlie had fast got over the shock of his father's
death; children quickly recover from a blow, and, though
delicate, Charlie was of a bright and gentle disposition,
ready to be pleased at all times, and not easily upset.
One morning when Ned came in from school looking
pale and white, gave random answers to questions, and
even, to the astonishment of the class, answered Mr.
Porson himself snappishly, the master, when school was
over and the boys were leaving their places, said:
“Sankey, I want to have a few words with you in the
study."
Ned followed his master with an air of indifference.
He supposed that he was going to be lectured for the
way he had spoken, but as he said to himself, “What did
it matter! what did anything matter!” Mr. Porson did
not sit down on entering the room, but when Ned had
closed the door after him took a step forward and laid
his hand on his shoulder.
"My boy,” he said, “what is it that is wrong with you!
I fear that you have trouble at home.”
Ned stood silent, but the tears welled up into his eyes.
“It can't be helped, sir,” he said in a choking voice,
and then with an attempt at gayety: “it will be all the
same fifty years hence, I suppose.”
"That is a poor consolation, Ned,” Mr. Porson re-
joined. “Fifty years is a long time to look forward to.
Can't we do anything before that?”
Ned was silent.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
103
“I do not want you to tell me, Ned, anything that
happens at home-God forbid that I should pry into
matters so sacred as relations between a boy and a par-
ent!—but I can see, my boy, that something is wrong.
You are not yourself. At first when you came back I
thought all was well with you; you were, as was natural,
sad and depressed, but I should not wish it otherwise.
and excited; you have gone down in your class, not, I
can see, because you have neglected your work, but be-
cause you cannot bring your mind to bear upon it. Now
all this must have a cause. Perhaps a little advice on
my part might help you. We shall break up in a week,
Ned, and I shall be going away for a time. I should
like to think before I went that things were going on
better with you."
"I don't want to say anything against my mother,”
Ned said in a low voice. “She means kindly, sir; but,
oh! it is so hard to bear. She is always talking about
father, not as you would talk, sir, but just as if he were
alive and might come in at any moment, and it seems
sometimes as if it would drive me out of my mind."
“No doubt it is trying, my boy,” Mr. Porson said;
"but you see natures differ, and we must all bear with
each other and make allowances. Your mother's nature,
as far as I have seen of her, is not a deep one. She was
very fond of your father, and she is fond of you; but you
know, just as still waters run deep, shallow waters are
full of ripples, and eddies, and currents. She has no
idea that what seems natural and right to her should jar
upon you. You upon your part can scarcely make suffi-
cient allowance for her different treatment of a subject
which is to you sacred. I know how you miss your fa-
ther, but your mother must miss him still more. No
man ever more lovingly and patiently tended a woman


104
THROUGH THE YRAY.
than he did her so far as lay in his power. She had not
a wish ungratified. You have in your work an employ-
ment which occupies your thoughts and prevents them
from turning constantly to one subject; she has nothing
whatever to take her thoughts from the past. It is bet-
ter for her to speak of him often than to brood over him
in silence. Your tribute to your father's memory is
deep and silent sorrow, hers is frequent allusions.
Doubtless her way jar upon you; but, Ned, you are
younger than she, and it is easier for you to change.
Why not try and accept her method as being a part of
her, and try, instead of wincing every time that she
touches the sore, to accustom yourself to it. It may be
hard at first, but it will be far easier in the end.”
Ned stood silent for a minute or two; then he said:
“I will try, sir. My father's last words to me were to
be kind to mother, and I have tried hard, and I will go
ou trying.”
“That is right, my boy; and ask God to help you. We
all have our trials in this life, and this at present is
yours; pray God to give you strength to bear it."


PHROUGH THE FRAT.
105
CHAPTER VIII.
NED IS SORELY TRIED.
2XONG the many who called upon Mrs. Sankey after
the death of her husband was Mr. Mulready, the owner
of 4 mill near Marsden. He was one of the leading men
in the place, although his mill was by no means a large
onę. He took rank in the eyes of the little town with
men in a much larger way of business by means of a
pushing manner and a fluent tongue. He had come to
be considered an authority upon most subjects. He
paid much attention to his dress, and drove the fastest
þorse and the best got-up gig in that part of the country;
but it was Mr. Mulready's manner which above all had
raised him to his present position in the esteem of the
good people of Marsden. He had the knack of adapting
himself to the vein of those he addressed.
With the farmers who came into market he was bluff
and cordial; with the people in general he was genial
and good-tempered. At meetings at which the county
geutry were present he was quiet, business-like, and a
ţrifle deferential, showing that he recognized the differ-
ence between his position and theirs. With ladies he
was gay when they were gay, sympathetic when sympathy
was expected. With them he was even more popular
than with thọ men, for the latter, although they admired
and somewhat envied his varied acquirements, were apt


106
THROUGH THE FRAY.
in the intimacy of private conversation to speak of him
as a humbug.
There was one exception, however, to his general pop-
ularity. There was no mill-owner in the neighborhood
more heartily detested by his work people; but as these
did not mingle with the genteel classes of Marsden their
opinion of Mr. Mulready went for nothing. The mill-
owner was a man of forty-three or forty-four, although
when dressed in his tightly-itting brown coat with its
short waist, its brass buttons, and high collar, and with
a low hat with narrow brim worn well forward and com-
ing down almost to the bridge of his nose, he looked
seven or eight years younger.
His hair was light, his trimly cut mutton-chop whiskers
were sandy, he had a bright, fresh complexion, a large
month, and good teeth, which he always showed when
he smiled, and in public he was always smiling; his eyes
were light in color, very close together, and had a some-
what peculiar appearance. Indeed there were men who
hinted that he hud a slight cast, but these were, no
doubt, envious of his popularity. Mrs. Sankey had been
flattered by his visit and mamer; indeed it could hardly
have been otherwise, for he had expressed a sympathy
and deference which were very soothing to her.
"It is indeed kind of you to receive me," he had said.
“I know, of course, that it is not usual for a man who
has the misfortune to be unmarried to make a call upon
a lady, but I could not help myself. William Mulrendy
is not a man to allow his feelings to be såcrificed to the
cold etiquette of the world. I had not the pleasure of
the acquaintance of that most brave and distinguished
officer your late husband. I had hoped that somo day
circumstances might throw me in contact with him, but
it was not for me, a humble manufacturer, to force my
acquaintance upon one socially my supeșior; but, my


THROUGH THE FRAY.
107
dear madam, when I heard of that terrible accident, of
that noble self-devotion, I said to myself, “William Mul-
ready, when a proper and decent time elapses you must
call upon the relict of your late noble and distinguished
townsman, and assure her of your sympathy and admira-
tion, even if she spurns you from the door.'”
“You could not think I should do that, Mr. Mulready,”
Mrs. Sankey said. “It is most gratifying to me to re-
ceive this mark of sympathy in my present sad position;"
and she sighed deeply.
“You are good indeed to say so," Mr. Mulready said
in a tone of deep gratitude; "but I might have been
sure that my motives at least would not be misunder-
stood by a high-bred and delicate lady like yourself. I
will not now trespass on your time, but hope that I may
be permitted to call again. Should there be anything in
which so humble an individual could be in the slightest
degree useful to you pray command my services. I know
the responsibility which you must feel at being left in
charge of those two noble boys and your charming little
daughter must be well-nigh overwhelming, and if you
would not think it presumption I would say that any
poor advice or opinion which I, who call myself in some
degree a man of the world, can give, will be always at
your service."
“You are very good,” Mrs. Sankey murmured. “It
is indeed a responsibility. My younger boy and girl are
all that I could wish, but the elder is already almost be-
yond me;' and by the shake of her head she testified
that her troubles on that score approached martyrdom.
"Never fear, my dear madam,” Mr. Mulready said
heartily. “Boys will be boys, and I doubt not that he
will grow up everything that you could desire. I may
have heard that he was a little passionate. There was a
trifling affair between him and his schoolmaster, was


108
THROUGH THE FRAY.
there not? But these things mend themselves, and
doubtless all will come well in time; and now I have the
honor of wishing you good-morning."
"Charming manners!” Mrs. Sankey said to herself
when her visitor had left. "A little old-fashioned, per-
haps, but so kind and deferential. He seemed to under-
stand my feelings exactly.”
That evening when they were at tea Mrs. Sankey men-
tioned the agreeable visitor who had called in the after-
noon.
“What! William Mulready!” Ned exclaimed; "Foxey,
as his hands call him. I have heard Bill speak of him
often. His men höte him. They say he is a regular
tyrant. What impudence his coming here!”
“Ned, I am surprised at you,” his mother said angrily.
“I am sure Mr. Mulready is nothing of the sort. He is
a most kind and considerate gentleman, and I will not
allow you to repeat these things you hear from the low
companions whom your father permitted you to associate
with."
"Bill is not a low companion, mother," Ned exclaimed
passionately. "A better fellow never stood, and Foxey
is nut kind and considérate. He is a brutal tyrant, and
I am sure my father, if you will quote his opinion, would
not have had such a man inside his doors.”
"Leave the room, Ned, this moment,” his mother ex-
claimed, more angry than he had ever seen her before.
"I am ashamed of you speaking to me in that way. You
would not have dared to do it had your father been
alive."
Ned dashed down his scarcely-begun bread and butter
and flung himself out of the room, and then out of the
house, and it was some hours before he returned. Then
he went straight up to his mother's room.
“I beg your pardon, mother," he said quietly, "I am


110
THROUGÀI THÉ ERAT.
delicate and needed tempting, or some book newly issued
from the london press which he was sure she would
appreciate.
After a short time Mrs. Sankey ceased to speak of
these visits, perhaps because she saw how Ned objected
to the introduction of Mr. Mulready's name, perhaps for
some other reason, and a year passed without Ned's being
seriously ruffled on the subject.
Ned was now nearly sixteen. He had worked hard,
and was the head-boy at Porson's. It had always been
regarded as a fixed thing that he should go into the
army. As the son of an officer who had lost his leg in
the service it was thought that he would be able to obtain
a commission without difficulty, and Squire Simmonds,
who had been a kind friend since his father's death, had
promised to ask the lord-lieutenant of the county to in-
terest himself in the matter, and had no doubt that the
circumstances of Captain Sankey's death would be con-
sidered as an addition to the clain of his services in the
army.
Captain Sankey had intended that Ned should have
gone to a superior school to finish his education, but the
diminished income of the family had put this out of the
question, and the subject had never been mooied after
his death. Ned, however, felt that he was making such
good progress under Mr. Porson that he was well content
to remain where he was.
His struggle with his temper had gone on steadily,
and he hoped he had won a final victory over it. Mr.
Porson had been unwearied in his kindnesses, and often
took Ned for an hour in the evening in order to push
him forward, and although lie avoided talking about his
home life the boy felt that he could, in case of need,
pour out his heart to him; but, indeed, things had gone
better at home. Mrs. Sankey was just as indisposed as


THROUGH THE FRAY.
111
over to take any share whatever in the trouble of house-
keeping, but as Abijah was perfectly capable of keeping
the house in order without her instructions things went
on smoothly and straightly in this respect.
In other matters home life was more pleasant than it
had been. Mrs. Sankoy was less given to querulous com-
plaining, more inclined to see things in a cheerful light,
and Ned especially noticed with satisfaction that the
references to his father which had so tried him had be-
come much less frequent of late.
One day in September, when his father had been dead
just a year, one of the town boys, a lad of about Ned's
age, said to him as they were walking home from school
together:
“Well, Ned, I suppose I ought to congratulate you,
although I don't know whether you will see it in that
light.”
“What do you mean?” Ned said. “I don't know that
anything has happened on which I should be particularly
congratulated, except on having made the top score
against the town last week.”
“Oh! I don't mean that,” the boy said. “I mean
about Mulready."
“What do you mean?” Ned said, stopping short and
turning very white.
“Why," the lad said laughing, “all the town says he
is going to marry your mother.”
Ned stood as if stupefied. Then he sprang upon his
companion and seized him by the throat.
“It's a lie,” he shouted, shaking him furiously. “It's
a lie I say, Smithers, and you know it. I will kill you
if you don't say it's a lie.”
With a great effort Smithers extricated himself from
Ned's grasp.
“Don't choke a fellow,” he said. "It may be a lie it
ind seized bud shaking him
I will ki


112
THROUCH THE FRAY.
you say it is, but it is not my lie anyhow. People have
been talking about it for some time. They say he's been
down there nearly every day. Didn't you know it?"
“Know it?" Ned gasped. “I have not heard of his
being in the house for months, but I will soon find out
the truth."
And without another word he dashed off at full speed
up the street. Panting and breathless he rushed into
the house, and tore into the room where his mother was
sitting trifling with a piece of fancy-work.
“I do wish, Edward, you would not come into the
room like a whirlwind. You know how any sudden
noise jars upon my nerves. Why, what is the matter?”
she broke off suddenly, his pale, set face catehing her
eye, little accustomed as she was to pay any attention to
Ned's varying moods.
“Mother,” he panted out, "people are saying an awful
thing about you, & wicked, abominable thing. I know,
of course, it is not true, but I want just to hear you say
so, so that I can go out and tell people they lie. How
dare they say such things!”
“Why, what do you mean, Edward?” Mrs. Sankey
said, almost frightened at the boy's vehemence. -
“Why, they say that you are going to marry that hor-
rible man Mulready. It is monstrous, isn't it? I think
they ought to be prosecuted and punished for such a
wicked thing, and father only a year in his grave.”
Mrs. Sankey was frightened at Ned's passion. Ever
since the matter had first taken shape in her mind she
had felt a certain uneasiness as to what Ned would say
of it, and had, since it was decided, been putting off
from day to day the telling of the news to him. She
had, in his absence, told herself over and over again that
it was no business of his, and that a boy had no right to
as much as question the actions of his mother; but some-


THROUGH THE FRA Y.
113
how when he was present she had always shrank from
telling him. She now took refuge in her usual defense
tears.
"It is shameful,” she said, sobbing, as she held her
handkerchief to her eyes, "that a boy should speak in
this way to his mother; it is downright wieked.”
“But I am not speaking to you, mother; I am speak-
ing of other people—the people who have invented this
horrible lie--for it is a mile, other, isn't it? It is not
possible it can be true?”.
"It is true,” Mrs. Sankey said, gaining courage from
her anger; "it is quite true. And you are a wiokod and
abominable boy to talk in that way to me. Why shouldn't
I marry again? Other people marry again, and why
shouldn't I? I am sure your poor father would never
have wished me to waste my life by remaining single,
with nothing to do but to look after you children. And
it is shameful of you to speak in that way of Mr. Mul-
ready."
Ned stopped to hear no mare. At her first words he
had giren a low, gasping cry, as one who has received a
terrible wound. The blood flew to his head, the room
swam ronnd, and he seemed to feel the veins in his tem-
ples swell almost to bursting. The subsequent words of
his mother fell unheeded on his ears, and turning round
he went slowly to the door, groping his way as one half-
asleep or stupefied by a blow. Mechanically he opened
the door and went out into the street; his cap was still
on his head, but he neither thoght of it one way or the
other,
Almost without knowing it he turned from the town
and walked toward the hills. Had any one met him by
the way they would assuredly have thought that the boy
had been drinking, so strangely and unevenly did he
walk. His face was flushed almost purple, his eyes were


114
THROUGH THE FRAY.
bloodshot; he swayed to and fro as he walked, sometimes
pausing altogether, sometin.es hurrying along for a few
steps. Passing a field where the gate stood open he
turned into it, kept on his way for some twenty yards fur-
ther, and then fell at full length on the grass. There
he lay unconscious for some hours, and it was not until
the evening dews were falling heavily that he sat up and
looked round.
For some time he neither knew where he was nor what
had brought him there. At last the remembrance of
what had passed flashed across him, and with a cry of
“Father! father!” he threw himself at full length again
with his head on his arm; but this time tears came to
his relief, and for a long time he cried with a bitterness
of grief even greater than that which he had suffered at
his father's death. The stars were shining brightly when
he rose to his feet, his clothes were soaked with dew,
and he trembled with cold and weakness.
“What am I to do?” he said to himself; "what am I
to do?” He made his way back to the gate and leaned
against it for some time; then, having at last made up
his mind, he turned his back on the town and walked
toward Varley, moving more slowly and wearily than if
he was at the end of a long and fatiguing day's walk.
Slowly he climbed the hill and made his way through
the village till he reached the Swintons' cottage. He
tapped at the door with his hand, and lifting the latch
he opened the door a few inches.
“Bill, are you in?” There was an exclamation of
surprise.
“Why, sure-ly, it's Maister Ned!" and Bill came to
the door.
“Come out, Bill, I want to speak to you."
Much surprised at the low and subdued tone in which


THROUGH THE FRAY.
115
Ned spoke, Bill snatched down his cap from the peg by
the door and joined him outside.
“What be't, Maister Ned? what be t matter with
thee? Has owt gone wrong?"
Ned walked on without speaking. In his yearning for
sympathy, in his intense desire to impart the miserable
news to some one who would feel for him, he had come
to his friend Bill. He had thought first of going to Mr.
Porson. But though his master would sympathize with
him be would not be able to feel as he did; he would no
doubt be shocked at hearing that his mother was so soon
going to marry again, but he would not be able to under-
stand the special dislike to Mr. Mulready, still less likely
to encourage his passionate resentment. Bill would, he
knew, do both, for it was from him he had learned low
hated the mill-owner was among his people. But at
present he could not speak. He gave a short wave of
his hand to show that he heard, but could not answer
yet, and with his head bent down made his way out through
the end of the village on to the moor-Bill following
him, wondering and sympathetic, unable to conjecture
what had happened. Presently, when they had left the
houses far behind them, Ned stopped.
“What be’t, Maister Ned?” Bill again asked, laying
his strong hand upon Ned's shoulder; "tell oi whai it
be. Hast got in another row with t' maister? If there
be owt as oi can do, thou knowest well as Bill Sriaton
be with thee heart and soul.”
“I know, Bill-I know," Ned said in a broken voice,
“but you can do nothing; I can do nothing; no one can.
But it's dreadful to think of. It's worse than if I had
killed twenty masters. Only think--only think, Bill,
my mother's going to marry Mulready!”
"Thou doesn't say so, lad! What! thy mother marry
Foxey! Oi never heer'd o'such a thing. Well, that be


116
THROUGH THE FRAY.
bad news, surely! Well, well, only to think, now! Poor
lad! Well, that beats all!”.
The calamity appeared so great to Bill that for some
time no idea occurred to him which could, under the
circumstances, be considered as consolatory. But Ned
felt the sympathy conveyed in the strong grasp of his
shoulder, and in the muttered “Well, well, now!" to
which Bill gave vent at intervals.
“What bee'st going to do vor to stop it?" he asked at
last.
“What can I do, Bill? She won't listen to me-she
never does. Anything I say always makes her go the
other way. She wouldn't believe anything I said against
him. It would only make her stick to him all the more.”
“Do'st think,” Bill suggested after another long pause,
“that if we got up a sort of depitation—Luke Marner
and four or five other steady chaps as knows him; yes,
and Polly Powlett, she could do the talking-to go to
her and tell her what a thundering bad un he is-dost
think it would do any good?”
Even in his bitter grief Ned could hardly help smiling
at the thought of such a deputation waiting upon his
mother.
“No, it wouldn't do, Bill.”
Bill was silent again for some time.
“Dost want un killed, Maister Ned?” he said in a low
voice at last; “cause if ye do oi would do it for yeOi
would lay down my life for ye willing, as thou knowst;
and hanging ain't much, arter all. They say 'tis soon
over. Anyhow oi would chance it, and perhaps they
wouldn't find me out."
Ned grasped his friend's hand.
“I could kill him myself!” he exclaimed passionately,
“I have been thinking of it; but what would be the
good? I know what my mother is--when once she has


THROUGH THE FRAY.
117
made up her mind there's no turning her; and if this
fellow were out of the way, likely enough she would take
up with another in no time.”
“But it couldn't been as bad as if wur Foxey,” Bill
urged, "he be the very worsest lot about Marsden.”
"I would do it," Ned said passionately; “I would do
it over and over again, but for the disgrace it would
bring on Charlie and Lucy.”.
“But there would be no disgrace if oi was to do it,
Maister Ned.”
“Yes, there would, Bill & worse disgrace than if I
did it myself. It would be a nice thing to let you get
hanged for my affairs; but let him look out—let him try
to ill-treat Charlie and Lucy, and he will see if I don't
get even with him. I am not so much afraid of that
it's the shame of the thing. Only to think that all
Marsden should know my mother is going to be married
again within a year of my father's death, and that after
being his wife she was going to take such a man as this!
It's awful, downright awful, Bill!”
"Then what art thou going to do, Maister Ned-run
away and ’list for a soldier, or go to sea?"
"I wish I could," Ned exclaimed. “I would turn my
back on Marsden and never come back again, were it not
for the little ones. Besides,” he added after a pause,
"father's last words were, ‘Be kind to mother;' and she
will want it more than he ever dreamed of.”
"She will that,” Bill agreed; "leastways unless oi be
mistaken. And what be'st going to do now, lad? Be'st
agoing whoam?”
"No, I won't go home to-night," Ned replied. “I
must think it over quietly, and it would be worse to bear
there than anywhere else. No, I shall just walk about."
"Thou canst not walk abowt all night, Maister Ned,"
Bill said positively; "it bain't to be thowt of. If thou


Finotge Tits rA.
tea yet, and they don't have tea at Bill's; but I like it,
though feyther grumbles sometimes, and says it's too
expensive for the likes of us in sich times as these; but
he knows I would rather go without meat than without
tea, so he lets me have it. Bill comes in for a cup some-
times, for he likes it better than beer, and it's a deal
better for him to be sitting taking a cup of tea with me
than getting into the way of going down to the ‘Spotted
Dog,' and drinking beer there. So we will all have a
cup together. No one will disturb us. Feyther is down
at the ‘Brown Cow;' and when I told the children I had
to go out on special business they all promised to be
good, and Jarge said he would see them all safely into
bed. I told him I should be back in an hour.”
While Polly was speaking she was bustling about the
rcom, putting things straight; with a wisp of heather
she swept up the dust which had accumulated on the
floor, in a semicircle in front of the fire, and laid down
the rngs and blankets to form seats. Three cups and
cancers, a little jug of milk, a teapot, and basin of sugar
were placed in the center, and a pile of slices of bread
and butter beside them, while from a paper-bag she pro-
duced a cake which she had bought at the village shop
on her way up.
Ned watched her preparations listlessly.
“You are very good, Polly,” he said, “and I shall be
very glad of the cup of tea, but I cannot eat anything."
"Never mind,” she said cheerfully. “Bill and I can
do the eating, and perhaps after you have had a cup of
tea you will be able to, for Bill tells me you have had
nothing to eat since breakfast.”
Ned felt cheered by the warm blaze of the fire and by
the cheerful sound of the kettle, and after taking a cap
of tea found that his appetite was coming, and was soon
able to eat his share. Mary Powlett kept up a cheerful


120
THROUGH THE FRAY.
talk while the meal was going on, and no allusion was
made to the circumstances which had brought Ned there.
After it was done she sat and chatted for an hour. Then
she said:
“I must be off now, and I think, Bill, you'd best be
going soon too, and let Maister Ned have a good night of
it. I will make him up his bed on the rugs; and I will
warrant, after all the trouble he has gone through, he
will sleep like a top.”


THROUGH THE FRAY.
121
CHAPTER IX.
A PAINFUL TIME.
When Ned was left alone he rolled himself up in the
blankets, pluced a pillow which Polly had brought him
under his head, and lay and looked at the fire; but it
was not until the flames had died down, and the last red
glow bad faded into blackness that he fell off to sleep.
His thoughts were bitter in the extreme. IIe pictured
to himself the change which would take place in his
home life with Mulready the manufacturer, the tyrant
of the workmen, ruling over it. For himself he doubted
not that he would be able to hold his own.
“He had better not try on his games with me," he
muttered savagely. "Though I am only sixteen he won't
find it easy to bully me; bu' of course Charlie and Lucy
can't defend themselves. However, I will take care of
them. Just let him be unkind to them, and see what
comes of it! As to mother, she must take what she gets,
at least she deserves to. Only to think of it! only to
think of it! Oh, how bitterly she will come to repent!
How could she do it!
“And with father only dead a year! But I must stand
by her too. I promised father to be kind to her, though
he could never have guessed how she would need it. He
meant that I would only put up, without losing my tem-
per, with her way of always pretending to be ill, and
never doing anything but lie on the sofa and read poetry.


122
THROUGH THE FRAY.
Still, of course, it meant I was to be kind anyhow, what.
ever happened, and I will try to be so, though it is hard
when she has brought such trouble upon us all.
“As for Mulready I should like to burn his mill down,
or to break his neck. I hate him; it's bad enough to be
a tyrant; but to be a tyrant and a hypocrite too, is hor-
rible. Well, at any rate he shan't lord it over me;"
and so at last Ned dropped off to sleep. He was still
soundly asleep when Bill Swinton came in to wake him.
It was half-past six, a dull October morning, with a
dreary drizzling rain. Bill brought with him a mug of
hot tea and some thick slices of bread and butter. Nod
got up and shook himself.
“What o'clock is it, Bill?”
“Half-past six: the chaps went off to t' mill an hour
gone; oi've kept some tea hot for ee.",
“Thank you, Bill, my head aches, and so do all my
bones, and I feel as if I hadn't been asleep all night,
although, indeed, I must have slept quite as long as
usual. Can't I have a wash?”
“Yes,” Bill said, "thou canst come to our place; but
thou had best take thy breakfast whilst it be hot. It ull
waken thee up loike.”
Ned drank the tea and ate a slice of bread and butter,
and felt refreshed thereat. Then he ran with Bill to his
cottage and had a wash, and then started for the town.
It was eight o'clock when he reached home. Abijah was
at the door, looking down the road as he came up.
“Oh! Master Ned, how can you go on so? Not a bit
of sleop have I had this blessed night, and the mistress
in strong hystrikes all the evening. Where have you
boen?” Ned gave a grunt at the news of his mother's
hysterics-á grunt which clearly expressed “served her
right,” but he only answered the last part of the question.
"I have been up at Varley, and slept at the school.


THROUGH THE FRA Y.
123
house. Bill Swinton and Polly Powlett made me ap 8
bed and got me tea and breakfast. I am right enough.”
“But you shouldn't have gone away, Master Ned, in
that style, leaving us to wait and worry ourselves out of
our senses.”
“Do you know what she told me, Abijah? Wasn't it
enough to make any fellow mad?”
“Ay, ay,” the nurse said. “I know. I have see'd it
coming months ago; but it wasn't no good for me to
speak. Ay, lad, it's a sore trouble for you, sure-ly a sore
trouble for you, and for us all; but it ain't no manner of
use for you to set yourself agin it. Least said sooner
mended, Master Ned; in a case like this it ain't no good
your setting yourself up agin the missis. She ain't
strong in some things, but she's strong enough in her
will, and you ought to know by this time that what she
sets her mind on she gets. It were so allos in the cap-
tain's time, and if he couldn't change her, poor patient
lamb—for if ever there were a saint on arth he was that-
you may be sure that you can't. So try and take it qui-
etly, dearie. It be main hard for ye, and it ain't for me
to say as it isn't; but for the sake of peace and quiet,
and for the sake of the little ones, Master Ned, it's better
for you to take it quiet. If I thought as it would do any
good for you to make a fuss I wouldn't be agin it; but
it ain't, you know, and it will be worse for you all if you
sets him agin you to begin with. Now go up and see
your mother, dearie, afore you goes off to school. I have
just taken her up her tea.”
“I have got nothing to say to her," Ned growled.
“Yes, you have, diaster Ned; you have got to tell her
you hopes she will be happy. You can do that, you
know, with a clear heart, for you do hope so. Fortu-
nately she didn't see him yesterday; for when he called
I told him she was too ill to see him, and a nice taking


THROUGH THE FRAY.
125
“Very well, Ned,” she said more graciously than
usual, “I am glad that you have seen the wickedness of
your conduct. I am sure that I am acting for the best,
and that it will be a great advantage to you and your
brother and sister having a man like Mr. Mulready to
help you push your way in life. I am sure I am think-
ing of your interest as much as my own; and I have
spoken to him over and over again about you, and he
has promised dozens of times to do his best to be like a
father to you all.” Ned winced perceptibly.
“All right, mother! I do hope you will be happy; but,
please, don't let us talk about it again till-till it comes
off; and, please, don't let him come here in the evening.
I will try and get accustomed to it in time; but you see
it's rather hard at first, and you know I didn't expect
it.”
So saying Ned left the room, and collecting his books
made his way off to school, leaving his mother highly
satisfied with the interview.
His absence from afternoon school had, of course, been
noticed, and Smithers had told his friends how Ned had
flown at him on his speaking to him about the talk of his
mother and Mulready. Of course before afternoon school
broke up every boy knew that Ned Sankey had cut up
rough about the report; and although the great majority
of the boys did not know Mr. Mulready, by name there
was a general feeling of sympathy with Ned. The cir-
cumstances of his father's death had, of course, exalted
him greatly in the eyes of his schoolfellows, and it was
the unanimous opinion, that after having had a hero for
his father, a fellow would naturally object to having a
stepfather put over him.
Ned's absence was naturally associated with the news,
and caused much comment and even excitement. His
attack upon Mr. Hathorn had become a sort of historical


1.26
THROUGH THE FRAY.
incident in the school, and the younger boys looked up
with a sort of respectful awe upon the boy who had de-
fied a head-master. There were all sorts of speculations
rife among them as to what Ned had done, there being a
general opinion that he had probably killed Mr. Mul-
ready, and the debate turning principally upon the man-
ner in which this act of righteous vengeance had been
performed.
There was, then, a feeling almost of disappointment
when Ned walked into the playground looking much as
usual, except that his face was pale and his eyes looked
heavy and dull. No one asked him any questions; for
although Ned was a general favorite, it was generally
understood that he was not the sort of fellow to be asked
questions that might put him out. When they went in
school, and the first class was called up, Ned, who was
always at its head, took his place at the bottom of the
class, saying quietly to the master:
“I have not prepared my lesson to-day, sir, and I have
not done the exercises.”
Mr. Porson made no remark; he saw at once by Ned's
face that something was wrong with him. When several
questions went round, which Ned could easily have an-
swered without preparation, the master said:
“You had better go to your desk, Sankey; I see you
are not well. I will speak to you after school is over.”
Ned sat down and opened a book, but he did not turn a
page until school was over; then he followed his master
to the study.
“Well, my boy,” he asked kindly, “what is it?"
“My mother is going to marry Mr. Mulready," Ned
said shortly. The words seemed to come with difficulty
from his lips.
“Ah! it is true, then. I heard the report some weeks
ago, but hoped that it was not true. I am sorry for you,


THROUG# THE PRAX.
Ned. I know it must be a sore trial for you; it is always
so when any one steps into the place of one we have loved
and lost."
“I shouldn't care so much if it wasn't him," Ned said
in a dull voice.
“But there's nothing against the man, is there?” Mr.
Porson asked. “I own I do not like him myself; but I
believe he stands well in the town.”
“Only with those who don't know him," Ned replied;
“his work-people say he is the worst master and the big-
gest tyrant in the district.”
“We must hope it's not so bad as that, Ned; still, I
am sorry-very sorry, at what you tell me; but, my boy,
you must not take it to heart. You see you will be go-
ing out into the world before long. Your brother will
be following you in a few years. It is surely better that
your mother should marry again and have some one to
take care of her."
“Nice care of her he is likely to take!" Ned laughed
bitterly. “You might as well put a fox to take care of
a goose.”
"You are severe on both parties,” Mr. Porson said
with a slight smile; “but I can hardly blame you, my
boy, for feeling somewhat bitter at first; but I hope that,
for your own sake and your mother's, you will try and
conquer this feeling and will make the best of the cir-
cumstances. It is worse than useless to kick against the
pricks. Any show of hostility on your part will only
cause unhappiness, perhaps between your mother and
him-almost certainly between you and her. In this
world, my boy, we have all our trials. Some are very
heavy ones. This is yours. Happily, so far as you are
concerned, you need only look forward to its lasting
eighteen montlis or so. In that time you may hope to
get your commission; and as the marriage can hardly


128
THROUGH THH FRAY.
take place for some little time to come, you will have
but a year or so to bear it.”
"I don't know, sir," Ned said gloomily: "everything
seems upset now. I don't seem to know what I had best
do.”
"I am sure at present, Ned,” Mr. Porson said kindly
--for he saw that the boy was just now in no mood for
argument—“the best is to try and think as little of it as
possible. Make every allowance for your mother; as you
know, my boy, I would not speak disrespectfully to you
of her on any account; but she is not strong-minded.
She has always been accustomed to lean upon some one,
and the need of some one to lean on is imperative with
her. Had you been a few years older, and had you been
staying at home, it is probable that you might have taken
your place as her support and strength. As it is, it was
almost inevitable that something of this sort would
happen.
“But you know, Ned, where to look for strength and
support. You have fought one hard battle, my boy, and
have well-nigh conquered; now you have another before
you. Seek for strength, my boy, where you will assur-
edly find it, and remember that this discipline is doubt-
less sent you for your good, and that it will be a prepa-
ration for you for the struggle in after life. I don't
want you to be a thoughtless, careless young officer, but a
man earnest in doing his duty, and you cannot but see that
these two trials must have a great effect in forming your
character. Remember, Ned, that if the effect be not for
good, it will certainly be for evil.”
“I will try, sir," Ned said; "but I know it is easy to
make good resolutions, and how it will be when he is in
the house as master I can't trust myself even to think.”
“Well, let us hope the best, Ned,” Mr. Porson said
kindly; "things may turn out better than you fear."


THROUGH THE FRAY.
129
Then seeing that further talking would be useless now,
he shook Ned's hand and let him go.
The next three or four months passed slowly and
heavily. Ned went about his work again quietly and
doggedly; but his high spirits seemed gone. His moth-
er's engagement with Mr. Mulready had been openly
announced, directly after he had first heard of it.
Charlie had, to Ned's secret indignation, taken it qui-
etly. He knew little of Mr. Mulready, who had, when-
ever he saw him, spoken kindly to him, and who now
made him frequent presents of books and other things
dear to schoolboys. Little Lucy's liking he had, how-
ever, failed to gain, although in his frequent visits he
had spared no pains to do so, seldom coming without
bringing with him cakes or papers of sweets. Lucy ac-
cepted the presents, but did not love the donor, and
confided to Abijah that his teeth were exactly like those
of the wolf who ate Little Red Riding Hood.
Ned found much more comfort in her society during
those dull days than in Charlie's. He had the good
sense, however, never to encourage her in her expressions
of dislike to Mr. Mulready, and even did his best to com-
bat her impression, knowing how essential it was for her
to get on well with him. Ned himself did not often see
Mr. Mulready during that time. The first time that
they met, Ned had, on his return from school, gone
straight up into the drawing-room, 'not knowing that
Mr. Mulready was there. On opening the door and see:
ing him he paused suddenly for a moment and then ad-
vanced. For a moment neither of them spoke, then Mr.
Mulready said in his frankest manner:
“Ned, you have heard I am going to marry your
mother. I don't suppose you quite like it; it wouldn't
be natural if you did; I know I shouldn't if I were in
your place. Still you know your disliking it won't alter


130
TAROUGH THE FRA Y.
it, and I hope we shall get on well together. Give me
your hand, my lad, you won't find me a bad sort of
fellow."
“I hope not,” Ned said quietly, taking Mr. Mulready's
hand and continuing to hold it while he went on: "I
don't pretend I like it, and I know it makes no differ-
ence whether I do or not; the principal point is, that my
mother should be happy, and if you make her happy I
have no doubt we shall, as you say, get on well together;
if you don't, we shan't."
There was no mistaking the threat conveyed in Ned's
steady tones, and Mr. Mulready, as Ned dropped his
hand, felt that he should have more trouble with the boy
than he had expected. He gave a forced laugh.
“One would think, Ned, that you thought it likely I
was going to be unkind to your mother.”
"No," Ned said quietly, “I don't want to think about
it one way or the other, only I promised my father I
would be kind to my mother; that means that I would
look after her, and I mean to. Well, mother,” he said
in his usual tone, turning to Mrs. Sankey, “and how are
you this morning?”
“I was feeling better, Ned," she said sharply; "but
your unpleasant way of talking, and your nonsense about
taking care of me, have made me feel quite ill again.
Somehow you always seem to shake my nerves. You
never seem to me like other boys. One would think I
was a child instead of being your mother. I thought
after what you said to me that you were going to behave
nicely.”
“I am trying to behave nicely,” Ned said. “I am
sure I meant quite nicely, just as Mr. Mulready does; I
think he understands me.”
“I don't understand that boy,” Mrs. Sankey said
plaintively when Ned had left the room, and I never


THROUGH THE FRAY.
131
have understood him. He was dreadfully spoiled when
he was in India, as I have often told you; for in my weak
state of health I was not equal to looking after him, and
his poor father was sadly overindulgent. But he has
certainly been much better as to his temper lately, and I
do hope, William, that he is not going to cause trouble.”
"Oh, no!” Mr. Mulready said lightly, “he will not
cause trouble; I have no doubt we shall get on well to-
gether. Boys will be boys, you know; I have been one
myself, and of course they look upon stepfathers as nat-
ural enemies; but in this case, you see, we shall not have
to put up with each other long, as he will be getting his
commission in a year or so. Don't trouble yourself
about it, love; in your state of health you ought really
not to worry yourself, and worry, you know, spoils the
eyes and the complexion, and I cannot allow that, for
you will soon be my property now.”
The wedding was fixed for March. It was to be per-
fectly quiet, as Mrs. Sankey would, up to the day, be
still in mourning. A month before the time Ned no-
ticed that his mother was more uncertain in her temper
than usual, and Abijah confided to him in secret that
she thought things were not going on smoothly between
the engaged couple.
Nor were they. Mr Mulready had discovered, to his
surprise, that, indolent and silly as Mrs. Sankey was in
many respects, she was not altogether a fool, and was
keen enough where her own interests were concerned.
He had suggested something about settlements, hoping
that she would at once say that these were wholly unnec-
essary; but to his surprise she replied in a manner which
showed that she had already thought the matter over, and
had very fixed ideas on the subject.
“Of course," she said, "that will be necessary. I
know nothing about business, but it was done before,


132
THROUGH THE FRAY.
and my poor husband insisted that my little fortune
should be settled so as to be entirely at my own disposal.”
But this by no means suited Mr. Mulready's views.
Hitherto want of capital had prevented his introducing
the new machinery into his mills, and the competition
with the firms which had already adopted it was injuring
him seriously, and he had reckoned confidently upon the
use of Mrs. Sankey's four thousand pounds. Although
he kept his temper admirably under the circumstances,
he gave her distinctly to understand, in the pleasantest
way, that an arrangement which was most admirably
suitable in every respect in the case of a lady marrying
an officer in the army, to whom her capital could be of
no possible advantage, was altogether unsuitable in the
case of a manufacturer.
“You see, my love," he argued, “that it is for your
benefit as well as mine that the business should grow and
flourish by the addition of the new machinery which this
little fortune of yours could purchase. The profits could
be doubled and trebled, and we could look forward ere
long to holding our heads as high as the richest manu-
facturers at Leeds and Bradford-while the mere interest
in this money invested in consols as at present would be
absolutely useless to us.”
Mrs. Sankey acknowledged the force of his argument,
but was firm in her determination to retain her hold of
ber money, and so they parted, not in anger, for Mr.
Mulready altogether disclaimed the possibility of his
being vexed, but with the sense that something like a
barrier had sprung up between them.
This went on for a few days, and although the subject
was not mooted, Mrs. Sankey felt that unless some con-
cession on her part was made it was likely that the match
would fall through. This she had not the slightest idea
of permitting, and rather than it should happen she


Tirotoa tä! FRAT,
puity of two hundred and forty pounds à year to the
three children. If, the most unlikely thing in the world,
she did survive him-well, it mattered not a jot in that
case who the mill went to.
So the terms were settled, the necessary deeds were
drawn up by a solicitor, and signed by both parties.
Mrs. Sankey recovered her spirits, and the preparations
for the wedding went on. Ned had intended to absent
himself from the ceremony, but Mr. Porson, guessing
that such might be his intention, had talked the matter
gravely over with him. He had pointed out to Ned that
his absence would in the first place be an act of great
disrespect to his mother; that in the second place it
would cause general comment, and would add to the un-
favorable impression which his mother's early remarriage
had undoubtedly created; and that, lastly, it would jus-
tify Mr. Mulready in regarding him as hostile to the
marriage, and, should trouble subsequently arise, he
would be able to point to it in self-justification, and as a
proof that Ned had from the first determined to treat
him as an enemy.
So Ned was present at his mother's marriage. Quiet
as the wedding was, for only two or three acquaintances
were asked to be present, the greater part of Marsden
were assembled in the church.
The marriage had created considerable comment. The
death of Captain Sankey in saving a child's life had ren-
dered his widow an object of general sympathy, and peo-
ple felt that not only was this marriage within eighteen
months of Captain Sankey's death almost indecent, but
that it was somehow a personal wrong to them, and that
they had been defrauded in their sympathy.
Therefore the numerous spectators of the marriage
were critical rather than approving. They could find
nothing to lind fault with, however, in the bride's ap.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
135
pearance. She was dressed in a dove-colored silk, and
with her fair hair and pale complexion looked quite
young, and, as every one admitted, pretty. Mr. Mul-
ready, as usual, was smiling, and seemed to convey by
the looks which he cast round that he regarded the as-
semblage as a personal compliment to himself.
Lucy and Charlie betrayed no emotion either way;
they were not pleased, but the excitement of the affair
amused and interested them, and they might be said to
be passive spectators. Ned, however, although he had
brought himself to be present, could not bring himself
to look as if the ceremony had his approval or sanction.
He just glared, as Abijah, who was present, afterward
confided to some of her friends, as if he could have killed
the man as he stood. His look of undisguised hostility
was indeed noticed by all who were in church, and
counted heavily against him in the days which were to
come.


188
THROUGH THE FRAY
CHAPTER X.
TROUBLES AT HOME.
It was not one of the least griefs of the young Sankeys
connected with their mother's wedding that Abijah was
to leave them. It was she herself who had given notice
to Mrs. Sankey, saying that she would no longer be re-
quired. The first time that she had spoken of her in-
tentions, Mrs. Sankey vehemently combated the idea,
saying that neither she nor Lncy could spare her; but
she did not afterward return to the subject, and seemed
to consider it a settled thing that Abijah intended to
leave. Mrs. Sankey had, in fact, spoken to Mr. Mulready
on the subject, but instead of taking the view she had
expected, he had said cheerfully:
"I am glad that she has given notice. I know that
she is a valuable woman and much attached to you. At
the same time these old servants always turn out a mis-
take under changed circumstances. She would never
have been comfortable or contented. She has, my dear
if I may say so, been mistress too long, and as I intend
you to be mistress of my house, it is much better that
she should go.”
As Mrs. Sankey had certain doubts herself as to whether
Abijah would be a success in the new home, the subject
was dropped, and it became an understood thing that
Abijah would leave after the wedding.
The newly married couple were absent for three weeks.
Until two days before their return Abijah remained in


THROUGH THE FRAY.
134
the oid house with the young Sankeys; then they moved
into their new home, and she went off to her pative vil-
lage ten miles distant away on the moors. The next day
there was a sale at the old house. A few, a very few, of
the things had been moved. Everything else was sold,
to the deep indignation of Ned, who was at once grieved
and angry that all the articles of furniture which he as-
sociated with his father should be parted with. Abijah
shared the boy's feelings in this respect, and at the sale
all the furniture and fittings of Captain Sankey's study
were bought by a friendly grocer on her behalf, and the
morning after the sale a badly written letter, for Abijah's
education had been neglected, was placed in Ned's hand.
“MY DEAR MASTER NED: Knowing as it cut you to
the heart that everything should go away.into the hands
of strangers, I have made so bold as to ask Mr. Willcox
for to buy all the furniter and books in maister's study.
He is a-going to stow them away in a dry loft, and when
so bee as you gets a home of your own there they is for
you; they are sure not to fetch much, and when you gets
à rich man you can pay me for them; not as that matters
at all one way or the other. I have been a-saving up
pretty nigh all my wages from the day as you was born,
and is quite comfortable off. Write me a letter soon,
dea, it, to tell me as how things is going on. Your affec-
tionate nurse,
ABIJAH WOLF."
Although Ned was a lad of sixteen, he had a great cry
over this letter, but it did him good, and it was with a
softer heart that he prepared to receive his mother and
her husband that evening.
The meeting passed off better than he had anticipated.
Mrs. Mulready was really affected at seeing her chil-
dren again, and embraced them, Ned thought, with more
fondness than she had done when they went away. Mr.
Mulready spoke genially and kindly, and Ned began to
hope that things would not be so bad after all.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
139
in the same tone. A little flush of color would come
into her cheek, but she would pass it off lightly, and at
all times she appeared nervously anxious to please him.
Ned wondered much over the change.
“He is a tyrant,” he said, “and she has learned it
already; but I do think she loves him. Fancy my mother
coming to be the slave of a man like this! I suppose,"
he laughed bitterly, “it's the story of a woman, a dog,
and a walnut tree, the more you thrash them the better
they will be.' My father spent his whole life in making
hers easy, and in sparing her from every care and trouble,
and I don't believe she cared half as much for him as she
does for this man who is her master.”
For some months Mr. Mulready was very busy at his
mill. A steam-engine was being erected, new machinery
brought in, and he was away the greater part of his time
superintending it.
One day at breakfast, & short time before all was in
readiness for a start with the new plant, Mr. Mulready
opened a letter directed in a sprawling and ill-written
hand which lay at the top of the pile by his plate. Ned
happened to notice his face, and saw the color fade out
from it as he glanced at the contents. The mouth re-
mained as usual, set in a smile, but the rest of the face
expressed agitation and fear. The hand which held the
letter shook. Mrs. Mulready, whose eyes seldom left
her husband's face when he was in the room, also noticed
the change.
"is anything the matter, William ?”
“Oh! nothing,” he said with an unnatural laugh,
"only a little attempt to frighten me.”
“An attempt which has succeeded,” Ned said to him-
self, “whatever it is.”
Mr. Mulready passed the letter over to his wife. It
was a rough piece of paper; at the top was scrawled the
outrine of a coffin, underneath which was written:


140
T'HROUGH THE FRAY.
“MR. MULREADY: Sir, this is to give you warning
that if you uses the new machinery you are a dead man.
You have been a marked man for a long time for your
tyrannical ways, but as long as you didn't get the new
machinery we let you live; but we has come to the end
of it now; the day as you turns on steam we burns your
mill to the ground and shoots you, so now you knows it."
At the bottom of this was signed the words “Captain
Lud."
"Oh! William,” Mrs. Mulready cried, “you will never
do it! You will never risk your life at the hands of these
terrible people!"
All the thin veneer of politeness was cracked by this
blow, and Mr. Mulready said sullenly:
“Nice thing indeed; after I have married to get this
money, and then not to be able to use it!"
His wife gave a little cry.
“It's a shame to say so," Charlie burst out sturdily.
Mr. Mulready's passion found a vent. He leaped up
and seized the boy by the collar and boxed his ears with
all his force.
In an instant the fury which had been smoldering in
Ned's breast for months found a vent. He leaped to his
feet and struck Mr. Mulready a blow between the eyes
which sent him staggering back against the wall; then
he caught up the poker. The manufacturer with a snarl
like that of an angry wild beast was about to rush at
him, but Ned's attitude as he stood, poker in hand,
checked him.
"Stand back," Ned said threateningly, "or I will strike
you. You coward and bully; for months I have put up
with your tyrannizing over Charlie and Lucy, but touch
either of them again if you dare. You think that you
are stronger than I am-s0 you are ever so much; but
you lay a finger on them or on me, and I warn you, if I



B110A
-
MAI
79
3272
NED DEFENDS LITTLE CHARLIE AGAINST THEIR STEPFATHER,





THROUGH THE FRAY
141
wait a month for an opportunity I will pay you for it, if
you kill me afterward.”.
Mrs. Mulready's screams had by this time brought the
seryants into the room, and they stood astonished at the
spectacle.
Lucy crying bitterly had run to Ned and thrown her
arms round him, begging him to be quiet. Charlie,
hardly recovered from the heavy blows he had received,
was crying too. Mr. Mulready as pale as death was glar-
ing at Ned, while his wife had thrown herself between
them. Mr. Mulready was the first to recover himself.
“This is a nice spectacle,” he said to the servants.
“You see that boy has attacked me with the poker and
might have murdered me. However, you can go now,
and mind, no chattering about what you have seen. And
now," he continued to Ned as the door closed behind
the servants, “out of this house you go this day.". .
“You don't suppose I want to stay in your house,”
Ned said passionately. “You don't suppose that it's
any pleasure to me to stop here, seeing you play the
tyrant over my mother.”
“Oh, Ned, Ned,” Mrs. Mulready broke in, "how can
you talk so!”
"It is true, mother, he is a tyrant to you as well as to
every one else; but I don't mean to go, I mean to stop
here to protect you and the children. He daren't turn
me out; if he did, I would go and work in one of the
mills, and what would the people of Marsden say then?
What would they think of this popular, pleasant gentle-
man then, who has told his wife before her children that he
married her for her money? They shall all know it, never
fear, if I leave this house. I would have gone to Mr. Sim-
monds and asked him to apply for a commission for me
before now, for other fellows get it as young as I am; but
I have made up my mind that it's my duty not to do so.


142
THROUGH THE FRAY.
I know he has been looking forward to my being out of
the way, and his being able to do just what he likes with
the others, but I ain't going to gratify him. It's plain
to me that my duty at present is to take care of you all,
and though God knows how I set my mind upon going
into the army and being a soldier like my father, I will
give it up if it means leaving Charlie here under him.”
"And do you suppose, sir," Mr. Mulready asked with
intense bitterness, “that I am going to keep you hero
doing nothing all your life, while you are pleased to
watch me?"
“No, I don't," Ned replied. “I shall get a clerkship
or something in one of the mills, and I shall have Cbarlie
to live with me until he is old enough to leave school,
and then I will go away with him to America or some-
where. As to mother, I can do nothing for her. I
think my being here makes it worse for her, for I believe
you tyrannize over her all the more because you think it
hurts me. I know you hated me from the first just as I
hated you. As for Lucy, mother must do the best she
can for her. Even you daren't hit a girl.”
“Oh, Ned, how can you go on so!” Mrs. Mulready
wailed. “You are a wicked boy to talk so."
“All right, mother," Ned replied recklessly; “if I am,
I suppose I am. I know in your eyes he can do no
wrong. And I believe if he beat you, you would think
that you deserved it.” So he flung himself down in his
chair and continued his breakfast.
Mr. Mulready drank off his tea without sitting doyo,
and then left the room without another word; in fact, as
yet he did not know what to say..
Almost speechless with passion as he was, he restrained
himself from carrying out his threat and turning Ned at
once from the house. Above all things he prized bis
position and popularity, and he felt that, as Ned led


THROUGH THE FRAY.
143
said, he would indeed incur a heavy odium by turning
his wife's son from his doors. Captain Sankey's death
had thrown almost a halo over his children. Mr. Myl-
ready knew that he was already intensely unpopular
among the operative class, but he despised this so long
as he stood well with the rest of the townsmen; but he
dared not risk Ned's going to work as an ordinary hand
in one of the factories; public opinion is always against
stepfathers, and assuredly this would be no exception.
Hating him as he did, he dared not get rid of this inso-
lent boy, who had struck and defied him. He curged
himself now with his rashness in letting his temper get
the best of him and telling his wife openly that he had
married her for her money; for this in Ned's hands
would be a serious weapon against him.
That his wife's feelings were hurt he cared not a jot,
but it would be an awkward thing to have it repeated in
the town. Then there was this threatening letter; what
was he to do about that? Other men had had similar
warnings. Some had defied Captain Lud, and fortified
their mills and held them. Many had had their property
burned to the ground; some had been murdered. It
wouldn't be a pleasant thing to drive about in the coun-
try knowing that at any moment he might be shot dead.
His mill was some little distance out of the town; the
road was dark and lonely. He dared not risk it.
Mr. Mulready was, like all tyrants, a coward at heart,
and his face grew white again as he thought of the letter
in his pocket. In the meantime Mrs. Mulready was
alternately sobbing and uprbaiding Ned as he quietly
finished his breakfast. The boy did not answer, but con-
tinued his meal in dogged silence, and when it was over
collected his books and without a word went off to school.
Weeks went on, and no outwatd change took place.
Ned continued to live at home. Mr. Mulready never ad


141
TIIROUGH TOE FRAY.
dressed him, and beyond helping him to food entirely
ignored his presence. At meal-times when he opened
his lips it was cither to snap at Charlie or Lucy, or to
snarl at his wife, whose patience astonislied Ned, and
who never answered except by a smile or murmured ex-
cuse. The lad was almost as far separated from her now
as from his stepfather. She treated him as if he only
were to blame for the quarrel which bad arisen. They
had never understood each other, and while she was
never weary of making excuses for her husband, she
could make none for her son. In the knowledge that
the former had much to vex him she made excuses for
him even in his worst moods. His new machinery was
standing idle, his business was getting worse and worse,
he was greatly pressed and worried, and it was monstrous,
she told herself, that at such a time he should be troubled
with Ned's defiant behavior.
A short time before the school Christmas holidays Ned
knocked at the door of Mr. Porson's study. Since the
conversation which they had had when first Ned heard
of his mother's engagement Mr. Porson had seen in the
lad's altered manner, his gloomy looks, and a hardness
of expression which became more and more marked every
week, that things were going on badly. Ned no longer
evinced the same interest in his work, and frequently
neglected it altogether; the master, however, had kept
silence, preferring to wait until Ned should himself
broach the subject.
“Well, Sankey, what is it?" he asked kindly as the
boy entered.
“I don't think it's any use my going on any longer,
Mr. Porson.”
“Well, Sankey, you have not been doing yourself much
good this half, certainly. I have not said much to you
about it, for it is entirely your own business. you know


THROUGII TIE FRAY.
145
more than nineteen out of twenty of the young fellows
who get commissions, so that if you choose to give up
work it is your own affair.”
“I have made up my mind not to go into the army,"
Ned said quietly. Mr. Porson was silent a minute.
"I hope, my dear lad,” he said, “you will do nothing
hastily about this. Here is a profession open to you
which is your own choice and that of your father, and it
should need some very strong and good reason for you to
abandon it. Come let us talk the matter over together,
my boy, not as a master and his pupil, but as two friends. -
“You know, my boy, how thoroughly I have your in-
terest at heart. If you had other friends whoin you
could consult I would rather have given yon no advice,
for there is no more serious matter than to say anything
which might influence the career of a young fellow just
starting in life. Terrible harm often results from well-
intentioned advice or opinions carelessly expressed to
young men by their elders; it is a matter which few men
are sufficiently careful about; but as I know that you
have no friends to consult, Ned, and as I regard you
with more than interest, I may say with affection, I think
it would be well for you to tell me all that there is in
your mind before you take a step which may wreck your
whole life.
"I have been waiting for some months in hopes that
you would open your mind to me, for I have seen that
you were unhappy; but it was not for me to force your
confidence,”
"I dont know that there's much to tell,” Ned said
wearily. “Everything has happened just as it was cer-
tain it would do. Mulready is a brute; he ill-treats my
mother, he ill-treats Charlie and Lucy, and he would ill-
treat me if he dared.”
“All this is bad, Ned,” Mr. Porson said gravely; “but


146
THROUGH THE FRAT.
of course much depends upon the amount of his iil-
treatment. I assume that he does not actively ill-treat
your mother."
"No," Ned said with an angry look in his face; "and
he'd better not."
“Yes, Ned, he had better not, no doubt," Mr. Porson
said soothingly; "but what I want to know, what it is
essential I should know if I am to give you any advice
worth having, is what you mean by ill-treatmentis he
rough and violent in his way with her? deos he threaten
her with violence? is he coarse and brutal?"
“No," Ned said somewhat reluctantly; "he is not that,
sir; he is always snapping and snarling and finding
fault."
"That is bad, Ned, but it does not amount to ill-treat-
ment. When a man it put out in business and things go
wrong with him it is unhappily too often his custom to
vent his ill-temper upon innocent persons; and I fancỹ
from what I hear-you know in a little place like this
every one's business is more or less known-Mr. Mulready
has a good deal to put him out. He has erected new
machinery and dare not put it to work, owing as I hear-
for hehas lain the documents before the magistrates—for
his having received threatening letters warning him
against doing so.
· This is very trying to the man. Then, Ned, you
will excuse my saying that perhaps he is somewhat
tried at home. It is no pleasant thing for a man to have
a young fellow like yourself in the house taking up an
attitude of constant hostility. I do not say that his con-
duct may or may not justify it; but yon will not deny
that from the first you were prepared to receive him as
an enemy rather than as a friend. I heard a story some
weeks ago in the town, which emanated no doubt from
the servants, that you had actually struck him.”


THROUGH THE FRAY.
14%
"He hit Charlie, sir," Ned exclaimed.
“That may be,” Mr. Porson went on gravely; "and I
have no doubt, Ned, that you considered then, and that
you consider now, that you were acting rightly in inter-
fering on behalf of your brother. But I should question
much whether in such a matter you are the best judge.
You unfortunately began with a very strong prejudice
against this man; you took up the strongest attitude of
hostility to him; you were prepared to find fault with
everything he said and did; you put yourself in the posi-
tion of the champion of your mother, brother, and sister
against him. Under such circumstances it was hardly
possible that things could go on well. Now I suppose,
Ned, that the idea which you have in your mind in de-
ciding to give up the profession you have chosen, is that
you may remain as their champion and protector hero."
mother, whatever happened.”
"Quite so, my boy; but the question is, Are you being
kind?” .
Ned looked surprised.
“That you intend to be so, Ned, I am sure. The
question is, Are you going the right way to work? Is
this championship that you have taken upon yourself
increasing her happiness, or is it not?”
Ned was silent.
“I do not think that it is, Ned. Your mother must
be really fond of this man or she would not have married
him. Do you think that it conduces to the comfort of
her home to see the constant antagonism which prevails
between you and him? Is it not the faot that this ill-
temper under which she suffers is the result of the irri-
tation caused to him by your attitude? Do you not add
to her burden rather than relieve it?”'
Ned was still silent. He had so thoroughly persuaded


148
THROUGH THE FRAY.
himself that he was protecting his mother, his brother,
and sister from Mr. Mulready that he had never consid.
ered the matter in this light.
“Does your mother take his part or yours in these
quarrels, Ned?"
“She takes his part, sir," said Ned indignantly.
“Very well, Ned; that shows in itself that she does
not wish for your championship, that in her eyes the
trouble in the house is in fact caused by you. You must
remember that when a woman loves a man she makes ex-
cuses for his faults of temper; his irritable moods, sharp
expressions, and what you call snapping and snarling do
not seem half so bad to her as they do to a third person,
especially when that third person is her partisan. In-
stead of your adding to her happiness by renouncing your
idea of going into the army, and of deciding to remain
here in some position or other to take care of her, as, I
suppose, is your intention, the result will be just the
contrary. As to your sister, I think the same thing
would happen.
“Your mother is certainly greatly attached to her and
owing to her changed habits-for I understand that she
is now a far more active, and I may say, Ned, a more
sensible woman than before her marriage-I see no rea-
son why Lucy should not be happy with her, especially
if the element of discord-I mean yourself-were out of
the way. As to Charlie, at the worst I don't think that
he would suffer from your absence. His stepfather's
temper will be less irritable; and as Charlie is away at
school all day, and has to prepare his lessons in the even-
ing, there is really but slight opportunity for his step-
father treating him with any active unkindness, even
should he be disposed to do so.
"Did I think, my boy, that your presence here wonld
be likely to benefit your family I should be the last per-


THROUGH THE FRAY.
149
son to advise you to avoid making a sacrifice of your pri-
vate wishes to what you consider your duty; but upon
the contrary I am convinced that the line which you
have, with the best intention, taken up has been alto-
gether a mistake, that your stay at home does vastly
more harm than good, and that things would go on very
much better in your absence.”
This was a bitter mortification for Ned, who had hith-
erto nursed the idea that he was performing rather a
heroic part, and was sacrificing himself for the sake of
his mother.
"You don't know the fellow as I do," he said sullenly
at last.
“I do not, Ned; but I know human nature, and I know
that any man would show himself at his worst under such
circumstances as those in which you have placed him.
It is painful to have to say, but I am sure that you have
done harm rather than good, and that things will get on
much better in your absence.”
“I believe he is quite capable of killing her," Ned said
passionately, “if he wanted her out of the way."
"That is a hard thing to say, Ned; but even were it so,
we have no reason for supposing that he does want her
out of the way. Come, Sankey, I am sure you have
plenty of good sense. Hitherto you have been acting
rather blindly in this matter. You have viewed it from
one side only, and with the very best intentions in the
world have done harm rather than good.
“I am convinced that when you come to think it over
you will see that, in following out your own and your
father's intenions and wishes as to your future career,
you will really best fulfil his last injunctions and will
show the truest kindness to your mother. Don't give
me any answer now, but take time to think it over. Try
and see the case from every point of view, and I think
S as to njunction Don't give


150
THROUGH THE FRAY.
you will come to the conclusion that what I have been
saying, although it may seem rather hard to you at first,
is true, and that you had best go into the army, as you
had intended. I am sure in any case you will know that
what I have said, even if it seems unkind, has been for
your good.”
"Thank you, Mr. Porson,” Ned replied; “I am quite
sure of that. Perhaps you are right, and I have been
making a fool of myself all along. But anyhow I will
think it over.”


THROUGH THE FRA Y.
151
CHAPTER XI.
THE NEW MACHINERY.
It is rather hard for a lad who thinks that he has been
behaving somewhat as a hero to come to the conclusion
that he has been making a fool of himself; but this was
the result of Ned Sankey's cogitation over what Mr.
Porson had said to him. Perhaps he arrived more easily
at that conclusion because he was not altogether unwill-
ing to do so. It was very mortifying to allow that he
had been altogether wrong; but, on the other hand,
there was a feeling of deep pleasure at the thought that
he could, in Mr. Porson's deliberate opinion, go into the
army and carry out all his original hopes and plans. His
heart had been set upon this as long as he could remem-
ber, and it had been a bitter disappointment to him when
he had arrived at the conclusion that it was his duty to
abandon the idea. He did not now come to the conclu-
sion hastily that Mr. Porson's view of the case was the
correct one; but after a fortnight's consideration he went
down on New Year's Day to the school, and told his
master that he had made up his mind.
"I soe, sir,” he said, “now that I have thought it all
over, that you are quite right, and that I have been be-
having like an ass, so I shall set to work again and try
and make up the lost time. I have only six months
longer, for Easter is the time when Mr. Simmonds said
that I should be old enough, and he will write to the


152
THROUGH THE FRAY.
iord-lieutenant, and I suppose that in three months after
that I should get my commission."
"That is right, Ned. I am exceedingly glad you have
been able to take my view of the matter. I was afraid
you were bent upon spoiling your life, and I am heartily
glad that you have been able to see the matter in a dif-
ferent light.”
A day or two afterward Ned took an opportunity of
telling his mother that he intended at Easter to remind
Mr. Simmonds of his promise to apply for a commission
for him; and had he before had any lingering doubt that
the decision was a wise one it would have been dissipated
by the evident satisfaction and relief with which the
news was received; nevertheless, he could not help a
feeľng of mortification at seeing in his mother's face the
gladness which the prospect of his leaving occasioned
her.
It was some time since Ned had seen his friend Bill
Swinton, for Bill was now regularly at work in Mr. Mul-
ready's factory and was only to be found at home in the
evening, and Ned had been in no humor for going out.
He now, however, felt inclined for a friendly talk again,
and the next Sunday afternoon he started for Varley.
"Well, Maister Ned,” Bill said as he hurried to the
door in answer to his knock, "it be a long time surely
sin oi saw thee last-well-nigh six months, I should say.”
"It is a long time, Bill, but I haven't been up to any-
thing, even to coming up here. Put on your cap and
we will go for a walk across the moors together.”
In a few seconds Bill joined him, and they soon left
the village behind.
“Oi thought as how thou didn't feel oop to talking
loike, Maister Ned. Oi heared tell as how thou did'st
not get on well wi' Foxey; he be a roight down bad un, he
be; it were the talk of the place as how you gived bin a


154
Tho UGI THE FRA Ý.
nigh every Saturday. However, oi ha' thrashed pretty
nigh every young chap in Varley, and they be beginning
now to leave oi alone.”
"That's right, Bill; I am sure I have no right to
preach to you wlien I am always doing wrong myself;
still I am quite sure you will be glad in the long run that
you had nothing to do with King Lud. I know the
times are very hard, but burning mills and murdering
masters are not the way to make them better; you take
my word for that. And now how are things going on in
Varley?”
"No great change here,” Bill replied. "Polly Powlett
bain't made up her moind yet atween tchaps as is arter
her. They say as she sent John Stukeley, the smith, to
the roight about last Sunday; he ha' been arter her vor
the last year. Some thowt she would have him, some
didn't. He ha'larning, you see, can read and wroite
foine, and ha' got a smooth tongue, and knows how to
talk to gals, so some thought she would take him; oi
knew well enough she wouldn't do nowt of the koind,
for oi ha' heard her say he were a mischievous chap, and
a cuss to Varley. Thou know'st, Maister Ned, they do
say, but in course oi knows nowt about it, as he be the
head of the Luddites in this part of Yorkshire.
"Luke Marner he be dead against King Lud, lié be,
and so be many of the older men here; it's most the
young uns as takes to them ways; and nateral, Polly shie
thinks as Luke does, or perhaps," and Bill laughed, “it's
Polly as thowt that way first, and Luke as thinks as she
does. However it be, she be dead set agin them, and
she's said to me jest the same thing as thou'st been
a-saying; anyhow, it be sartain as Polly ha' said no to
Johir Stakeley, not as she said nowt about it, and no one
would ha' known aboot it ef he hadn't gone cussing and
swearing down at the 'Dog.'


THROUGH THE FRAY.
157
The hostility was among the hands thrown out of em-
ployment, or who found that they could now no longer
make a living by the looms which they worked in their
own houses. Hitherto Mr. Mulready had cared nothing
for the good-will of his hands. He had simply regarded
them as machines from whom the greatest amount of
work was to be obtained at the lowest possible price.
They might grumble and course him beneath their breaths;
they might call him a tyrant belind his back, for this he
cared nothing; but he felt now that it would have been
better had their relations been different; for then he
could have trusted them to do their best in defense of
the mill.
Having once determined upon defying King Lud, Mr.
Mulready went before the magistrates, and laying before
them the threatening letters he had received, for the
first had been followed by many others, he asked them
to send for a company of infantry, as he was going to set
his mill to work. The magistrates after some delibera-
tion agreed to do so, and wrote to the commanding officer
of the troops at Huddersfield asking him to station a de-
tachment at Marsden for a time.
The request was complied with. A company of in-
fantry marched in and were billeted upon the town. A
room was fitted up at the mill, and ten of them were
quartered here, and upon the day after their arrival the
new machinery started.
Now that the step was taken, Mr. Mulready's spirits
rose. He believed that the presence of the soldiers was
ample protection for the mill, and he hoped that ere they
left the town the first excitement would have cooled
down, and the Luddites have turned their attention to
other quarters.
Ned met Bill on the following Sunday.
"I suppose, Bill," he said, "there is a rare stir about
Foxey using his new machinery?"


188
THROUG11 THE FRAY.
"day, that there be, and no wonder," Bill said angrily,
"There be twenty hands turned adrift. Oi bee one of
them myself.”
"You, Bill! I had no idea you had been discharged.”
"Ay; oi have got the sack, and so ha' my brother and
young Jarge Marner, and most o'ť young chaps in the
mill. Oi suppose as how Foxey thinks as the old hayds
will stick to t’ place, and is more afeerd as the young
uns might belong to King Lud, and do him a bad turn
with the machinery. Oi tell ye, Maister Ned, that the
800ner as you goes as an officer the better, vor oi caan't
bide here now and hold off from the others. Oi have
had a dog's loife for some time, and it ull be worse now.
It would look as if oi hadn't no spirit in the world, to
stand being put upon and not join the others. T'other
chaps scarce speak to me, and the gals turn their backs
as oi pass them. Oi be willing vor to be guided by you
as far as oi can; but it bain't in nature to stand this. Oi'a
as lief go and hang myself. Oi would go and list to-
morrow, only oi don't know what regiment you are going
to.”
“Well, Bill, it is hard," Ned said, “and I am not sur-
prised that you feel that you cannot stand it; but it
won't be for long now. Easter will be here in a fort-
night, and then I shall see Mr. Simmonds and got him
to apply at once. I met him in the street only last
week, and he was talking about it then. He thinks that
it will not be long after he sends in an application before
I get my commission. He says he has got interest in
London at the Horse Guards, and will get the application
of the lord lieutenant backed up there; so I hope that in
a couple of months at latest it will all be settled.”
“Oi hope so, oi am sure, vor oi be main sick of this.
However, oi can hold on for another couple of months;
they know anyhow as it ain't from cowardice as I doan't


THROUGH THE FRAY.
159
join them. I fowt Jack Standfort yesterday and licked
un; though, as you see, oi ’ave got a rare pair of black
eyes to-day. If oi takes one every Saturday it's only
eight more to lick, and oi reckon oi can do that.”
"I wish I could help you, Bill," Ned said; “if father
had been alive I am sure he would have let you have a
little money to take you away from here and keep you
somewhere until it is time for you to enlist; but you see
I can do nothing now."
"Doan't you go vor to trouble yourself aboot me,
Maister Ned. Oi shall hold on roight enow. The
thought as it is for two months longer will keep me up.
Oi can spend moi evenings in at Luke's. He goes off to
the ‘Coo;' but Polly doan't moind moi sitting there and
smoking moi pipe, though it bain't every one as she
would let do that.”
Ned laughed. “It's a pity, Bill, you are not two or
three years older, then perhaps Polly mightn't give you
the same answer she gave to the smith.”
"Lor' bless ce," Bill said seriously, “Polly wouldn't
think nowt of oi, not if oi was ten years older. Oi bee
about the same age as she; but she treats me as if I was
no older nor her Jarge. No, when Polly marries it won't
be in Varley. She be a good many cuts above us, she be.
Oi looks upon her jest as an elder sister, and oi doan't
moint how much she blows me up and she does it pretty
hot sometimes, oi can tell ee; but oi should just loike to
hear any one say a word agin her; but theere no one in
Varley would do that. Every one has a good word for
Polly; for when there's sickness in the house, or owt be
wrong, Polly's always ready to help. Oi do believe that
there never was such a gal. If it hadn't been for her oi
would ha' cut it long ago. Oi wouldn't go agin what yo
raid, llaister Nod; but oi am danged if oi could ha' stood
it ef it hadn't been for Polly."


160
TAROUGH THE FRAY.
"I suppose," Ned said, "that now they have got the
soldiers down in Marsden it will be all right about the
mill.”
“Oi caan't say,” Bill replied; "nateral they doan't say
nowt to me; but oi be sure that some'ats oop. They be
a-drilling every night, and there will be trouble avore
long. Oi doan't believe as they will venture to attack
the mill as long as the sojers be in Marsden; but oi
wouldn't give the price of a pint of ale for Foxey's loife
ef they could lay their hands on him. He'd best not
come up this way arter dark.”
“He's not likely to do that,” Ned said. “I am sure
he is a coward or he would have put the mill to work
weeks ago.”
Secure in the protection of the troops, and proud of
the new machinery which was at work in his mill, Mr.
Mulready was now himself again. His smile had re.
turned. He carried himself jauntily, and talked lightly
and contemptuously of the threats of King Lud. Ned
disliked him more in this mood than in the state of de-
pression and irritation which had preceded it. The tones
of hatred and contempt in which he spoke of the starving
workmen jarred upon him greatly, and it needed all his
determination and self-command to keep him from ex-
pressing his feelings. Mr. Mulready was quick in per-
ceiving, from the expression of Ned's face, the annoyance
which his remarks caused him, and reverted to the sub-
ject all the more frequently. With this exception the
home life was more pleasant than it had been before.
Mr. Mulready, in his satisfaction at the prospect of a
new prosperity, was far more tolerant with his wife, and
her spirits naturally rose with his. She had fully shared
his fears as to the threats by the Luddites, and now
agreed cordially with his diatribes against the work people,
adopting all his opinions as her own,


162
THROUGH THE FRAY.
trouble there is with my husband is entirely your mak-
ing. I only wonder that he puts up with your ways as
he does. If his temper was not as good as yours is bad
he would not be able to do so.”
"All right, mother," Ned said. "He is an angel, he
is, we all know, and I am the other thing. Well, if you
are contented, that's the great thing, isn't it? I only
hope you will always be so; but there,” he said, calming
himself with a great effort as his father's last words again
came into his mind, “don't let's quarrel, mother. I am
sorry for what I have said. It's quite right that you
should stick up for your husband, and I do hope that
when I go you will, as you say, be more comfortable and
happy. Perhaps you wiil. I am sure I hope so. Well,
I know I am not nice with him. I can't help it. It's
my beastly temper, I suppose. That's an old story.
Come, mother, I have only a short time to be at home
now. Let us both try and make it as pleasant as we can,
so that when I am thousands of miles away, perhaps in
India, we may have it to look back upon. You try and
leave my friends alone and I will try and be as pleasant as
I can with your husband.”
Mrs. Mulready was crying now.
“You know, Ned, I would love you if you would let
me, only you are so set against my husband. I am sure
he always means kindly. Look how he takes to little
Lucy, who is getting quite fond of him."
“Yes, I am very glad to think that he is, mother,"
Ned said earnestly. “You see Lucy is much younger,
and naturally remembers comparatively little about her
father, and has been able to take to Mr. Mulready with-
out our prejudices. I am very glad to see that he really
does like her-in fact I do think he is getting quite fond
of her. I shall go away feeling quite casy about her. I
wish I could say as much about Charlie. He is not


THROUGH THE FRAY.
163
strong, like other boys, and feels unkindness very sharply.
I can see him shrink and shiver when your husband
speaks to him, and am afraid he will have a very bad
Time of it when I am gone.”
"I am sure, Ned, he will get on very well,” Mrs. Mul-
ready said. “I have no doubt that when he gets rid of
the example you set him I don't want to begin to quar-
rel again--but of the example you set him of dislike and
disrespect to Mr. Mulready, that he will soon be quite
different. He will naturally turn to me again instead of
looking to you for all his opinions, and things will go on
smoothly and well.”
"I am sure I hope so, mother. Perhaps I have done
wrong in helping to set Charlie against Mulready. Per-
haps when I have gone, too, things will be easier for
him. If I could only think so I should go away with a
lighter heart. Well, anyhow, mother, I am glad we have
had this talk. It is not often we get a quiet talk together
now."
"I am sure it is not my fault,” Mrs. Mulready said in
a slightly injured tone.
"Perhaps not, mother," Ned said kindly. “With the
best intentions, I know I am always doing things wrong.
It's my way, I suppose. Anyhow, mother, I really have
meant well, and I hope you will think of me kindly after
I have gone."
“You may be sure I shall do that, Ned,” his mother
said, weeping again. “I have no doubt the fault has
been partly mine too, but you see women don't under-
stand boys, and can't make allowances for them.”
And so Ned kissed his mother for the first time since
the day when she had returned home from her wedding
tour, and mother and son parted on better terms than
they had done for very many months, and Ned went
with a lightened heart to prepare his lessons for the next
slay


164
THROUGH THE FRAY.
CHAPTER XII.
MURDERED!
In spite of Ned's resolutions that he would do nothing
to mar the tranquillity of the last few weeks of his being
at home, he had difficulty in restraining his temper the
following day at tea. Never had he seen his stepfather
in so bad a humor. Had he known that things had gone
wrong at the mill that day, that the new machine had
broken one of its working parts and had brought every-
thing to a standstill till it could be repaired, he would
have been able to make allowances for Mr. Mulready's
ill-humor.
Not knowing this he grew pale with the efforts which
he made to restrain himself as his stepfather snarled at
his wife, snapped at Lucy and Charlie, and grumbled
and growled at everything throughout the meal. Every-
thing that was said was wrong, and at last, having silenced
his wife and her children, the meal was completed in
gloomy silence. The two boys went into the little room
off the hall which they used of an evening to prepare
their lessons for next day. Charlie, who came in last,
did not chut the door behind him.
“That is a nice man, our stepfather," Ned said in a
cold fury. "His ways get more and more pleasant every
day; such an amiable, popular man, so smiling and
pleasant!”
“Oh! it's no use saying anything," Charlie said in an
imploring voice, "it only makes things worse."


168
THROUGH THE FRAY.
Charlie was almost heart-broken, and sat up till long
past his usual time, waiting for his brother's return. At
last his eyes would no longer keep open, and he stumbled
upstairs to bed, where he fell asleep almost as his head
touched the pillow, in spite of his resolution to be awake
until Ned returned.
Downstairs Mrs. Mulready kept watch. She did not
expect Ned to return, but she was listening for the
wheels of her husband's gig. It was uncertain at what
time he would return; for when he rose from the tea-
table she had asked him what time he expected to be
back, and he had replied that he could not say; he should
stop until the repairs were finished, and she was to go to
bed and not bother.
So at eleven o'clock she went upstairs, for once before
when he had been out late and she had sat up he had
been much annoyed; but after she got in bed she lay for
hours listening for the sound of the wheels. At last she
fell asleep and dreamed that Ned and her husband were
standing at the end of a precipice grappling fiercely
together in a life-and-death struggle. She was awaked
at last by a knocking at the door; she glanced at her
watch, which hung above her head; it was but half-past
six.
“What is it, Mary?”
“Please, mum, there's a constable below, and he wants
to speak to you immediate."
Mrs. Mulready sprang from the bed and began to dress
herself hurriedly. All sorts of mischief that might have
come to Ned passed rapidly through her mind; her hus-
band had not returned, but no doubt he had stopped at
the mill all night watching the men at work. His ab-
sence scarcely occasioned her a moment's thought. In a
very few minutes she was downstairs in the kitchen,
where the constable was standing waiting for her. She


THROUGH THE FRAY.
169
knew him by sight, for Marsden possessed but four con-
stables, and they were all well-known characters.
“What is it?" she asked; “has anything happened to
my son?"
"No, mum," the constable said in a tone of surprise,
“I didn't know as he wasn't in bed and asleep, but I have
some bad news for you, mum; it's a bad job altogether.”
“What is it?" she asked again; “is it my husband?”
“Well, mum, I am sorry to say as it be. A chap came
in early this morning and told me as summat had hap-
pened, so I goes out, and half a mile from the town I
finds it just as he says."
“But what is it?” Mrs. Mulready gasped.
“Well, mum, I am sorry to have to tell you, but there
was the gig all smashed to atoms, and there was the
little black mare lying all in a heap with her neck broke,
and there was—" and he stopped.
"My husband!” Mrs. Mulready gasped.
“Yes, marm, I be main sorry to say it were. There,
yards in front of them, were Mr. Mulready just stiff and
cold. He'd been flung right out over the hoss' head.
I expect he had fallen on his head and must have been
killed roight out; and the worst of it be, marm, as it
warn't an accident, for there, tight across the road, about
eighteen inches above the ground, was a rope stretched
tight atween a gate on either side. It was plain enough
to see what had happened. The mare had come tearing
along as usual at twelve mile an hour in the dark, and
she had caught the rope, and in course there had been a
regular smash.”
The pretty color had all gone from Mrs. Mulready's
face as he began his story, but a ghastly pallor spread
over her face, and a look of deadly horror came into her
eyes as he continued.
"Oh, Ned, Ned," she wailed, “how could you!" and
then she fell senseless to the ground.


190
THROUGH THE FRAY.
The constable raised her and placed her in a chair.
"Are you sure the master's dead?” the servant asked,
wiping her eyes.
“Sure enough,” the constable said. “I have sent the
doctor off already, but it's no good, he's been dead hours
and hours. But,” he continued, his professional in-
stincts coming to the surface, “what did she mean by
saying, 'Oh, Ned, how could you! She asked me, too
first about him; ain't he at home?"
"No, he ain't,” the servant said, “and ain't been at
home all night; there were a row between him and mais-
ter last even; they had a fight. Maister Charlie he ran
into the parlor as I was a clearing away the tea-things,
hallowing out as maister was a-killing Ned. Missis she
ran in and I heard a scream, then maister he droye off,
and a minute or two later Maister Ned he went out, and
he ain't come back again. When I went in with the
caudles I could see missis had been a crying. That's all
I know about it.”
“And enough too,” the constable said grimly. “This
here be a pretty business. Well, you had best get your
missis round and see about getting the place ready for
the corpse. They have gone up with a stretcher to
bring him back. They will be here afore long. I must
go to Justice Thompson's and tell him all about it. This
be a pretty kittle of fish, surely. I be main sorry, but I
have got my duty to do.”
An hour later Williams the constable with a companion
started out in search of Ned Sankey, having a warrant
in his pocket for his arrest on the charge of willful
murder.
The excitement in Maraden when it became known
that Mr. Mulready had been killed was intense, and it
was immensely heightened when it was rumored that a
warrant had been issued for the arrest of his stepson on


THROUGH THE FRAY.
111
the charge of murder. Quite a little crowd hung all day
round the house with closed blinds, within which their
so lately active and bustling townsman was lying.
All sorts of conjectures were rife, and there were many
who said that they had all along expected harm would
come of the marriage which had followed so soon after
the death of Captain Sankey. The majority were loud
in expression of their sympathy with the dead mill-
owner, recalling his cheery talk and general good temper.
Others were disposed to think that Ned had been driven
to the act; but among very few was there any doubt as
to his guilt. It was recalled against him that he had
before been in the dock for his assault upon Mr. Hathorn,
and that it had been proved that he had threatened to
kill his master. His sullen and moody demeanor at the
marriage of his mother told terribly against him, and the
rumors of the previous quarrel when Ned had assaulted
his stepfather, and which, related with many exaggera-
tions, had at the time furnished a subject of gossip in
the town, also told heavily to his disadvantage.
Williams having learned from the servant that Ned
was in the habit of going up to Varley had first made his
inquiries there; but neither Bill nor Luke Marner, who
were, the constable speedily learned, his principal friends
there, had seen him. Varley was greatly excited over
the news of the murder. Many of the men worked at
Balready's mill, and had brought back the news at an
early hour, as all work was of course suspended.
There was no grief expressed in Varley at Mr. Mul-
ready's death, indeed the news was received with jubi-
lant exultation. "A good job too,” was the general
verdict; and the constable felt that were Ned in the vil-
lage he would be screened by the whole population. He
was convinced, however, that both Bill Swinton and
Luke Marner were ignorant of his whoreabouts, so gen-


172
THROUGII THE FRAY.
uine had been their astonishment at his questions, and
80 deep their indignation when they learned his errand.
“Thou duss’n’t believe it, Luke?” Bill Swinton said
as he entered the latter's cottage.
"No, lad, oi duss'n't,” Luke said; “no more does
Polly here, but it looks main awkward,” he said slowly
stroking his chin, “if as how what the constable said is
right, and there was a tight atween them that evening.”
"Maister Ned were a hot ’un," Bill said; "he allus
said as how he had a dreadful temper, though oi never
seed nowt of it in him, and he hated Foxey like poison;
that oi allows; but ynless he tells me hisself as he killed
him nowt will make me believe it. He might ha' picked
up summat handy when Foxey hit him and smashed him,
but oi don't believe it of Maister Ned as he would ha
done it arterward.”
“He war a downright bad ’un war Foxey,” Luke said,
"vor sure. No worse in the district, and there's many a
one as would rejoice as he's gone to his account, and oi
believe as whoever's done it has saved Captain Lud from
a job; but there, it's no use a talking of that now. Now,
look here, Bill, what thou hast got to do be this. Thou
hast got to find the boy; oi expect he be hiding some-
wheres up on t'moors. Thou knowst better nor oi wheere
he be likely vor to be. Voind him out, lad, and tell him
as they be arter him. Here be ten punds as oi ha had
laying by me for years ready in case of illness; do thou
give it to him and tell him he be heartily welcome to it,
and can pay me back agin when it suits him. Tell him
as he'd best make straight for Liverpool and git aboard
a ship there for 'Merikee-never moind whether he did
the job or whether he didn't. Things looks agin him
now, and he best be on his way."
“Oi'll do’t,” Bill said, “and oi'll bid thee good-by,
Luke, and thee too, Polly, for ye won't see me back


174
THROUGH THE FRAY.
“Well, it may be so," Mary assented. “It is possible
he may have done it, meaning really only to give him a
fright and a shake; but I hope he didn't. Still if that
was how it happened I will shake hands, Bill, and wish
you good-by and good luck, for it would be best for him
to get away, for I am afraid that the excuse that he only
moant to frighten and not to kill him will not save him.
I am sorry you are going, Bill, very sorry; but if yor
were my own brother I would not say a word to stop
you. Didn't his feyther give up his life to save little
Janey? and I would give mine to save his. But I do
think it will be good for you, Bill; times are bad, and it
has been very hard for you lately in Varley. I know all
about it, and you will do better across the seas. You
will write, won't you, sometimes?"
"Never fear," Bill said huskily, "oi will wroite, Polly;
good-by, and God bless you all; but it mayn't be good-by,
for oi mayn't foind him;" and, wringing the hauds of
Luke and Polly, Bill returned to his cottage, hastily
packed up a few things in a kit, slung it over his shoul-
der on a stick, and started out in search of Ned.
Late that evening there came a knock at the door of
Luke's gottage. On opening it he found Bill standing
there.
"Back again, Bill!—then thou hasn't found him?"
"No," Bill replied in a dejected voice. "Oi ha'
hoonted high and low vor him; oi ha' been to every
place on the moor wheer we ha' been together, and wheer
oi thowt as he might be a-waiting knowing as oi should set
out to look for him as soon as oi heard the news. Oi doin't
think he be nowhere on the moor. Oi have been
a-tramping ever sin’oi started this mourning. Twice oi
ha' been down Maarsten to see if so be as they've took
him, but nowt ain't been seen of him. Oi had just coom
from there now. Thou'st heerd, oi suppose, as the


THROUGTİ TİİE FRA).
145
crowner's jury ha found as Foxey wer murdered by him;
but it bain't true, you know, Luke-be it?"
Bill made the assertions stoutly, but there was a trem-
ulous eagerness in the question which followed it. He
was fagged and exhausted. His faith in Ned was strong,
but he had found the opinion in the town so unanimous
against him that lie longed for an assurance that sonic
one beside himself believed in Ned's innocence.
"Oi doàn't know, Bill,” Luke Šfarner said, stroking
his chin as he always did when he was thinking; oi
doan't know, Bill-oi hoape he didn't do it, wi' all my
heart. But oi doan't knaw aboot it. He war sorely
tried-that be sartain. But if he did it, he did it; it
makes no difference to me. It doan't matter to me one
snap óv the finger wliether the lad killed Foxcy or
whether he didn't—that bain't my business or yours.
What consarn's me is, as the son of the man as saved my
child's loife åt t' cost of his own be hunted by the con-
stables and be in risk of his loife. That's t' question as
comes home to me-oi've had nowt else ringing in my
ears all day. Oi ha' been oot to a searching high and
low. Oi ain't a found him, but oi ha made oop moi
moind whaat I be agoing to do."
They had moved a little åway from the cottage now,
but Luke lowered his voice:
Oi be a-going dowi to t' town in the morning to give
moiself oop vor the murder of Foxey."
Bill gave an exclamation of astonishment:
“But thou didn'st do it, Luke?"
"I míoight ha' done it for ow¢ thou knaw'st, Bill. Ho
wer the worst of maisters, and, as thou knaw'st, Bill, oi
bated him joost as all the country-side did. He's been
warned by King Lud and ha' been obliged to get the
sojèrs at his factory. Well, thoa khówest it was nateral
as he would drive down last noight to see how ť cbaps
ire dormell, thone en obligea: He's 26.0i


176
THROUGH THE FRAY.
at t' engine was a-getting on, and it coomed across my
moind as it wer a good opportunity vor to finish un; so
ther thou hast it.”
Bill gazed in astonishment through the darkness at his
companion.
“But it bain't true, Luke? Thou wast talking to me
arter thou coom'd out of the Coo at noine o'clock, an
thou saidst as thou was off to bed."
"Nowt of the koind,” Luke replied. "Oi told ye,
thou knaw'st, as I wer a-going down to t' toon and oi
had got a job in hand. Oi spoke mysterous loike, and
you noticed as how oi had got a long rope coiled up in
moi hand.”
Bill gave a gasp of astonishment.
“That's what thou hast got to say,” Luke said dog-
gedly; "only astead o' its being at noine o'clock it war
at ten. Oi were just a-slipping owt of the cottage, t'
others were all asleep and knew nowt aboot moi having
goone out."
Bill was silent now.
“Oi wish oi had a-thowt of it,” he said at last; "oi
would ha' doon it moiself.”
“Oi wouldn't ha' let thee, Bill,” Luke said quietly.
“He be a friend of thine, and oi knaw thou lovest him
loike a brother, and a soight mor'n most brothers; but it
be moi roight. The captain gave his loife vor moi child's,
and oi bee a going vor to give mine for his. That will
make us quits. Besides, thou art young; oi be a-getting
on. Jarge, he will be a-arning money soon; and Polly,
she can get a place in sarvice, and ’ul help t' young uns.
They will manage. Oi ha' been thinking it over in all
loites, and ha' settled it all in moi moind.”
Bill was silent for a time and then said:
“Ther be one thing agin' it, Luke, and it be this: As
we can't hear nowt of Maister Ned, oi be a thinking as


THROUGH THE FRAY
17e
he ha' made straight vor Liverpool or Bristol or London,
wi' a view to going straight across the seas or of 'listing,
or doing somewhat to keep out of t’ way. He be sure to
look in t papers to see how things be a-going on here;
and as sure as he sees as how you've gived yourself up and
owed up as you ha' done it, he will coom straight back
again and say as how it were him.
"Maister Ned might ha' killed Foxey in a passion, but
not loike this. He didn't mean to kill him, but only
vor to give him a shaake and frighten him. But oi be
sartin sure as he wonldn't let another be hoonged in his
place. So ye see thou'd do more harm nor good.”
“Oi didn't think of that,” Luke said, rubbing his chin.
"That be so, sure-ly. He'd be bound to coom back agin.
Well, lad, oi will think it over agin avore moorning, and
do thou do t' same. Thou kuaw'st moi wishes now. We
ha' got atween us to get Maister Ned off-that be the
thing as be settled. It doan't matter how it's done, but
it's got to be done soomhow; and oi rely on thee to
maake moi story good, whatever it be.
“There can't be nowt wrong about it—a loife vor a
loife be fair, any way. There be more nor eno' in York-
shire in these toimes, and one more or less be of no
account to any one.”
"Oi be thy man, Luke,” Bill said earnestly. “What-
ever as thou sayest oi will sweer to; but I would reyther
change places.”
"That caan't be, Bill, so it bain't no use thinking
aboot it. Oi knaw thou wilt do thy best vor Polly ariel ľ
young uns. It ’ull be rough on her, but it hain't to be
helped; and as she will be going away from Varley and
settling elsewhere, it wouldn't be brought up again her
as she had an uncle as were a Luddite and got hoong for
killing a bad maister. Good-noight, lad! oi will see thee
i't morning.”


THROUGH THE FRAY.
181
and wild laughter she over and over again accused Ned
as the murderer of her husband. Dr. Green, when quus-
tioned, peremptorily refused to give any information
whatever as to his patient's opinions or words.
“The woman is well-nigh a fool at the best of times,"
he said irritably, "and at present she knows no more
what she is saying than a baby. Her mind is thrown
completely off any little balance that it had and she is to
all intents and purposes a lunatic.”
Only with his friend Mr. Porson, who called upon him
after the first visit had been paid to Mrs. Mulready im-
mediately after her husband's body had been brought in,
did Dr. Green discuss in any way what had happened.
“I agree with you, Porson, in doubting whether the
poor boy had a hand in this terrible business. We both
know, of course, that owing to the bad training and total
absence of control when he was a child in India his tem-
per was, when he first came here, very hot and ungov-
ernable. His father often deplored the fact to me,
blaming himself as being to a great extent responsible
for it, through not having had time to watch and curb
him when he was a child; but he was, as you say, an ex-
cellently disposed boy, and your testimony to the efforts
which he has made to overcome his faults is valuable.
But I cannot conceal from you, who are a true friend of
the boy's, what I should certainly tell to no one else,
namely, that I fear that his mother's evidence will be
terribly against him.
“She has always been prejudiced against him. She is
a silly, selfish woman. So far as I could judge she cared
little for her first husband, who was a thousand times too
good for her; but strangely enough she appears to have
had something like a real affection for this man Mul-
ready, who, between ourselves, I believe, in spite of his
general popularity in the town, to have been a bad fel-


182
THROUGH THE FRAY.
low. One doesn't like to speak ill of the dead under
ordinary circumstances, but his character is an important
element in the question before us. Of course among my
poorer patients I hear things of which people in general
are ignorant, and it is certain that there was no employer
in this part of the country so thoroughly and heartily
detested by his men.”
"I agree with you cordially,” Mr. Porson said. “Un-
fortunately I know from Ned's own lips that the lad
hated his stepfather; but I can't bring myself to believe
that he has done this,"
"I hope not,” the doctor said gravely, "I am sure I
hope not; but I have been talking with his brother, who
is almost heart-broken, poor boy,and he tells me that there
was a terrible scene last night. It seems that Mulready was
extremely cross and disagreeable at tea-time; nothing,
however, took place at the table; but after the meal was
over, and the two boys were alone together in that little
study of theirs, Ned made some disparaging remarks
about Mulready. The door, it seems, was open. The
man overheard them, and brutally assaulted the boy, and
indeed Charlie thought that he was killing him. He
rushed in and fetched his mother, who interfered, but
not before Ned had been sadly knocked about. Mul-
ready then drove off to his factory, and Ned, who seems
to have been half-stunned, went out almost without say-
ing a word, and, as you know, hasn't been heard of since.
“It certainly looks very dark against him. You and
I, knowing the boy, and liking him, may have our doubts,
but the facts are terribly against him, and unless he is
absolutely in the position to prove an alibi, I fear that it
"I cannot believe it,” Mr. Porson said, "although I
admit that the facts are terribly against him. Pray, if
you get an opportunity urgo upon his mother that her


THROUGH THE FRAY.
183
talk will do Ned horrible damage and may cost him his
life. I shall at once go and instruct Wakefield to appear
for him, if he is taken, and to obtain the best profes-
sional assistance for his defense. I feel completely un-
hinged by the news, the boy has been such a favorite of
mine ever since I came here; he has fought hard against
his faults, and had the makings of a very fine character
in him. God grant that he may be able to clear himself
of this terrible accusation!”
- Ned's first examination was held on the morning after
he had given himself up, before Mr. Simmonds and Mr.
Thompson. The sitting was a private one. The man
who first found Mr. Mulready's body testified to the fact
that a rope had been laid across the road. Constable
Williams proved that when he arrived upon the spot
nothing had been touched. Man and horse lay where
they had fallen, the gig was broken in pieces, a strong
rope was stretched across the road. He said that on
taking the news to Mrs. Mulready he had learned from
the servants that the prisoner had not slept at home that
night, and that there had been a serious quarrel between
him and the deceased the previous evening.
After hearing this evidence Ned was asked if he was
in a position to aocount for the time which had elapsed
between his leaving home and his arrival at his nurse's
cottage.
He replied that he could only say that he had been
wandering on the moor.
The case was remanded for a week, as the evidence of
Mrs. Mulready and the others in the house would be
necessary, and it was felt that y mother could not be
called upon to testify against her son with her husband
lying dead in the house,
"I am sorry indeed to gee you in this position," Mr.
Slipmondo said to Ned. "My friendship for your lata


184
THROUGII THE FRAY.
father, and I may say for yourself, makes the position
doubly painful to me, but I can only do my duty. I
should advise you to say nothing at this period of the
proceedings; but if there is anything which you think of
importance to say, and which will give another complex-
ion to the case, I am ready to hear it.”
"I have nothing to say, sir," Ned said quietly, "ex-
cept that I am wholly innocent of the affair. As you
may see by my face I was brutally beaten by my step-
father on the evening before his death. I went out of
the house scarce knowing what I was doing. I had no
fixed intention of going anywhere or of doing anything,
I simply wanted to get away from home. I went on to
the moors and wandered about, I suppose for some hours.
Then I threw myself down under the shelter of a pile of
stones and lay there awake till it was morning. Then I
determined to go to the house of my old nurse and to
stop there until I was fit to be seen. In the afternoon I
heard what had taken place here, and that I was accused
of the murder, and I at once came over here and gave
myself up.”
"As you are not in a position to prove what you state,"
Mr. Simmonds said, “we have nothing to do but to re-
mand the case until this day week. I may say that I
have received a letter from Dr. Green saying that he and
Mr. Porson are ready to become your bail to any amount;
but we could not think of accepting bail in a charge of
inurder."
Ned bowed and followed the constable without a word
to the cells. His appearance had not been calculated to
create a favorable impression. His clothes were stained
and muddy; his lips were swollen, his eyes were discolored
and so puifed that he could scarcely see between the lids,
his forehead wag bruisod and out in several places. He
had paeaed two sleepless nighte; hia voice bad lost its


186
THROUGH THE FRAY.
Ned spoke in a hard unnatural voice, without the
slightest tone of trouble or emotion. Mr. Porson per-
ceived at once that his nerves were brought up to such a
state of tension by the events of the preceding forty-
eight hours that he was scarce responsible for what he
was saying.
"I think I meant for you, Ned. I cannot pretend to
have any feeling for the man who is dead, especially
when I look at your face."
“Yes, it is not a nice position for me," Ned said coldly,
"just at the age of seventeen to be suspected of the mur-
der of one's stepfather, and such a nice stepfather too,
such a popular man in the town! And not only sus-
pected, but with a good chance of being hung for it!”
“Ned, my dear boy,” Mr. Porson said kindly, don't
talk in that way. You know that we, your friends, are
sure that you did not do it.”
“Are you quite sure, sir?" Ned said. "I am not quite
sure myself. I know I should have done it if I had had
the chance. I thought over all sorts of ways in which
I might kill him, and I wouldn't quite swear that I did
not think of this plan and carry it out, though it doesn't
quite seem to me that I did. I have no very definite
idea what happened that night, and certainly could give
but u vague account of myself from the time I left the
house till next morning, when I found myself lying stiff
and half-frozen on the moor. Anyhow, whether I killed
him or not it's all the same. I should have done so if I
could. And if some one else has saved me the trouble I
suppose I ought to feel obliged to him."
Mr. Porson saw that in Ned's present state it was use-
less to talk to him. Two nights without sleep, together
with the intense excitement he had gone through, had
worked his brain to such a state of tension that he was
not responsible for what he was saying. Further con.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
187
versation would do him harm rather than good. What
he required was rest and, if possible, sleep. Mr. Porson
therefore only said quietly:
"We will not talk about it now, Ned; your brain is
over-excited with all you have gone through. What you
want now is rest and sleep.”
“I don't feel sleepy, Mr. Porson. I don't feel as if I
should ever get to sleep again. I don't look like it,
do I?"
"No, Ned, I don't think you do at present; but I wish
you did, my boy. Well, remember that we, your old
friends, all believe you innocent of this thing, and that
we will spare no pains to prove it to the world. I see,"
he said, looking at the table, “that you have not touched
your breakfast. I am not surprised that you could not
eat it. I will see that you have a cup of really good tea
sent you in."
"No," Ned said with a laugh which it pained Mr. Por-
son to hear, “I have not eaten since I had tea at home.
It was only the day before yesterday, but it seems a year."
On leaving the cell Mr. Porson went to Dr. Green,
who lived only three or four doors away, told him of the
state in which he had found Ned, and begged him to
give him a strong and, as far as possible, tasteless seda-
tive, and to put it in a cup of tea.
“Yes, that will be the best thing," the doctor replied.
"I had better not go and see him, for talking will do
him harm rather than good. We shall be having him on
our hands with brain-fever if this goes on. I will go
round with the tea myself to the head constable and tell
him that no one must on any account be permitted to
see Ned, and that rest and quiet are absolutely necessary
for him. I will put a strong dose of opium into the
kea."
Ten minutes later Dr. Green called upon the chief


THROUGH THE HRÁT. .
constable and told him that he feared from what he had
heard from Mr. Porson that Ned was in a very sritical
state, and that unless he got rest and sleep he would
probably have an attack of brain-fever, even if his mind
did not give way altogether.
“I was intending to have him removed at once,” the
officer said, “to a comfortable room at my own house.
He was only placed where he is temporarily. I exchanged
a few words with him after the examination and was
struck myself with the strangeness of his tone. Won't
you see him?"
“I think that any talk is bad for him,” the doctor said.
“I have put a strong dose of opium in this tea, and I
hope it will send him off to sleep. When he recovers I
will see him.”
“I think, doctor," the constable said significantly, "it
would be a good thing if you were to see him at once.
You see, if things go against him, and between ourselves
the case is a very ugly one, if you could get in the box
and say that you saw him here, and that, in your opinion,
his mind was shaken, and that as likely as pot he had
not been responsible for his actions from the time he left
his mother's house, it might save his life.”
"That is a capital idea,” Dr. Green said, "and Porson's
evidence would back mine. Yes, I will go in and see
him even if my visit does do him harm.”
"I will move hiin into his new quarters first,” the offi-
cer said; “then if he drinks the tea he may, if he feels
sleepy, throw himself on the bed and go off. He will be
quiet and undisturbed there."
Two or three minutes later the doctor was shown into
à comfortable room. A fire was burning brightly, and
the tea was placed on a little tray with a new roll and a
pat of butter.


PÜROUGII TÚ É FRAY.
Ned's mood had somewhat changed. He received the
doctor with a boisterous laugh.
"How are you, doctor? Here I am, you sce, monarch
of all I survey. This is the first time you have visited
me in a room which I could consider entirely my own,
Not a bad place either.”
“I hope you will not be here long, Ned,” Dr. Green
said, humoring him. “We shall all do our best to get you
out as soon as we can.”
“I don't think your trying will be of much use, doc-
tor; but what's the odds as long as you are happy!”
"That's right, my boy, nothing like looking at matters
cheerfully. You know, lad, how warmly all your old
friends are with you. Would you like me to bring
Charlie next time I come?”
"No, no, doctor," Ned said almost with a cry. "No.
I have thought it over, and Charlie must not see me. It
will do him harm and I shall break down. I shall have
to see him at the trial-of course he must be there-that
will be bad enough.”
“Very well,” the doctor said quietly, "just as you
like, Ned. I shall be seeing you every day, and will givo
him news of you. I am going to see him now.”
"Tell him I am well and comfortable and jolly," Ned
said recklessly.
"I will tell him you are comfortable, Ned, and I should
like to tell him that you had eaten your breakfast."
"Oh, yes! Tell him that. Say I ate it voraciously','S
And he swallowed down the cup of tea and took a bite at
the roll.
“I will tell him," Dr. Green said. "I will come in
again this evening, and will perhaps bring in with me a
litile medicine. You will be all the better for a soothing
draught.”


190
THROUGH THE FRAY.
.
"I want no draughts,” Ned said. “Why should I?
I am as right as pinepence."
“Very well. We will see,” the doctor said. "Now I
must be going my rounds."
As-soon as he had gone Ned began pacing up and down
the room, as he had done the whole of the past night
without intermission. Gradually, however, the powerful
narcotic began to take effect. His walk became slower,
his head began to droop, and at last he stumbled toward
the bed in the corner of the room, threw himself heavily
down, and was almost instantly sound asleep. Five
minutes later the door opened quietly and Dr. Green
entered.
He had been listening outside the door, had noticed
the change in the character of Ned's walk, and having
heard the fall upon the bed, and had no fear of his rous-
ing himself at his entrance. The boy was lying across
the bed, and the doctor, who was a powerful man, lifted
him gently and laid him with his head upon the pillow.
He felt his pulse, and lifted his eyelid.
“It was a strong dose,” he said to himself, "far stronger
than I should have dared give him at any other time, but
nothing less would have acted, with his brain in such an
excited state. I must keep in the town to-day and look
in from time to time and see how he is going on. It
may be that I shall have to take steps to rouse him."
At the next visit Dr. Green looked somewhat anxious
as he listened to the boy's breathing and saw how strongly
he was under the influence of the narcotic. “Under
any other circumstances," he said to the chief constable,
who had entered the room with him, "I should take strong
measures to arouse bim at once, but as it is I will risk it.
I know it is a risk both for him and me, for a nice scrape
I should get in if he slipped through my fingers; but


THROUGH THE FRAY.
.195
Dr. Green found Ned looking all the better for his
wash. The swelling of his face had now somewhat
abated, but the bruises were showing out in darker
colors than before; still he looked fresher and better.
"Here is your breakfast, Ned, and if you don't enjoy
it Jane will be terribly disappointed."
"I shall enjoy it, doctor. I feel very weak; but I do
think I am hungry."
“You ought to be, Ned, seeing that you have eaten
nothing for two days."
The doctor removed the cloth which covered the tray.
The meal consisted of three kidneys and two eggs, and a
great pile of buttered toast. The steam curled ont of
the spout of a dainty china teapot, and there was a small
jug brimful of cream.
The tears came into Ned's eyes.
"Oh! how good you are, doctor!"
“Nonsense, good!" the doctor said; "come, eat away,
that will be the best thanks to Jane and me.”
Ned needed no pressing. He ate languidly at first;
but his appetite came as he went on, and he drank cup
after cop of the fragrant tea, thick with cream. With
the exception of one egg, he cleared the tray.
“There, doctor!" he said, as he pushed back his chair;
"if you are as satisfied as I am you must be contented
indeed."
“I am, Ned; that meal has done us both a world of
good. Ah! here is Porson, just arrived at the right
moment."
“How are you, Ned?" the master asked heartily.
"I am quite well, sir, thank you. Sleep and the doc-
tor, and the doctor's cook, have done wonders for me. I
hear you came yesterday, sir, but I don't seem to remem-
ber much about it.”
“Yes, I was here, Ned,” Mr. Porson said, “but you


TEROUGH THR FRAY
194
through Varley; the lights weren't out, and I wondered
what Bill would say if I were to knock at his door and
he opened it and saw what a state my face was in. Then
I went out on the moor, and it seems to me that I walked
about for hours, and the longer I walked the more angry
I was. At last-it could not have been long before
morning, I think--I lay down for a time, aad then when
it was light I made up my mind to go over and see Abi-
jah. I knew she would he with me. That's all I re-
member about it. Does my mother think I did it?”
Dr. Green hesitated a moment.
“Your mother is not in a state to think one way or
the other, Ned; she is in such a state of grief that she
hardly knows what she is saying or doing.”
In fact Mrs. Mulready entertained no doubt whatever
upon the subject, and had continued to speak of Ned's
wickedness until Dr. Green that morning had lost all
patience with her, and told her she ought to be ashamed
of herself to be the first to accuse her son, and that if he
was hung she would only have herself to blame for it.
Ned guessed by the doctor's answer that his mother
was against him.
“It is curious," he said, “she did not take on so after
my father's death, and he was always kind and good to
her, while this man was just the reverse.”
"There's never any understanding women,” Dr. Green
said testily, “and your mother is a singularly inconse-
quent and weak specimen of her sex. Well, Ned, and so
that is all you can tell us about the way you passed that
unfortunate evening. What a pity it is, to be sure, that
you did not rouse up your friend Bill. His evidence
would probably have cleared you at once. As it is, of
course we believe your story, my boy. The question is,
will the jury believe it?"
"I don't seem to care much whether they do or not,"


198
THROUGH THE FRAY.
Ned said sadly, "unless we find the man who did it.
Every one will think me guilty even if I am acquitted.
Fancy going on living all one's life and knowing that
everyone one meets is thinking to himself, 'That is the
man who killed his stepfather'-it would be better to be
hung at once."
“You must look at it in a more hopeful way than that,
Ned,” Mr. Porson said kindly; "many will from the first
believe, with us, that you are innocent. You will live it
down, my boy, and sooner or later we may hope and be-
lieve that God will suffer the truth to be known. At the
worst, you know you need not go on living here. The
world is wide, and you can go where your story is un-
known.
"Do not look on the darkest side of things. And now,
for the present, I have brought you down a packet of
books. If I were you I would try to read anything is
better than going on thinking. You will want all your
wits about you, and the less you worry your mind the
better. Mr. Wakefield will represent you at the exami-
nation next week; but I do not see that there will be
much for him to do, as I fear there is little doubt that
you will be committed for trial, when of course we shall
get the best legal assistance for you. I will tell him ex-
actly what you have said to me, and he can then come
and see you or not as he likes. I shall come in every
day. I have already obtained permission from the mag-
istrates to do so. I shall go now and see Charlie and
tell him all about it. It will cheer him very much, poor
boy. You may be sure he didn't think you guilty; still,
your assurance that you know nothing whatever about it
will be a comfort to him.”
“Yes," Ned said, “Charlie knows that I would not
tell a lie to save my life, though he knows that I might
possibly kill any one when I am in one of my horrible


THROUGH THE FRAY.
199
tempers; and I did think I was getting over them, Mr.
Porson!” he broke out with a half sob. "I have really
tried hard."
“I know you have, Ned. I am sure you have done
your best, my boy, and you have been sorely tried; but;
now, I must be off. Keep up your spirits, hope for the
best, and pray God to strengthen you to bear whatever
· may be in store for you, and to clear you from this
charge."
That evening when Mr. Porson was in his study the
servant came in and said that a young man wished to
speak to him.
“Who is it, Mary?”
"He says his name is Bill Swinton, sir.”
“Oh! I know," the master said; "show him in."
Bill was ushered in.
“Sit down, Bill,” Mr. Porson said; "I have heard of
you as a friend of Sankey's. I suppose you have come
to speak to me about this terrible business?”
“Ay,” Bill said, "that oi be, sir, seeing as how Ned
always spake of you as a true friend, and loiked you
hearty. They say too as you ha' engaged Lawyer Wake-
field to defend him.”
"That is so, Bill. I am convinced of the boy's inno-
cence. He has always been a favorite of mine. He has
no rclations to stand by him now, poor boy, so we who
are his friends must do our best for him."
"Surely,” Bill said heartily; "and dost really think as
he didn't do it?"
"I may say I am quite sure he did not, Bill. Didn't
you think so too?”
"No, sir,” Bill said; "it never entered my moind as he
didn't do it. Oi heard as how t' chap beat Maister Ned
cruel, and it seemed to me natural loike as he should
sarye him out. Oi didn't suppose as how he meant por


200
THROUGII TIH FRAY.
to kill him, but as everyone said as how he did the job it
seemed to me loike enough; but of course it didn't make
no differ to oi whether so be as he killed un or not.
Maister Ned's moi friend, and oi stands by him; still oi
be main glad to hear as you think he didn't do it; but
will the joodge believe it?”
“Ah! that I cannot say," Mr. Porson replied. "I
know the lad and believe his word; but at present ap-
pearances are sadly against him. That unfortunate affair
that he had with my predecessor induced a general idea
that he was very violent-tempered. Then it has been
notorious that he and his stepfather did not get on well
together, and this terrible quarrel on the evening of Mr.
Mulready's death seems only too plainly to account for
the affair; still, without further evidence, I question if a
jury will find him guilty. It is certain he had 10 rope
when he went out, and unless the prosecution can prove
that he got possession of a rope they cannot bring the
guilt home to him."
"No, surely,” Bill assented, and sat for some time
without further speech; then he went on, "now, sir,
what oi be come to thee about be this. Thou bee'st his
friend and knaw'st best what 'ould be a good thing for
him. Now we ha' been a-talking aboot a plan, Luke
Marner and oi, as is Maister Ned's friends, and we can
get plenty of chaps to join us. We supposes as arter the
next toime as they has him up in coort they will send
him off to York Castle to be tried at the 'sizes,”
“Yes; I have no doubt he will be committed after liis
next appearance, Bill; but what is the plan that you inil
your friend Luke were thinking of?”.
"Well, we was a-thinking vor twenty or so on us to
coom down at noight and break open t' cells. There ke
only t' chief constable and one other, and they wouldn't
be no good agin us, and we corld oet: Maister Nedost


THROUGH THE FRAY.
201
and away long afore t sojers would have toime to wake
up and coom round; then we could hide un up on t'
moor till there was toime to get un away across the seas.
Luke he be pretty well bent on it, but oi says as before
we did nothing oi would coom and ax thee, seeing as
how thou bee'st a friend of his."
“No, Bill,” Mr. Porson said gravely. “It would not
do at all, and I am glad you came to ask me. If I
thought it certain that the jury would find a verdict of
guilty, and that Ned, innocent as I believe him of the
crime, would be hung, I should say that your plan might
be worth thinking of; for in that case Ned might possi-
bly be got away till we his friends here could get at the
bottom of the matter. Still it would be an acknowledg-
ment for the time of his guilt, and I am sure that Ned
himself would not run away without standing his trial
even if the doors of his cell were opened. I shall see
him to-morrow morning, and will tell him of your scheme
on his behalf. I am sure he will be grateful, but I am
pretty certain that he will not avail himself of it. If
you will come down to-morrow evening I will let you
know exactly what he says.”
As Mr. Porson expected, Ned, although much moved
at the offer of his humble friends to free him by force,
altogether declined to accept it.
"It is just like Bill,” he said, “ready to get into any
scrape himself to help me; but I must stand my trial. I
know that even if they cannot prove me guilty I cannot
prove I am innocent; still, to run away would be an ac-
knowledgment of guilt, and I am not going to do that."
On the day appointed Ned was again brought up before
the magistrates. The examination was this time in pub-
lic, and the justice-room was crowded. Ned, whose face
was now recovering from the marks of ill usage, was pala
and quiet. He listened in silence to the evidence prova


202
THROUGH THE FRAT.
ing the finding of Mr. Mulready's body. The next wit-
ness put into the box was one of the engineers at the
factory; he proved that the rope which had been used in
upsetting the gig bad been cut from one which he had a
short time before been using for moving a portion of the
machinery. He had used the rope about an hour before
Mr. Mulready came back in the evening, and it was then
whole. After it had been done with it was thrown out-
side the mill to be out of the way, as it would not be
required again.
After he had given his evidence Mr. Wakefield asked:
“Did you hear any one outside the mill when Mr.
Mulready was there?”
“No, sir; I heard nothing."
"Any one might have entered the yard, I suppose, and
found the rope ??
“Yes; the gates were open, as we were at work."
“Would the rope be visible to any one who entered the
yard?"
“It would not be seen plainly, because it was a dark
night; but any one prowling about outside the mill might
have stumbled against it.”
“You have no reason whatever for supposing that it
was Mr. Edward Sankey who cut this rope more than
anyone else?"
“No, sir."
Charlie was the next witness. The boy was as white
as a sheet, and his eyes were swollen with crying. He
glanced piteously at his brother, and exclaimed with a
sob, “Oh! Ned."
"Don't mind, Charlie," Ned said quietly. “Tell the
whole story exactly as it happened. You can't do me
any harm, old boy."
So encouraged Oharlie told the whole story of the
quarrel arising in the first place from his stepfather's ill
tomper at the tea-table.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
203
“Your brother meant nothing specially uppleasant in
calling your stepfather Foxey?” Mr. Wakefield asked.
"No, sir; he had always called him so even before he
knew that he was going to marry mother. It was a
name, I believe, the men called him, and Ned got it from
them."
“I believe that your stepfather had received threaten-
ing letters, had he not?”.
“Yes, sir, several; he was afraid to put his new ma-
chines to work because of them.”
"Thank you, that will do,” Mr. Wakefield said. “I
have those letters in my possession,” he went on to the
magistrates. "They are proof that the deceased had
enemies who had threatened to take his life. Shall I
produce them now?"
"It is hardly worth while, Mr. Wakefield, though they
can be brought forward at the trial, I may say, indeed,
that we have seen some of them already, for it was on
account of these letters that we applied for the military
to be stationed here,”
It was not thought necessary to call Mrs. Mulrendy;
but the servant gave her evidence as to what she had
heard of the quarrel, and as to the absence of Ned from
home that night.
"Unless you are in a position to produce evidence, Mr.
Wakefield, proving clearly that at the time tho murder
was committed the prisoner was at a distance from the
spot, we are prepared to commit him for trial.”
Mr. Wakefield intimated that he should reserve his
evidence for the trial itself, and Ned was then formally
committed,
The examination in no way altered the tone of public
opinion, The general opinion was that Ned had followed
his stepfather to the mill, intending to attack him, that
he had stumbled onto the coil of rope, and the idea oc-


204
THROUGH THE FRAY.
curred to him of tying it across the road and upsetting
the gig on its return. Charlie's evidence as to the sav-
age assault upon his brother had created a stronger feel-
ing of sympathy than had before prevailed, and had the
line of defense been, that, smarting under his injuries,
Ned had suddenly determined to injure his stepfather by
upsetting the gig, but without any idea of killing him,
the general opinion would have been that under such
provocation as Ned had received a lengthened term of
imprisonment would have been an ample punishment.
More than one, indeed, were heard to say, “Well, if I
were on the jury, my verdict would be, Served him
right." Still, although there was greater sympathy
than before with Ned, there were few, indeed, who
doubted his guilt.
After Ned was removed from court he was taken back
by the chief constable to his house, and ten minutes later
he was summoned into the parlor, where he found Charlie
and Lucy waiting him. Lucy, who was now ten years
old, sprang forward to meet him; he lifted her, and for
awhile she lay with her head on his shoulder and her
arms round his neck, sobbing bitterly, while Charlie
clung to his brother's disengaged hand.
“Don't cry, Lucy, don't cry, little woman; it will all
come right in the end;" but Lucy's tears were not to be
stanched. Ned sat down, and after a time soothed her
into stillness, but she still lay nestled up in his arms.
"It was dreadful, Ned,” Charlie said, “having to go
into court as a witness against you. I had thought of
running away, but did not know where to go to, and
then Mr. Porson had a talk with me and told me that it
was of the greatest importance that I should tell overy-
thing exactly word for word, just as it happened. He
said every one knew there had been a quarrel, and that
if I did not tell everything it would seem as if I was


THROUGH THE FRAY.
205
keeping something back in order to screen you, and that
would do you a great deal of harm, and that, as really
you were not to blame in the quarrel, my evidence would
be in your favor rather than against you. He says he
knew that you would wish me to tell exactly what took
place.”
“Certainly, Charlie; there is nothing I could want
hid. I was wrong to speak of him as Foxey, and to let
fly as I did about him; but there was nothing intended
to offend him in that, because, of course, I had no idea
that he could hear me. The only thing I have to blame
myself very much for is for getting into a wild passion.
I don't think any one would say I did wrong in going
out of the house after being knocked about so; but if I
had not got into a passion, and had gone straight to
Bill's, or to Abijah, or to Mr. Porson, which would have
been best of all, to have stopped the night, all this would
not have come upon me; but I let myself get into a blind
passion and stopped in it for hours, and I am being pun-
ished for it."
“It was natural that you should get in a passion,"
Charlie said stoutly. “I think any one would have got
in a passion.”
"I don't think you would, Charlie," Ned said, smiling.
"No," Charlie replied; "but then you see that is not
my way. I should have cried all night; but then I am
not a great, strong fellow like you, and it would not be
so hard to be knocked about.”
"It's no use making excuses, Charlie. I know I ought
not to have given way to my temper like that. Now,
Lucy dear, as you are feeling better, you must sit up and
talk to me. How is mother?"
“Mother is in bed,” Lucy said. “She's always in bed
now; the house is dreadful, Ned, without you, and they
say you are not to come back yet,” and the tears came
very near to overflowing again.


206
THROUGH THE FRA Y.
"Ah! well, I hope I shall be back before long, Luoy."
“I hope so," Lucy said; “but you know you will soon
be going away again to be a soldier.”
“I shall not go away again now, Lucy," Ned said qui.
etly. “When I come back it will be for good.”
"Oh! that will be nice,” Lucy said joyously, "just as
it used to be, with no one to be cross and scold about
everything.”
“Hush! little woman, don't talk about that. He had
his faults, dear, as we all have, but he had a great deal
to worry him, and perhaps we did not make allowances
enough for him, and I do think he was really fond of
you, Lucy, and when people are dead we should never
speak ill of them.”
“I don't want to," Lucy said, "and I didn't want him
to be fond of me when he wasn't fond of you and Charlie
or mother. It seems to me he wasn't fond of mother,
and yet she does nothing but cry; I can't make that out,
can you?”
Ned did not answer; his mother's infatuation for Mr.
Mulready had always been a puzzle to him, and he could
at present think of no reply which would be satisfactory
to Lucy.
A constable now came in and said that there were other
visitors waiting to see Ned. He then withdrew, leaving
the lad to say good-by to his brother and sister alone.
Ned kept up a brave countenance, and strove to make
the parting as easy as possible for the others, but both
were crying bitterly as they went out.
Ned's next visitors were Dr. Green and Mr. Porson.
“We have only a minute or two, my boy,” Mr. Porson
said, “for the gig is at the door. The chief constable is
going to drive you to York himself. You will go half-
way and sleep on the road to-night. It is very good of
him, as in that way no one will suspect that you are any


THROUGH TIE FRAY,
2014
but a pair of ordinary travelers. Keep up your spirits,
my boy. We have sent to London for a detective from
Bow Street to try and ferret out something of this mys-
terious business, and even if we do not succeed, I have
every faith that it will come right in the end. And now
good-by, my boy, I shall see you in a fortnight, for of
course I shall come over to York to the trial to give evi-
dence as to character."
“And so shall I, Ned, my patients must get on with-
out me for a day or two,” the doctor said. “Mr. Wake-
field is waiting to see you. He has something to tell you
whioli may help to cheer you. He says it is of no legal
value, but it seems to me important."


208
THROUGH THE FRAY.
CHAPTER XV.
NOT GUILTY.
As soon as Mr. Porson and the doctor had left him.
Mr. Wakefield appeared.
“Well, Sankey, I hope you are not downcast at the
magistrates' decision. It was a certainty that they would
have to commit you, as we could not prove a satisfactory
alibi. Never mind, I don't think any jury will find
against you on the evidence they have got, especially in
the face of those threatening letters and the fact that
several men in Mulready's position have been murdered
by the Luddites."
"It won't be much consolation to me, sir, to be ac-
quitted if it can't be proved to the satisfaction of every
one that I am innocent.”
“Tut, tut! my boy; the first thing to do is to get you
out of the hands of the law. After that we shall have
time to look about us and see if we can lay our hands on
the right man. A curious thing has happened to-day
while I was in court. A little boy left a letter for me at
my office here; it is an ill-written scrawl, as you see, but
certainly important."
Ned took the paper, on which was written in a scrawl-
ing hand:
"Sir, Maister Sankey be innocent of the murder of
Foxey. I doan't want to put my neck in a noose, but it
so be as they finds him guilty in coort and be a-going to
hang him, I shall come forward and say as how I did it.
I bean't agoing to let him be hung for this job. A loife
for a loife, saes oi; so tell him to keep up his heart."


TIROUGU TUE FRAY.
209
There was no signature to the paper.
Ned looked up with delight in his face.
“But won't the letter clear me, Mr. Wakefield ? It
shows that it was not me, but some one else who did it.”
"No, Sankey, pray do not cherish any false hopes on
that ground. The letter is valueless in a legal way. To
you and to your friends it may be a satisfaction; but it
can have no effect on the court. There is nothing to
prove that it is genuine. It may have been written by
auy friend of yours with a view of obtaining your acquit-
tal. Of course we shall put it in at the trial, but it can-
not be accepted as legal evidence in any way. Still a
thing of that sort may have an effect upon some of the
jury.'
Ned looked again at the letter, and a shade came over
his face now that he looked at it carefully. He recog-
nized in a moment Bill's handwriting. He had himself
instructed him by setting him copies at the time he was
laid up with the broken leg, and Bill had stuck to it so
far that he was able to read and write in a rough way.
Ned's first impulse was to tell Mr. Wakefield who had
written the note, but he thought that it might get Bill
into a scrape. It was evidently written by his friend,
solely to create an impression in his favor, and he won-
dered that such an idea should have entered Bill's head,
which was by no means an imaginative one. As to the
young fellow having killed Mr. Mulready it did not even
occur to Ned for a moment.
As, seated by the side of the chief constable, he drove
along that afternoon, Ned turned it over anxiously in
his mind whether it would be honest to allow this letter
to be produced in court, knowing that it was only the
device of a friend. Finally he decided to let matters
take their course.
"I am innocent,” he said to himself, "and what I have


210
THROUGI TUE FRA Y.
got to live for is to clear myself from this charge. Mr.
Wakefield said this letter would not be of value one way
or the other, and if I were to say Bill wrote it he might
insist upon Bill's being arrested, and he might find it
just as hard to prove his innocence as I do."
The assizes were to come on in three weeks. Ned was
treated with more consideration than was generally the
case with prisoners in those days, when the jails were
terribly mismanaged; but Mr. Simmonds had written to
the governor of the prison asking that every indulgence
that could be granted should be shown to Ned, and Mr.
Porson had also, before the lad left Marsden, insisted on
his accepting a sum of money which would enable him to
purchase such food and comforts as were permitted to be
bought by prisoners, able to pay for them, awaiting their
trial,
Thus Ned obtained the boon of a separate cell, he was
allowed to have books and writing materials, and to have
his meals in from outside the prison.
The days, however, passed but slowly, and Ned was
heartily glad when the time for the assizes was at hand
and his suspense was to come to an end. His case came
on for trial on the second day of the sessions. On the
previous evening he received a visit from Mr. Wakefield,
who told him that Mr. Porson, Dr. Green and Charlie
had come over in the coach with him.
“You will be glad to hear that your mother will not
be called," the lawyer said. "The prosecution, I sup.
pose, thought that it would have a bad effect to call upon
à mother to give evidence against her son; besides, she
could prove no more than your brother will be able to
do. If they had called her, Green would have given her
a certificate that she was confined to her bed and could
not possibly attend. However I am glad they did not
call her, for the absence of a witness called against the


THROUGH TILE FRAY.
211
prisoner, but supposed to be favorable to him, always
counts against him.”
“And you have no clue as who did it, Mr. Wakefield?”
“Not a shadow," the lawyer replied. “Ve have had
a man down from town ever since you have been away,
but we have done no good. He went up to Varley and
tried to get into the confidence of the croppers, but some-
how they suspected him to be a spy seut down to inquire
into the Luddite business, and he had a pretty narrow
escape of his life. He was terribly knocked about before
he could get out of the public-house, and they chased
him all the way down into Marsden. Luckily he was a
pretty good runner, and had the advantage of having
lighter shoes on than they had, or they would have killed
him to a certainty. No, my lad, we can prove nothing;
we simply take the ground that you didn't do it; that
he was a threatened man and unpopular with his hands;
and there is not a shadow of proof against you except
the fact that he had ill-treated you just before.”
"And that I was known to bear him ill-will,” Ned
said sadly.
“Yes, of course that's unfortunate," the lawyer said
uneasily. “Of course they will make a point of that,
but that proves nothing. Most boys of your age do ob-
ject to a stepfather. Of course we shall put it to the
jury that there is nothing uncommon about that. Oh!
no, I do not think they have a strong case; and Jr.
Grant, who is our leader, and who is considered the best
man on the circuit, is convinced we shall get a verdict."
“But what do people think at Marsden, Jr. Waku-
field? Do people generally think I ain guilty?"
"Pooh! pooh!” Mr. Wakefield said hastily. “What
does it matter what people think? Most people are fools.
The question we have to concern ourselves with is what
do the jury think, or at any rate with what they think is


212
THROUGH THE FRAY.
proved, and Mr. Grant says he does not believe any jury
could find you guilty upon the evidence. He will work
them up. I know he is a wonderful fellow for working
up.”
Mr. Grant's experience of juries turned out to be well
founded. Ned, as he stood pale, but firm and composed
in the dock, felt that his case was well-nigh desperate
when he heard the speech for the prosecution. His long
and notorious ill-will against the deceased, “one of the
most genial and popular gentlemen in that part of the
great county of Yorkshire,” was dwelt upon. Evidence
would be brought to show that even on the occasion of
his mother's marriage the happiness of the ceremonial
was marred by the scowls and menacing appearance of
this most unfortunate and ill-conditioned lad; how some
time after the marriage this young fellow had violently
assaulted his stepfather, and had used words in the hear-
ing of the servants which could only be interpreted as a
threat upon his life. This indeed, was not the first time
that this boy had been placed in the dock as a prisoner.
Upon a former occasion he had been charged with as-
saulting and threatening the life of his schoolmaster, and
although upon that occasion he had escaped the conse-
quences of his conduct by what must now be considered
as the ill-timed leniency of the magistrates, yet the facts
were undoubted and undenied.
Then the counsel proceeded to narrate the circum.
stances of the evening up to the point when Mr. Mul.
ready left the house.
"Beyond that point, gentlemen of the jury,” the
counsel said, “nothing certain is known. The rest must
be mere conjecture; and yet it is not hard to imagine the
facts. The prisoner was aware that the deceased had
gone to the mill, which is situated a mile and a half from
the town. You will be told the words which the pris-


THROUGII THIE FRAY.
213
oner used: 'It will be my turn next time, and when it
comes I will kill you, you brute.
“With these words on his lips, with this thought in
his heart, he started for the mill. What plan he in-
tended to adopt, what form of vengeance he intended to
take, it matters not, but assuredly it was with thoughts
of vengeance in his heart that he followed that dark and
lonely road to the mill. Once there he would have hung
about waiting for his victim to issue forth. It may be
that he had picked up a heavy stone, may be that he had
an open knife in his hand; but while he was waiting,
probably his foot struck against a coil of rope, which, as
you will hear, had been carelessly thrown out a few min-
utes before.
“Then doubtless the idea of a surer method of venge-
ance than that of which he had before thought came into
his mind. A piece of the rope was hastily cut off, and
with this the prisoner stole quietly off until he reached
the spot where two gates facing each other on opposite
sides of the lane afforded a suitable hold for the rope.
Whether after fastening it across the road he remained
at the spot to watch the catastrophe which he had brought
about, or whether he hurried away into the darkness
secure of his vengeance we cannot tell, nor does it mat-
ter. You will understand, gentlemen, that we are not in
a position to prove these details of the tragedy. I am
telling you the theory of the prosecution as to how it
happened. Murders are not generally done in open day
with plenty of trustworthy witnesses looking on. It is
seldom that the act of slaying is witnessed by human eye.
The evidence must therefore to some extent be circum-
stantial. The prosecution can only lay before juries the
antecedent circumstances, show ill-will and animus, and
lead the jury step by step up to the point when the mur-
derer and the victim meet in some spot at some time


214
THROUGII THE FRAY.
when none but the all-seeing eye of God is upon them.
This case is, as you see, no exception to the general rule.
"I have shown you that between the prisoner and the
deceased there was what may be termed a long-standing
feud, which came to a climax two or three hours before
this murder. Up to that fatal evening I think I shall
show you that the prisoner was wholly in fault, and that
the deceased acted with great good temper and self-
command under a long series of provocations; but upon
this evening his temper appears to have failed, and I will
admit frankly that he seems to have committed a very
outrageous and brutal assault upon the prisoner, Still,
gentlemen, such an assault is no justification of the crime
which took place. Unhappily it supplies the cause, but
it does not supply an excuse for the crime,
“Your duty in the case will be simple. You will have
to say whether or not the murder of William Mulready is
accounted for upon the theory which I haye laid down
to you and on no other. Should you entertain no doubt
upon the subject it will be your duty to bring in a per-
diet of guilty; if you do not feel absolutely certain you
will of course give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt."
The evidence called added nothing to what was known
at the first examination. The two servants testified to
the fact of the unpleasant relations which had from the
first existed between the deceased and the prisoner, and
detailed what they knew of the quarrel. Charlie's evi-
dence was the most damaging, as he had to state the
threat which Ned had uttered before he went out.
The counsel for the defense asked but few questions in
cross-examination. He elicited from the servants, how-
ever, the fact that Mr. Mulready at home was a very
different person from Mr. Mulrendy as known by people
in general. They acknowledged that he was by no means
a pleasant master, that he was irritable and fault-finding,


TIIROUGH THE FRAY.
217
the man who perpetrated this crime, they need not go
far to look for him. Had they not heard that he was
hated by his work people?
Evidence had been laid before them to show that he
was a marked man, that he had received threatening
letters from secret associations which had, as was notori-
ous, kept the south of Yorkshire, and indeed all that
part of the country which was the seat of manufacture,
in a state of alarm. So imminent was the danger consid.
ered that the magistrates had requested the aid of an
armed force, and at the time this murder was committed
there were soldiers actually stationed in the mill, besides
a strong force in the town for the protection of this man
from his enemies.
The counsel for the prosecution had given them his
theory as to the actions of the prisoner, but he believed
that that theory was altogether wide of the truth. It
was known that an accident had taken place to the ma-
chinery, for the mill was standing idle for the day. It
would be probable that the deceased would go over late
in the evening to see how the work was progressing, as
erery effort was being made to get the machinery to run
on the following morning. “What so probable, then,
that the enemies of the deceased-and you know that he
had enemies, who had sworn to take his life-should
choose this opportunity for attacking him as he drove to
or from the town. That an enemy was prowling round
the mill, as has been suggested to you, I admit readily
enough. That he stumbled upon the rope, that the idea
occurred to him of upsetting the gig on its return, that
he cut off a portion of the rope and fixed it between the
two gateposts across the road, and that this rope caused
the death of William Mulready. All this I allow; but I
submit to you that the man who did this was a member
of the secret associaion which is a terror to the land, and


218
THROUGH THE FRAY.
was the terror of William Mulready, and there is no proof
whatever, not even the shadow of a proof, to connect
this lad with the crime.
"I am not speaking without a warrant when I assert
my conviction that it was an emissary of the association
known as the Luddites who had a hand in this matter,
for I am in possession of a document, which unfortu-
nately I am not in a position to place before you, as it is
not legal evidence, which professes to be written by the
man who perpetrated this deed, and who appears, al-
though obedient to the behests of this secret association
of which he is a member, to be yet a man not devoid of
heart, who says that if this innocent young man is found
guilty of this crime he will himself come forward and
confess that he did it.
“Therefore, gentlemen of the jury, there is every rea-
son to believe that the slayer of William Mulready is
indeed within these walls, but assuredly he is not the
most unfortunate and ill-treated young man who stands
in the dock awaiting your verdict to set him free."
The summing up was brief. The judge commenced
by telling the jury that they must dismiss altogether
from their minds the document of which the counsel for
the defense had spoken, and to which, as it had not been
put into court, and indeed could not be put into court,
it was highly irregular and improper for him to have
alluded. They must, he said, dismiss it altogether from
their minds. Their duty was simple, they were to con.
şider the evidence before them. They had heard of the
quarrel which had taken place between the deceased and
the prisoner. They had heard the throat cand by the
prisoner that he would kill the deceased if he had an op-
portunity, and they had to decide whether he had, in
accordance with the theory of the prosecution, carried
that threat into effect; or whether on the other hand, as


THROUGH THE FRAY.
219
the defense suggested, the deceased had fallon a victim
to the agent of the association which had threatened his
life. He was bound to tell them that if they entertained
any doubt as to the guilt of the prisoner at the bar they
were bound to give him the benefit of the doubt.
The jury consulted together for a short time, and then
expressed their desire to retire to consider their verdict.
They were absent about half an hour, and on their return
the foreman said in reply to the question of the judge
that they found the prisoner “Not Guilty."
A perfect silence reigned in the court when the jury
entered the box, and something like a sigh of relief fol-
lowed their verdict. It was expected, and indeed there
was some surprise when the jury retired, for the general
opinion was that whether guilty or innocent the prosecu-
tion had failed to bring home unmistakably the crime to
the prisoner. That he might have committed it was
certain, that he had committed it was probable, but it
was assuredly not proved that he and none other had
been the perpetrator of the esime.
Of all the persons in the court the accused had ap-
peared the least anxious as to the result. He received
almost with indifference the assurances which Mr. Wake-
field, who was sitting at the solicitor's table below him,
rose to give him, that the jury could not find a verdict
against him, and the expression of his face was unchanged
when the foreman announced the verdict.
He was at once released from the dock. His solicitor,
Dr. Green, and Mr. Porson warmly shook his hand, and
Charlie threw his arms round his neck and cried in his
joy and excitement.
"It is all right, I suppose," Ned said as, surrounded
by his friends, he left the court, “but I would just as
lief the verdict had gone the other way.”
"Oh! Ned, how can you say so?" Charlie exclaimed.


220
THROUGH THE FRAY.
“Well, no, Charlie," Ned corrected himself. "I am
glad for your sake and Lucy's that I am acquitted; it
would have been awful for you if I had been hung-it is
only for myself that I don't care. The verdict only
means that they have not been able to prove me guilty,
and I have got to go on living all my life knowing that I
am suspected of being a murderer. It is not a nice sort
of thing, you know," and he laughed drearily.
“Come, come, Ned,” Mr. Porson said cheerily, "you
mustn't take too gloomy a view of it. It is natural
enough that you should do so now, for you have gone
through a great deal, and you are overwrought and worn
ont; but this will pass off, and you will find things are
not as bad as you think. It is true that there may be
some, not many, I hope, who will be of opinion that the
verdict was like the Scotch verdict 'Not Proven,' rather
than ‘Not Guilty;' but I am sure the great majority will
believe you innocent. You have got the doctor here on
your side, and he is a host in himself. Mr. Simmonds
told me when the jury were out of the court that he was
convinced you were innocent, and his opinion will go a
long way in Marsden, and you must hope and trust that
the time will come when your innocence will be not only
believed in, but proved to the satisfaction of all by the
discovery of the actual murderer.”
“Ah!" Ned said, “if we ever find that out it will be
all right; but unless we can do so I shall have this dread-
ful thing hanging over me all my life.”
They had scarcely reached the hotel where Mr. Porson,
the doctor, and Charlie were stopping, when Mr. Sim-
monds arrived.
“I have come to congratulate you, my boy," he said,
shaking hands with Ned. “I can see that at present the
verdict does not give so much satisfaction to you as to
your friends, but that is natural enough. You have been


TIIROUGII THE FRA Y.
9:31:
unjustly accused and have had a very hard time of it,
and you are naturally not disposed to look at matters in
a cheerful light; but this gives us time, my boy, and
time is everything. It is hard for you that your inno-
cence has not been fully demonstrated, but you have
your life before you, and we must hope that some day
you will be triumphantly vindicated.”
"That is what I shall live for in future," Ned said.
"Of course now, Mr. Simmonds, there is an end of all
idea of my going into the army. A man suspected of a
murder, even if they have failed to bring it home to
him, cannot ask for a commission in the army. I know
there's an end to all that."
"No," Mr. Simmonds agreed hesitatingly, “I fear that
for the present that plan had better remain in abeyance;
we can take it up again later on when this matter is put
straight.”
“That may be never," Ned said decidedly, "so we
need say no more about it.”
“And now, my boy,” Mr. Porson said, “try and eat
some lunch. I have just ordered a post-chaise to be
round at the door in half an hour. The sooner we start
the better. The fresh air and the change will do you
good, and we shall have plenty of time to talk on the
road.”


222
THROUGH THE FRAY.
CHAPTER XVI.
LUKE MARNER'S SACRIFICE.
Not until they had left York behind them did Ned
ask after his mother. He knew that if there had been
anything pleasant to tell about her he would have hearal
·it at once, and the silence of his friends warned him that
the subject was not an agreeable one.
"How is my mother?” he asked at last abruptly.,
"Well, Ned," Mr. Green replied, “I have been expect-
ing your question, and I am sorry to say that I have
nothing agreeable to tell you."
“That I was sure of,” Ned said with a hard laugh.
"As I have received no message from her from the day
I was arrested I guessed pretty well that whatever doubt
other people might feel, my mother was positive that I
had murdered her husband.”
"The fact is, Ned,” Dr. Green said cautiously, "your
mother is not at present quite accountable for her opinions.
The shock which she has undergone has, I think, -
hinged her mind. Worthless as I believe him to have
been, this man had entirely gained her affections. She
has not risen from her bed since he died.
"Sometimes she is absolutely silent for hours, at others
she talks incessantly; and painful as it is to tell you so,
her first impression that you were responsible for his
death is the one which still remains fixed on her mind.
She is wholly incapable of reason or of argument. At
times she appears sane and sensible enongh and talks of


THROUGH THE FRAY.
223
other matters coherently; but the moment she touches
on this topic she becomes excited and vehement. It has
been a great comfort to me, and I am sure it will be to
you, that your old servant Abijah has returned and taken
up the position of housekeeper.
“As soon as your mother's first excitement passed away
I asked her if she would like this, and she eagerly as-
sented. The woman was in the town, having come over
on the morning after you gave yourself up, and to my
great relief she at once consented to take up her former
position. This is a great thing for your sister, who is,
of course, éutirely in her charge, as your mother is not
in a condition to attend to anythitig. I was afraid at
first that she would not remain, so indignant was she at
your mother's believing your guilt; but when I assured
her that the poor lady was not responsible for what she
said, and that her mind was in fact unhinged altogether
by the calamity, she overcame her feelings; but it is
comic to see her struggling between her indignation at
your mother's irresponsible talk and her consciousness
that it is necessary to abstain from exciting her by contra-
diction.”
Dr. Green had spoken as lightly as he could, but he
knew how painful it must be to Ned to hear of his moth-
er's conviction of his guilt; aid how much it would add
to the trials of his position.
Ned liimself had listened in silence. He siglied heavily
when the doctor had finished.
“Abijah will be a great comfort,” he said quietly, "'
wonderful comfort; but as to my poor mother, it will of
course be a trial. Still, no wonder that, when she heard
me say those words when I went out, she thinks that I
did it. However, I suppose that it is part of my punish-
ment.”
"Have you tliought anything of your future plans,


226
THROUGH THE FRAY.
for her actions. I tell you this in order that you may
not be wounded by your reception.
“Since that fatal day she has not left her bed. She
declares that she has lost all power in her limbs. Of
course that is nonsense, but the result is the same. She
keeps her bed, and, as far as I can see, is likely to keep
it. This is perhaps the less to be regretted, as you will
thereby avoid being thrown into contact with her; for I
tell you plainly such contact, in her present state of
mind, could only be unpleasant to you. Were you to
meet, it would probably at the least bring on a frightful
attack of hysterics, which in her present state might be a
serious matter. Therefore, my boy, you must make up
your mind not to see her for awhile. I have talked the
matter over with your old nurse, who will remain with
your mother as housekeeper, with a girl under her. You
will, of course, take your place as master of the house,
with your brother and sister with you, until your mother
is in a position to manage—if ever she shonld be. But I
trust at any rate that she will ere long so far recover as
to be able to receive you as the good son you have ever
been to her."
“Thank you," Ned said quietly. “I understand,
loctor.”
Ned did understand that his mother was convinced of
his guilt and refused to see him; it was what lie ex-
pected, and yet it was a heavy trial. Very cold and hard
he looked as the postchaise drove through the streets of
Marsden. People glanced at it curionsly, and as they
saw Ned sitting by the side of the men who were know it
as his champions they hurried away to spread the news
that young Sankey bad been acquitted.
The hard look died out of Ned's face as the door
opened, and Lucy sprang out and threw her arms rotind
his neck and cried with heliyht ai secing him; and Ali-


228
THROUGH TIIE FRAY.
"I dare say what you say is true," he would reply;
“but I could not do it-I must go on alone. It is as
much as I can bear now."
And his friends saw that it was useless to urge him
further.
On the day after his return to Marsden Luke Marner
and Bill Swinton came back on the coach from York,
and after it was dark Ned walked up to Varley and
knocked at Bill's door.
On hearing who it was Bill threw on his cap and came
out to him. For a minute the lads stood with their
hands clasped firmly in each other's without a word being
spoken.
"Thank God, Maister Ned,” Bill said at last, "we ha'
got thee again!"
“Thank God too!” Ned said; "though I think I would
rather that it had gone the other way.”
They walked along for some time without speaking
again, and then Ned said suddenly:
“Now, Bill, who is the real murderer?”
Bill stopped his walk in astonishment.
"The real murderer!” he repeated; "how ever should
oi know, Maister Ned?”
“I know that you know, Bill. It was you who wrote
that letter to Mr. Wakefield saying that the man who
did it would be at the trial, and that if I were found
guilty he would give himself up. It's no use your deny-
ing it, for I knew your handwriting at once."
Bill was silent for some time. It had never occurred
'to him that this letter would be brought home to him.
“Come, Bill, you must tell me," Ned said. “Do not
be afraid. I promise you that I will not use it against
him. Mind, if I can bring it home to him in any other
way I shall do so; but I promise you that no word shall
ever pass my lips about the letter. I want to know who


THROUGII THE FRAY.
229
is the man of whose crime the world believes me guilty.
The secret shall, as far as he is concerned, be just as
much a secret as it was before."
“But oi dunno who is the man, Maister Ned. If oi
did oi would ha' gone into the court and said so, even
though oi had been sure they would ha' killed me for
peaching when oi came back. Oi dunno no more than a
child.”
“Then you only wrote that letter to throw them on to
a false scent, Bill? Who put you up to that, for I am
bure it would never have occurred to you?”
“No,” Bill said slowly, “oi should never ha' thought
of it myself; Luke told oi what to wroit, and I wroited
it.”
“Oh, it was Luke! was it?" Ned said sharply. “Then
the man who did it must have told him.”
"Oi didn't mean to let out as it waar Luke,” Bill said
in confusion; "and oi promised him solemn to say nowt
about it.”
“Well," Ned said, turning sharp round and starting
on his way back to the village, “I must see Luke himself.'
Bill in great perplexity followed Ned, muttering: "Oh,
Lor'! what ull Luke say to oi? What a fellow oi be to
talk, to be sure!”
Nothing further was said until they reached Luke's
cottage. Ned knocked and entered at once, followed
sheepishly by Bill.
“Maister Ned, oi be main glad to see thee,” Luke said
as he rose from his place by the fire; while Polly with a
little cry, "Welcome!” dropped her work.
"Thanks, Luke-thanks for coming over to York to
sive evidence. How are you, Polly? There! don't cry
-I ain't worth crying over. At any rate, it is a satis-
faction to be with three people who don't regard me as a
murderer. Now, Polly, I want you to go into the other


230
TIIROUGII TIIE FRAY.
urder.
room, for I have a question which I must ask Luke, and
I don't want even you to hear the answer."
Polly gathered her work together and went out. Then
Ned went over to Luke, who was looking at him with
surprise, and laid his hand on his shoulder.
“Luke," he said, "I want you to tell me exactly how
it was that you came to tell Bill to write that letter to
Mr. Wakefield?”
Luke started and then looked savagely over at Bill,
who stood twirling his cap in his hand.
"Oi couldn't help it, Luke," he said humbly. “Oi
didn't mean vor to say it, but he got it out of me some-
how. He knawed my fist on the paper, and, says he,
sudden loike, ‘Who war the man as murdered Foxey?'
What was oi vor to say? He says at once as he knowed
the idea of writing that letter would never ha' coom into
my head; and so the long and short of it be, as your
name slipped owt somehow, and there you be."
“Now, Luke," Ned said soothingly, “I want to know
whether there was a man who was ready to take my place
in the dock had I been found guilty, and if so, who he
was. I shall keep the name as a secret. I give you my
word of honor. After he had promised to come forward
and save my life that is the least I can do, though, as I
told Bill, if I could bring it home to him in any other
way I should feel myself justified in doing so. It may
be that he would be willing to go across the seas, and
when he is safe there to write home saying that he did
it."
“Yes, oi was afraid that soom sich thawt might be in
your moind, Maister Ned, but it can't be done that way.
But oi doan't know," he said thoughtfully, “perhaps it
moight, arter all. Perhaps the chap as was a-coomin'
forward moight take it into his head to go to Ameriky
Oi shouldn't wonder if he did. In fact, now oi thinks


THROUGH THE FRAY.
231
on't, oi am pretty sure as he will. Yes. Oi can say for
sartin as that's what he intends. A loife vor a loife
you know, Maister Ned, that be only fair, bean't it?".
"And you think he will really go?" Ned asked eagerly.
“Ay, he will go,” Luke said firmly, “it's as good as
done; but,” he added slowly, “I dunno as he's got money
vor to pay his passage wi'. There's some kids as have
to go wi' him. He would want no more nor just the
fare. But oi doan't see how he can go till he has laid
that by, and in these hard toimes it all take him some
time to do that."
"I will provide the money," Ned said eagerly. "Abi-
jah would lend me some of her savings, and I can pay
her back some day.”
“Very well, Maister Ned. Oi expect as how he will
take it as a loan. Moind, he will pay it back if he lives,
honest. Oi doau't think as how he bain't honest, that
chap, though he did kill Foxey. Very well,” Luke went
on slowly, “then the matter be as good as settled. Oi
will send Bill down to-morrow, and he will see if thou
canst let un have the money. A loife vor a loife, that's
what oi says, Maister Ned. That be roight, bain't it?”
don't quite see what that has to do with it, except that
the man who has taken this life should give his life to
make amends.'
“Yes, that be it, in course,” Luke replied. “Yes;
just as you says, he ought vor to give his loife to make
amends."
That night Ned arranged with Abijah, who was de-
any plan that would tend to clear Ned from the suspicion
which hủng over him. Bill came down next morning,
and was told that a hundred pounds would be forthcom-
ing in two days.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
233
"I will say good-by, sir. I hope you won't think I was
taking a liberty in thinking you would be sorry if we
were all to go without your knowing it.”
Ned roused himself at her words.
"It is not that, Polly. It is far from being that. But
I want to ask you a question. You remember the night
of Mr. Mulready's murder? Do you remember whether
your father was at home all that evening?"
Polly opened her eyes in surprise at a question which
seemed to her so irrelevant to the matter in hand.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, still coldly. “I remember
that night. We are not likely any of us to forget it.
Feyther had not gone to the Cow.' He sat smoking at
home. Bill had dropped in, and they sat talking of the
doings of the Luddites till it was later than usual. Fey-
ther was sorry afterward, because he said if he had been
down at the 'Cow' he might have noticed by the talk if
any one had an idea that anything was going to take
place."
“Then he didn't go out at all that night, Polly?”
“No, sir, not at all that night; and now, sir, I will say
good-by.”
“No, Polly, you won't, for I shall go back with you,
and I don't think that you will go to America."
“I don't understand,” the girl faltered.
“No, l'olly, I don't suppose you do; and I have not
understood till now. You will see when you get back.”
"If you please,” Mary said hesitatingly, “I would
rather that you would not be there when feyther comes
back. Of course I shall tell him that I have been down
to see you, and I know he will be very angry.”
"I think I shall be able to put that straight. I can't
let your father go. God knows I have few enough true
friends, and I cannot spare him and you; and as for Bill
Swinton, he would break his heart if yen went"!


284
THROUGI THE FRAT.
"Bill's only a boy; he will get over it,” Polly said in a
cåreless tone, but with a bright flush upon her cheek.
“He is nearly as old as you are, Polly, and he is one of
the best fellows in the world. I know he's not your
equal in education, but å steadier, better fellow, never
was.”
Mary made no reply, and in another minute the two
set out together for Varley. In spite of Ned's confident
aggurance that he would appease Luke's anger, Mary was
frightened when, as they entered the cottage, she saw
Luke standing moodily in front of the fire.
“Oi expected this," he said in a tone of deep bitter-
nesg. “Oi were a fool vor to think as you war different
to other gals, and that you would give up your own
wishes to your feyther's."
"Oh, feyther!” Polly cried, "don't speak so to me.
Beat me if you like, I desérte to be beaten, but don't
speak to me like that. I am ready to go anywhere you
like, and to be a good daughter to you; forgive me for
this oncc disobeying you.”
"Luke; old friend," Ned said earnestly, putting his
hand on the cropper's shoulder, "don't be angry with
Polly, she has done me a great service. I have learned
the truth, and know what you meant now by # life for
a life. You were going to sacrifice yourself for me.
You were going to take upon yourself a crime which you
never committed to clear me. You went to York to de-
clare yourself the murderer of Mulready, in case I had
been found guilty. You were going to emigrate to
America to send home a written confession."
“Who says as how oi didn't kill Foxey?" Luke said
doggedly. "If oi choose to give myself oop now who is
to gaingay me?”
"Mary and Bill can both gaingay you," Ned said.
"They can prove that you did not stir out of the house
that night. Come, Luke, it's of no use. I feel with all


TIIROUGII TIIE FRAY.
235
my heart grateful to you for the sacrifice you were will-
ing to make for me. I thank you as deeply and as
heartily as if you had made it. It was a grand act of
self-sacrifice, and you must not be vexed with Polly that
she has prevented you carrying it out. It would have
made me very unhappy had she not done so. When I
found that you were gone I should certainly have got
out from Bill the truth of the matter, and when your
confession came home I should have been in a position
to prove that you had only made it to screen me. Be-
sides, I cannot spare you. I have few friends, and I
should be badly off indeed if the one who has proved
himself the truest and best were to leave me. I am go.
ing to carry on the mill, and I must have your help. I
have relied upon you to stand by me, and you must be
the foreman of your department. Come, Luke, you
must say you forgive Polly for opening my eyes just a
little sooner than they would otherwise have been to the
sacrifice you wanted to make for me,”
Luke, who was sorely shaken by Mary's pitiful sobş,
could resist no longer, but opened his arms, and the girl
ran into them.
"There, there,” he said, “don't ee go on a crying,
girl; thou hasn't done no wrong, vor indeed it must have
seemed to thee flying in the face of natur to go away
wi'out saying good-by to Majster Ned. Well, şir, oi be
main sorry as it has turned out so. Oi should ha' lojked
to ha' cleared thee; but if thou won't have it oi caan't
help it, Oi think thou beest wrong, but thou know'st
best."
“Never mind, Luke, I shall be cleared in time, I
trust,” Ned said. "I am going down to the mill to-
morrow for the first time, and shall see you there. You
have done me good, Luke. It is well, indeod, for a man
to know that he has such a friend as you have proved
yourself to be."


TIIROUGII THE FRAY.
23;
great suffering at present. So if it had been possible I
would gladly have let the new machinery stand idle until
the feeling against it had passed away; but as I see that
the mill has been running at a loss ever since prices fell,
it is quite clear that we must use it at once.”
The next morning Ned called the foreman into his
office at the mill, and told him that he had determined
to set the new machinery at work at once.
"I am sorry to be obliged to do so," he said, “as it
will considerably reduce the number of hands at work;
but it cannot be helped, it is either that or stopping alto-
gether, which would be worse still for the men. Be as
careful as you can in turning off the hands, and as far as
possible retain all the married men with families. The
only exception to that rule is young Swinton, who is to
be kept on whoever goes.
That evening Luke Marner called at the house to see
Ned.
"Be it true, Maister Ned, as the voreman says, the
new machines is to be put to work?”.
“It is true, Luke, I am sorry to say. I would have
avoided it if possible; but I have gone into the matter
with Mr. Porson, and I find I must either do that or
shut up the mill altogether, which would be a good deal
worse for you all. Handwork cannot compete with ma-
chinery, and the new machines will face a dozen yards
of cloth while a cropper is doing one, and will do it much
better and more evenly.”
"That be so, surely, and it bain't no use my saying as
it ain't, and it's true enough what you says, that it's
better half the hands should be busy than none; but
those as gets the sack won't see it, and oi fears there
will be mischief. Oi don't hold with the Luddites, but
oi tell ye the men be getting desperate, and oi be main
sure as there will be trouble afore long. Your loife
won't be safe, Maister Ned.”


THROUGH THE FRAŤ.
239
more creply threatening. Throughout the whols of the
West Riding open drilling was carried on,
The mills at Marsden, Woodbottom, and Oftewells
were all threatened. In answer to the appeais of the
mill-owners the number of troops in the district was
largely increased. Infantry were stationed in Marsden,
and the 10th King's Bays, the 15th Pussars, and the
Scots Greys were alternately billeted in the place. The
roads to Ottewells, Woodbottom, and Lugards Mill were
patrolled regularly, and the whole country was excited
and alarmed by constant rumors of attacks upon the
milla,
Ned went on his way quietly, asking for ng special
protection for his mill or person, seemingly indifferent
to the excitement which prevajled. Except to the work-
men in the mill, to the doctor, and ņir. Porson he seldom
exchanged a word with any one during the day.
Mr. Şimmonds and several of his father's old friends
had on his return made advances toward him, but he had
resoļutely declined to meet them. Dir. Porson and the
doctor had remonstrated with him.
"It is no use," he replied. “They congratulated me
on my acquittal, but I can tell by their tones that there
is not one of them who thoroughly believes in his heart
that I am innocent."
The only exception which Ned made was Mr. Cart-
wright, a mill-owner at Liversedge. He had been slightly
acquainted with Captain Sankey; and one day soon after
Ned's return as he yas walking along the street oblivious,
as ysual, of every one passing, Mr. Cartwright came up
and placing himse f in front of him, said heartily:
"I congratulate you with all my heart, Sankey, on
youç escape from this rascally business. I krety that
your innocence would be proved! I woulà kar e staked
my life that your father's son nuvei nad awy hand in
guon a black affair as this, I am heartily glad.”
as qsual, o vimse e in front
my heart, iney that


240
THROUGH TIIE HRA Y.
There was no withstanding the frank cordiality of the
Yorkshireman's manner. Ned's reserve melted at once
before it.
"Thank you very much,” he said, returning the grasp
of his hand; “but I am afraid that though I was acquit.
ted my innocence wasn't proved, and never will be. You
may think me innocent, but you will find but half a
dozen people in Marsden to agree with you."
“Pooh! pooh!” Mr. Cartwright said. “You must not
look at things in that light. Most men are fools, you
know; never fear. We shall prove you innocent some
day. I have no doubt these rascally Luddites are at the
bottom of it. And now, look 'here, young fellow, I hear
that you are going to run the mill. Of course you can't
know much about it yet. Now I am an old hand and
shall be happy to give you any advice in my power, both
for your own sake and for that of your good father.
Now I mean what I say, and I shall be hurt if you refuse.
I am in here two or three times a week, and my road
takes me within five hundred yards of your mill, so it
will be no trouble to me to come round for half an hour
as I pass, and give you a few hints until you get well
into harness. There are dodges in our trade, you know,
as well as in all others, and you must be put up to them
if you are to keep up in the race. There is plenty of
room for us all, and now that the hands are all banding
themselves against us, we mill-owners must stand together
too."
Ned at once accepted the friendly offer, and two or
three times a week Mr. Cartwright came round to tha
mill, went round the place with Ned, and gave him his
advice as to the commercial transactions. Ned found
this of inestimable benefit. Mr. Cartwright was ac-
quainted with all the buyers in that part of Yorkshire,
and was ablo several times to prevent Ned from entering


THROUGH TNE FRAY.
241
into transactions with men willing to take advantage of
his inexperience.
Sometimes he went over with Mr. Cartwright to his
mill at Liversedge and obtained many a useful hint there
as to the management of his business. Only in the mat-
ter of having some of his hands to sleep at the mill Ned
declined to act on the advice of his new friend.
"No," he said; “I am determined that I will have no
lives risked in the defense of our property. It has cost
us dearly enough already.
But though Ned refused to have any of his hands to
sleep at the mill, he had a bed fitted up in his office, and
every night at ten o'clock, after Charlie had gone to bed,
he walked out to the mill and slept there. Heavy shut-
ters were erected to all the lower windows, and bells were
attached to these and to the doors, which would ring at
the slightest motion.
A cart one evening arrived from Huddersfield after
the hands had left the mill, and under Ned's direction a
number of small barrels were carried up to his office.
Although three months had now elapsed since his re-
turn home he had never once seen his mother, and the
knowledge that she still regarded him as the murderer
of her husband greatly added to the bitterness of his life.
Of an evening after Lucy had gone to bed he assisted
Charlie with his lessons, and also worked for an hour
with Bill Swinton, who came regularly erery evening to
be taught.
Bill had a strong motive for self-improvement. Weil
had promised him that some day he should be foreiau to
the factory, but that before he could take such a position it
would, of course, be necessary that he should be able to
read and write well. But an even higher incertive was
Bill's sense of his great inferiority in point of education
to Polly Powlett. He entertained a deep affection for


242
THROUGH THE FRAY.
her, but he knew how she despised the rough and igno-
rant young fellows at Varley, and he felt that even if she
loved him she would not consent to marry him unless he
were in point of education in some way her equal; there-
fore he applied himself with all his heart to improving
his education.
It was no easy task, for Bill was naturally somewhat
slow and heavy; but he had perseverance, which makes
up for many deficiencies, and his heart being in his work
he made really rapid progress.
Sometimes Ned would start earlier than usual, and
walk up with Bill Swinton, talking to him as they went
over the subjects on which he had been working, thri
condition of the villagers, or the results of Bill's Sunda:
rambles over the moors.
On arriving at Varley Ned generally went in for hal"
an hour's talk with Luke Marner and Mary Powlett be
fore going off for the night to sleep at the inill. Wit!!
these three friends, who all were passionately convinced!
of his innocence, he was more at his ease than anywhere
else, for at home the thought of the absent figure up..
stairs was a never-ceasing pain.
“The wind is very high to-night, Ned said one oven.
ing as the cottage shook with a gust which swept down.
from the moor.
“Ay, that it be,” Luke agreed; "but it is nowt to a
storm oi saw when oi war a young chap on t' coast!”
“I did not know you had ever been away from Varley,'?
Ned said, “tell me about it, Luke.”
“Well, it coomed round i' this way. One of tchaps
from here had a darter who had married and gone to
live nigh t' coast, and he went vor a week to see her.
“Theere'd been a storm when he was there, and he
told us aboot the water being all broke up into furrowes,
vor all the world like a plowed field, only each ridge wur


TAROUGH THE FRAY.
243
twice as high as one of our houses, and they came a
moving along as fast as a horse could gallop, and when
they hit the rocks vlew up into t’air as hoigh as the
steeple o' Marsden church. It seemed to us as this must
be a lie, and there war a lot of talk oor it, and at last
vour on us made up our moinds as we would go over and
see vor ourselves.
“It war a longer tramp nor we had looked vor, and
though we sometoimes got a lift i' a cart we was all pretty
footsore when we got to the end of our journey. The
village as we was bound for stood oop on t' top of a flat-
tish hill, one side of which seemed to ha' been cut away
by a knife, and when you got to the edge there you were
a standing at the end o' the world. Oi know when we
got thar and stood and looked out from the top o' that
wall o' rock thar warn't a word among us.
“We was a noisy lot, and oi didn't think as nothing
would ha' silenced a cropper; but thar we stood a-look-
ing over at the end of the world, oi should say for five
ininutes, wi'out a word being spoke. Oi can see it now.
There warn't a breath of wind nor a cloud i' the sky.
It seemed to oi as if the sky went away as far as we could
see, and then seemed to be doubled down in a line and
to coom roight back agin to our feet. It joost took away
our breath, and seemed somehow to bring a lump into
the throat. Oi talked it over wi’ the others afterward
and we'd all felt just the same.
“It beat us altogether, and you never see a lot of crop-
pers so quiet and orderly as we war as we went up to t’
village. Most o' t' men war away, as we arterward
learned, fishing, and twomen didn't knaw what to
make o us, but gathered at their doors and watched us
as if we had been a party o' obbers coom down to burn
the place and carry 'em away. However, when we found
Sally White-that war the name of the woman as had


844
THROUGH THE FRAY.
married rom Varley—she went round the village and
told 'em as we was a party of her friends who had joost
walked across Yorkshire to ha' a look at the sea. An-
other young chap, Jack Purcell war his name, as was
Sally's brother, and oi, being his mate, we stopt at Sally's
house. The other two got a lodging close handy.
“Vor the vurst day or two vokes war shy of us, but
arter that they began to see as we meant no harm. Of
course they looked on us as foreigners, just as we crop-
pers do here on anyone as cooms to Varley. Then Sally's
husband coom back from sea and spoke up vor us, and
that made things better, and as we war free wi' our
money the fishermen took to us more koindly.
“We soon found as the water warn't always smooth
and blue like the sky as we had seen it at first. The
wind coom on to blow the vurst night as we war thar,
and the next morning the water war all tossing aboot
joost as Sally's feyther had said, though not so high as
he had talked on. Still the wind warn't a blowing much,
as Sally pointed owt to us; in a regular storm it would
be a different sort o' thing altogether. We said as we
should loike to see one, as we had coom all that way o'
purpose. The vorth noight arter we got there Sally's
husband said: “You be a going vor to have your wish;
the wind be a getting up, and we are loike to have a big
storm on the coast tomorrow.' And so it war. Oi can't
tell you what it war loike, oi've tried over and over again
to tell Polly, but no words as oi can speak can give any
idee of it.
"It war not loike anything as you can imagine.
Standing down on the shore the water seemed all broke
up into hills, and as if each hill was a-trying to get at
you, and a-breaking itself up on the shore wi' a roar of
rage when it found as it couldn't reach you. The noise
war so great as you couldn't hear a man standing beside


246
THROUGH THE FRAY.
and we hears as the loights had been shown and the ves.
sel war running in close. Down we goes wi' the others,
and soon a boat cooms ashore. As soon as she gets close
the men runs out to her; the sailors hands out barrels,
and each man shoulders one and trudges off. We does
the same and takes the kegs up to t’top, whar carts and
horses was waiting for 'em. Oi went oop and down
three toimes and began to think as there war moor hard
work nor fun aboot it. Oi war a-going to knock off when
some one says as one more trip would finish the cargo, so
down oi goes again. Just when oi gets to bottom
there war a great shouting oop at top. "They're just
too late,' a man says; the kegs be all safe away except
this lot,' for the horses and carts had gone off the instant
as they got their loads. Now we must run for it, for
the revenue men will be as savage as may be when they
voinds as they be too late.' 'Where be us to run?' says
oi. 'Keep close to me, oi knows the place,' says he.
“So we runs down and voinds as they had tumbled the
bar'ls into t’ boat again, and t'men war just pushing
her off when there war a shout close to us. “Shove,
shove! shouts the men, and oi runs into t' water loike
ť rest and shooved. Then a lot o' men run up shout-
ing, “Stop! in the king's name! and began vor to fire
pistols.
“Nateral oi wasn't a-going to be fired at for nowt, so oi
clutches moi stick and goes at 'em wi’ the rest, keeping
close to t' chap as told me as he knew the coontry.
There was a sharp foight vor a minute. Oi lays aboot
me hearty and gets a crack on my ear wi' a cootlas, as
they calls theer swords, as made me pretty wild.
“We got the best o't. “Coom on,' says the man to
me, there's a lot moor on 'em a-cooming. So oi makes
off as hard as oi could arter him. He keeps straight
along at t' edge o' t' water. It war soft rowing at first.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
2477
vor t place war as flat as a table, but arter running vor a
few minutes he says, 'Look owt! Oi didn't know what
to look owt vor, and down oi goes plump into t' water.
Vor all at once we had coomed upon a lot o' rocks cov-
ered wi’ a sort of slimy stuff, and so slippery as you could
scarce keep a footing on 'em. Oi picks myself up and
rollers him. By this toime, maister, oi war beginning
vor to think as there warn't so mooch vun as oi had ex-
pected in this koind o’ business. Oi had been working
two hours loike a nigger a-carrying tubs. Oi had had
moi ear pretty nigh cut off, and it smarted wi' the salt
water awful. Oi war wet from head to foot and had
knocked the skin off moi hands and knees when oi went
down. However there warn't no toime vor to grumble.
Oi vollers him till we gets to t’ foot o' trocks, and we
keeps along 'em vor aboot half a mile.
“The water here coombed close oop to trocks, and
presently we war a-walking through it. “Be’st a going
ror to drown us all?' says oi. “We are jest there,' says
he. "Ten minutes later we couldn't ha’ got along.' T'
water war a-getting deeper and deeper, and t’ loomps of
water cooms along and well-nigh took me off my feet.
Oi was aboot to turn back, vor it war better, thinks oi,
to be took by t'king's men than to be droonded, when
he says, 'Here we be.' He climbs oop t rocks and oi
follows him. Arter climbing a short way he cooms to a
hole i' rocks, joost big enough vor to squeeze through,
but once inside it opened out into a big cave. A chap
had struck a loight, and there war ten or twelve more on
us thar. “We had better wait another five ininutes,' says
one, 'to see if any more cooms along. Arter that the
tide ull be too high.'
“We waits, but no one else cooms; me and moi mate
war t' last. Then we goes to t’ back of the cave, whar 't
nok sloped down lower and lower till we had to crawl


250
TAROUGH THE FRAY.
or it will be the worse for you. Do you know what I have
got here, lads? This is powder. If you doubt it, one of
you can come forward and look at this barrel with the
head out by my side. Now I have only got to fire my
pistol into it to blow the mill, and you with it, into the
air, and I mean to do it. Of course I shall go too; but
some of you with black masks over your faces, who, I
uppose, live near here, may know something about me,
and may know that my life is not so pleasant a one that
I value it in the slightest. As far as I am concerned you
might burn the mill and me with it without my lifting a
finger; but this mill is the property of my mother,
brother, and sister. Their living depends upon it, and I
am going to defend it. Let one of you stir a single step
forward and I fire this pistol into this barrel beside me.''
And Ned held the pistol over the open barrel.
A dead silence of astonishment and terror had fallen
upon the crowd. The light was sufficient for them to
see Ned's pale but determined face, and as his words
came out cold and steady there was not one who doubted
that he was in earnest, and that he was prepared to blow
himself and them into the air if necessary.
A cry of terror burst from them as he lowered the
pistol to the barrel of powder. Then in wild dismay
every man threw down his arms and fled, jostling each
other fiercely to make their escape through the doorway
from the fate which threatened them. In a few seconds
the place was cleared and the assailants in full flight
across the country. Ned laughed contemptuously. Then
with some difficulty he lifted the broken door into its
place, put some props behind it, fetched a couple of
blankets from his bed, and lay down near the powder,
and there slept quietly till morning.
Luke and Bill Swinton were down at the factory an
hour before the usual time. The assailants had for the


THROUGH THE FRAY.
251
most part come over from Huddersfield, but many of the
men from Varley had been among them. The terror which
Ned's attitude had inspired had been so great that the
secret was less well kept than usual, and as soon as people
were astir the events of the night were known to most in
the village. The moment the news reached the ears of
Luke and Bill they hurried down to the mill without go-
ing in as usual for their mug of beer and bit of bread
and cheese at the “Brown Cow.”
The sight of the shattered door at once told them that
the rumors they had heard were well founded. They
knocked loudly upon it,
"Hullo!” Ned shouted, rousing himself from his
slumbers; "who is there? What are you kicking up all
this row about?"
"It's oi, Maister Ned, oi and Bill, and glad oi am to
hear your voice. It's true, then, they haven't hurt
thee?"
“Not a bit of it," Ned said as he moved the supports
of the door. “I think they got the worst of it.”
"If so be as what oi ha' heard be true you may well
say that, Maister Ned. Oi hear as you ha' gived 'em
such a fright as they won't get over in a hurry. They
say as you was a-sitting on the top of a heap of gunpowder
up to the roof with a pistol in each hand.”
“Not quite so terrible as that, Luke; but the effect
would have been the same. Those twelve barrels of
powder you see there would have blown the mill and all
in it into atoms."
"Lord, Maister Ned," Bill said, "where didst thou get
that powder, and why didn't ye say nowt about it? Oi
ha' seen it up in the office, now oi thinks on it. Oi
wondered what them barrels piled up in a corner and
covered over wi’ sacking could be; but it warn't no busi-
ness o' mine to ax."


252
THROUGH THE FRAY.
“No, Bill, I did not want any of them to know about
it, because these things get about, and half the effect is
lost unless they come is a surprise; but I meant to do it
if I had been driven to it, and if I had, King Lud would
have had a lesson which he would not have forgotten in
a hurry. Now, Luke, you and Bill had better help me
carry them back to their usual place. I don't think
they are likely to be wanted again."
“That they won't be,” Luke said confidently; "the
Luddites all never come near this mill agin, not if thou
hast twenty toimes as many machines. They ha' got a
froight they won't get over. They told me as how some
of the chaps at Varley was so froighted that they will
be a long toime afore they gets round. Oi'll go and ask
to-night how that Methurdy chap, the blacksmith, be a
feeling. Oi reckon he's at the bottom on it. Dang un
for a mischievous rogue! Varley would ha' been quiet
enough without him. Oi be wrong if oi shan't see him
dangling from a gibbet one of these days, and a good
riddance too."
The powder was stowed away before the hands began
to arrive, all full of wonder and curiosity. They learned
little at the mill, however. Ned went about the place as
usual with an unchanged face, and the hands were soon
at their work; but many during the day wondered how
it was possible that their quiet and silent young employer
should have been the hero of the desperate act of which
every one had heard reports more or less exaggerated.
A lad had been sont over to Marsden the first thing
for some carpenters, and by nightfall a rough but strong
door had been hung in place of that which had been
shattered. By the next day rumor had carried the tale
all over Marsden, and Ned on his return home was
greeted by Charlie with:
“Why, Ned, there is all sorts of talk in the place of


254
THROUGH THE FRAY.
Lucy did not exactly understand, but she shook her
head gravely in general dissent to Ned's view.
“Why did you not tell us when you came home to
breakfast yesterday?" Charlie asked.
"Because I thought you were sure to hear sooner or
later. I saw all the hands in the mill had got to know
about it somehow or other, and I was sure it would soon
get over the place; and I would rather that I could say,
if any one asked me, that I had not talked about it to
any one, and was in no way responsible for the absurd
stories which had got about. I have been talked about
enough in Marsden, goodness knows, and it is disgusting
that just as I should think they must be getting tired of
the subject here is something fresh for them to begin
upon again.”
As they were at tea the servant brought in a note
which had just been left at the door. It was from Mr.
Thompson, saying that in consequence of the rumors
which were current in the town he should be glad to
learn from Ned whether there was any foundation for
them, and would therefore be obliged if he would call at
eight o'clock that evening. His colleague, Mr. Sim-
monds, would be present.
Ned gave an exclamation of disgust as he threw down
the note.
“Is there any answer, sir?” the servant asked. “The
boy said he was to wait."
"Tell him to say to Mr. Thompson that I will be there
at eight o'clock; but that—no, that will do. It wouldn't
be civil,” he said to Charlie as the door closed behind
the servant, "to say that I wish to goodness he would let
my affairs alone and look to his own.”
When Ned reached the magistrates at the appointed
hour he found that the inquiry was of a formal character.
Besides the two justices; Major Browne, who commanded
sant


THROUGH THE FRAY.
255
the troops at Marsden, was present; and the justices'
clerk was there to take notes.
Mr. Simmonds greeted Ned kindly, Mr. Thompson
stifily. He was one of those who had from the first been
absolutely convinced that the lad had killed his step-
father. The officer, who was of course acquainted with
the story, examined Ned with a close scrutiny.
“Will you take a seat, Ned?” Mr. Simmonds, who was
the senior magistrate, said. “We have asked you here
to explain to us the meaning of certain rumors which are
current in the town of an attack upon your mill.”
"I will answer any questions that you may ask," Ned
said quietly, seating himself, while the magistrates' clerk
dipped his pen in the ink and prepared to take notes of
his statement.
"Is it the case that the Luddites made an attack upon
pour mill the night before last?"
"It is true, sir."
“Will you please state the exact circumstances."
“There is not much to tell," Ned said quietly. “I
have for some time been expecting an attack, having
received many threatening letters. I have, therefore,
made a habit of sleeping in the mill, and a month ago I
got in twelve barrels of powder from Huddersfield. Be-
fore going to bed of a night I always pile these in the
middle of the room where the looms are, which is the
first as you enter. I have bells attached to the shutters
and doors to give me notice of any attempt to enter.
The night before last I was awoke by hearing one of
them ring, and looking out of the window made out a
crowd of two or three hundred men outside. They be-
gan to batter the door, so, taking a brace of pistols which
I keep in readiness by my bed, I went down and took my
place by the powder. When they broke down the door
and entered I just told them that if they came any fura


256
THROUGH THE FRAY.
ther I should fire my pistol into one of the barrels, the
head of which I had knocked out, and, as I suppose they
saw that I meant to do it, they went off. That is all I
have to tell, so far as I know.”
The clerk's pen ran swiftly over the paper as Ned qui-
etly made his statement. Then there was a silence for a
minute or two.
“And did you really mean to carry out your threat,
Mr. Sankey?”
“Certainly," Ned said.
“But you would, of course, have been killed yourself.”
“Naturally," Ned said dryly; “but that would havo
been of no great consequence to me or any one else. As ,
the country was lately about to take my life at its own ex-
pense it would not greatly disapprove of my doing so at my
own, especially as the lesson to the Luddites would have
been so wholesale a one that the services of the troops in
this part of the country might have been dispensed with
for some time.”
“Did you recognize any of the men concerned?”
“I am glad to say I did not,” Ned replied. “Some of
them were masked. The others were, so far as I could
see among such a crowd of faces in a not very bright
light, all strangers to me.”
“And you would not recognize any of them again were
you to see them?”
"I should not," Ned replied. “None of them stood
out prominently among the others.”'
“You speak, Mr. Sankey,” Mr. Thompson said, “as if
your sympathies were rather on the side of these men,
who would have burned your mill, and probably have
murdered you, than against them.”
“I do not sympathize with the measures the men are
taking to obtain redress for what they regard as a griev-
ance; but I do sympathize very deeply with the amount


THROUGH THE FRAY.
259
CHAPTER XVIII.
NED IS ATTACKED.
As Ned had-foreseen and resented, the affair at the
mill again made him the chief topic of talk in the neigh-
borhood, and the question of his guilt or innocence of
the murder of his stepfather was again debated with as
much earnestness as it had been when the murder was
first committed. There was this difference, however,
that whereas before he had found but few defenders, for
the impression that he was guilty was almost universal,
there were now many who took the other view.
The one side argued that a lad who was ready to blow
himself and two or three hundred men into the air was
so desperate a character that he would not have been
likely to hesitate a moment in taking the life of a man
whom he hated, and who had certainly ill-treated him.
The other side insisted that one with so much cool cour-
age would not have committed a murder in so cowardly
a way as by tying a rope across the road which his enemy
had to traverse. One party characterized his conduct at
the mill as that of the captain of a pirate ship, the other
likened it to any of the great deeds of devotion told in
history—the death of Leonidas and his three hundred,
or the devotion of Mutius Scævola.
Had Ned chosen now he might have gathered round
himself a strong party of warm adherents, for there were
many who, had they had the least encouragement, would
have been glad to shake him by the hand and to show


260
TAROUGH THE FRAY
their partisanship openly and warmly; but Ned did not
choose. The doctor and Mr. Porson strongly urged
upon him that he should show some sort of willingness
to meet the advances which many were anxious to make.
“These people are all willing to admit that they have
been wrong, Ned, and really anxious to atone as far as
they can for their mistake in assuming that you were
guilty. Now is your time, my boy; what they believe
to-day others will believe to-morrow; it is the first step
toward living it down. I always said it would come, but
I hardly ventured to hope that it would come so soon."
"I can't do it, Mr. Porson; I would if I could, if only
for the sake of the others; but I can't talk, and smile,
and look pleasant. When a man knows that his mother
lying at home thinks that he is a murderer how is he to
go about like other people?"
“But I have told you over and over again, Ned, that
your mother is hardly responsible for her actions. She
has never been a very reasonable being, and is less so
than ever at present. Make an effort, my boy, and mix
with others. Show yourself at the cricket-match next
week. You know the boys are all your firm champions,
and I warrant that half the people there will flock round
you and make much of you if you will but give them the
chance."
But Ned could not, and did not, but went on his way
as before, living as if Marsden had no existence for him,
intent upon his work at the mill, and unbending only
when at home with his brother and sister.
His new friend, Cartwright, was, of course, one of the
first w congratulate him on the escape the mill had had
of destruction.
"I was wondering what you would do if they came,"
he said, “and was inclined to think you were a fool for
pot following my example and having some of your hands


262
THROUGH THE FRAY.
time afterward, to carry her away for a week's visit at
Liversedge. For this Ned was really grateful. Lucy's
life had been a very dull one. She had no friends of her
own age in Marsden, for naturally at the time of Mr.
Mulready's death all intimacy with the few acquaintances
they had in the place had been broken off, for few cared
that their children should associate with a family among
whom such a terrible tragedy had taken place.
Charlie was better off, for he had his friends at school,
and the boys at Porson's believed in Ned's innocence as
a point of honor. In the first place, it would have been
something like a reflection upon the whole school to ad-
mit the possibility of its first boy being a murderer; in
the second, Ned had been generally popular among them,
he was their best cricketer, the life and soul of all their
games, never bullying himself and putting down all bul-
lying among others with a strong hand. Their cham-
pionship showed itself in the shape of friendship for
Charlie; and at the midsummer following Mr. Mulready's
death he had received invitations from many of them to
stay with them during the holidays, and had indeed spent
that time on a series of short visits among them.
He himself would, had he had his choice, have re-
mained at home with Ned, for he knew how lonely his
brother's life was, and that his only pleasure consisted in
the quiet evenings; but Ned would not hear of it.
"You must go, Charlie, both for your sake and my
own. The change will do you good; and if you were to
stop at home and refuse to go out people would say that
you were ashamed to be seen, and that you were crushed
down with the weight of my guilt. You have got to
keep up the honor of the family now, Charlie; I have
proved a failure."
It was September now, and six months had elapsed
since the death of Mr. Mulready. The getting in of the


THROUGH THE FRAY.
267
“Have you heard the news, Sankey?”
“No, I have heard no news in particular.”
“Horsfall has been shot.”
"You don't say so!" Ned exclaimed.
“Yes, he has been threatened again and again. He
was over at Huddersfield yesterday afternoon; he started
from the 'George' on his way back at half-past five. It
seems that his friend Eastwood, of Slaithwaite, knowing
how often his life had been threatened, offered to ride
back with him, and though Horsfall laughed at the offer
and rode off alone, Eastwood had his horse saddled and
rode after him, but unfortunately did not overtake him.
"About six o'clock Horsfall pulled up his horse at the
Warren-house Inn at Crossland Moor. There he gave a
glass of liquor to two of his old work-people who hap-
pened to be outside, drank a glass of rum and water as
he sat in the saddle, and then rode off. A farmer named
Parr was riding about a hundred and fifty yards behind
him. As Horsfall came abreast of a plantation Parr no-
ticed four men stooping behind a wall, and then saw two
puffs of smoke shoot out. Horsfall's horse started round
at the flash, and he fell forward on his saddle.
“Parr galloped up, and jumping off caught him as he
was falling. Horsfall could just say who he was and ask
to be taken to his brother's house, which was near at
hand. There were lots of people in the road, for it was
market day in Huddersfield, you know, and the folks
were on their way home, so he was soon put in a cart and
taken back to the Warren-house. It was found that both
balls had struck him, one in the right side and one in
the left thigh. I hear he is still alive this morning, but
cannot live out the day.”
“That is a bad business indeed,” Ned said.
"It is indeed. Horsfall was a fine, generous, high-
spirited fellow, but he was specially obnoxious to the


268
THROUGH THE FRA Y.
Luddites, whose doings he was always denouncing in the
most violent way. Whose turn will it be next, I wonder?
The success of this attempt is sure to encourage them,
and we may expect to hear of some more bad doings. Of
course there will be a reward offered for the apprehen-
sion of the murderers. A laborer saw them as they were
hurrying away from the plantation, and says he should
know them again if he saw them; but these fellows hang
together so that I doubt if we shall ever find them out.”
After Mr. Cartwright had gone Ned told Luke what
had happened. “I hope, Luke, that none of the Varley
people have had a hand in this business?”
“Oi hoape not,” Luke said slowly, “but ther bain't no
saying; oi hears little enough of what be going on. Oi
was never much in the way of hearing, but now as I am
head of the room, and all the hands here are known to
be well contented, oi hears less nor ever. Still matters
get talked over at the 'Cow.' Oi hears it said as many
of the lads in the village has been wishing to leave King
Lud since the work was put out, but they have had mes-
sages as how any man turning traitor would be put out
of the way. It's been somewhat like that from the first,
and more nor half of them as has joined has done so he-
cause they was afeared to stand out. They ain't tried to
put the screw on us old hands, but most of the young
uns has been forced into joining
"Bill has had a hard toime of it to stand out. He has
partly managed because of his saying as how he has been
sich good friends with yon that he could not join to take
part against the maisters; part, as oi hears, because his
two brothers, who been in the thick of it from the first,
has stuck up agin Bill being forced into it. Oi wish as
we could get that blacksmith out of t' village; he be at
the bottom of it all, and there's nowt would please me
more than to hear as the constables had laid their hands


THROUGH THE FRAY.
269
on him. Oi hear as how he is more violent than ever at
that meeting-house. Of course he never mentions names
or says anything direct, but he holds forth agin traitors
as falls away after putting their hands to the plow, and
as forsakes the cause of their starving brethren because
their own stomachs is full.”
"I wish we could stop him," Ned said thoughtfully.
“I might get a constable sent up to be present at the
meetings, but the constables here are too well known,
and if you were to get one from another place the sight
of a stranger there would be so unusual that it would
put him on his guard at once. Besides, as you say, it
would be very difficult to prove that his expressions ap-
plied to the Luddites, although every one may under-
stand what he means. One must have clear evidence in
such a case. However, I hope we shall catch him trip-
ping one of these days. These are the fellows who ought
to be punished, not the poor ignorant men who are led
away by them.”
The feeling of graiitude and respect with which Ned
was regarded by the workpeople of his district, owing to
his action regarding the hand-frames, did something to-
ward lightening the load caused by the suspicion which
still rested upon him. Although he still avoided all in-
tercourse with those of his own station, he no longer felt
the pressure so acutely. The hard, set expression of his
face softened somewhat, and though he was still strangely
quiet and reserved in his manner toward those with whom
his business necessarily brought him in contact, he no
longer felt absolutely cut off from the rest of his kind.
Ned had continued his practice of occasionally walking
up with Bill Swinton to Varley on his way to the mill.
There was now little fear of an attempt upon his life by
the hands in his neighborhood; but since the failure on
the mill he had incurred the special enmity of the meu


270
THROUGH THE FRAY.
who had come from a distance on that occasion, and he
knew that any night he might be waylaid and shot by
them. It was therefore safer to go round by Varley ihan
by the direct road. One evening when he had been chat-
ting rather later than usual at Luke Marner's, Luke said:
"Oi think there's something i' t'wind. Oi heerd at
t' Cow this evening that there are some straangers i'tle
village. They're at t' Dog. Oi thinks there's soom
sort oy a council there. Oi heers as they be from Hud.
dersfield, which be the headquarters o' General Lud in
this part. However, maister, oi doan't think as there's
any fear of another attack on thy mill; they war too
badly scaared t’other noight vor to try that again.”
When Ned got up to go Bill Swinton as usual put on
his cap to accompany him, as he always walked across
the moor with him until they came to the path leading
down to the back of the mill, this being the road taken
by the hands from Varley coming and going from work.
When they had started a minute or two George, who had
been sitting by the fire listening to the talk, got up and
stretched himself preparatory to going to bed, and said
in his usual slow way:
“Oi wonders what they be a-doing to-noight. Twice
while ye ha' been a-talking oi ha’ seen a chap &-looking
in at t' window- "
“Thou hast!” Luke exclaimed, starting up. "Dang
theo, thou young fool! Why didn't say so afore? Oi
will hoide thee when oi comes back rarely! Polly, do
thou run into Gardiner's, and Hoskings', and Burt's;
tell 'em to cotch up a stick and to roon for their loives
across t' moor toward t' mill. And do thou, Jarge, roon
into Sykes' and Wilmot's and tell 'em the same; and be
quick if thou would save thy skin. Tell 'em t' maister
be loike to be attacked.”
Catching up a heavy stick Luke hurried off, running


THROUGH THE FRAT.
2181
into two cottages near and bringing on two more of the
mill hands with him. He was nearly across the moor
when they heard the sound of a shot. Luke, who was
running at the top of his speed, gave a hoarse cry as of
one who had received a mortal wound. Two shots fol-
lowed in quick succession: A minute later Luke was
dashing down the hollow through which the path ran
down from the moor. Now he made out a group of
moving figures and heard the sounds of conflict. His
breath was coming in short gasps, his teeth were set; fast
as he was running, he groaned that his limbs would carry
him no faster. It was scarce two minutes from the time
when the first shot was fired, but it seemed ages to him
before he dashed into the group of men, knocking down
two by the impetus of his rush. He was but just in
time. A figure lay prostrate on the turf; another stand-
ing over him had just been beaten to his knee. But he
sprang up again at Luke's onward rush. His assailants
for a moment drew back.
“Thou’rt joist in toime, Luke," Bill panted out. “Oi
war well-nigh done."
“Be t' maister shot?"
“No, nowt but a clip wi’ a stick."
As the words passed between them the assailants again
rushed forward with curses and execrations upon those
who stood between them and their victim.
“Moind, Luke, they ha' got knoives!” Bill exclaimed.
“Oi ha' got more nor one slash already.”
Luke and Bill fought vigorously, but they were over-
matched. Anger and fear for Ned's safety nerved Luke's
arm, the weight of the last twenty years seemed to drop
off him, and he felt himself again the sturdy young crop-
per who could hold his own against any in the village.
But he had not yet got back his breath, and was panting
heavily. The assailants, six in number, were active and


THROUGH THE FRAY.
273
top of his speed the time seemed long indeed to those
who were waiting. When he returned they set to work
at once to examine the injuries. Ned appeared to have
received but one blow. The blood was slowly welling
from a wound at the back of his head.
“That war maade by a leaded stick, oi guess,” Luke
said; it's cut through his hat, and must pretty nigh ha'
cracked his skool. One of you bathe un wi’ the water
while we looks arter Bill.”
Polly gave an exclamation of horror as the light fell
apon Bill Swinton. He was covered with blood. A
clean cut extended from the top of the ear to the point
of the chin, another from the left shoulder to the breast,
while a third gash behind had cut through to the bone
of the shoulder-blade.
“Never moind t' water, lass,” Luke said as Polly with
trembling hands was about to wash the blood from the
eut on the face, “the bluid won't do un no harm-thou
must stop t' bleeding.”
Polly tore three or four long strips from the bottom of
her dress. While she was doing so one of the men by
Luke's directions took the lantern and gathered some
short dry moss from the side of the slope, and laid it in
a ridge on the gaping wound. Then Luke with Polly's
assistance tightly bandaged Bill's head, winding the
strips from the back of the lead round to the chin, and
again across the temples and jaw. Luke took out bis
knife and cut off the coat and shirt from the arms and
shoulder, and in the same way bandaged up the other
two wounds. After George had started to fetch the
lantern, Luke had at Polly's suggestion sent two men
back to the village, and these had now returned with
doors they had taken off the hinges. When Bill's
wounds were bandaged he and Ned were placed on the
doors, Ned giving a faint groan as he was moved.


274
THROUGH THE FRAY.
“That's roight,” Luke said encouragingly; "he be
a-cooming round.”
Two coats were wrapped up and placed under their
heads, and they were then lifted and carried off, Polly
hurrying on ahead to make up the fire and get hot water.
"Say nowt to no one,” Luke said as he started. "Till
t' master cooms round there ain't no saying what he'd
loike done. Maybe he won't have nowt said aboot it."
The water was already hot when the party reached the
cottage; the blood was carefully washed off Ned's head,
and a great swelling with an ugly gash running across
was shown. Cold water was dashed in his face, and with
a gasp he opened his eyes.
"It be all roight, Maister Ned,” Luke said soothingly;
"it be all over now, and you be among vriends. Ye've
had an ugly one on the back o' thy head, but I dowt
thou wilt do rarely now.”
Ned looked round yaguely, then a look of intelligence
came into his face.
“Where is Bill?” he asked.
“He be hurted sorely, but oi think it be only loss o'
blood, and he will coom round again; best lie still a few
minutes, maister, thou wilt feel better then; Polly she
be tending Bill.”
In a few minutes Ned was able to sit up; a drink of
cold brandy and water further restored him. He went
to the bed on which Bill had been placed.
“He's not dead?” he asked with a gasp, as he saw the
white face enveloped in bandages.
“No, sure-lie,” Luke replied cheerfully; "he be a long
way from dead yet, oi hoape, though he be badly cat
about."
“Have you sent for the doctor?” Ned asked.
“No!"
“Then send for Dr. Green at once, and tell him from
me to come up here instantly."


276
THROUGII TIIE FRAY.
“Poor old Bill,” Ned said sadly, going up to the bed-
side and laying his hand on the unconscious figure. “I
fear you have given your life to save one of little value
to myself or any one else.”
"Don't say that, Master Ned,” Polly said softly; "you
cannot say what your life may be as yet, and if so be that
Bill is to die, and God grant it isn't so, he himself would
not think his life thrown away if it were given to sare
yours.”
But few words were spoken in the cottage until Dr.
Green arrived. Ned's head was aching so that he was
forced to lie down. Polly from time to time moistened
Bill's lips with a few drops of brandy. George had been
ordered off to bed, and Luke sat gazing at the fire, wish-
ing that there was something he could do. At last the
doctor arrived; the messenger had told him the nature
of the case, and he had come provided with lint, plaster,
and bandages.
“Well, Ned,” he asked as he came in, "have you been
in the war3 again?"
"I am all right, doctor. I had a knock on the head
which a day or two will put right; but I fear Bill is very
seriously hurt.”
The doctor at once set to to examine the bandages.
“You have done them up very well,” he said approv-
ingly; "but the blood is still oozing from them. I must
dress them afresh; get me plenty of hot water, Polly, I
have brought a sponge with me. Can you look on with.
out fainting?!”
"I don't think I shall faint, sir,” Polly said quietly;
“if I do, feyther will take my place.”
In a quarter of an hour the wounds were washed.
drawn together, and bandaged. There was but little
fresh bleeding, for the lad's stock of life-blood had nearly
all flowed away.


THROUGH THE FRAY,
274
"A very near case,” the doctor said critically; "as
close a shave as ever I saw. Had the wound on the face
been a quarter of an inch nearer the eyebrow it would
have severed the temporal artery. As it is it has merely
laid open the jaw. Neither of the other wounds are se
rious, though they might very well have been fatal.”
“Then you think he will get round, doctor?” Ned
asked in a low tone.
“Get round! Of course he will,” Dr. Green replied
cheerily. "Now that we have got him bound up we will
soon bring him round. It is only a question of loss of
blood.”
“Hullo! this will never do," he broke off as Ned sud-
denly reeled and would have fallen to the ground had
not Luke caught him. “Pour this cordial down Swin-
ton's throat, Polly, a little at a time, and lift his head as
you do it, and when you see him open his eyes, put a
pillow under his head; but don't do so so till he begins
to come round. Now let me look at Ned's head.
“It must have been a tremendous blow, Luke," he
said seriously. “I only hope it hasn't fractured the
skull. However, all this swelling and guffusion of blood
is a good sign. Give me that hot water. I shall put a
lancet in here and get it to bleed freely. That will be a
relief to him."
While he was doing this an exclamation of pleasure
from Polly showed that Bill was showing signs of return-
ing to life. His eyes presently opened. Polly bent over
him.
“Lie qniet, Bill, dear; you have been hurt, but the
doctor says you will soon be well again. Yes; Master
Ned is all right too. Don't worry yourself about him."
An hour later both were sleeping quietly.
“They will sleep till morning," Dr. Green said, “per-
haps well on into the day; it is no use my waiting any
longer, I will be up the first thing."


278
THROUGH THE FRAY.
So he drove away, while Polly took her work and sat
down to watch the sleepers during the night, and Luke,
taking his stick and hat, set off to guard the mill till
daylight.
Ned woke first just as daylight was breaking; he felt
stupid and heavy, with a splitting pain in his head. He
tried to rise, but found that he could not do so. He
accordingly told George to go down in an hour's time to
Marsden, and to leave a message at the house saying that
he was detained and should not be back to breakfast, and
that probably he might not return that night. The doc-
tor kept his head enveloped in wet bandages all day, and
he was on the following morning able to go down to
Marsden, although still terribly pale and shaken. His
appearance excited the liveliest wonder and commisera-
tion on the part of Charlie, Lucy, and Abijah; but he
told them that he had had an accident, and had got &
nasty knock on the back of his head. He kept his room
for a day or two; but at the end of that time he was able
to go to the mill as usual. Bill Swinton was longer away,
but broths and jellies soon built up his strength again,
and in three weeks he was able to resume work, although
it was long before the ugly scar on his face was healed.
The secret was well kept, and although in time the
truth of the affair became known in Varley it never
reached Marsden, and Ned escaped the talk and com-
ment which it would have excited had it been known,
and, what was worse, the official inquiry which would
have followed. The Huddersfield men naturally kept
their own council. They had hastily buried their dead
comrade on the moor, and although several of them were
so severely knocked about that they were unable to go to
work for some time, no rumor of the affair got about
outside the circle of the conspirators. It need hardly be
said that this incident drew Ned and Bill even more


280
THROUGH THE FRAY.
a person could be tried twice for the same offense, after
he has been acquitted the first time, and he believes that
the fear is ever present in her mind that some fresh evi-
dence may be forthcoming which may unmistakably bring
the guilt home to him. I have talked it over with Ned
several times, and he now takes the same view of it as I
do. The idea of his guilt has become a sort of mono-
mania with her, and nothing save the most clear and
convincing proof of his innocence would have any effect
upon her mind. If that is ever forthcoming she may
recover, and the two may be brought together again.
At the same time I think that you might very well call
upon her, introducing yourself by saying that as I was a
friend of Captain Sankey's and of her son's you were
desirous of making her acquaintance, especially as you
heard that she was such an invalid. She has no friends
whatever. She was never a very popular woman, and
the line every one knows she has taken in reference to
the murder of her second husband has set those who
would otherwise have been inclined to be kind against
her. Other people may be convinced of Ned's guilt, but
you see it seems to everyone to be shocking that a
mother should take part against her son.”
Accordingly Mrs. Porson called. On the first occasion
when she did so Mrs. Mulready sent down to say that
she was sorry she could not see her, but that the state of
her health did not permit her to receive visitors..
Mrs. Porson, however, was not to be discouraged.
First she made friends with Lucy, and when she knew
that the girl was sure to have spoken pleasantly of her to
her mother she opened a correspondence with Mrs. Mul-
ready. At first she only wrote to ask that Lucy might
be allowed to come and spend the day with her. Her
next letter was on the subject of Lucy's music. The
girl had long gone to a day-school kept by a lady in


THROUGE THE FRAY.
281
Marsden, but her music had been neglected, and Mrs.
Porson wrote to say that she found that Lucy had & taste
for music, and that baying been herself well taught she
should be happy to give her lessons twice a week, and
that if Mrs. Mulready felt well enough to see her she
would like to have a little chat with her on the subject.
This broke the ice. Luey's backwardness in music
had long been a grievance with her mother, who, as she
lay in bed and listened to the girl practicirg below had
fretted over the thought that she could obtain no good
teacher for her in Marsden. Mrs. Porson's offer was
therefore too tempting to be refused, and as it was nec-
essary to appear to reciprocate the kindness of that lady,
she determined to make an effort to receive her.
The meeting went off well. Having once made the
effort Mrs. Mulready found, to her surprise, that it was
pleasant to her after being cut off for so many months
from all intercourse with the world, except such as she
gained from the doctor, her two children, and the old
serrant, to be chatting with her visitor, who exerted her-
self to the utmost to make herself agreeable.
The taik was at first confined to the ostensible subject
of Mrs. Porson's visit; but after that was satisfactorily
arranged the conversation turned to Marsden and the
neighborhood. Many people had called upon Mrs. Por-
son, and as all of these were more or less known to Mrs.
Mulready, her visitor asked her many questions concern-
ing them, and the invalid was soon gossiping cheerfully
over the family histories and personal peculiarities of
her neighbors.
"You have done me a world of good,” she said when
Mrs. Porson rose to leave. "I never see any one but the
doctor, and he is the worst person in the world for a
gossip. He ought to know everything, but somehow he
seems to know nothing. You will come again, won't


282
THROUGH TOE TRAY.
you? It will be a real kindness, and you have taken so
much interest in my daughter that it quite seems to me
as if you were an old friend.”
And so the visit was repeated; but not too often, for
Mrs. Porson knew that it was better that her patient
should wait and long for her coming, and now that the
ice was once broken, Mrs. Mulready soon came to look
forward with eagerness to these changes in her monoto-
nous existence.
For some time Ned's name was never mentioned be-
tween them. Then one day Mrs. Porson, in a careless
manner, as if she had no idea whatever of the state of
the relations between mother and son, mentioned that
Ned had been at their house the previous evening, say-
ing: “My husband has a wonderful liking and respect
for your son; they are the greatest friends, thongh of
course there is a good deal of difference in age between
them. I don't know any one of whom John thinks so
highly."
Mrs. Mulready turned very pale, and then in a con-
strained voice said:
"Mr. Porson has always been very kind to my sons."
Then she sighed deeply and changed the subject of con-
versation.
"Your wife is doing my patient a great deal more good
than I have ever been able to do,” Dr. Green said one
day to the schoolmaster. “She has become quite a dif-
ferent woman in the last five or six weeks. She is always
up and on the sofa now when I call, and I notice that
she begins to take pains with her dress again; and that,
you know, is always a first-rate sign with a woman. I
think she would be able to go downstairs again soon,
were it not for her feeling about Ned. She would not
meet him, I am sure. You don't see any signs of a
change in that quarter, I suppose ?”


THROUGH THE FRAY.
283
"No," Mrs. Porson replied. “The last time I men-
tioned his name she said: 'My son is a most unfortunate
young man, and the subject pains me too much to dis-
cuss. Therefore, if you please, Mrs. Porson, I would
rather leave it alone.' So I am afraid there is no chance
of my making any progress there."


288
THROUGH THE FRAY.
“You had better come down, Sankey. The door must
give way ere long; we must make a stand there. If they
once break in, it will soon be all up with us.”
Calling together three or four of the soldiers the man-
ufacturer hurried down to the door. They were none
too soon. The panels had already been splintered to
pieces and the iron plates driven from their bolts by the
tremendous blows of the hammer, but the stout bar still
stood. Through the yawning hoies in the upper part of
the door the hammermen could be seen at work without.
Five guns flashed out, and yells and heavy falls told
that the discharge had taken serious effect. The ham-
mering ceased, for the men could not face the fire.
Leaving Ned and one of the soldiers there, Mr. Cart-
wright hurried round to the other doors, but the assault
had been less determined there and they still resisted;
then he went upstairs and renewed the firing from the
upper windows. The fight had now continued for twenty
minutes, and the fire of the Luddites was slackening;
their supply of powder and ball was running short. The
determined resistance, when they had hoped to have
effected an easy entrance by surprise, had discouraged
them; several had fallen and more were wounded, and
at any time the soldiers might be upon them.
Those who had been forced by fear to join the associa-
tion-and these formed no small part of the whole-had
long since begun to slink away quietly in the darkness,
and the others now began to follow them. The groans
and cries of the wounded men added to their discomfiture,
and many eagerly seized the excuse of carrying these
away to withdraw from the fight. Gradually the firing
ceased, and a shout of triumph rose from the little party
in the mill at the failure of the attack. The defenders
gathered in the lower floor.
"I think they are all gone now," Ned said, "Shall


THROUGII TIE FRAY.
289
we go out, Mr. Cartwright, and see what we can do for
the wounded? There are several of them lying round
the door and near the windows. I can hear them groan-
ing."
"No, Ned,” Mr. Cartwright said firmly, “they must
wait a little longer. The others may still be hiding close
ready to make a rush if we come out; besides, it would
likely enough be said of us that we went out and killed
the wounded; we must wait awhile.” Presently a voice
was heard shouting without:
“Are you all right, Cartwright?”
“Yes," the manufacturer replied. “Who are you?”
The questioner proved to be a friend who lived the
other side of Liversedge, and who had been aroused by
the ringing of the alarm-bell. He had not ventured to
approach until t'e firing had ceased, and had then come
on to see the issue. Hearing that the rioters had all
departed, Mr. Cartwright ordered the door to be opened.
The wounded Luddites were liited and carried into the
mill, and Mr. Cartwright sent at once for the nearest
surgeon, Wi.o was speedily upon the spot.
Long before he arrived the hussars had ridden up, and
had been dispatched over the country in search of the
rioters, of whom, save the dead and wounded, no signs
were visible. As day dawned the destruction which had
been wrought was clearly visible. The doors were in
splinters, the lower window-frames were all smashed in,
scarce a pane of glass remained in its place throughout
the whole building, the stonework was dotted and
splashed with bullet marks, the angles of the windows
were chipped and broken, there were dark patches of
blood in many places in the courtyard, and the yard
itself and the roads leading from the mill were strewn
with guns, picks, levers, hammers, and pikes, which had
been thrown away by the discomfited rioters in their
tatreat,


290
THROUGH THE FRAY.
- They have had a lesson for once," Mr. Cartwright
said as he looked round; "they won't attack my mill
again in a hurry. I need not say, Sankey, how deeply I
am obliged to you for your timely warning. How did
you get to know of it?”.
Ned related the story of his being awakened by Mary
Powlett. He added: “I don't think, after all, my warn-
ing was of much use to you. You could have kept them
out anyhow."
"I don't think so,” Mr. Cartwright said. “I imagine
that your arrival upset all their plans; they were so close
behind you that they must have heard the knocking and
the door open and close. The appearance of lights in
the mill and the barking of the dog would, at any rate,
have told them that we were on the alert, and seeing that
they ran on and opened fire. I have no doubt that their
plan was to have stolen quietly up to the windows and
commenced an attack upon these in several places, and
had they done this they would probably bave forced an
entrance before we could have got together to resist
them. No, my lad, you and that girl have saved the mill
between you."
“You will not mention, Mr. Cartwright, to any one
how I learned the news. The girl's life would not be
safe were it known that she brought me word of the
intention of the Luddites."
“ You may rely on me for that; and now, if you please,
we will go off home at once and get some breakfast.
Amy may have heard of the attack and will be in a rare
fright until she gets news of me."
Mr. Cartwright's house was about a mile from the
mill. When they arrived there it was still closed and
quiet, and it was evident that no alarm had been excited.
Mr. Cartwright's knocking soon roused the servants, and
a few minutes later Amy hurried down.


. FRAY.
THROUGH THE FRAY.
291
"What is it, papa? What brings you back so early?
it is only seven o'clock now. How do you do, Mr. San-
key? Why, papa, how dirty and black you both look!
What have you been doing? And, oh, papa! you have
got blood on your hands!"
“It is not my own, my dear, and you need not be
frightened. The attack on the mill has come at last
and we have given the Luddites a handsome thrashing.
The danger is all over now, for I do not think the mill is
ever likely to be attacked again. But I will tell you all
about it presently; run and get breakfast ready as soon
as you can, for we are as hungry as hunters, I can tell
you. We will go and have a wash, and will be ready in
ten minutes."
“We can't be ready in ten minutes, papa, for the fires
are not lighted yet, but we will be as quick as we can; and
do please make haste and come and tell me all about this
dreadful business.”
In half an hour the party were seated at breakfast.
Amy had already been told the incidents of the fight, and
trembled as she heard how nearly the rioters had burst
their way into the mill, and was deeply grateful to Ned
for the timely warning which had frustrated the plans of
the rioters.
In vain did the soldiers scour the country. The Lud-
dites on their retreat had scattered to their villages, the
main body returning to Huddersfield and appearing at
their work as usual in the morning.
Large rewards were offered for information which
would lead to the apprehension of any concerned in the
attack, but these, as well as the notices offering two
thousand pounds for the apprehension of the murderers
of Mr. Horsfall, met with no responses. Scores of men
must have known who were concerned in these affairs,
but either fidelity to the cause or fear of the conse-
quenoes of treachery kept them silent.


THROUGH THE FRA Y.
293
"No, sir, except that John Stukeley has not been about
since. The smithy was not opened the next morning
and the chapel was closed yesterday. They say as he
has been taken suddenly ill, but feyther thinks that per-
haps he was wounded. Of course men don't speak much
before feyther, and I don't talk much to the other women
of the village, so we don't know what's going on; any-
how the doctor has not been here to see him, and if he
had been only ill I should think they would have had
Dr. Green up. Old Sarah James is nursing him. I saw
her this morning going to the shop and asked her how
he was; she only said it was no business of mine. But
she doesn't like me because sometimes I nurse people
when they are ill, and she thinks it takes money from
her; and so it does, but what can I do if people like me
to sit by them better than her? and no wonder, for she
is very deaf and horribly dirty."
"I don't think they are to be blamed, Polly,” Ned
said, smiling. "If I were ill I should certainly like you
to nurse me a great deal better than that bad-tempered
old woman.”
The attack on Cartwright's mill made a great sensation
through that part of the country. It was the most de-
termined effort which the Luddites had yet made, and
although it showed their determination to carry matters
to an extremity, it also showed that a few determined
men could successfully resist their attacks.
Nothing else was talked about at Marsden, and as Mr.
Cartwright everywhere said that the success of the re-
sistance was due entirely to the upsetting of the plans of
the rioters by the warning Ned had given him, the latter
gained great credit in the eyes of all the peaceful inhab-
itants. But as it would make Ned still more obnoxious
to the Luddites, Major Browne insisted on placing six
soldiers permanently at the mill, and on four accompany-


THROUGH THE FRAT.
297
days,” Luke replied. “Oi suppose they got frighted
and were obliged to call him in."
“They had better have done so at first," Ned said;
"they might have been quite sure that he would say
nothing about it to the magistrates whatever was the
matter with Stukeley. I thought that fellow would get
into mischief before he had done."
“It war a bad day for the village when he coomed,"
Luke said; "what wi' his preachings and his talk, he ha’
turned the place upside down. I doan't say as Varley
had ever a good name, or was a place where a quiet chap
would have chosen to live. For fighting and drink there
weren't a worse place in all Yorkshire, but there weren't
no downright mischief till he came. Oi wur afraid vor a
bit when he came a-hanging aboot Polly, as the gal
might ha' took to him, for he can talk smooth and has
had edication, and Polly thinks a wonderful lot of that.
Oi were main glad when she sent him aboot bis business.”
“Well, there is one thing, Luke; if anything happens
to him it will put an end to this Luddite business at Var-
ley. Such a lesson as that in their midst would do more
to convince them of the danger of their goings-on than
any amount of argument and advice.”
"It will that,” Luke said. "Oi hear as they are all
moighty down in the mouth over that aífair at Cart-
wright's. If they could not win there, when they were
thirty to one, what chance can they have o' stopping the
mills? Ci consider as how that has been the best
noight's work as ha' been done in Yorkshire for years
and years. There ain't a-been anything else talked of in
Varley since. I ha' heard a score of guesses as to how
you found owt what was a-going on in toime to get to
the mill—thank God there ain't one as suspects as our
Polly brought you the news. My own boys doan't know,
and ain't &-going to; pot 48 they would say & word ag


298
THROUGH TILE FRAY.
would harm Polly for worlds, but as they gets a bit
bigger and takes to drink, there's no saying what
mightn't slip out when they are in liquor. So you and
oi and Bill be the only ones as all ever know the ins and
outs o' that there business.”


802
THROUGH THE FRAY.
"Never mind that now, John; that's all past and
gone."
“Ay, that's all past and gone. I only wanted to say
as I wish you well, Polly, and I hope you will be happy,
and I am pretty nigh sure of it. Bill here tells me that
you set your heart on haring young Sankey cleared of
that business as was against him. Is that so?"
“That is so, John; he has been very kind to us all, to
feyther and all of us. He is a good master to his men,
and has kept many a mouth full this winter as would
have been short of food without him; but why do you
ask me?"
"Just a fancy of mine, gal, such a fancy as comes into
the head of a man at the last. When you get back send
Luke here. It is late and maybe he has gone to bed, but
tell him I must speak to him. And now, good-by, Polly,
God bless you! I don't know as I hasn't been wrong
about all this business, but it didn't seem so to me afore.
Just try and think that, will you, when you hear about
it. I thought as I was a-acting for the good of the
men."
"I will always remember that,” Polly said gently.
Then she took the thin hand of the man in hers,
glanced at Bill as if she would ask his approval, and
reading acquiesence in his eyes she stooped over the bed
and kissed Stukeley's forehead. Then without a word
she left the cottage and hurried away through the dark.
ness.
A few minutes later Luke Marner came in, and to
Bill's surprise Stukeley asked him to leave the room. In
five minutes Luke came out again.
"Go in to him, Bill," he said hoarsely. "Oi think he
be a-sinking. For God's sake keep him up. Give him
that wine and broath stuff as thou canst. Keep him
going till oi coom back again; thou doan't know what
depends on it."


THROUGH THE FRAY,
303
Hurrying back to his cottage Luke threw on a thick
coat, and to the astonishment of Polly announced that he
was going down into Marsden.
“What! on such a night as this, feyther?"
“Ay, làss, and would if it it wore ten toimes wurse.
Get ye into thy room, and go down on thy knees, and
pray God to keep John Stukeley alive and clear-headed
till oi coomes back again.”
It was many years since Luke Marner's legs had carried
him so fast as they now did into Marsden. The driving
rain and hail which beat against him seemed unheeded
as he ran down the hill at the top of his speed. He
stopped at the doctor's and went in. Two or three
mitutes after the arrival of this late visitor Dr. Green's
housekeeper was astonished at hearing the bell ring vio
lently. On answering the bell she was ordered to arouse
John, who had already gone to bed, and to tell him to
put the horse into the gig instantly.
“Not on such a night as this, doctor! sureley you are
not a-going out on such a night as this!"
“Hold your tongue, woman, and do as you are told
instantly,” the doctor said with far greater spirit than
usual, for his housekeeper was, as a general thing, mis-
tress of the establishment.
With an air of greatly offended dignity she retired to
carry out his orders. Three minutes later the doctor ran
out of bis room as he heard the man-servant descending
the stairs.
“John," he said, “I am going on at once to Mr.
Thompson's; bring the gig round there. I shan't want
you to go further with me. Hurry up, man, and don't
lose a moment-it is a matter of life and death."
A quarter of an hour later Dr. Green, with Mr.
Thompson by his side, drove off through the tempest
toward Varley.


804
THROUGH THK FRA Y.
The next morning, as Ned was at breakfast, the doctor
was announced.
"What a pestilently early hour you breakfast at, Ned!
I was not in bed till three o'clock, and I scarcely seemed
to have been asleep an hour when I was obliged to get up
to be in time to catch you before you were off.”
"That is hard on you indeed, doctor," Ned said, smil.
ing; “but why this haste? Have you got some patient
for whom you want my help? You need not have got up
80 early for that, you know. You could have ordered
anything you wanted for him in my name. You might
have been sure I should have honored the bill. But what
made you so late last night? You were surely never ont
in such a gale!”
“I was, Ned, and strange as it seems I never went in
answer to a call which gave me so much satisfaction,
My dear lad, I hardly know how to tell you. I have a
piece of news for you; the greatest, the best news that
man could have to teil you."
Ned drew a long breath and the color left his cheeks.
“You don't mean, doctor, you can't mean”—and he
paused.
“That you are cleared, my boy. Yes; that is my
news. Thank God, Ned, your innocence is proved.”
Ned could not speak. For a minute be sat silent and
motionless. Then he bent forward and covered his face
with his hands, and his lips moved as he murmured a
deep thanksgiving to God for this mercy, while Lucy
and Charlie, with cries of surprise and delight, leaped
fron the table, and when Ned rose to his feet, threw
their arms round his neck with enthusiastic delight;
while the doctor wrung his hand, and then, taking out
his pocket-handkerchief, wiped his eyes, violently declar-
ing, as he did so, that he was an old fool.
“Tell me all about it, doctor. How has it happened?
What has brought it about?”


306
TAROUGH THE FRAY.
Mulready, but simply to oblige Mary Powlett, whose
heart was bent upon your innocence being proved. He
signed the deposition in the presence of Thompson, my-
self, and Bill Swinton.”
“And you think it is true, doctor, you really think it
is true? It is not like Luke's attempt to save me?''
“I am certain it is true, Ned. The man was dying,
and there was no mistake about his earnestness. Therə
is not a shadow of doubt. I sent Swinton back in the
gig with Thompson and stayed with the man till half.
past two. He was unconscious then. He may linger a
few hours, but will not live out the day, and there is
little chance of his again recovering consciousness.
Thompson will to-day send a copy of the deposition to
the home secretary, with a request that it may be made
public through the newspapers. It will appear in all the
Yorkshire papers next Saturday, and all the world will
know that you are innocent."
“What will my mother say?" Ned exclaimed, turning
pale again.
"I don't know what she will say, my lad, but I know
what she ought to say. I am going round to Thompson's
now for a copy of the deposition, and will bring it for her
to see. Thompson will read it aloud at the meeting of
the court to-day, so by this afternoon every one will
know that you are cleared."
Abijah's joy when she heard that Ned's innocence was
proved was no less than that of his brother and sister.
She would have rushed upstairs at once to tell the news
to her mistress, but Ned persuaded her not to do so until
the doctor's return.
“Then he will have to be quick,” Abijah said, "for if
the mistress' bell rings, and I have to go up before he
comes, I shall never be able to keep it to myself. She
will see it in my face that something has happened. If


THROUGH THE FRAY.
307
the bell rings, Miss Lucy, you must go up, and if she
asks for me, say that I am particular busy, and will be
up in a few minutes.”
The bell, however, did not ring before the doctor's re.
turn. After a short consultation between him and Ned,
Abijah was called in.
"Mr. Sankey agrees with me, Abijah, that you had
better break the news. Your mistress is more accus-
tomed to you than to any one else, and you understand
her ways. Here is the deposition. I shall wait below
here till you come down. There is no saying how she
will take it. Be sure you break the news gently."
Abijah went upstairs with a hesitating step, strongly in
contrast with her usual quick bustling walk. She had
before felt rather aggrieved that the doctor should be
the first to break the news; but she now felt the difficulty
of the task, and would gladly have been spared tire
responsibility.
“I have been expecting you for the last quarter of an
hour, Abijah,” Mrs. Mulready said querulously. "You
know how I hate to have the room untidy after I have
dressed. Why, what's the matter?” she broke off sharply
as she noticed Abijah's face. “Why, you have been
crying!”
“Yes, ma'am, I have been crying,” Abijah said un-
- steadily, “but I don't know as ever I shall cry again,
for I have heard such good news as will last me the rest
of my whole life.”
“What news, Abijah?” Mrs. Mulready asked quickly.
“What are you making a mystery about, and what is
that paper in your hand ?”
"Well, ma'am, God has been very good to us all. I
knew as he would be sooner or later, though sometimes I
began to doubt whether it would be in my time, and it
did break my heart to see Maister Ned going about so


312
THROUGH THE FRAY.
had so long overshadowed him had passed away, and the
look of cold reserve had vanished with it, and he was
prepared again to receive the world as a friend. He was
most moved when, early in the day, Mr. Porson and the
whole of the boys arrived. As soon as he had left Mrs.
Mulready, Dr. Green had hurried down to the school.
house with the news, and Mr. Porson, as soon as he
heard it, had announced it from his desk, adding that
after such news as that he could not expect them to con-
tinue their lessons, and that the rest of the day must
therefore be regarded as a holiday. He yielded a ready
assent when the boys entreated that they might go in a
body to congratulate Ned.
Ned was speechless for some time as his old friend
wrung his hand, and his former schoolfeilows clustered
round him with a very Babel of congratulations and good
wishes. Only the knowledge that his mother was ill
above prevented them from breaking into uproarious
cheering. In the afternoon, hearing that his mother
was still awake, Ned, accompanied by Mr. Porson, went
out for a stroll, telling Harriet that she was to remain at
the open door while he was away, so as to prevent any
one from knocking. It was something of a trial to Ned
to walk through the street which he had passed along so
many times in the last year oblivious of all within it.
Every man and woman he met insisted on shaking hands
with him. Tradesmen left their shops and ran out to
greet him, and there was no mistaking the general en-
thusiasm which was felt on the occasion, and the desire
of every one to atone as far as possible for the unmerited
suffering which had been inflicted on him.
When he returned at six o'clock he found Harriet still
on the watch, and she said in low tones that Abijah had
just come downstairs with the news that her mistress had
faller asleep.


THROUGH THE FRAY.
315
atter a hasty word, or to form a hasty judgment. He
was ever busy in devising schemes for the benefit of his
workpeople, and to be in Sankey's mill was considered as
the greatest piece of good fortune which could befall a
hand.
Four years after the confession of John Stukeley Ned
married the daughter of his friend George Cartwright,
and settled down in a handsome house which he had
built for himself a short distance out of Marsden. Lucy
was soon afterward settled in a house of her own, having
married a young land-owner with ample estates.
Mrs. Mulready, in spite of the urgent persuasions of
her son and his young wife, refused to take up her resi-
dence with them, but established herself in a pretty little
house close at hand, spending, however, a considerable
portion of each day with him at his home. The trials
through which she had gone had done even more for her
than for Ned. All her querulous listlessness had disap-
peared. She was bright, cheerful, and even-tempered.
Ned used to tell her that she grew younger looking every
day.
Her pride and happiness in her son were unbounded,
and these culminated when, ten years after his accession
to the management of the mill, Ned acceded to the re.
quest of a large number of manufacturers in the district,
to stand for Parliament as the representative of the mill-
owning interest, and was triumphantly returned at the
head of the poll.
Of the other characters of this story little need be said.
Dr. Green and Mr. and Mrs. Porson remained Ned's
closest friends to the end of their lives. Mary Powlett
did not compel Bill Swinton to wait until the situation of
foreman of the mill became vacant, but married him two
years after the death of John Stukeley. Bill became in
time not only foreman but the confidential manager of


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