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 THE SCOWCROFT CRITIC5.
 
 ■WttMtAIBdJ
 
 THE 
 
 5C0WCR0FT CRITICS 
 
 By 
 
 JOHN ACKWORTH, 
 
 Autlior of " Clog-Shoj) Cliromdcs," " Beclcside Lights," &c. 
 
 London : 
 JAMES CLARKE & CO., 13 & 14, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1898.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PACE 
 
 The Scowcrof t Critics 
 
 1 
 
 The Starting of Scowcroft Mill 
 
 19 
 
 Adam and the Stars . . 
 
 57 
 
 William's Idol . . , 
 
 81 
 
 Jacky's Trouble 
 
 119 
 
 Billy's Blunder 
 
 157 
 
 A Silent Sennon 
 
 201 
 
 The Superintendent 
 
 253 
 
 A Suspicious Case 
 
 291 
 
 Reuben Cleans His Slate 
 
 331
 
 7 
 
 THE SCOWCROFT CRITICS.
 
 THE SCOWCROFT CRITICS. 
 
 ScowcROFT held a position in the Wallbury 
 Circuit altogether out of proportion to its size 
 and the number and social status of its 
 members. Its name was a very long way down 
 on the plan, and its financial contributions 
 gave it no claim for special consideration. At 
 the same time it had a distinction all its own, 
 and was renowned throughout the district for 
 a severely critical spirit and an exacting 
 standard of pulpit ability. Everybody who 
 was anybody in Scowcroft was an expert in 
 the difficult art of sermon tasting. Even the 
 childi-en as they grew up learned to prop their 
 chins on the backs of the forms before them 
 and follow the words of the preacher with 
 faces of such precocious astuteness that an 
 embarrassed, hesitant, or nervous preacher was 
 greatly distui'bed. There was more than one 
 preacher on the " plan " who dared not occupy 
 the Scowcroft pulpit at all, and there were others 
 who must not if they would. And when once 
 the Scowcroft sanhedrim had pronounced 
 against an aspirant to pulpit honours he would 
 have been a bold superintendent indeed who 
 had appointed such an one.
 
 4 THE SCOWCEOFT CEITICS. 
 
 Everybody of importance sat in the gallery, 
 which went round the four sides of the build- 
 ing, and was disproportionately large for the size 
 of the chapel, and the rank of a worshipper 
 was indicated by the distance of his seat from 
 the front pew. The men of light and leading 
 sat of course at the front overlooking the well, 
 each one occupying tne door seat of his par- 
 ticular pew, and thus having his family safely 
 penned up inside. 
 
 There were three front pews on each side and 
 two over the clock, and in these apartments sat 
 eight keen, caustic, uncompromising critics, 
 like so many impanelled juiymeii, showing by 
 their whole demeanour that the ordinary tricks 
 and blandishments of " counsel " were entirely 
 wasted on such experts as them. 
 
 Several of these men were preachers them- 
 selves, and preachers of more than average 
 popularity too. There was alert, eager, quick- 
 eyed Miles Grimshaw, who was the only local 
 preacher who was appointed at Wallbury 
 Chapel every quarter. There was Jacky o' th' 
 Gap, the bright, humorsome, highly emotional, 
 and anecdotal preacher, who could boast that 
 he had once shared an anniversary with the 
 great Dr. Newton, and who had an odd trick 
 of breaking into singing, and even occasionally 
 sitting down, whilst he preached. And then 
 there were the two Barlows, "Owd Mark" and 
 "Young Mark," as they were called, both of
 
 THE SCOWCEOFT CRITICS. 5 
 
 whom were above the average in pulpit gifts 
 and fiercely critical to boot. 
 
 But above all these was that terrible 
 slaughterer of the innocents, that remorseless 
 inquisitor-general, Jimmy the Scutcher, of 
 whom the young ministers were all afraid, and 
 before whom even superintendents had been 
 known to turn pale. 
 
 The rank and file of the Scowcroft critics 
 were given to free-and-easy modes of audible 
 approval or disapproval, and a preacher was 
 never left long in doubt as to whether he was 
 hitting the nail on the head or not. His words 
 were received for the first moment or two in 
 severe silence, then if the hearers broke into 
 nods, sometimes at him and sometimes at each 
 other, it might be concluded that text and 
 exordium had been approved, and the sermon 
 might be preached with confidence. 
 
 Jacky o' th' Gap had special licence, and 
 often followed the preacher with a sort of 
 ejaculatory running comment, now interro- 
 gative, now confirmatory, now sarcastic, and 
 now flatly contradictory. If the preacher was 
 making a favourable impression Jacky would 
 be followed by several others in a lower key, 
 one or two of the women even venturing so far 
 on occasions. 
 
 But all this was only the rattling, harmless 
 thunder which the preachers learnt to value at 
 its true worth ; but in the second front pew on
 
 6 THE SCOWCEOFT CEITICS. 
 
 the preacher's right sat a man with a long 
 oddly- shaped head and an uneven brow over 
 which hung a fierce-looking tuft of hair. He 
 had full lips and a wide, almost malicious 
 mouth, and though he possessed two eyes, you 
 were only conscious of one, the oversized left 
 one — but that a very fiery dragon's eye of in- 
 timidating fierceness, which never moved from 
 the pulpit and its occupant for so much as a 
 glance at the clock. The light from this eye 
 was the real lightning which sti'uck terror into 
 the hearts of all comers ; and there was no per- 
 son high or low in the Wallbury Circuit but 
 had a wholesome fear of the renowned Jimmy. 
 In his private capacity he was of no particular 
 account in Scowcroft, but when it came to 
 homiletic criticism the village was becomingly 
 proud of its great chief, and was quite conscious 
 of the glory his presence gave to their chapel 
 and Society. Rumour had it that Jimmy had 
 been ambitious to get on the plan himseK 
 in his early days, and those who had suffered 
 under his castigations asserted that the houi- 
 that saw the closing of the pulpit-door against 
 him was the hour in which the critic was born 
 Avithin him. 
 
 Jimmy sat at the door-corner of his pew, with 
 a small cube-shaped duodecimo hymn-book — 
 for he was specially proud of his independence 
 of spectacles or large print — and an extra large 
 Bible covered with an outer binding of green
 
 THE SCOWCROFT CRITICS. 7 
 
 baize before him. Nothing ever escaped him. 
 He sat with sphinx-like immovableness through- 
 out the whole service, and it was only two or 
 three of his closest friends who were able to 
 discover during service whether the great in- 
 quisitor was satisfied or not. And even they 
 were deceived sometimes. 
 
 Most of the homiletic epicures of Scowcroft 
 were content with a general criticism of the 
 sermon, but not so their great head. Whether 
 the preacher "lined aat" every verse of the 
 hymn, or adopted the modern and depraved 
 habit of having it sung through; whether 
 the hymns were each of them germane to 
 the subject of the discourse — were points 
 noted with unerring care. All originalities 
 in the pronunciation of Scripture names, 
 the range and emotional temperature of the 
 prayer, were matters also that had to be duly 
 noted. It was a fixed principle in Scowcroft 
 that all sermons must be dehvered extempore, 
 "^hot off the backstone," as it was always 
 phrased, but only the Scutcher could distinguish 
 those fine shades of tone and manner which 
 decided whether the orator had been really 
 preaching or only " saying his piece." 
 
 ^' Notes " were always regarded as contra- 
 band, and awakened a severe spirit in most of 
 the hearers, but if the preacher forgot to 
 consult his notes or in the fervour of his 
 oratory ignored them, he was considered to
 
 8 THE SCOWCROFT CRITICS. 
 
 have redeemed himself for the time ; but only 
 the lynx-eyed watcher behind the green-baize 
 Bible could have told you exactly how often a 
 hampered preacher consulted the obnoxious 
 " papper." On that awful night, for ever 
 memorable, when a local preacher, newly come 
 from the South of England, dehberately read 
 his sermon " wod fur wod " amidst a frigid 
 silence, any respectable Scowcrofter could tell 
 you that Jimmy, breaking through the habitual 
 silence of years, as far as sanctuary ejaculation 
 was concerned, gave vent when the preacher 
 stopped to a long-drawn " T-h-e-e-r," so expres- 
 sive at once of profound relief and grimmest 
 irony that the preacher not only did not wait to 
 be spoken to in the vesti'y, but informed the 
 super., whom he overtook as he went home, 
 that nothing on earth would ever induce him to 
 preach at Scowcroft again. "And," the re- 
 spectable villager aforesaid would add, in tones 
 of impressive conviction, '^ that chap turnt aat 
 a wastril." 
 
 That green-baize Bible, too, was a most 
 formidable book. It had broad margins, and 
 on them were inscribed in lead pencil opposite 
 this or that verse of Scrij)ture the name of the 
 man or men who had preached from it, and the 
 date of that occurrence ; so that a preacher, 
 hard driven for time or matter, and tempted to 
 fall back on an old discourse, knew better than 
 to do so at Scowcroft.
 
 THE SCOWCROFT ClilTICS. & 
 
 Two or three of the veterans of the circuit, 
 who were assured of Jimmy's private regard, 
 ventured on this course occasionally, and 
 would have felt that something was wanting if 
 Jimmy, on the way home or over the after- 
 service i)ipe at Mileses', had not rubbed his 
 hands and cocked his head on one side and 
 remarked with an expressionless face, save for 
 that terribly eloquent eye of his, "Warmt-up 
 broth's poor meit." 
 
 " Naa then, Jimmy," one of the bolder spirits 
 would reply, " it's fowerteen yer sin Aw 
 preached that sarmon here," but the only reply 
 vouchsafed would be, " Let's whop (hope) it ull 
 be twice fowerteen afore tha brings it ageean." 
 
 And then there was another thing about this 
 inexorable record. The text of every sermon 
 that had been preached in the chapel for the 
 last thirty years was marked off in it. And 
 when some poor preacher had had an unusually 
 bad time with a text, Jimmy would remark to 
 him in the vestry when it was over, with one of 
 his most aggravating drawls, " Dr. Bunting 
 wunst preached a sarmon here off that text " — 
 with a very special and significant emphasis on 
 the " sarmon." And forthwith Jimmy would 
 glide off into a minute description of the twenty- 
 year-old discourse, giving copious extracts and 
 even the illustrations; so that, whilst every 
 Scowcrofter present glowed with pride in the 
 skill and marvellous memory of their great critic,
 
 10 THE SCOWCEOFT CEITICS. 
 
 the poor victim was toi'tured by a sense of the 
 insignificance of his own utterances as com- 
 pared with the quotations given. 
 
 What made matters worse was that the 
 Scutcher was credited with a profound ac- 
 quaintance with theological literature, and 
 it was considered as the clearest possible 
 evidence of the extraordinary nature of his 
 gifts that he actually seemed to enjoy reading 
 pure theology. Most of the Scowcrofters were 
 content to possess " The Saint's Eest," " The 
 Life of Hester Ann Eogers," and the *' Pil- 
 grim's Progress," but Jimmy owned, and was 
 reputed to have read, Leslie's "Method with 
 the Deists," Paley's "Evidences," and Mr- 
 Wesley's " Notes." And when on a certain 
 Sunday night Jimmy, before all the assembled 
 magnates, calmly ordered the *^ super." to 
 bring him Butler's "Analogy" opinion was 
 divided between intense wondering pride at 
 Jimmy's intellectual greatness and strong 
 suspicion that the Scutcher was giving way to 
 intellectual pride and descending to that, to a 
 Lancashire man, most intolerable of weak- 
 nesses, a desire to " show off." 
 
 " Lest see, whoar is it ta-neet?" asked Noah, 
 the grocer, as they sauntered back from a 
 before-service stroll over the bridge one heavy 
 summer's evening. 
 
 "Abe Whittle, fro' Puddincroft Powt," 
 somebody replied.
 
 THE SCOWCROFT CRITICS. 11 
 
 " H'm ! " grunted old Matt Briggs. " We'er 
 in fiu" splutter and splash ta-neet, then." 
 
 " Aye ; th' poor lad doesna spur hissel', does 
 he?" observed Quiet William, intentionally 
 misinterpreting the last remark. 
 
 **Neaw, nor he doesna spur uz noather," 
 retorted Matt. 
 
 " He met let th' Bible and hymn-bewk abee, 
 at ony rate," chimed in Jacky o' th' Gap. 
 
 "Aye," assented Jimmy, with that slow 
 deliberateness which was the surest sign that 
 something was coming ; " when owd Mixey wur 
 i' this circuit he used say as it wur nobbut th' 
 empty pots as rung." 
 
 By this time they had reached the chapel door, 
 and after the smokers had knocked the ashes out 
 of their pipes, they all entered the building, and 
 in a few moments the ser\dce commenced. 
 
 They got just what they expected. The 
 preacher, a tallish, thin-faced man, with 
 watery eyes, was noted for a highly rhetorical 
 style, and a verbosity which was often 
 wearisome and always distasteful to the Scow- 
 crofters, particularly to the Scutcher. 
 
 On this night, in fact, the preacher seemed 
 to be rather worse than usual, and all his faults 
 seemed to have become more pronounced than 
 ever. His sermon was wordy, incoherent, and 
 long ; so that whilst the rank and file went away 
 at the close feeling somewhat weary, the responsi- 
 ble chiefs wore discontented and even sulky looks.
 
 12 THE SCOWGEOFT CEITICS. 
 
 Jimmy the Scutcher walked off by himself to 
 the tailor's house, and the awkwardly upward 
 angle at which he was carrying his head boded 
 no good to the poor preacher. He said less 
 than usual whilst the orator's supper was being 
 " laid," but Quiet William, who was alter- 
 nately watching him and studying with anxious 
 looks the guest of the evening, grew more and 
 more uneasy as Jimmy's silence continued. 
 
 When the oat-cake and milk and cheese were 
 brought out, William sat down immediately 
 opposite the preacher and was soon pressing 
 upon him the good things provided. But the 
 preacher did not need much encouraging to eat; 
 in fact, under other circumstances his readiness 
 to attack what was set before him might have 
 attracted attention, and even as it was Jimmy's 
 face grew harder and his eye gathered unholy 
 light as he noticed that the preacher either did 
 not realise how badly he had discharged his 
 duties, or was not much disturbed by the fact. 
 
 " That's a moighty foine sarmon we'en hed 
 ta-neet," Jimmy began at last. 
 
 Now, when the Scutcher fell upon an un- 
 satisfactory preacher with one of his open 
 attacks, terrible though it was, it was well 
 known that this was not by any means his 
 worst mood, and that he did not regard the 
 case as calling for very drastic treatment. If 
 he snapped and snarled it was concluded that 
 he had only noted surface irregularities, but if
 
 THE SCOWCEOFT CETTICS. 13 
 
 he begun deliberately, as now, with a compli- 
 ment, it was a certain sign that there was 
 trouble in store for the offender. 
 
 Jimmy's encouraging remarks therefore 
 greatly disturbed Quiet William, and snatching 
 up a knife he cut for the guest an unusually 
 liberal supply of cheese, and began to urge 
 oat-cake upon him. But Abram didn't seem to 
 be disturbed ; indeed, he appeared to be so 
 engrossed in the business in hand that he gave 
 a very indifferent sort of attention to what was 
 being said to him. 
 
 Jimmy watched him eating and drinking 
 with growing displeasure, and was piqued to 
 think that his fame as a critic was having so 
 little effect on the man at the table. " Bud 
 Aw say," he resumed again, in the tone of a 
 man who had appreciated as far as he could, 
 and wanted a little difficulty or two removing 
 in order to complete his satisfaction, " wot dust 
 meean by th' circumwambient heavens ? " 
 
 The preacher looked round with an uneasy, 
 hesitating look, and presently answered, ^' Aw 
 meean th' sky — wot else?" But as Dinah 
 Grimshaw, the hostess, just then came forward 
 with a bit of cold beaf steak pie, and began to 
 press it upon him, Abram turned once more 
 from his critic, and gave himself to more 
 interesting business. 
 
 " Oh ! the sky," drawled Jimmy, whilst his 
 pugnacious left eye began to blink ominously
 
 14 THE SCOWCEOFT CEITICS. 
 
 and his tone indicated that he had just re- 
 ceived sudden and complete relief from, mental 
 perplexity. He paused a moment, and then, 
 dropping into a treacherously confidential tone, 
 he continued, ^^ Aw'll tell thee wot, lad, if Aw wur 
 thee Aw'd say sky if Aw meant it — we're nobbut 
 poor simple fowk at Scowcroft, tha knows," and 
 the mock humility of his tone made more than 
 one of the listeners squirm in their chairs, out 
 of pure sympathy with the preacher. 
 
 Quiet William began to press more milk upon 
 the visitor, partly to distract his attention, and 
 partly to conceal his own growing agitation. 
 
 The preacher made no reply, and there was 
 an uneasy sort of silence whilst Mrs. Dinah 
 went into the pantry to replenish the milk jug. 
 
 '^ Then," Jimmy went on in his most danger- 
 ously seductive manner, ^' wot dust mean by th' 
 hayzure canopy ? " 
 
 " Aw mean the sky fur sure," and there were 
 signs of rising resentment in the preacher's tones. 
 
 "^ Oh ! " ejaculated Jimmy, as if he were 
 again conscious of sudden and vast enlighten- 
 ment, " then th' ' starry concave of the empy- 
 rean ' 'ull meean th' sky tew, Aw reacon ? " he 
 asked, in a tone of modest but eager curiosity. 
 
 But the preacher had become sulky and heed- 
 less, whilst the attention of the rest of the com- 
 pany became divided between Jimmy's scientific 
 heckling and the remarkable appetite of Abram. 
 He was certainly making a most extraordinary
 
 THE SCOWCROFT CRITICS. 15 
 
 supper. Jimmy's prominent eye now put on its 
 most fixed and inexorable expression, whilst its 
 owner cleared his throat, and entirely changing 
 his tone, said, in slow and weighty manner, 
 ^* Abnmi, when yung parsons an' college chaps 
 an' newspapper felleys uses * great swellin' wods 
 o' vanity ' they makken thersels redic'lous, bud 
 when a Lancashire weyver lad starts o' talkin' 
 o' thatunce, it's daan-reet pace-egging, an' nowt 
 else." 
 
 Abram, who seemed by this time to be relax- 
 ing his interest in the supper-table, and was 
 therefore more at liberty to listen to his tor- 
 mentor, flushed a little under this broadside, and 
 was just turning round to reply when Jimmy 
 resumed : *' An' theer's another thing, Aw've 
 allis noaticed as th' less foak han' ta say th' 
 bigger maathful they makken on it an' th' less 
 woth yerring (hearing) it is. Naa tha's nobbut 
 bin preichin' six yer, an' that's thod (third) toime 
 tha's gan' us that sarmon ta my knowledge." 
 
 Now Miles Grimshaw had been away f ulfiUing 
 a preaching appointment, but happening to 
 come in just as Jimmy was finishing his last 
 deliverance, and guessing at once the cause of 
 it, he plunged with his accustomed impetuosity 
 into the subject under discussion, crying with 
 a touch of indignation in his voice as he glared 
 at Abram, " Tha's known as tha hed ta come 
 here monny a wik ; wot hast bin wasting thi' 
 toime at as tha' worn't ready ? "
 
 16 THE SCOWCROFT CRITICS. 
 
 A sudden cloud appeared upon the preacher's 
 face ; his eyes became dim as, with hasty tears, 
 his loosely hanging lip quivered, and he was 
 evidently struggling to keep back some emotion. 
 
 Everybody saw it and misunderstood its mean- 
 ing, and Jimmy, who secretly believed that the 
 man he had been chastising had something in 
 him if only he would cultivate his gifts, was 
 just preparing to give him another blast of 
 reproof when Mrs. Dinah laid her big, soft 
 hand on Abram's shoulder and asked kindly, 
 ^^Haas yore Annie, hid ? " 
 
 The look on the preacher's face darkened, a 
 sudden flush passed over it. An entirely unex- 
 pected sob escaped him, and in fear and shame 
 at this unwonted self-betrayal he dropped his 
 head upon his arm and hid his face, whilst the 
 sympathetic Dinah observed with distress that 
 great tears were dropping upon the sanded floor. 
 
 '^ Is owt wrung wi' her ? " asked Dinah, 
 putting all the sympathy she could into the 
 question. 
 
 There was a pause for a moment, and then 
 Abram groaned out, " Hoos deein', Dinah." 
 
 " Deein', lad? — niver ! " cried Dinah in 
 shocked astonishment. " What's ta dew wi' 
 her ? " 
 
 There was a deathly stillness in the house. 
 All the men were holding their breaths to 
 listen. Presently Abram lifted his head for a 
 moment and cried, " Consumshon," and then,
 
 THE SCOWCROFT CRITICS. 17 
 
 after hesitating, he went on with a resentful 
 jerk, ''an' starvation." 
 
 " Starvation ! " cried everybody at once. 
 
 " Aye, starvation," answered the now des- 
 perate preacher. " Hoos bin i' bed five munths, 
 an' Aw've bin aat o' wark fur seven wik, an' 
 wot wi' th' doctor, an' wot wi' th' childer, an' 
 wot wi' seein' her deein' afoor me een, an' wot 
 wi' clemmin Aw'm welly meythered amung- it." 
 
 There were looks of deep and solemn sym- 
 pathy on all the faces, and down Quiet William's 
 cheeks streams of silent tears were flowing. 
 Presently he leaned forward, and looking hard 
 at Abram, he said, with an interrogative in- 
 flexion of his voice, " Tha's etten a rare supper 
 ta-neet, lad." 
 
 But Abram didn't answer the question that 
 was in the big man's mind, and so, after watch- 
 ing his face for a moment or two, William in- 
 quired softly, " Aw reacon tha's hed noa gradely 
 dinner ta-day." 
 
 " Dinner ! " cried Abram, with fresh agita- 
 tion. "Aw'm tellin' thi God's trewth, William; 
 Aw havna hed a bite o' nowt i' my yed fur welly 
 three days." 
 
 The preacher's wife, Annie, was a native of 
 Scowcroft, and in a few seconds everybody was 
 talking at once about this unhappy and yet 
 lucky discovery, and all sorts of help was offered 
 to the suffering man. 
 
 Jacky o' th' Gap went off hurriedly to fetch 
 
 3
 
 18 THE SCOWCROFT CRITICS. 
 
 his trap and drive poor Abram home, and when 
 he returned with it he had two bags of potatoes 
 lying in the bottom of the vehicle. By this 
 time a good stock of provisions and other things 
 had been collected, and when the trap drove 
 away all present sent after the poor weaver many 
 a fervent "God bless thi, lad." 
 
 All this time Jimiay the Scutcher was sitting 
 perfectly still at the fireside. He had a habit 
 of biting his nails when excited and unhappy, 
 and now seemed to have one of his worst worry- 
 ing fits upon him. 
 
 The others, coming in from seeing poor 
 Abram off, addressed him several times, but 
 without evoking the slightest response. At last, 
 however, he rose to go. 
 
 " Well," he said, looking shyly into the fire, 
 and evidently trying to avoid catching any one's 
 eye, "Aw've fund aat wot th' mooat an' th' 
 beeam meeans ta-neet, an' Aw expect A'wst be 
 na wur fur it." And sauntering to the door 
 with his head down he departed. But the 
 manager at the mill had a very persistent ap- 
 plicant next day, who wanted looms for a four- 
 loom weaver, and as the Scutcher was a very 
 old '' hand " he had his way, and a week later 
 Abram, the preacher, had been removed to 
 Scowcroft, where his sick wife's last days were 
 made sweet by many tender little attentions.
 
 THE STARTING OF SCOWCROFT 
 MILL.
 
 THE 
 
 STARTING OFSCOWCROFT IVIILL. 
 I. 
 
 The engine of Scowcroft Mill had just 
 •^^ slackened " for a moment as an intimation 
 that in a short time it would stop for the week- 
 end. The mill-gates, usually closed during 
 work hours, were thrown wide open. Just 
 inside the gate was a little office at the pigeon- 
 hole window of which a niunber of men were 
 receiving their own and others' wages. Here 
 and there within the yard were little knots of 
 workpeople " settling up " — minders paying 
 their piecers and bobbiners, and cardroom over- 
 lookers distributing wages to their subordin- 
 ates. Outside the yard were a number of 
 wheeled stalls, retailing tripe and trotters, hot 
 pork pies, hot peas, and the like. At the near 
 end of the long row of houses nearly oj)posite the 
 gates a tall woman was standing inside a door- 
 way receiving " tay-wayter money " from a small 
 but constant stream of customers, and moving 
 about amongst the groups of hands standing 
 here and there round the gates were two or 
 three club-collectors and the Scowcroft knocker-
 
 22 STAETING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 
 
 up gathering in their dues. Just as the engine 
 was giving a sort of dying groan, as if pain- 
 fully reluctant to stop even out of respect to 
 the approaching Sabbath, and you began to see 
 the short spokes of the pulleys in the shafting 
 as they slowly slackened speed, a heavy pulley- 
 and-weight door was opened in the side of the 
 mill, and a young w onian, evidently a weaver, 
 stepped out. She was not the least bit like the 
 typical Lancashire lass. Her hair was light 
 and her eyes large, grey, and dreamy. She 
 had just colour enough in her face to make it 
 piquant, and though her features were not par- 
 ticularly regular there were lines in them 
 suggestive of much more than appeared on the 
 surface. She had a seductive grace of move- 
 ment which made her almost independent of 
 the art of dressing, and which even factory 
 clothes could not conceal. 
 
 As she approached the mill-gate a side door in 
 the ofl&ce where the men were being paid was 
 opened, and a young man whose clothes, though 
 they bore unmistakable evidences of contact with 
 cotton manufacture, at once distinguished him 
 from those about him, stepped into the yard, 
 and in a moment was walking by the gii'l's side. 
 
 He was a medium-sized but strongly-built 
 young fellow, in whose face keen business 
 shrewdness was somehow blended with, a soft- 
 ness that neutralised the effect and made the 
 observer uncertain in his judgment.
 
 STARTING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 23 
 
 The girl started and flushed when he spoke 
 to her, and, checking her pace, glanced uneasily 
 around as if afraid of being seen in such 
 company ; and then, turning her great eyes 
 with a sudden flash in them, she said something 
 to her companion which was evidently very 
 unacceptable, and which compelled him to stop 
 in the middle of the road, and begin to plead, 
 heedless altogether of the fact that many pairs 
 of eyes were now fixed curiously upon them. 
 The young master, for such he was, seemed to 
 be very much in earnest about something, and 
 yet very much afraid of being overheard ; and 
 the girl listened with wavering manner one 
 moment, and glanced round with fidgety im- 
 patience the next, and was evidently very 
 restive under the popular gaze. Thus they 
 stood for some moments in close conversation. 
 Presently a man with a flat, open cart contain- 
 ing earthenware, sand-barrels, and bags of rags 
 and bones, and drawn by a ragged-looking pony 
 of uncertain yellow colour, came round the 
 corner at the lower end of the croft, and screw- 
 ing his mouth to one side of his face he cried 
 out in round, ringing tones, " Wey-shin-up- 
 mugs ! Stew mugs ! Wliaaite sand an' rubbin' 
 stone.— Whey! wiUta?" 
 
 The animal addressed in the last sentence 
 made a feint at stopping, and then settling 
 down into a slow professional sort of saunter 
 moved slowly along the front of the row and
 
 24 STAETING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 
 
 past the chapel. In a moment or two they had 
 reached the miU-gate end of the row, where the 
 pony stopped of itself, and the man, turning his 
 back to the mill, but moving gradually round 
 towards it as he cried, began again : " Wey- 
 
 shin-up-mu " But there he stopped, and 
 
 whilst the lips of his big mouth still retained 
 their trumpet-like shape he stared scowlingly 
 and amazedly before him. 
 
 As he began his professional refrain his eyes 
 caught sight of the weaver and her companion 
 still engaged in earnest conversation. His 
 trade-cry died on his lips ; a sudden fiery glare 
 came into his eyes ; every feature of his strongly- 
 marked and shaggy face tightened into rigidity, 
 and he stood there glaring at them in undis- 
 guised anger. Just then the girl caught sight 
 of him ; she flushed, spoke hastily to the young 
 man, who was still urging something upon her 
 with intense earnestness, and turning abruptly, 
 left him, making off towards Lark Lane, with a 
 startled and downcast look. 
 
 The hawker was still standing looking at her, 
 and just as she was approaching the end of the 
 row, and in another moment would have been 
 lost to sight down the lane, he raised his whip 
 a little, and, jerking it beckoningly, called out 
 to the evidently frightened girl, " Here ! Aw 
 want thee." 
 
 The girl turned pale, hesitated a moment, 
 glanced hastily down the lane as if meditating
 
 STAETING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 25 
 
 flight in that direction, and then, turning, 
 stepped slowly towards the cart and its driver. 
 
 The hawker did not move an inch to meet 
 her, nor did he speak when she stopped a 
 moment at some little distance from him as if 
 afraid of coming within reach of his whip, but 
 simply stood looking at her with a cold glitter 
 in his eyes, his hands the while twitching ner- 
 vously about the stock of his heavy whip. 
 
 When she had come close up to him, and was 
 preparing to speak, he stopped her with a ges- 
 ture, and, looking almost through her, said, 
 sternly, " Pike off whoam, an' if tha stirs aat 
 o' th' haase afoor Aw come, Aw'll gi' thi some 
 o' this," and he gave a significant twirl to his 
 whip. 
 
 Dropping her head, and blushing afresh as 
 she realised that many eyes in the croft were 
 upon them, the girl turned slowly round, and 
 increasing her pace as she went quickly disap- 
 peared round the comer. 
 
 The hawker was Eeuben Tonge, one of Scow- 
 croft's most notorious characters, and the girl 
 he had addressed so harshly was his only living 
 child, Grace. 
 
 A stranger moving about in Scowcroft would 
 never have suspected that there was more than 
 one class amongst the inhabitants, but the 
 native Scowcrofter knew of several, and could 
 have drawn the line between them to a nicety^ 
 and in any such classification Eeuben Tonge
 
 26 STARTING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 
 
 would have been included in the lowest ; if, 
 indeed, he was not placed in a still lower grade 
 all by himself. Not that he was poor, though 
 his aj)pearance would have justified such an 
 inference, nor that he was dishonest ; rigid 
 business integrity, indeed, was the one virtue 
 in which he prided himself. He was not by 
 any means a drmikard, though he had oc- 
 casional violent drinking spells, and he was not 
 a blasphemer, but that may have been because 
 his marvellous command of the vocabulary of 
 vituperation relieved him of the necessity of 
 resorting to such clumsy implements as oaths. 
 He was not neighbourly and made great display 
 of his lack of " bowels," and yet there were two 
 or three incidents in Scowcroft history which 
 were inexplicable, except on the assumption 
 that he had a soft place somewhere. He was 
 never seen inside the chapel, and was ostenta- 
 tiously opposed to his daughter's attendance ; 
 and yet somehow she always had gone, not only 
 since she had grown up but from earliest 
 infancy. He appeared to treat his daughter 
 with a roughness verging on cruelty, and yet 
 she not only never complained, but seemed on 
 the whole as comfortable at home as most 
 of her girl associates, and had quite as much 
 liberty. 
 
 Reuben had been brought up in the Sunday- 
 school, but since the day Alice PoUitt married 
 Jacky o' th' Gap instead of him he had never
 
 I 
 
 STAETING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 27 
 
 been inside the chapel doors, and on all possible 
 occasions jeered and scoffed at religion and 
 religious institutions so relentlessly that when 
 any of the leaders prayed in the prayer-meeting 
 for all scoffers and gainsayers, everybody 
 thought of Eeuben Tonge. Of late years he 
 had become conspicuous as the only avowed 
 sceptic in the parish, and was also suspected 
 of holding Chartist and other revolutionary 
 opinions. He boasted constantly of his views 
 on social equality, and practised them to the 
 indecent length of '* thouing " the vicar and 
 even his good wife, who was cousin to a lord. 
 And yet there was nothing that so quickly 
 aroused his unrivalled powers of abuse as any 
 attempt on the part of a Scowcrofter to aspire 
 to a social grade higher than the one to which 
 he or she originally belonged. 
 
 It was in harmony with this last of Reuben's 
 many inconsistencies that he acted on this 
 particular occasion towards his daughter as he 
 did. He had been free enough with his sneers 
 at the new owners of the mill when first they 
 came to Scowcrof t, and caUed them '^' hupstarts " 
 and " dug swells " whenever he had occasion to 
 allude to them, and had carefully collected a 
 stock of more or less reliable stories of the early 
 life of Mr. Westall, senior. And yet when he 
 saw ^' th' yung mestur " in such close converse 
 with his daughter, his sense of the immense 
 social g-ulf between them created in him intense
 
 28 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 anger that his child should even appear to sup- 
 pose that she could by any means cross that 
 gulf; and, on the other hand, he was angry 
 that she should be so lacking in proper pride as 
 to be flattered by his attentions. For Reuben 
 made no manner of doubt in his mind as to the 
 meaning of what he had seen. 
 
 It was dark when he had finished his rounds 
 and reached his house, which was about half a 
 mile down Lark Lane on the way to Wallbury. 
 Presently, having groomed the unkempt 
 "Pablo," he turned into his house with a 
 hard look and his nearly perfect teeth set in 
 grim resolution. 
 
 He opened the door quietly, for his anger was 
 not of the explosive kind, and stepped slowly 
 across the threshold. His daughter was no- 
 where to be seen. 
 
 " Grace." No answer. 
 
 "Grace." Still no sound or sign. 
 
 Another man would have grown furious and 
 plunged about in search of the disobedient one, 
 but Reuben never turned his head, but sat 
 down in his chair and quietly lighted the lamp 
 with a hard set about the mouth thac boded ill 
 for the absent daughter. Reuben sat thus for 
 a couple of hours, but no Grace appeared, and 
 presently, though only a little past nine o'clock, 
 he got up, went out quietly and took a look at 
 Pablo, and then came back into the house and 
 slowly locked the door, so that when the
 
 STAETING OF SCOWCEOPT MILL. 29 
 
 wanderer returned she would find it closed 
 against her. 
 
 But she did not return. During Sunday 
 Eeuben so far departed from his usual manner 
 as to cast a cm-sory glance behind the pink- 
 and-white curtain that screened off the corner 
 next to her bedroom chimney, and thus made 
 it into a wardrobe. A deep sigh that angered 
 him as he made it escaped the rugged hawker 
 as he discovered that all the girl's clothes 
 were there except her Sunday best; and he 
 went out and down into the village, where, 
 standing amongst the members of the open-air 
 village Parliament at the "brig-end," he 
 learnt that his daughter had eloped with the 
 young master, and had that morning been 
 married at a small church in the suburbs of 
 Wallbury. 
 
 That night poor Pablo got no supper, for 
 his master went home so preoccupied and 
 depressed that he forgot all about his patient 
 pony, and sat down by the expired fire sick 
 at heart, and nursing a fierce resentment 
 against Westall the younger. Just as the old 
 verge watch hanging on a hook under the 
 mantleshelf reached the hour of nine, and 
 whilst Eeuben still sat gloomily think- 
 ing by the cold fireplace, he heard the 
 latch of the door gently raised; but as he 
 had turned the key in the lock when he 
 came in, the applicant, whoever it was, was
 
 30 STARTING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 
 
 disappointed. Reuben turned his head slightly 
 round to listen. In a moment or two the latch 
 was raised again, and a soft, anxious voice 
 outside said, " Feytlier ! " 
 
 The hawker rose slowly to his feet, stepped 
 to the door, and, haK opening it, put his own 
 burly body into the aperture. It was bright 
 moonlight, and there in the lane stood Grace, 
 tearful and trembling. Reuben fixed her with 
 a steely eye, and looked her over with slow 
 deliberation. 
 
 For some moments neither of them spoke, 
 but at length Reuben said, "Aw knowed as 
 they made hypocrytes an' scandal-mongerers 
 at the chapil, an' naa Aw see they makken 
 harlots tew " ; and with the same stony look he 
 stepped back, closed and locked the door in the 
 girl's face, and walked calmly to his seat. 
 
 Poor Grace burst into a wild cry, and rushed 
 forward as if to stop the closing door. But she 
 was too late, and in a moment she was alone in 
 the lane, with the knowledge that that door 
 was closed against her for ever. 
 
 For a few moments the unhappy girl stood in 
 the lane, sobbing and trying to collect her 
 thoughts. Then she began to move back along 
 the way towards WaUbury, from whence she 
 had come. Then she stopped, hesitated, turned 
 back, and passing her father's house, with 
 another bm-st of sobbing, she walked slowly 
 alonff the lane towards Scowcroft. In a few
 
 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 31 
 
 minutes she had reached a little cottage, 
 standing on the edge of the footpath, and 
 noticing that the door she would have to pass 
 was wide open, and that a tall, stout man was 
 standing smoking in the doorway, she crossed 
 the road, and was stealing past under the 
 shadow of the opposite garden fence when a 
 thick, husky voice called out, " Wot ! Grace, 
 wench ! is that thee ? " 
 
 Grace stooped lower and began to run, but 
 in three or four strides the big man was across 
 the lane and had taken her by the arm. 
 
 " Let me goa, "William," cried Grace, 
 piteously ; '^ Aw want ta dee — ta cZee." 
 
 For answer, the man addressed put his long 
 arm around her, picked her up as if she had 
 been a baby, and carried her gently into his 
 house. 
 
 A little quick-eyed old woman, in a spotless 
 granny's cap and a natty bedgown, rose hastily 
 from her seat as William came in with his 
 burden, and when she saw what her husband 
 carried, her frank face became suddenly over- 
 clouded, a soft chirping " Hey my ! " escaped 
 her, and she hastened forward to make the gii-l 
 a resting-place on the check-cushioned long 
 settle. 
 
 Now the ponderous William — known popu- 
 larly as " Quiet William " — had di'opped his 
 pipe in the effort to bring Grace into his 
 cottage, and so as soon as he had placed her
 
 32 STAETING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 upon the settle he went back into the lane to 
 seek it. The garden hedge opposite his house 
 kept the moonlight from the road just where 
 he had dropped his comforter, and so he had to 
 grope about awhile before he recovered it. 
 When he did so, however, he stuck its short 
 stem into his mouth and, staring down the lane 
 in the direction Grace had come, he held up 
 his huge fist and shook it threateningly towards 
 Reuben's house. Then he crossed the road, 
 and was re-entering his house, but overcome by 
 his feelings he turned back, shook first his 
 left fist and then his right in the same direction 
 as before, and then, shaking them both together 
 until he went red in the face, he stepped softly 
 into the house and closed the door. 
 
 Whilst William was thus engaged, old Betsy, 
 his sharp little wife, was fussing about their 
 inconsolable visitor. As she glanced cui'iously 
 at the dishevelled Sunday clothes she cried 
 under her breath, " He}', my ! " then, looking 
 intently at Grace's left hand and finding it 
 ringless, she cried still more sorrowly, "Hey, 
 my ! " and then stooping over and tenderly 
 smoothing back the wavy golden hair and 
 wiping the tearful eyes with her white Sunday 
 apron, she went on, " Hey, my ! Hey, dear 
 my." 
 
 But by this time WiUiam had retiu-ned, and 
 Grace suddenly sitting up began to beg to be 
 let go.
 
 STAETING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 83 
 
 '* Aw'm disgraced ! " she cried ; " Aw'm turnt 
 aat o' whoam. Aw'll throw mysel' i' th' cut " 
 (canal) . 
 
 "Hey, dear, my wench," cried old Betsy, 
 " thaa munna talk loike that ; Grod's pitiful, 
 tha knows, an', an' " — with a glance of inquiry 
 at William — " ther's a whoam here fur thi 
 till tha con get a bet-ter." 
 
 The big William, standing where Grace could 
 not see him, threw up his arms with a gesture 
 of delight, and nodding triumphantly at Betsy, 
 stepped quickly behind the little di^aught screen 
 near the door, and relieved his feelings by 
 shaking his fist once more in the direction of 
 Reuben's residence. 
 
 Much more was said, both by Grace and 
 Betsy, with an occasional monosyllable from 
 William, but neither he nor his little wife 
 showed the slightest desire to pry into Grace's 
 secret. Eventually, the unhappy girl was 
 persuaded to go to bed, and next morning all 
 Scowcroft knew that Grace was not married, 
 and had returned ; but having been turned 
 from her father's door, had found refuge at 
 Quiet William's. And on Tuesday morning 
 Grace, with dark circles roiuid her eyes and a 
 white cold face, was found at her looms in the 
 mill.
 
 34 STARTENG OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now the Methodise Chui'ch at Scowcroft was 
 managed on somewhat peculiar principles. 
 The leaders' meeting was, of course, the 
 fountain of all authority, at once its parlia- 
 ment and its high coui't of justice, and was 
 held as occasion required after the week-night 
 service, so that the superintendent minister 
 from Wallbury, or one of his colleagues, could 
 preside. 
 
 But somehow this meeting had always a very 
 formal and perfunctory air about it, and was 
 usually got through with quite remarkable 
 celerity. Ostensibly because the minister had 
 a long way to go, but really because every- 
 thing had been arranged beforehand. The 
 fact was, it was a fixed idea amongst the 
 ecclesiastical officials of the society that the 
 less the ministers knew about the actual 
 internal working of the church the better, and 
 so there was an informal leaders' meeting — a 
 sort of irregular " House of Commons " — of 
 the church, where all important matters could 
 be debated at becoming length and with un- 
 restrained liberty. The conclusions of this 
 council were generally reached without any 
 such artificial arrangements as formal resolu- 
 tions, and once settled thus nobody ever 
 dreamed of appealing against them to the
 
 STARTING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 35 
 
 legal court. These irregular meetings were 
 held at irregular times and places. They were 
 never formally convened, but any time after 
 the Sunday-night or week-night prayer-meet- 
 ings they might take place around the vestry 
 fire, and if any emergency meeting was re- 
 quired such a gathering might be held either 
 at Miles Grimshaw, the itinerant tailor's, or at 
 the house of Jimmy the Scutcher, next door to 
 the chapel. The conventions thus held were 
 generally summoned by Jimmy standing at his 
 door and looking across the croft until he 
 caught the eye of some one of the authorities 
 lounging at the bridge end, when he would 
 jerk his thumb over his shoulder, and then 
 walk inside and wait until the court assembled. 
 On the Wednesday night after Grace Tonge's 
 return nobody needed to be told that there was 
 to be a solemn inquisition on Grace's conduct 
 and her relation to the church, and so as the 
 rank and file dispersed the rest resumed their 
 seats and waited until they were alone. There 
 were five of them, a full complement. Jacky 
 o' th' Gap, who, by reason of his position as a 
 very small freehold farmer, was nominal chief ; 
 Miles Grimshaw, the only remaining local re- 
 presentative of the race of itinerant tailors, 
 once so common in North-country villages, and 
 the real ruler of the Scowcrof t Society ; Ji mm y 
 the Scutcher, whose obliquity of vision ex- 
 tended to his mind and prevented from him
 
 36 STAETING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 ever seeing things exactly as others saw them, 
 and made him therefore a thorn in the side 
 of Miles and an inveterate obstructionist all 
 round ; Noah, the grocer, and Quiet William, 
 who has already been introduced. 
 
 WhUst these potentates were settling them- 
 selves in their seats as comfortably as stiff- 
 backed and cushionless forms would permit. 
 Miles took the lid off the top of the little 
 stove and began violently stirring the fire. 
 
 He was a very small man with a large, long 
 beard, sharp green-grey eyes, sharp features, a 
 wide, thin-lipped, aggravating mouth, and hair 
 that stood out in such irregular points as to 
 make him look what he really was, a sort of 
 Methodist terrier. When he had been pound- 
 ing away for a minute or so at an obstinate 
 piece of bass that had somehow got into the 
 stove, he suddenly stopped, and turning round 
 with a jerk and looking fiercely at Quiet WiUiam 
 sitting against the wall under the window, he 
 demanded, "Well, wot's yond wench say fur 
 hersel' ? " 
 
 William in a conciliatory and apologetic tone 
 answered, " Aw durn't know." 
 
 Another savage plunge with the poker into 
 the little stove which sent the greater part of 
 the contents flying through the little door at 
 the front, bringing with them a puff of sul- 
 phury smoke ; and then : " Wheer wor hoo a 
 Setterday neet an' Sunday ? "
 
 STAETING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 37 
 
 "Aw durn't know." 
 
 Miles stood up, placed one foot on the bench 
 near him, and eyeing the abashed and melan- 
 choly William from head to foot, twirling the 
 short poker as he did so, he proceeded : " Is 
 hoo marrid ? " 
 " Aw durn't know." 
 
 Miles looked very much like throwing the poker 
 at William's head, but after taking another de- 
 liberate inventory of the big man's clothes, he 
 drew a long breath and launched out his final 
 question : " Is hoo goin' back to her feyther ? " 
 
 " Aw durn't know." 
 
 " Tha doesn't know ! Hast a gradely pow or 
 nobbut a biled turmit for a yed, dust know 
 that ? " And flinging the poker down in a pet. 
 Miles resumed his seat in high dudgeon. 
 
 Now, Miles and William were brothers-in- 
 law twice over, a brother and sister having 
 married a brother and sister, and there was a 
 big man and a sharp little woman in one house, 
 and a big, tender-hearted woman and a sharp 
 little man in the other. And Miles, always 
 sensitive on the point of undue influence, and 
 jealous, above all things, for independence, 
 always made it a point to put on his most 
 worrying manner when dealing in public with 
 his brother-in-law, between whom and himself 
 there was an attachment of the strongest kind, 
 which seemed to grow stronger by being so 
 constantly strained and tested.
 
 38 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 Nobody, therefore, was much, distui'bed by 
 the apparent harshness of Miles's attack on the 
 peaceable Wilham. But gathering from Miles's 
 attitude what was the official view of the grave 
 question of the hour, Jimmy the Scutcher at 
 once prepared himseK for conflict. He was 
 sitting next to Miles on the same form. He 
 paused a moment, dropped his folded hands 
 and clasped them round his knees, cocked his 
 head at the angle of contradiction, and turning 
 his eyes up towards the lamp hanging high 
 above head, he said, slowly, " Aw yerd a chap 
 preich t'other Sunday off '^ Judge not, that ye 
 be not judged,' " and then, after slowly taking 
 his breath, "An* it wur a gradely good sarmon, 
 tew." 
 
 A grin went round the room, even Quiet 
 William making a peculiar sound with his 
 tightly pursed Hps that was suggestive of 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Miles was momentarily nonplussed. He, of 
 course, was the preacher referred to, and pride 
 in his pulpit power was his greatest earthly 
 besetment, so that whilst the latter part of 
 Jimmy's observation broke the force of the 
 reproof, it also in another sense increased it. 
 He gave a little gasp, whipped round sharply 
 towards the Scutcher, and was evidently just 
 about to extinguish him when Jimmy, who had 
 not moved a muscle, went on drawlingly and 
 with a sly smirk of relish : " Th' preicher that
 
 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 39 
 
 neet said as an aance o' practice wur wurth a 
 ton a preiching." 
 
 " Bj Gow he did," shouted Jacky o' th' Gap, 
 smiting both knees at once in recollection and 
 enjoyment. Miles waited until the faces were 
 all straight again, and then, taking a solemn, 
 reproachful look round, he sank back against 
 the bench side, and said in tones of weary 
 resignation and despair, " When th' leets o' th' 
 church con grin o'er a wench's faw and a 
 church's shawme it's toime to write Ichabod 
 up." 
 
 This sobered everybody at once. The pain- 
 ful subject they were discussing came back to 
 their minds and brought a cloud to every face. 
 There was an uncomfortable pause, and then 
 Jacky, looking across at Quiet William, asked, 
 "Has hoo towd the nowt, William?" 
 
 William leaned his head back, and looking 
 steadily at the long stove-pipe answered with a 
 sigh, " Nowt." 
 
 Miles, whose face seemed to say that he had 
 said his last word and that torture could not 
 wring another from him, suddenly jerked out : 
 " He's ne'er axed her." 
 
 This charge was so exactly characteristic of 
 William that everybody knew it was true as 
 soon as it was stated, and deep sighs, expressive 
 of reluctant resignation to the inevitable, 
 escaped from three or four. 
 
 Then the conversation became more general
 
 40 STAETING OF SCOWCROrT MILL. 
 
 a long, tortuous discussion took place, and 
 finally Miles, as usual, had his way. Discipline 
 must be maintained at all costs, and though 
 many roughly kind things were said about 
 Grace, it was finally acknowledged that there 
 was nothing for it but to dismiss her from the 
 choir and remove her name from the class- 
 book. 
 
 " Whoa's class is hoo in? " asked Miles, who 
 was trying to conceal his dislike of the business 
 behind an inexorable insistence on law and 
 discipline. 
 
 "William's ! " answered Jacky o' th' Gap. 
 
 Three pairs of eyebrows went up quickly, and 
 a flicker of amusement passed over Jimmy the 
 Scutcher's face ; for everybody present suddenly 
 realised that the whole debate had been so 
 much wasted breath. They could guess what 
 William's attitude would be; and though he 
 had never spoken save as reported here, it was 
 perfectly plain to everybody that he would not 
 consent to Grace's expulsion. And if he didn't 
 they knew full well that it was no use report- 
 ing the case to the ministers, for they all 
 seemed to have a regard for the big man 
 altogether out of proportion to anything he 
 ever either said or did. 
 
 A few minutes later the meeting broke up ; 
 and whilst the rest adjourned to Miles's for a 
 smoke William stole quietly, almost guiltily, 
 away towards home.
 
 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 41 
 
 When he had got into Lark Lane he dropped 
 into a saunter, as if he felt safer; and pre- 
 sently pulling up as if struck by a sudden 
 thought, he ejaculated, " Well, Aw'U be bothert. 
 Aw've read mony a time as ' a mon should be 
 fur a hiding-place,' but Aw ne'er thowt as it 'ud 
 be me. Hay, Aw'm /am it's me." 
 
 Meanwhile Grace, with cold, averted face, 
 was braving things out as best she coidd in the 
 mill. She was conscious all day long that 
 curious eyes were looking at her from all parts 
 of the room, and every time she lifted her eyes 
 and saw two weavers talking together she 
 dropped them again with a guilty consciousness 
 that she was the subject of their conversation. 
 On the afternoon of the day after the leaders' 
 meeting a girl, a weaver from the opposite side 
 of the room, paused as she passed Grace's loom 
 ends, and after a glance round the room, as 
 though attracting all the spectators she could, 
 she stepped into the loom-alley and said to the 
 embarrassed Grace, " Arta goin' to the practice 
 ta-neet?" 
 
 The girl was a fellow-singer of Grace's, who 
 had been very jealous because Grace was 
 always asked to take the solo parts. 
 
 Grace flushed painfully, turned her head 
 away, and said as softly as the rattling 
 looms would permit, " Neaw, no' ta-neet. Aw 
 think." 
 
 The girl took another glance round to assure
 
 42 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 herself that the other weavers were still 
 watching-, and then, looking into Grace's 
 timid eyes with a quiet, hard insolence, she 
 said, " Neaw ; Aw wouldna if Aw wur thee," 
 and then, picking up her cop-skip, she passed 
 jauntily on her errand, whilst poor Grace 
 dropped her head over her loom with the added 
 bitterness of not being able to conceal her 
 tears. 
 
 That same night as she was going home to 
 Quiet William's just about dark she heard a 
 footstep behind her, and then a low but 
 significant clearing of the throat. She 
 slackened speed, and presently the young 
 master came alongside her, saying as he did so, 
 "What a little fool you are, Grace." 
 
 The pretty weaver stopped, stepped back 
 into a little by-lane they were passing, and then, 
 suddenly turning round, replied, " Aw'd sooner 
 be a little foo nor a big sinner, Mester 
 George." 
 
 " But they are all sneering at you, and 
 whispering as you go by. Any other girl 
 would be having grand dresses and gay times 
 now." 
 
 Grace did not answer for a moment, but then 
 she said, " Yo con stop their whispering if yo'n 
 a moind, Mester George. An' if yo'n ony 
 f eelin' fur me yo will. An' that's the fost an' 
 last thing Aw'st ever ax off yo." 
 
 But Mr. George only laughed. He knew his
 
 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 43 
 
 power over her, and hoped that the disgrace 
 she was feeling would drive her to him in spite 
 of herself. But for once he overreached 
 himself. Grace drew herself away from him, 
 and standing up to her fuUest height she 
 answered, " Mester George, yo made me loike 
 yo, an' me luv an' me nowty pride made me 
 think as wnn loike yo 'ud marry a poor weyver 
 lass. Bud yo've oppened my een fur me. 
 Aw've lost aw my friends, an' Aw've lost my 
 charickter, bud Aw hav'na lost me — me — 
 mysel' ; an' there's One aboon as knows me, an' 
 Aw wimia vex Him even fui' yo^ ; and with a 
 smothered cry she swept past him, and in a 
 moment was in safe shelter in Quiet William's 
 cottage. 
 
 A muttered curse broke from the young man 
 when he found himself alone. " I'll have her ! " 
 he cried, with a passionate jerk of his clenched 
 hand. "The proud Mttle Methody, I'll have 
 her yet," and returning to the lane, he strode 
 away, still muttering as he went. 
 
 When the wages were paid on the following 
 Satui'day the overlooker told Grace that her 
 looms had been " shopped," and that she need 
 not come any more, and Grace went home to 
 William's nearly broken-hearted. 
 
 Very soon, however, Grace and her troubles 
 were forgotten in Scowcroft, for the following 
 Smiday morning the old master of the mill was 
 found dead in bed. Then it was discovered
 
 U STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 that the Westalls were not so weU off as had 
 always been supposed, and as Mr. George had 
 long before quarrelled with his only sister, and 
 had now to pay her out in cash, it was soon 
 realised that the firm was in straitened circum- 
 stances, and that, with the young man's wild 
 habits, made it very doubtful whether he would 
 long carry on. 
 
 There was no other factory within three 
 miles, and, consequently, dark days seemed to 
 be in store, and anxiety reigned in many a 
 Scowcroft home. 
 
 III. 
 
 Three anxious pinching years passed away, and 
 the fears of many had been realised. Mr. 
 George, released from the restraining oversight 
 of his father, and harassed by financial worries^ 
 had plunged into reckless excesses and become 
 a helpless drunkard. The mill, after running 
 irregularly for months, stopped altogether. 
 The hands had, some of them, found work at 
 Wallbury Moor and other places still further 
 away, and had to walk to and fro every day. 
 Many had been unable to find regular employ- 
 ment at all, and so whilst heavy scores were 
 being run up at Noah's shop everybody in the
 
 STAETING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 45 
 
 village was feeling the pinch of poverty. 
 Rumours that the mill had been sold and 
 would be started by the new owners sprang up 
 every now and again, and were eagerly beheved, 
 but no sign of such a welcome event ever 
 showed itself ; whilst the present owner, having 
 got to the end of his resources, was no longer 
 able to keep his place amongst people of his 
 own rank, and loafed about the " Red Cat," a 
 slinking, disreputable wreck. One day, how- 
 ever, the bailiffs arrived at the mill and took 
 possession, and a fortnight later large bills 
 were posted on the gates announcing a sale by 
 auction. The mill was to be offered first in one 
 lot as a going concern, or, failing sale in that 
 form, it was to be done piecemeal. Scowcroft 
 received the news with divided feelings. To 
 some it was the sign of the end and the 
 inevitable parting from the place of their 
 birth, and to others it was the promise of a 
 new master and better times. 
 
 Grace still lived with Quiet William. He 
 and she had found work at Wallbury Moor 
 Mills some three miles away, and Grace could 
 never quite understand the curious coincidence 
 that William should have grown tired of " th' 
 Shop " just about the time that she found work 
 elsewhere, but had she known how frequently 
 Mr. George haunted the dark lanes between 
 Scowcroft and Wallbury Moor, about the time 
 when she would be returning from her work,
 
 46 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 the mystery might have been less obscui'e to 
 her. 
 
 The sale was fixed for a Monday and the 
 two following days, and all the week before the 
 auctioneer's clerks and assistants were busy on 
 the premises. Late on the Saturday afternoon 
 Mr. George, shabby, prematurely aged, only a 
 wreck, in fact, of his former self, turned up at 
 the mill in a state of wild, pugnacious drunken- 
 ness, and in a few minutes was embroiled in a 
 reckless quarrel with the men in charge. 
 
 As it was Saturday afternoon the Croft, as the 
 large, irregular square of open land by the side 
 of the mill and in front of the chapel was called, 
 was more than usually thronged. A travelling 
 stall or two was moving along the front of the 
 *' long row " overlooking the Croft. A small 
 knot of men stood against the bridge end at the 
 lower corner, and in the middle of the open 
 space a number of boys were playing " piggy." 
 
 Just as Reuben Tonge and his everlasting 
 pony came round the top corner of the row 
 with the inevitable cry of " Weyshin-up mugs," 
 &c., " Stew mugs," &c., &c., a sound of angry 
 voices was heard coming from the mill lodge. 
 Everybody turned round to look and listen. 
 The sounds grew louder, and the listeners 
 looked at each other in mingled perplexity and 
 alarm, and a crowd of smaU boys made towards 
 the point where the sounds came from. All at 
 once the low half door of the mill lodge crashed
 
 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 47 
 
 open, and out came three men struggling and 
 cursing and fighting together. The middle 
 man was Mr. George, bleeding and blaspheming, 
 but still struggling violently with his ejectors, 
 and just as Reuben's cart reached that end of 
 the row one of the men sprang angrily at the 
 young master and struck him a furious blow in 
 the face, which sent his head violently against 
 the stone gate-post, from which he reeled to 
 the ground, and fell insensible, whilst his 
 assailants slunk back into the lodge and locked 
 and bolted the door. 
 
 A sharp exclamation broke from men and 
 women alike as they stood in their doorways 
 and beheld what took place. 
 
 The boys left their "piggy" and raced up 
 to look at the fallen man ; but old associations 
 prevented them going very near. Reuben, who 
 had evidently seen everything, gave vent to an 
 exclamation which might have been taken for 
 either a sneer or a groan ; and leaving his faith- 
 ful steed to carry on his business, he sauntered 
 slowly up towards the fallen man. As he did 
 so a woman, still young and fair, came rushing 
 breathlessly down Lark Lane, and pushing 
 swiftly through the little crowd cast herself on 
 the ground with a wild cry, and taking the 
 fallen man's bleeding head upon her lap began 
 to wipe it tenderly with a soft Saturday after- 
 noon apron, and to kiss it the while in a perfect 
 passion of grief and fear.
 
 48 STAflTING OF SCOWCEOET MILL. 
 
 The little knot of people now gathered stood 
 looking on in pitiful interest, and the rugged 
 Reuben, stepping slowly up, glanced over 
 the boys' heads at the woman and her 
 patient, then stepped back, stood gazing 
 fixedly for a moment at the ornamental top of 
 the lightning conductor of the mill chimney, 
 and then, returning to his cart, began to pat 
 and stroke his antiquated and astonished pony, 
 keeping an eye meanwhile on the little excited 
 crowd a few paces off. 
 
 A moment later the tall fat form of Quiet 
 William appeared on the scene. He, too, took 
 but a casual glance at the two on the ground, 
 and was just stepping back when he caught 
 Grace's eye fixed beseechingly upon him. Not 
 a word did he speak, but striding into the ring 
 he picked up the bleeding and still unconscious 
 man, and hugging him to his breast as a mother 
 might her child he strode rapidly off towards 
 home, Grace walking tearfully at his elbow. 
 
 Tlie di'unken and bruised young master was 
 very soon restored to consciousness and put to 
 bed, his head was bound up by the doctor, and 
 in an hour or so he was sleeping peacefully. 
 
 On the following Monday the great sale com- 
 menced ; but when the biddmg for the concern 
 in one lot could not be got anywhere near the 
 reserve price the auctioneer, to the surprise 
 of all and the annoyance of the brokers, 
 announced that his instnictions to sell piece-
 
 STAETING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 49 
 
 meal had been withdrawn, and the proceedings 
 were therefore at an end. The few Scow- 
 crofters present felt inclined to cheer, for so 
 long as the machinery remained in the mill 
 there was always some hope of better times ; 
 but if that had been taken out it would have 
 meant dark days indeed for the village. 
 
 A fortnight after this it was announced that 
 Grace Tonge was going to marry the young 
 master, broken and ruined though he was. 
 
 He had recovered from his injuries and began 
 to look respectable again. Grace and Quiet 
 William had induced him to " sign teetotal," 
 and he was going about seeking work with a 
 quiet earnestness that lef c no doubt as to his 
 sincerity. 
 
 There were, unfortunately, plenty of empty 
 cottages in Scowcroft just then, and Grace had 
 saved a little money. How much she did not 
 know, for William was her banker, and what- 
 ever thing she wanted there was always just 
 enough left to buy it, so that before the 
 wedding-day came she had a neat little house 
 ready, of which she felt sufficiently proud. She 
 still kept on going to the Moor Mills to work, 
 and thus escaped much of the gossip that was 
 going in the village. But whilst the women all 
 shook their heads and spoke with looks of dark 
 mystery about the matter, the men were united 
 in applauding her splendid forgiveness and 
 courage in taking such a doubtful lot as Mr. 
 
 4
 
 50 STAETING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 George, so much so that Miles Grimshaw, who 
 was never known to retract anything he had 
 ever said, was one night surprised into conced- 
 ing, " Hoo's a wench in a thaasand, if hoo is a 
 backslider." 
 
 "Backslider ! " jerked out Jacky o' th' Gap. 
 " If that's backsliding, Aw wish aw th' wenches 
 i' th' Schoo wur backsliders." 
 
 Then Mr. George, as he was still called, and 
 Grace were married quietly one day at a little 
 chm'ch in the suburbs of Wallbury, and came 
 back to their cottage to start the world afresh. 
 
 When they had been married about a week 
 George was sitting one night by the fire with 
 Quiet William for a companion, whilst Grace 
 busied herself in little household duties, when 
 the door opened and, without the least warn- 
 ing, Grace's father entered the house. He 
 looked perfectly cool, and was meditatively 
 chewing a straw. He walked straight up to 
 the fire and, stopping right before it, stood 
 looking thoughtfully down upon it, whilst 
 William, with a look of most unusual fierceness 
 on his big fat face, rose softly from his seat as 
 if preparing for action. 
 
 " Grace," said Reuben at last, without turn- 
 ing to look at her and altogether ignoring 
 William's significant actions, "wot did ta 
 leeav whoam fur ? " 
 
 " Ta get married," gasped Grace, white to 
 the lips with fear and excitement.
 
 STAETING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 51 
 
 " Then haa is it as tha wur married ageean 
 t'other day ? " 
 
 "Aw wurna — Aw meean Aw — Aw — didna 
 
 " began Grace^ hut just then George broke 
 
 in. 
 
 "I'll tell you, Eeuben. I coaxed her away 
 under the pretence of marrying her, making- 
 sure I could persuade her to be content with — 
 well, with something less. But I couldn't, and 
 now I thank God I couldn't. She came back 
 as pure as — as an angel of God." 
 
 A gleam of concentrated anger shot out from 
 under Eeuben's heavy brows as he looked at his 
 son-in-law, and his hand twitched ominously, 
 but he restrained himself with an effort, and 
 was still oblivious of William, who stood behind 
 him ready apparently to fall upon him. Pre- 
 sently he proceeded. 
 
 " Aw yo'n letten her bur tli' shawm of a 
 fause report aw this toime ? " 
 
 " Aye ! God forgive me," cried George, with 
 a flush of keen shame and a gestiu'e of despair. 
 " But " 
 
 But Eeuben put up his hand and stopped 
 him, and, turning round from the fire and 
 looking for the first time at his daughter, he 
 asked, " An' if tha'd a' towd, it 'ud a shawmed 
 him an' getten him inta trubbel wi 'th owd 
 mestur ? " 
 
 " Weel, bud, f eyther " began Grace, but 
 
 Eeuben interrupted her sternly.
 
 52 STAETING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 " Aye or neaw^ is it soa ? " 
 
 " It is, Eeuben, it is ! " shouted George in a 
 choking voice, and with tears of passionate 
 grief. Another gesture of haughty impatience 
 from Reuben, and then he proceeded, looking 
 now at George, " Aw, yo lect lier be turnt away 
 fro' th' shop, an' still yo didn't speik ? " 
 
 George dropped his head into his hands, and 
 began to sob piteously ; whilst Grace, looking 
 past her father at the conscience-stricken man, 
 was just about to step across to him, when 
 Reuben seized her somewhat roughly by the 
 arm and said : " An' ef ther aw that tha picked 
 him up i' th' loan (lane) yond, an' naa tha's 
 marrit him." 
 
 Grace dropped her head quickly, like a child 
 caught in mischief, and as her father was 
 evidently waiting for her answer she replied, 
 with a sudden impulse of emotion, "Aye, an' 
 Aw'd dew it ageean ta-morn." 
 
 Reuben suddenly dropped the girl's arm, 
 leaned one elbow against the mantelpiece, 
 whilst a sort of convulsion seemed to shake his 
 sturdy frame. 
 
 There was an awkward silence for a moment, 
 and at last he turned and looked down into the 
 fire and said, as though talking to himself, 
 " Fur twenty-five yer Aw've bin saying as ther 
 wm-n't sich a thing as trew religion, an' naa 
 my own dowter's shown me as ther is. Aye, 
 this is religfion."
 
 STARTING OF SCOWCEOFT MILL. 53 
 
 There was a low cry, and in a moment the 
 white arms of Grace were round her father's 
 neck, and she was kissing him passionately. 
 Quiet WilUam disappeared into the back 
 scullery, and stood looking through the window 
 and making all sorts of grotesque grimaces, 
 with the object, apparently, of concealing from 
 himself the fact that he was crying. George 
 jumped to his feet and stood looking at Grace 
 and her father in a sort of happy bewilderment, 
 and presently he glided off into the scullery to 
 William and began to shake him excitedly by 
 the hand, as if he must find some means of 
 relieving his feelings. 
 
 Eeuben stayed a couple of hours after that, 
 and then began to talk of departure. As he 
 did so, however, he turned easily to George, 
 who had resumed his place by the fire, and said, 
 " Wot arta goin' ta dew fur a livin'." 
 
 " I don't know ; I'm wiUing to do anything, 
 but I get no chance somehow." 
 
 Eeuben stood looking down at George and 
 evidently reflecting. Then he tui'ned and 
 studied the fire again, and then once more 
 scanning his son-in-law's mournful countenance 
 he asked, as indifferently as he was able, 
 " Haa mitch would it tak' ta get them ' bums ' 
 (bailiffs) aat?" 
 
 " Them," cried George, with a weary indiffer- 
 ence, " three thousand pound at least, but I 
 don't know where to get three."
 
 64 STARTING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 
 
 Reuben began to move towards the door. 
 When he had got half-way he stopped and 
 turned round, saying as he did so, " Then, if 
 yo'd a pardner as could put three thaasand in, 
 yo could start ? " 
 
 A look of momentary curiosity flashed into 
 Greorge's face, and glancing up he said, " Yes, 
 if I hadr 
 
 Reuben had reached the door and was toying 
 with the sneck in a hesitant, absent manner. 
 Then he turned, and with his hand still on the 
 door-fastening he said, slowly, **Well, if yo'n 
 a moind yo con start Westall and Co. i' th' 
 niomin', wi' aar Grace theer as Co., an' Aw'll 
 foind til' brass," and before anybody could stop 
 him he was gone. 
 
 Next morning Reuben turned up before eight 
 o'clock, and pretended to be rather astonished 
 that George was ready to accept his offer. But 
 what seemed to please him most of all was 
 the fact that neither Grace nor anybody else 
 seemed to have any idea that he had money. 
 
 A week later the mill started, and Reuben, 
 having previously bound over the others to 
 strict secrecy, went on his rounds as usual, ask- 
 ing everybody he could get into conversation 
 with wherever George had got his money from, 
 and had they any idea who this mysterious Co. 
 was ? But the secret couldn't be kept. George 
 could not hold it if everybody else could, and in 
 a short time Grace's praises were being sounded
 
 STAETING OF SCOWCROFT MILL. 55 
 
 throughout the neighbourhood, and everybody 
 knew that her patient heroism had brought 
 about the starting of the Scowcroft Mill. 
 
 As they sat over the vestry fire one Wednes- 
 day night about this time, Jimmy the Scutcher 
 turned to Quiet William and said, with a short 
 laugh, " Well, Aw reacon yond woman's name 
 'ull ha ta goa back upo' th' class-book." 
 
 "It's ne'er bin off ! " was the quiet reply.
 
 ADAM AND THE STARS.
 
 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 A LITTLE spare old man^ with thin grey hair, 
 which curled out at the ends, and with a well- 
 worn walking-stick in one hand, and a large 
 basket swung on the opposite arm, was trudging 
 meditatively along Twiggy Lane on a certain 
 Christmas Eve. It was an exhilarating night, 
 the ground was hard with frost, the air crisp 
 and light, and the moon and stars seemed to 
 have shifted their quarters, and drawn consider- 
 ably nearer to the earth to be ready to take 
 their part in the Christmas festivities. 
 
 The old man looked pensive, and now and again 
 cast despondent glances at his basket, which 
 contained a few tempting looking oat-cakes. 
 But presently, as he climbed the rugged road, 
 the quickening influences of frost and stars 
 began to affect him, and at length pulling up and 
 looking hard into the shining sky he burst out — 
 
 The opening he-e-evens around me-e shine, 
 With bee-ems of sa-a-acred bliss. 
 
 The music excited him, the basket began to 
 sway up and down upon his arm, and he 
 commenced to beat time by striking the heavy 
 f erruled end of his walking-stick upon the hard 
 ground. Then he stopped suddenly, the stars
 
 60 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 were too many for him, and altogether too 
 fascinating. 
 
 " Hay bud, yo arr pratty," he cried, 
 addressing them ; " yo looken loike angils as is 
 coming a Kessmassing, an' has na getten near 
 enough fur us ta see their wings," and tl)en, 
 breaking off again, he murmured to himself, 
 " Shur up, thaa owd gabble maath ! Dust 
 think as they can yer thee,'' and turned to face 
 the hill again towards home. 
 
 He was approaching a short row of cottages 
 on the right, and as he did so a door opened 
 and a gleam of light shot across the lane. As 
 he heard the latch, the old man gave a little 
 start and went nearer the hedge on the 
 opposite side, as if wishing to avoid being seen, 
 but a little child, a sturdy boy of five, came and 
 stood in the light of the doorway, and catching 
 sight of the passer-by, he cried: "Heigh! 
 felley, merry Kesmus ! " And then, getting a 
 glimpse of the stranger's face, he suddenly 
 retreated, crying as he banged the door : " By 
 Gow ! it's my grondad ! " 
 
 The old man proceeded a few paces up the 
 hill until he was quite past the cottages ; and 
 then, stopping and turning round to look at 
 them he cried : " Aye, lad ! it's the grondad ! 
 An' a bonny grondad he is ! He's ne'er spokken 
 to thee sin' tha wur born, neaw, nor thi mother 
 nother." And there was passion and tears in 
 his voice as he turned once more homewards.
 
 ADAM AND THE STAES. 61 
 
 But the child had given a very unhappy turn 
 to his thoughts, and his face grew sadder and 
 his step heavier as he plodded abstractedly 
 along the lane. 
 
 As he reached the top of the hill, where the 
 lane opened out a little and gave a fuller 
 view around, he stopped again ; addressing the 
 gleaming stars above him he cried : " Aye, yo 
 met weel stare at me. Aw've nobbut wun 
 gronchild, an' he dar no' speik to me. Oh, 
 Lord ! " he continued, turning a haggard face 
 toward the heavens, " we said we wur reet, an' 
 ween allis stuck tew it as we wur reet. An' 
 we've towd them as coom aat wi' uz as they wur 
 reet; weel, if we wiu* Aw wish we hadn't a bin. 
 Aw dunna cur," he cried, raising his stick as if 
 to hold off some invisible objector, "if we wur 
 reet. Aw want ta be wrung, an' ha' me dowter 
 an' her little 'un back in my hert; aw'd rayther 
 be wrung nor reet. Some folk can leeav feyther 
 and mother and childer fur Thy sake, but Aw 
 canna. Aw've bin trying for eight yer, and it's 
 welly brokken my hert." And turning his face 
 upwards to the stars once more he continued : 
 " If yo arr angils coming to sing abaat peace, 
 bring peace into Scowcroft Chapil, an' peace 
 between me an' mine." Gazing half resent- 
 fully up at the stars for a moment, and then 
 turning and looking wistfully back at the 
 cottage he had just passed, he sighed heavily, 
 and resumed his journey homeward. He lived
 
 62 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 at Spindlepoint, a full half-mile out of Scow- 
 croft village. In early life he had been a 
 handloom weaver, but on the introduction of 
 the power loom he had been driven to seek 
 some other method of getting a living, and 
 after several unlucky experiments he had finally 
 started business as a baker and hawker of oat- 
 cake. 
 
 His name was Adam Hargreaves, but he was 
 most commonly known as *^ Adam o' the Point." 
 He had always been poor, but his character had 
 given him influence among his neighbours quite 
 out of proportion to his worldly condition. He 
 was a local preacher with a turn for anecdote, 
 and enjoying considerable local popularity. 
 For many years he had been one of the leading 
 spirits at the Scowcroft Chapel, but some eight 
 years before the time of which we write a most 
 painful dispute had arisen. 
 
 A number of the young people had proposed 
 the introduction of an organ into the chapel, 
 and all the elders were up in arms against it at 
 once. It was worshipping God by machinery. 
 It was pride and " nowtiness " of heart. It 
 was Popish. The conflict waxed hot, sides were 
 taken, parties formed, harsh and severe things 
 were said, and at last at a trustees' meeting 
 Adam got hot and angry, and declared that the 
 day the organ came into the chapel he would go 
 out and never return. The meeting decided in 
 spite of Adam's protest to have the instruments
 
 ADAM AND THE STAES. 63 
 
 and there was nothing for it but for Adam to 
 carry out liis threat. Of course he never 
 intended to do so, but when his threat was 
 defied it angered him afresh, and what was 
 even more serious still, it angered his wife too. 
 Now Mrs. Adam would have made two of her 
 husband, not only in cubic proportions, but in 
 strength of character. Adam's threat was an 
 instruction from her, and she was all the more 
 chagrined, therefore, when the trustees were 
 not overcome by it. When it was done she 
 insisted on Adam fulfilling it to the letter, 
 and so on the following Sunday Adam's pew 
 was empty, both morning and night. Another 
 Sunday came and still no sign was made, 
 and Adam, though he went about with an 
 exaggerated assumption of vivacity, was eating 
 his heart out with regret at the step he had 
 taken, whilst Sarah, his daughter, openly 
 protested as much as she dare. Then the new 
 organ arrived and was opened with great 
 ceremony, and still no sign of rapprochement 
 came from the victorious innovators. 
 
 By this time Adam and those in sympathy 
 with him began to feel that they had stayed 
 away so long that they could not go back of 
 themselves, and Mrs. Adam threatened her 
 husband and daughter with penalties of unheard 
 of severity if they even hinted at it. To make 
 things worse, Mrs. Adam never went into the 
 village without getting into some kind of
 
 64 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 squabble with one or other of her old friends, 
 and one day, after spending a whole evening 
 at the house of Miles Grimshaw, the itinerant 
 village tailor, and one of Adam's chief 
 opponents, she came home late, and kept 
 Adam up imtil after midnight trying to compel 
 him to agree to start a new cause. Adam was 
 horrified, and resisted his strong-minded wife 
 more than he had ever done before since they 
 were married. At last, after calling him by 
 every opprobrious name she could think of, she 
 fell to coaxing and then to crying, and finally 
 she reminded him that, having resigned his 
 membership at the chapel, he had of course 
 lost his place on the plan, and would now be 
 unable to preach. This argimient touched 
 Adam's weakest point, for preaching was as the 
 breath of life to him, and seeing in the proposal 
 an opportunity for resuming his beloved work, 
 he reluctantly consented, and a fortnight later 
 opposition services were commenced in Joany's 
 (Jonas's) loft, a large room which had once 
 been used for weaving in the old handloom 
 days. 
 
 Now the rubicon was crossed, and Adam, 
 though he was almost perpetual curate at the 
 " loft," felt so keenly about the matter that he 
 never passed the old chapel without heaving a 
 heavy sigh and suffering fierce pangs of 
 remorse and self-reproach. 
 
 Then, as if to close for ever the gate of
 
 ADAM AND THE STARS. 65 
 
 repentance, a serious domestic difficulty arose. 
 Adam was sitting one evening by the fire engaged 
 with the Bible open before him preparing his 
 Sunday sermon, when Sarah, his daughter, a 
 comely, round-faced girl of two-and-twenty, 
 came near her father's elbow, and, touching 
 his blue shirt-sleeve nervously, said, shooting a 
 quick glance of fear at her mother as she 
 did so, " Feyther, dun yo' think yo' could spur 
 me?" 
 
 Both parents lifted their heads quickly, and 
 the mother in her usual brusque tones demanded : 
 *^ Spur thee ! We'er dust want ta goa? Thart 
 allis aat. When Aw wur a wench " 
 
 " Aw dunna meean that," interrupted Sarah, 
 avoiding her mother's eye, and appealing 
 humbly to her father. 
 
 "Aw meean, could yo' spur me for good? 
 Aw want to get marrit." 
 
 Adam shot a glance at his wife and another 
 at Sarah, and then, taking off his glasses witL 
 hands that shook unwontedly, and slowly 
 closing his book, he replied : " Marrit, wench j 
 whoa tew ? " 
 
 "Aw thowt theer wur summat up wi' Aw 
 them ribbins an' faldals, an' gooin' aat o' neets, 
 that desateful hussy thaa! Aw reacon it's sum 
 wastril or other tha's picked up wi'. When aw 
 wor a wench " 
 
 " Huisli, 'Tilda ! " cried Adam, closing his 
 eyes wearily, and then turning to his now white 
 
 5
 
 66 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 and trembling daughter, lie asked, gently : 
 " Whoa is it, wench ? " 
 
 '^Abrum Briggs, feyther." 
 
 And then there was an explosion. Never in 
 all the years of their married life had Adam 
 seen his wife so utterly overcome with wrath, 
 and never before had he guessed the power of 
 quiet courage that slumbered in the breast of 
 his daughter, for she stood up to her mother, 
 and quietly and almost disdainfully defied her, 
 and a war of words, such as Adam had never 
 heard before, took place in that little sanded 
 cottage. For Abram Briggs was the village 
 butcher, and organist of the new organ, and son 
 of the leader of the movement in favour of 
 procuring it. 
 
 It was a terrible blow ; even Adam felt that 
 his daughter had been wanting in proper 
 sympathy with him in his greatest earthly 
 trial, and, though he spoke softly and tried to 
 mollify his furious wife, he went to bed that 
 night feeling grieved with his daughter and 
 fearful as to what his wife might do. 
 
 'Tilda soon settled that. She got up to see 
 Sarah off to her work next morning, and just as 
 the girl was leaving the house she called her 
 back, and, standing between the door and her 
 daughter, said in words of cruel deliberateness : 
 " Sayruh, thart gooin' aat o' th' haase thaa wur 
 born in, an' wheer them as curs fur thee lives. 
 Naa, if thaa comes back ta-neet it meeans as
 
 ADAM AND THE STAES. 67 
 
 tha's gan yond organ-playing wastril up. Naa, 
 then, which is it ta he, Whoam or Abrmn ? " 
 
 Sarah turned deadly white, paused a moment, 
 drew a long breath, and then said : " Abrum, 
 mother," and then glancing up the stairs at 
 the foot of which she stood, she called out, 
 " Good-bye, f eyther, an' God bless yo' " ; and 
 in another moment she was out in the lane 
 sobbing as if her heart would break as she 
 made her way to the mill. 
 
 But she did not come back. She was married 
 a little later on, and though eight years had 
 passed she and her parents had never spoken to 
 each other. Adam was for a time almost beside 
 himself, and would have gone to his daughter 
 for reconciliation many a time during the first 
 year after her marriage but for his wife, and 
 when he heard that a baby had arrived, and 
 then that it was christened Adam, it took all 
 Matilda's arguments and threats to keep him 
 from going and "^makkin it up." 
 
 Latterly, however, he had settled down to a 
 dull sort of endurance, except that occasionally 
 he had fits of longing which more than once 
 took him to Sarah's door, but on each occasion 
 his heart failed him, and he returned as he 
 went. 
 
 Besides all this, Adam's customers fell off. 
 He either could not or would not call at the 
 houses of his former friends to sell his cakes, 
 and, when this became clear to them, they
 
 68 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 retaliated by inviting an oat-cake man from 
 Cartwistle to supply them, and as this worthy 
 added the additional attractions of mufl&ns and 
 " pikelets " to his stock-in-trade, he not only 
 got all Adam's customers who belonged to " th' 
 owd body," but several others as well. And so 
 for the last five years Adam had been going 
 steadily down the hill, and now, as his patched 
 and shiny clothes indicated, he was in real 
 poverty. And his religious venture had not 
 fared any better than his worldly one. One by 
 one his chief supporters in secession fell away 
 from him. Some died, some went back to the 
 enemy, and some lapsed entirely, and were the 
 subjects of much heart-searching and remorse 
 to their leader. Only a few now remained, and 
 these found it increasingly difficult to maintain 
 the " cause " in the loft ; and but for the fact 
 that they could not bear the idea of giving the 
 enemy cause to rejoice, would have been back 
 long ago. 
 
 This statement of affairs is given to enable 
 the reader to understand poor Adam's soliloquy 
 as he wended his way home on Christmas 
 Eve. The crisp air, the shining stars, and the 
 suggestive and heartening season all tended to 
 exhilarate him, but behind it all there was a 
 depression and uneasy self-accusation which 
 refused to be pacified. A moment more and 
 he has arrived at Spindlepoint, and approaching 
 the first of the half-dozen houses which made
 
 ADAM AND THE STAES. 69 
 
 up that place of residence he opened a back 
 kitchen door, and, with an apologetic cough, 
 stepped inside. 
 
 "Theer's noabry wants whot (oat) cakes at 
 Kessmas, wench," he said, anticipating depre- 
 catinglj his wife's first question, *' it's aw cock- 
 chicken and sparr - rib, an' pork - pie an' 
 pudding." 
 
 " Aye, cock chickin and pork-pie's fur other 
 fooak's wives," was the hard reply, " an' whot 
 cake — and whot cake tew it — for thine." 
 
 Adam winced and glanced furtively through 
 the back window at the stars, as if afraid they 
 might be listening, and then, hanging his 
 basket on a hook in the joist above his head, 
 he heaved a heavy sigh and went quietly to 
 his seat at the fireside. 
 
 "Aw ne'er thowt," resumed Mrs. Adam, 
 fretfully, '^ when Aw left my good wlioam up i' 
 th' moor yond as Aw should iver come to a 
 Kessmas dinner o' whot cakes." 
 
 *' Ne'er mind, wench," replied Adam, in low, 
 coaxing tones, " wee've a roof o'er aar yeds, an' 
 a bit o' feire an enuff ta keep uz fro' clem- 
 min. Let's be thankful ! " 
 
 Thankful ! But words seemed too weak to 
 express 'Tilda's disgust at the whole business, 
 so she whisked back into the kitchen, angrily 
 slamming the door as she went. 
 
 A look of dull sadness sat on Adam's face 
 as he cowered over the tiny fire, and very soon
 
 70 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 he was in profound and evidently not pleasant 
 cogitation. 
 
 Presently his wife, who though she had 
 grown hard and raspy of temper of late was an 
 excellent manager, brought her husband his 
 "baggin" (tea), and placed in the middle of 
 the table a big plate containing the cakes 
 which he had brought back. She did not sit 
 down with him, but retired in grim dudgeon 
 to the kitchen again, where Adam could hear 
 her talking rapidly and angrily to herself. 
 Then she seemed to relent, for she returned 
 into the house and floj^ped down under Adam's 
 delighted nose a steaming dish of toasted 
 cheese. 
 
 " Bless the wench, tha art good ta me," cried 
 he in eager tones, but 'Tilda curled her lip 
 and disappeared again into the back regions. 
 
 An hour or two later the two sat before the 
 fire in silence. Adam kept glancing at his 
 wife's clouded face in hope of finding signs 
 of relenting there. Presently he said in a 
 tentative sort of tone, " Aw seed little Adam 
 as Aw come whoam." There was no answer, 
 but the lines about 'Tilda's mouth tightened. 
 
 After a long silence Adam ventured again, 
 " Kessmas is rayther a looansome toime for — 
 them as has na mony relations." 
 
 No reT)ly. Another long pause, and then 
 staring steadily into the fire and becoming 
 suddenly quite husky and faltering in his
 
 ADAM AND THE STARS. 71 
 
 tones, he said, "Aar Sayruh used trim tli' 
 haase up wi' pink paj)per, and holly and ivry. 
 Dust think hoo'll be thinking abaat us ta- 
 neet?" 
 
 And Matilda, with a face as hard as ever but 
 with a traitorous quiver on her lips, rose hastily 
 and went out to bring" in the chips for next 
 morning, but never a word did she speak. 
 
 Next morning as usual Adam was up first, 
 and on his wife joining him her practised eye 
 noted some change in him. He seemed to be 
 struggling to suppress some excitement; he 
 had put on his ^' blacks," now very threadbare, 
 but still having an air of distinction about 
 them, and was busy blacking his Sunday 
 Wellingtons. 
 
 'Tilda saw all these things with secret 
 wonderment, but never a trace of that feeling 
 showed itself on her face, and she persistently 
 ignored all Adam's palpable attempts to provoke 
 a question. 
 
 There was certainly something the matter 
 with her husband. His hand shook as he 
 toasted the oat-cakes, he spilt his coffee upon 
 the white clothless table-top, and would have 
 flopped the milk into the sugar bowl but for 
 'Tilda's timely interference. 
 
 Breakfast over, Adam became distinctly rest- 
 less. He couldn't sit still. He asked several 
 times how much fast the clock was, and went to 
 the back door again and again to study the
 
 72 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 weather, although the old ladj in her infallible 
 weather-gauge house had been out for many a 
 day, and showed not the slightest inclination 
 to retire in favour of her husband. At last he 
 brought out his very venerable and carefully- 
 preserved hat, which represented a fashion 
 which had been in and out again several times 
 since Adam purchased it, and began smoothing 
 the nap with his coat-sleeve. And he did this 
 in so distinctly challenging a manner as to 
 almost compel the question he was waiting for. 
 But Matilda would not respond, and was as 
 ostentatious in her indifference as Adam was 
 in his preparations, and it was only when he 
 had actually reached the doorstep that she 
 managed to squeeze out as lackadaisically as 
 possible, " Naa wheer art gooin' ? " 
 
 The question now that it had come shot 
 through Adam hke a shock. He seemed in a 
 moment as if he were paralysed, and then 
 glancing down the lane as if meditating flight, 
 and turning to his wife with a quiet desperation 
 in his look, he answered : " 'Tilda, Awm goin' 
 to th' chapil." Matilda gave a sharp cry, and 
 rushed forward as if to stop him by main force, 
 but he who usually quailed before her anger 
 moved not. 
 
 " If we wm- reet at the first," he cried, " we'en 
 putten aarsels i' th' wrung lung sin. An', 
 'Tilda, my heart's bleedin' fur me dowter an' 
 her little un. Aye, an' fur my owd friends
 
 ADAM AND THE STARS. 73 
 
 yond. An' it's Kessmas toimej a toime o' peace 
 an' forgiveness, an' Awni goin', cliuse wot tlia 
 sa.ys." 
 
 Another minute and Adam was hurrying 
 along the lane, striking his stick upon the hard 
 ground by way of emphasis to his excited 
 thoughts and pressing on rapidly as though 
 he feared his wife was after him to bring him 
 back. 
 
 But she wasn't. Standing at the little 
 window at the end of the house, where she 
 could see down the lane, she watched the 
 retreating form of her husband with a strange 
 intentness. And as she gazed the hard lines 
 melted out of her face, her eyes began to shine 
 with very unfamiliar dewiness, and at last she 
 murmured, " God goa wi' the lad ! Tha'rt best 
 bit a human nature as iver walks that owd loan. 
 Bless thi ; Awm no fit ta tee thi shoon." 
 
 Meanwhile, Adam was pressing on towards 
 the village. As he passed Quaking houses he 
 looked out eagerly for a little curly head that 
 never appeared, and presently slackened pace 
 and felt his legs shaking under him as he came 
 in sight of the chapel. Now, the Scowcroft 
 male Methodists, however early they arrived at 
 the gates, never thought of entering the chapel 
 until the preacher arrived. A body of men, 
 therefore, were propping up the railings and 
 standing in various positions about the chapel 
 door as Adam came in sight. One or two
 
 74 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 remarked, as they caught sight of him, that 
 he'd been failing badly lately ; and Jacky o' th' 
 Gap, once Adam's inseparable chum, heaved a 
 little sigh as he thought of happy Christmases 
 of yore, and then remarked, " Aw tliowt they 
 didn't hev sarvis at the loft at Kessmas," 
 
 But by this time Adam had left the road, 
 and, instead of turning down towards the 
 "loft," had struck across the croft, and was 
 making straight towards them. They stood 
 back in silent astonishment as he came up, and 
 turned to stare at each other in amazement as 
 he passed them by with bowed head and walked 
 right into the building. 
 
 The door was open, and a moment later they 
 beheld Adam kneeling in the pulpit, with bent 
 head and shaking with suppressed emotion. In 
 a few moments the great news was taken into 
 the vestry, where the appointed preacher was 
 abeady selecting his hymns. Surprise and 
 delight struggled together on the faces of all in 
 that little room; and when Tom Crompton 
 came in and said, in a tragic whisper, " Th' 
 owd lad's picking his hymns aat," everybody 
 looked at his neighbour in bewilderment. 
 
 ** Well, that's th' coppest thing we'en seen i' 
 this chapel for mony a yer," cried Jacky o' th' 
 Gap, and everybody else looked emphatic 
 endorsement. 
 
 For a moment the preacher was inclined to 
 resent being thus supplanted ; but the rest felt
 
 ADAM AND THE STARS. 75 
 
 that, if Adam was coming back, they could not 
 stand on trifles, and so, having- pacified the 
 dethroned one, they all hastened into the chapel, 
 and Jacky climbed up the narrow stairs into the 
 organ loft, and cried to the man at the instru- 
 ment, "Thaa munna play that thing this 
 mornin', naa." 
 
 By this time the news had got to the villagers, 
 and many who had not intended to come pre- 
 sented themselves for worship. 
 
 Presently, in a high, unnatural tone, Adam 
 gave out '' Christians, awake " ; and when that 
 had been sung with quite unusual fervour he 
 tried to pray. For a time everybody listened 
 breathlessly, but before he had done the scene 
 resembled an old Scowcroft revival meeting, 
 and men and women of hard aspect and un- 
 emotional nature were laughing and crying 
 together from pure overjoyfulness. By the 
 time the sermon was reached even the dislodged 
 local had forgotten his grievance, and in every 
 pew men were propping their chins on the pew- 
 tops before them, and eagerly waiting for 
 Adam's discoiu-se. 
 
 **Owd frens," he cried, " Aw conna keep away 
 ony lunger." (" Praise the Lord ! " from Jacky 
 o' th' Gap.) " But Aw have na come back o' 
 mysel', moind yo'. The Lord's driven me back. 
 He wur maulin' wi' me aw day yesterday, till 
 my hert wur welly brastin' ; and last neet He 
 sent me a vision."
 
 76 ADAM AND THE STAES. 
 
 One or two looked doubtful as to whether it 
 was not presumptuous for Adam to rank himself 
 with the ancient prophets, but Jacky o' th' 
 Gap, with glowing face, cried out, " Tell us 
 abaat it, lad ! " 
 
 "Aw will, Jacky," resumed the preacher. 
 " It wur a dream, yo' known. Aw thowt Aw wur 
 i' th' Cinder Hill fields yond, an' lookin' up at 
 th' stars, an' aw ath wunce Aw yerd a great 
 shaat, an' Aw looked up and theer, by th' mon ! 
 Aw seed aw th' stars rushin' to wart me loike a 
 swarm o' bees. An' then when they geet narer 
 me Aw seed as they worn't stars at aw, but 
 angils. They leeted loike pigeons aw abaat me ; 
 an' then wun on 'em blew a trumpit, an' they 
 aw struck up singing ! Hay wot singing ! — Aw 
 ne'er yerd nowt loike it; Aw didn't know th' 
 tune, but it wur that luvly an' meltin' Aw thowt 
 Awd jine in. But the first nooat Aw tried the 
 angil as wur th' leader tm*nt raand on me and 
 shaated, 'Huish!'" 
 
 " Aw stopt fur a minute, thinkin' as Aw must 
 a-bin aat o' tune, bud when they geet to th' 
 chorus Aw dropped in wi' a soart of a hum, yo' 
 known. But he yerd me, and afoor Awd getten 
 three nooats aat he turnt on me ageean and 
 shaated, * Huish, mon ! ' 
 
 " Well, Aw wTir fair capped wi' th' job, but 
 just then th' music went heigher and heigher 
 an' swelled aat sa grand Aw couldn't howd in, 
 so a brast aat wi' aw me might an' shaated
 
 ADAM AND THE STARS. 77 
 
 * Peace on earth, goodwill to men,' at th' top 
 o' my vice. An' aw at wimce tli' music stopt, 
 an' aw th' angils started o' staring at me as if 
 they'd ne'er yerd a mon sing afoor. 
 
 " ' Wot arr yo' stopt fur ? ' Aw said, an' Aw 
 war gettin' a bit raspy abaat it, an' th' leading 
 singer angil come up ta me, an' he said, ^ A mon 
 as sings wun thing and lives anuther conna sing 
 wi' us.' An' just then Aw wakkened, an' 
 theer Aw wur up a mi bed. Bud Aw could see 
 wot th' angil meant. Aw could see as aw th' 
 Kessmas hymns aw've sung sin Aw used sing 'em 
 i' this owd chapil 'as bin lies — ("^ Ne'er mind, 
 lad," from two or three) — and Aw thowt ta 
 mysel', if Aw conna sing wi' th' angils daan here, 
 Awst ne'er ha' ta sing wi' 'em i' heaven. But Aw 
 mmm ! Aw munn ! An' so Aw've come to mak' 
 peace, owd frens, and goodwill and brotherly 
 love. Aw want ta sing with angils, aye, vsd' th' 
 best on 'em." 
 
 The Scowcroft Chapel, although small, had a 
 gallery all round, and all the leading lights of 
 the church sat in the front gallery pews, and so 
 those near the preacher could reach him if they 
 wished, and just at that moment there was a 
 clattering sound in the neighbourhood of the 
 organ behind Adam, and a moment later a burly 
 young fellow with red face and wet eyes leaned 
 over the gallery front, and stretching out his 
 hand as far as he could reach, cried eagerly : 
 " Dun yo' meean it, feyther ? "
 
 78 ADAM AND THE STAES. 
 
 As quick as thought Adam wheeled round, 
 and snatching at the out-stretched hand of his 
 organist son-in-law he replied : " Aw dew, lad, 
 Aw dew," and began to shake hands as if he 
 never intended to leave off. 
 
 Then came whole rows of hands from over 
 the gallery front, and then an opening of pew 
 doors below and a swarming of eager men up 
 the pulpit stairs. In the midst of it somebody 
 struck up — 
 
 What, never part again ! 
 No, never pai-t again. 
 
 An d they sang it, and sang it, and shook hands 
 with each other, and beamed on Adam with their 
 homely faces all aglow with delight and affection. 
 Nobody ever could properly tell how that service 
 ended ; but, at any rate, there was no more 
 sermon, and after standing round the Commu- 
 nion rail and singing — 
 
 Oil, happy day, &c., 
 and 
 
 If this our fellowship below, &c., 
 
 someone struck up Adam's favourite hymn in 
 the happy days of old — 
 
 I want to be an angel, 
 
 and when that had been sung through several 
 times over, they finally, and with manifest 
 reluctance, began to disperse. 
 
 Half-a-dozen of them immediately got into
 
 ADAM AND THE STAES. 79 
 
 something' as near to a dispute as the occasion 
 would permit as to who should have the honour 
 of taking- Adam home to dinner, but when 
 Abram Briggs put in his claim everybody else at 
 once withdrew. As the two approached Abram's 
 cottage that excited young man had an 
 inspiration. 
 
 " Stop here a minute, feyther," he cried, and 
 thrust the old man behind the trellis-work 
 screen that protected the door, and then, 
 putting on a very serious look, he stepped inside 
 and said, apologetically, " Sayruh, Awm bringing 
 th' preicher ta dinner." 
 
 Sarah's face, red and hot with cooking, 
 became redder still as she answered : " Th' 
 preicher ? Bud it's nor aar turn." 
 
 "Neaw,but Aw thowt thaa'd happen loike him 
 as it's Kessmas day." 
 
 "Thaaknew varry weel Aw loiken noabry bud 
 me own o' this day — bud wheer is he ? " she broke 
 off, as a peculiar look on Abram's face attracted 
 her attention. 
 
 But before Abram could answer the old man, 
 who had heard most of what had been said, 
 came sliding round the porch. 
 
 ** Hay, feyther ! feyther ! " cried Sarah. " God 
 bless yore owd face ! Well, this is a gradely 
 Kessmas ! " And whilst Adam and Sarah were 
 making up for their long separation, by what to 
 Lancashire folk were most extravagant demon- 
 strations of joy, Abram was yoking the pony.
 
 80 ADAM AND THE STARS. 
 
 and having driven round to pick up Jacky o' th' 
 Gap, they rattled up the old lane to Spindle- 
 point, and after a long struggle Matilda was 
 induced to come with them, and soon Adam and 
 his wife were so much at home in Abram's 
 house that nobody could possibly have believed 
 that they had never been in before. 
 
 As they went home that night Adam told his 
 wife all about the stars, and the part they had 
 played in the transactions of the day, and after 
 Matilda had stood some moments gazing silently 
 up at them, she did what she had not done for 
 many a long year before — she took her 
 husband's face between her hands, and, after 
 lookmg intently into his eyes for a moment, 
 silently kissed him.
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL.
 
 WILLIAMS IDOL. 
 
 I. 
 
 It had been a wet washing-day, and knowing 
 full well all that that meant to his natty, house- 
 proud little wife. Quiet William had consumed 
 his " baggin " in discreet but highly character- 
 istic silence. He knew by many experiences 
 that this was the one thing that was always too 
 much for his wife's temper, and as he ate he 
 glanced furtively at her from time to time as 
 she went about clearing away with manifest 
 impatience the last signs of the struggle 
 through which she had passed during the day. 
 
 It had always been one of William's boasts 
 that he never knew when it was washing-day at 
 his house, and Hannah, or " Tan," as she was 
 always called, though she aifected total in- 
 difference on the subject, was secretly very 
 proud of this implied compliment, and 
 exceedingly anxious to be always worthy of it. 
 
 But when the rain pours down with steady, 
 exasperating persistence all the day, and when 
 the " copper " flue positively won't draw, and 
 you have been compelled to use slack because 
 that "gallons wastril " Toffy Joe has not
 
 84 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 brought the coals though they have been 
 ** ordert " nearly a week, and evening has come 
 and the clothes hang about in a clammy fog, is 
 it any wonder if you do feel " a bit nattered " ? 
 
 Oh ! what a relief it woiild have been if Joe 
 had brought the coals just then. She could 
 have " cooambed his yure for him " with com- 
 pletest satisfaction, and with even a gratifying 
 sense that she was discharging a duty. 
 
 But Joe hadn't come, and as for her husband, 
 she might as well try to quarrel with the 
 peggy-stick, as she nearly had done once that 
 day, as attempt to get up a word-battle with 
 him. If he would only say one little word — 
 anything would do — to set her off and open the 
 valve that was confining all this suppressed and 
 accumulated wrath. But William wouldn't. 
 Of course he wouldn't. He never did. There 
 was no satisfaction in a husband like that. He 
 wouldn't even looJc wrongly at her. His face 
 was as blank as a dead wall. Could anything 
 be more aggravating ? 
 
 By this time William had finished his meal 
 and drawn back his chair into its corner. He 
 knew just how it was with " Tan." He wished 
 in his very heart she wouldn't trouble so much 
 about trifles. What did it matter? He had 
 been thinking about her often during the day, 
 and watching somewhat anxiously through the 
 dirty miU windows for a change in the weather. 
 But it hadn't come, and he had returned home
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 85 
 
 full of sympathy with his wife, but a sympathy 
 not unmixed with apprehension. In this state 
 of mind he quietly glided his hand up the 
 chimney jamb and took down from the mantel- 
 piece a short black pipe, and began to charge 
 it, glancing uneasily round as he did so, as if 
 fearful of having been caught in the act. Then , 
 he lighted a " spill " and applied it to the pipe ; 
 and then, after certain experimental puffs to 
 make sure that all was right with his comforter, 
 he drew two or three long, satisfying pulls, and 
 quite unconsciously heaved a deep sigh of relief, 
 looking as he did so with a look of complacent 
 contentment at the red-hot spot in the top of 
 the pipe bowl. 
 
 It was a little thing, and might ordinarily 
 have passed unnoticed, but to one who was 
 vainly waiting for any sort of provocation it 
 was more than sufficient. Hannah was busy 
 filhng the "maiden" with clothes, but the 
 moment her quick ear caught William's sigh 
 she whisked round, and was about to challenge 
 it. But another thought struck her; her 
 resentment deepened, and from irritable com- 
 plaint she passed in thought to satire, and cried 
 out, ironically, " Th-e-e-r ! tha's some cumfort 
 i' th' wold, hasn't tha', poor, ill-used craytur ? " 
 
 William was startled; he took the pipe slowly 
 out of his mouth, and turning round to look at 
 his wife, he cried in astonishment, " Tan ! " 
 
 " ' Tan ' ! Aye, it's aw Tan. Aw th' trubble
 
 86 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 o' thi loife's cum fro' Tan, liesn't it? Bud 
 ne'er moind, tha's getten thi poipe, tha knows. 
 Thi own woife, as mauls an' slaves fur thi yer 
 in an' yer aat's noawheer wheer thi poipe cums, 
 is hoo ? " 
 
 WiUiam snatched the offending idol out of 
 his mouth, and holding it down behind his hand 
 as if to conceal it, cried in genuine distress, 
 " Dust na loike it, wench ? " 
 
 "Loike it? Oh, aye. Aw loike it, sure-li. 
 Aw conna help bud loike it when him as owt 
 tak' cur on me thinks mooar o' it nui' he does 
 o' me." 
 
 " Hannah ! " cried William in shocked and 
 distressed tones. 
 
 " * Hannah ' ! Dunna ' Hannah ' me, mon ; 
 tell th' trewth an' say ' Bacca ! bacca ! Wot's 
 a woif e tew a mucky owd poipe ? ' William 
 Dyson, Aw've towd thi mony o toime thar't a 
 slave tew it. Thar't smookm' thi brains, an' 
 thi temper, and thi soul away. Bud Aw'U say 
 me say if Aw dee fur it." 
 
 As this torrent of raillery was being hurled at 
 him William looked more and more amazed. 
 The words used by his overwrought little wife 
 were of no moment to him, but the weary 
 soreness of mmd which their employment 
 revealed seriously alarmed him, and he quietly 
 slided the pipe back upon the mantelpiece and 
 sank down into his chair. 
 
 For a moment or two he looked earnestly at
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 87 
 
 his wife, but perceiving that the pent-up fire 
 had now spent itseK and that "Tan" was 
 already penitent, he turned and looked musingly 
 into the fire-grate, whilst Hannah, snatching 
 up her basket of clothes, whisked off into the 
 scullery. 
 
 She banged the door after her, but the latch 
 did not catch, and so it remained just the least 
 bit open, and William sat up in the attitude of 
 listening, following and interpreting the various 
 sounds and movements going on in the scullery. 
 First he heard the basket banged into two or 
 three different places, as it evidently would not 
 stand properly. Then he heard a noisy rattle 
 amongst the pots, and then a demonstrative 
 scraping out of a porridge pan. Presently 
 there was a pause, and just as the silence was 
 beginning to affect him he heard a sniff, and 
 then another, and then a soft blowing of the 
 nose, followed by a covering cough. Then all 
 was quiet agam, and after a minute or two 
 WiUiam heard a long sigh. For some time he 
 waited for his wife to come forth, and glanced 
 every now and then toward the scullery door, 
 but the distui'bed woman gave no sign. Pre- 
 sently he unclasped and drew off his clogs, 
 removed his coat, looked at his fingers to make 
 sure they were not greasy, and then, groping up 
 the corner of the fireplace, he drew down a 
 carefully preserved but venerable fiddle. 
 
 Gently and cautiously, and with many a
 
 88 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 glance at the little door, he ran his hand over 
 the strings, and screwed with expressive 
 grimaces at the pegs. 
 
 Then he paused again, took a long expostu- 
 lating sort of look at the obdurate door, and 
 then, lifting the fiddle to his chin, and drawing 
 the bow across the strings gently, he played a 
 few bars, and softly glided off into " Annie 
 Lisle." 
 
 This was the first tune William had ever 
 learnt to play, and the one that first won him a 
 smile from the pretty Hannah Grimshaw, in 
 the days of auld lang syne. As he played his 
 eyes glistened and his lips moved ; but, however 
 eagerly he watched that green inner door, it 
 would not open. Then he ran off into snatches 
 of old chapel tunes and anniversary anthems ; 
 and just as he was waxing warm with the 
 ever green "How beautiful upon the moun- 
 tains," the door gave way, and Hannah, with a 
 chastened countenance, came forth carrying 
 the porridge pan. She brought it straight to 
 the fireplace and perched it on the front bar. 
 Then she leaned her left arm on the mantel- 
 piece and her head on her arm, and stood 
 looking dreely down into the pan and stirring 
 as for dear life. 
 
 Then she paused a moment, and William, 
 with a hungry coaxing look at her, glided off 
 into Hannah's favourite revival tune, and then, 
 as her face suddenly saddened, he blinked his
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 80 
 
 eyes in the intensity of his earnestness, and 
 bending eagerly over the instrument, and ap- 
 parently putting all the music of his soul into 
 it, there came trembling forth : 
 
 Though often here we're weary, 
 There is sweet rest above, &c., &c. 
 
 Great tears swam into Hannah's already red 
 eyes ; she dropped back into a rocking-chair, 
 covered her face with her hands, and sobbed 
 unf eignedly, whilst the boiling porridge kept up 
 a sort of bloberty-blob, bloberty-blob, blob, 
 blob accompaniment to the music, 
 
 Wmiam played on, apparently too absorbed 
 in his occupation to notice his weeping wife. 
 But presently he paused and leaned back in his 
 chair, and began to contemplate the floor- 
 boards above his head, as though trying to 
 think of another tune. But the melody would 
 not come, and so, after waiting a long time, 
 ostentatiously oblivious the while of his wife's 
 presence, he was just about to put the instru- 
 ment away when Hannah got quietly up, took 
 hold of the pan of porridge, lifted it gently 
 upon the "hob," and then, looking intently 
 down into its depths, she murmured, in a tone 
 in which confession, apology, and caressing 
 were curiously blended, " Hay, lad ! ther's nowt 
 loike the owd tunes, is ther ? " 
 
 And William, who had just found the peg he 
 was groping for, hung the fiddle up, and
 
 90 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 tten, slipping his hand along- the mantelpiece 
 to feel for his pipe again, answered gently, 
 "Neaw." 
 
 II. 
 
 Now this was by no means the first attack 
 which old Hannah had made on her husband's 
 besetment. She had never really become 
 reconciled to it, or at any rate she would never 
 admit that she had. But somehow William 
 had got the idea that his little wife was not at 
 bottom opposed to smoking, only she liked to 
 have some handy subject for feminine raillery, 
 and this was generally the easiest and most 
 obvious point of attack. And at fii'st William 
 was inchned to think that this was only 
 another, though a somewhat more serious, 
 outbreak of the same feeling, the additional 
 severity of it being of com-se attributable to the 
 wet washing-day, and his wife's consequent and 
 very excusable irritation. But somehow he 
 didn't forget it as he generally did. As a rule 
 his wife's " bits o' flusks," as he called them, 
 were forgotten almost immediately, but for 
 some reason or other this last incident refused 
 to be thus ignored. 
 
 Hitherto also his beloved fiddle, though 
 brouofht in because of its tried influence on
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 91 
 
 the temper of his wife, succeeded generally 
 in dispelling gloom from his own mind and 
 relieving it of aU unpleasant recollections. But 
 for once even the fiddle failed. Hannah was 
 certainly kinder than usual after her outburst, 
 so that there was nothing from that source to 
 prevent him forgetting the late incident. And 
 yet for the life of him he couldn't. 
 
 All next day, as he went about in the mill, 
 his thoughts reverted with most unusual and 
 distressing frequency to the occurrence of the 
 previous night. What could be the reason of 
 it? Did Hannah really dislike tobacco so 
 much as that, and had she all these years been 
 quietly enduring it with only occasional half- 
 playful protests ? And if so, had he become 
 such a callous wretch and so wrapped up in his 
 pipe as never to have noticed what his poor 
 wife was suffering ? Was tobacco so blinding 
 and benumbing his perceptions that he could 
 no longer read his wife's feelings, or was he 
 growing so hardened as not to care what she 
 felt? If so, what a hard-hearted monster he 
 was becoming ! And if the enslaving pipe was 
 producing such blinding and searing influence 
 on his mind, what must it be doing to his soul ! 
 
 Once started on this line of thought, William 
 soon recalled a score of little unnoticed circum- 
 stances which he now saw were signs of 
 spiritual decay. 
 
 Things began to look very serious indeed.
 
 92 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 "Tan" had always been much better than he, 
 he well knew. What if she had noticed his 
 spiritual declension, and had been so troubled 
 about it as eventually to lose her temper in 
 warning him ? Had anybody in the world such 
 a wife as he had ? Oh, what a sinner he must 
 be to have treated her like this ! 
 
 This kind of torturing self -accusation went 
 on for days, and poor William got no relief. 
 He had not got far enough for the desperate 
 remedy of total abstinence from the weed, but 
 he had got far enough for any indulgence in it 
 to make him miserable, so that the " bacca " 
 didn't taste the same, and he had to admit 
 ruefully to himself, " Aw con noather smook 
 nor leeav it alooan." 
 
 And then William was a steadfast believer 
 in Providence. Every unusual occurrence was 
 to him a sign of something, and so when, on 
 the following Sunday, the appointed preacher 
 was not able to attend through sickness, and 
 had sent a " Primitive " to take his place, 
 William regarded it as nothing short of direct 
 interference of Providence when the preacher, 
 taking for his text, " Little children keep 
 yourselves from idols," launched out into a 
 terrible tirade on the use of tobacco, and 
 clinched his argument by relating a thrilling 
 incident about a man who had a dream in 
 which the recording angel stuck to it against 
 all that he could say that his name was not in
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 93 
 
 the Book of Life. And at last, after reading 
 the record through for the fourth time, 
 announced that the name was there, but so 
 hidden under tobacco smoke that it was 
 scarcely decipherable. 
 
 This was awful ! Whatever doubt William 
 might have had as to the necessity of giving 
 tobacco up was now dispelled, for this remark- 
 able change of preachers, bringing with it such 
 an entirely unexpected but richly-deserved 
 message to him in his benighted idolatry, left 
 not the slightest doubt in his mind that 
 " Providence " was in it all. 
 
 He felt sorely in need of advice. But to 
 whom should he go? All his old friends 
 smoked more than he did himself with the 
 exception of Miles, and Miles only abstained 
 because he had tried again and again and 
 couldn't manage smoking. What should he 
 do ? He longed to consult " Tan " ; but he felt 
 sure she would pretend to like it out of pity 
 for him, and she had already expressed herself 
 in trenchant terms about the sermon that 
 had disturbed him. So that she was clearly 
 prejudiced and her opinion was not to be relied 
 upon. 
 
 Whilst he was debating these matters with 
 himself and smoking rather more than usual 
 as an aid to reflection, but with a consciousness 
 of growing depravity, the prospect of help 
 came from an entirely unexpected quarter.
 
 94 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 There was in connection with the chapel a 
 Literary and Mutual Improvement Society. It 
 was only active during the winter months, and 
 seemed to hibernate in the summer. 
 
 It held fortnightly meetings, and was a sort 
 of rendezvous for all the irresponsible free- 
 lances and amateur critics of the village. The 
 majority of the members belonged to the 
 chapel, and consequently the meetings were 
 held in the large back vestry at the rear of that 
 building. But it must not be supposed on this 
 account that the rulers of the synagogue 
 approved of the institution. To them it was 
 anathema. Its very existence presupposed 
 dissent and tacit rebellion, and its continued 
 prosperity was a distinct menace to aU proper 
 authority. However promising a yomig man 
 was in the church he was given up by the 
 leaders immediately it was known that he had 
 joined the '^^ littery." More than once the 
 question had been seriously debated in private 
 whether a " mutualer " could be recognised as a 
 member, and the fact that such wild and 
 treasonable ideas as report said were propagated 
 at the meeting should be spoken on Methodist 
 premises was gall and wormwood to the 
 responsible heads of the church. 
 
 But what could they do ? When the 
 obnoxious society was first formed, and per- 
 mission was sought for holding the meetings 
 on Methodist premises, the trustees were
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 95 
 
 horrified, and regarded the suggestion as a 
 deliberate insult. But when it turned out that 
 Adam o' th' Point, who had separated from 
 "th' owd body" some time before and had 
 started an opposition service in " Joany's loft," 
 was offering the new society the use of his 
 tabernacle, and that the reckless spirits at the 
 head of the new movement were so bent on 
 carrying out their purpose that they would go 
 there if not accommodated on their own pre- 
 mises, the trustees felt that they were on the 
 horns of a dilemma, and eventually consented 
 to grant the use of the room, relieving their 
 minds afterwards by denouncing the whole 
 thing as a " Maantibank club." 
 
 Ever since then there had been wars and 
 rumours of wars in the chapel without end. 
 Miles Grimshaw expressed his supreme con- 
 tempt for the intellectual endowments of the 
 members on every conceivable oppoi-tunity. 
 Quiet William shook his head and sighed sadly. 
 Jimmy the Scutcher, after drawing out one of 
 the most enthusiastic of the advocates for the 
 new society, and listening with a show of 
 friendly interest to the discussion of various 
 taking titles for the society, made an atrocious 
 pun on the mutual, calling it meivtuol, and finally 
 suggested that it should be called the '^^Tom 
 Cat Society," and all its literary productions 
 '^ pussy cat tails." But a crisis arose when one 
 day a beaming youth, swollen out with a sense
 
 96 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 of the importance of his new dignity as 
 secretary, came into the preacher's vestry and 
 handed the steward a pulpit notice announcing 
 the opening soiree. Jacky o' th' Gap peremp- 
 torily refused to have the paper " geen aat " ; 
 and when the second minister, who happened 
 to be the preacher for that morning, ventured 
 to plead for the ann'^uncement, Jacky lost all 
 control of himself, and cried angrily, " Yo moind 
 yore preiching, and leeav theeas galivanting 
 bermyeds ta me." 
 
 The society was now in its third session, and 
 was, perhaps, all the more popular with the 
 rank and file of the chapel-goers because it was 
 known to be so objectionable to the officials. 
 
 One Sunday morning, during William's pain- 
 ful mental struggles about his beloved pipe, the 
 preacher announced that on the following 
 Wednesday night an essay would be read at 
 the Mutual Improvement Society meeting on 
 " Tobacco," which would be followed by open 
 discussion. 
 
 The essayist on this occasion was to be 
 Abram Briggs, whom everybody knew as a 
 violent teetotaler and anti-tobacconist, and so 
 the whole affair presented itself to William's 
 mind as another direct providential interfer- 
 ence to meet his difficulties and bring him to 
 repentance. And so he felt bound to swallow 
 all his scruples and go and hear what could be 
 said on the subject. That very night his
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 97 
 
 terrible brother-in-law Miles announced his 
 intention of gomg- to the meeting-, too, and 
 "giving them 'Johnny Raw's' belltinker," 
 and as this threat spread rapidly through the 
 village everybody felt that such an occasion 
 was not to be missed, and so the affair pro- 
 mised to be a great success. 
 
 Once or twice only had the officials of the 
 church patronised these obnoxious meetings, 
 but on this occasion, feeling that the subject 
 was a direct challenge to them, they all 
 announced their intention of being present, 
 especially after they discovered that Miles the 
 redoubtable would actually enter the arena 
 against the essayist. 
 
 This was certainly an opportunity not to be 
 missed, and every man smacked his lips and 
 blinked his eyes in prospective enjoyment of 
 the "bancelling" the hapless essayist would 
 receive. 
 
 On Wednesday morning, however, a most 
 disappointing announcement had to be made. 
 Miles was ill, and as he had been working the 
 week before in a house where fever had since 
 broken out, the doctor feared he might have 
 caught the infection, and peremptorily forbade 
 him to leave the house for three days lest he 
 should spread disease. 
 
 Poor Miles ! It took him quite a quarter of 
 an hour to relieve his mind to the doctor and 
 pour scorn on his regulations. Then he sent a 
 
 7
 
 98 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 stern message to liis brother-in-law William, 
 exhorting him on peril of certain terrible 
 pains and penalties to "Goa an' ston up fur 
 thisel' at th' meeting," and another message was 
 sent to the essayist challenging him to postpone 
 the meeting until Miles was better, and thus 
 secure for himself " th' best letherin' thaa iver 
 hedi'thiloife." 
 
 When the meeting came everybody spent the 
 few minutes before the business commenced 
 lamenting the enforced absence of Miles. 
 Presently the essayist was called upon to read 
 his paper, and as he rose to do so Quiet William 
 leaned abstractedly back against the wall under 
 the window, and closed his eyes to listen. 
 
 The reader began by stating that tobacco 
 was not a product of civilisation, but a noxious 
 plant used by savages to poison snakes, and 
 introduced to the notice of Europeans by the 
 debased and irreclaimable Indians of the wild 
 West. (Here William began to feel heartily 
 ashamed of himself.) The essential spirit of 
 tobacco, the essayist went on, was a deadly 
 poison called nicotine, one or two drops of 
 which would poison a cat (William winced, 
 and felt that he was beginning to perspire). 
 The reader next gave a list of the diseases 
 which were either originated or developed by 
 the deadly weed, and enlarged eloquently on its 
 benumbing effect on the brain and conscience, 
 and William was conscious of several myste-
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 99 
 
 rious pains in the head and stomach, and felt 
 himself a hardened backslider. 
 
 Then the essayist gave statistics to show- 
 how much money was wasted on " this seduc- 
 tive but deadly plant " every year, with hints of 
 the good that might be done with such money 
 if it were spent on philanthropic objects, and 
 then wound up with a highly rhetorical decla- 
 mation, in which the man who used tobacco was 
 denounced as "a, sensualist, a spendthrift and 
 a slave." 
 
 Whilst the essay was being read, Jacky o' 
 th' Gap had followed it by an energetic running 
 comment, which gradually swelled into one 
 final explosive negative, and before the 
 chairman could invite any one to reply, Jacky 
 was on his feet pouring out the vials of his 
 wrath upon both the paper and its bold author. 
 But the members of the society prided them- 
 selves on their familiarity with the rules of 
 debate, and several of them at once rose to 
 order. This only made Jacky the wilder and 
 more incoherent, and after lashing out on every 
 side for several minutes he was suddenly called 
 to order by the chairman, and sat abruptly 
 down in a pet, leaving a feeling in the minds 
 of the assembled company that he had certainly 
 not helped his own side. 
 
 Then two or three of the yomig orators of the 
 society took up cudgels in defence of the paper 
 just read, and kept themselves so well within
 
 100 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 the lines of fair argument that their very 
 moderation created an impression favourable to 
 the essay; and as Jimmy the Scutcher was 
 absent and the redoubtable Miles sick, there 
 was positively nobody bold enough to represent 
 the opposition except poor William, and he 
 hovered between a desire to get up and avow 
 his determination to eschew the wicked weed 
 for ever, and a sneaking inclination, coming, he 
 knew, from the old Adam, to slink out of the 
 room on the very first opportunity. 
 
 At this trying moment a long-necked, rather 
 
 hysterical-looking youth, a big piecer at the 
 
 mill, got up to make his maiden effort in 
 
 oratory. He had started with a sentence which 
 
 was a modified approval of the essay, and was 
 
 just referring to his notes for the next point 
 
 amidst profound silence, when bang ! bang ! 
 
 came at the window outside, the top half 
 
 of which was suddenly swung open, and 
 
 through the aperture thus made came the 
 
 bristling terrier head of Miles Greenshaw, 
 
 muffled almost to the eyes in shawls and 
 
 "comfortables," and a moment later his high, 
 
 strident voice was heard crying, " Well, hez 
 
 that meety (mighty) Giant getten his little 
 
 maase kilt yet ? Yo' ninnyhommers, yo' ! If 
 
 yo'd set ta wark a Imntin' some o' th' big 
 
 rooarin' lions o' sins ith' wold atsteead o' 
 
 freetining a little maase of a sin like bacca, it 
 
 'ud leuk o foine seet better on yo'. — Naa, then !
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 101 
 
 naa then ! " He broke off suddenly. " Leme 
 be ! leme be, wilta ! " And at that moment 
 the shadow of a big female fell on the window, 
 poor Miles suddenly disappeared, and as the 
 cold air came in through the aperture the 
 debaters had mental pictures of a little man 
 being carried off home, kicking and struggling 
 like a rebellious baby, in the arms of his buxom 
 wife. There was no chance of any serious 
 argument after that. The meeting laughed 
 and laughed again, and every attempt to 
 resume the debate was but the signal for a 
 fresh explosion. Then the people, feeling that 
 the entertainment was over, began to disperse, 
 and in a few minutes poor WiUiam was going 
 moodily home, confessing to himself that he 
 had got "noa furruder," and fighting with a 
 feeling of relief and unholy satisfaction which 
 he realised to be very wicked indeed. 
 
 III. 
 
 Two or three weeks passed away, during which 
 William was slowly relapsing into his old habits 
 and his old contentment therewith. 
 
 In fact, as he sat musing by the fire and 
 sucking away at his " comforter " of an evening, 
 it seemed to him somehow that his pipe tasted
 
 102 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 sweeter than ever, and he was compelled to 
 admit that the mental struggles through which 
 he had recently passed gave an added relish to 
 the enchanting weed. Hannah, too, had never 
 said a single word against his habit since the 
 scene recorded in our first chapter, and had even 
 brought home a new spittoon without the 
 lecture which generally accompanied any such 
 expenditure. 
 
 One day, however, William was suddenly and 
 most unexpectedly awakened out of his sinful 
 peace. It occurred at the missionary meeting, 
 always a great institution at Scowcroft. 
 
 The deputation — a real live missionary — had 
 made a most eloquent speech, during the 
 deliverance of which William's intentional 
 shilling had gradually grown first to eigh teen- 
 pence and then to a florin, and when at last 
 the speaker sat down after a most touching 
 appeal for help, William felt that nothing less 
 than half-a-crown would do justice to the 
 occasion. 
 
 Before the glow of fervour which the 
 missionary's speech enkindled had had time 
 to cool, the chairman called upon the curate 
 to address the meeting. Now this was an 
 entirely new item in the programme. The 
 curate was new to Scowcroft, and had shown 
 himself so very friendly to the chapel people 
 that Jacky o' th' Gap had taken it upon himself 
 to invite him to the missionary meeting. The
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 103 
 
 vicar, who was regarded as "a dacent chap, 
 bud terrible standoffish," was away, and so 
 Mr. Bransom had nobody to consult, and had 
 cheerfully accepted Jacky's invitation. 
 
 To William all this was pure delight, and so 
 when the curate rose he quietly hugged himself 
 with pleasure, and settled himself down in his 
 seat for another good time. 
 
 In a moment or two the young priest was 
 speaking on self-sacrifice, and began in what 
 William regarded as quite a Methodist sort of 
 way to show how much peoj)le S2)ent on luxuries, 
 and how comparatively little they gave to 
 philanthropic objects. 
 
 William felt a cold chill creep down his back, 
 and he looked round with an uneasy glance to 
 see whether everybody was not looking at him as 
 the guilty culprit, whilst a little tin canister 
 and a short brier pipe rose like ghosts before 
 him, and an old brass box containing thick 
 twist deep down in his pocket began to feel 
 very hot, as if even in that snug retreat it was 
 blushing. Somehow the curate had a most 
 awkward way of putting things — no wrapping 
 the thing up at all; and William positively 
 caught him looking straight at him as he was 
 saying some of his most pointed things. This 
 was no sort of missionary speech. It would 
 certainly spoil the collection. Besides, it was 
 so personal. William's indignation was fast 
 getting the better of him. Then his thoughts
 
 104 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 took another turn. It was strange tliat the 
 curate should be at this missionary meeting of 
 all others when the vexed question of tobacco 
 or no tobacco was still under debate in 
 William's mind. Stranger stiU that he should 
 select this particular kind of argument, and 
 talk about giving up little indulgences for the 
 sake of others. It was Providence and nothing 
 else ! God was still wrestling with the 
 hardened Ephraim, who was so entirely given 
 up to his idols. Oh, what an extravagant 
 wretch he was ! Blowing money into the air 
 that might be the means of saving some poor 
 little black wench. (Somehow, William always 
 thought of the heathen as little black wenches, 
 perhaps because he had once had a little 
 wench of his own ; only, instead of being black, 
 she was very fair — too fair, indeed, for health 
 and life.) 
 
 The curate was still talking and still appeal- 
 ing for more seK-sacrifice. Oh, why didn't he 
 stop, or change the subject? WilHam was 
 nearly beside himself, and when at last the 
 young parson, with just the slightest possible 
 break in his voice, appealed for self-sacrifice 
 " just for the love of Jesus," William had great 
 difficulty in preventing himself "brastin' aat 
 o' shriking," and heaved a sigh and choked 
 back a sob as the speaker resumed his seat. 
 
 And now the battle had all to be fought over 
 again, and William regarded himself as roused
 
 WILLIOL'S IDOL. 105 
 
 for the last time from his false peace, and with 
 one final chance Jbefore him. How could he be 
 a Christian and cling so to his pipe ? It was 
 impossible. It wouldn't bear thinking of, and 
 the big, tender-hearted man went out of 
 the chapel with a terrible load of guilt on his 
 soul. 
 
 He did not smoke that night, but sat musing 
 by the fire long after Hannah had gone to bed, 
 and finally he followed her with the great 
 question still unsettled. 
 
 Next day William was absent-minded and 
 gloomy all day. When asked his opinion of the 
 missionary meeting he endorsed the universal 
 verdict as to the missionary's address, but found 
 it difficult to speak with unqualified approval of 
 the curate's deliverance. He could not rest in 
 the house that night, and at last got a richly- 
 deserved taste of Hannah's tongue, " trapesin' 
 in an' aat loike a maddlin'." 
 
 Then he sat down by the fire, but as he began 
 to fear that " Tan " would notice his distraught 
 air and abstinence from the pipe, he sidled off 
 into the lanes for an uneasy stroll. 
 
 For a time he walked up and down muttering 
 to himself and praying, and presently he 
 wandered across the croft and over the bridge 
 into the wooded lanes on the other side of the 
 canal. Then he strolled back, and stood 
 leaning over the parapet of the bridge, and 
 looking into the muddy waters below..
 
 106 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 There was a waning moon^ and in its light 
 WiUiam stood peering down upon the waters in 
 anxious thought. 
 
 He heaved a great sigh, and put his hand 
 into his coat-pocket. Then he hesitated, stood 
 staring down the canal at a grimy coal-barge 
 lying alongside the mill engine-house. Then 
 he sighed again, and with a desperate effort 
 thrust his hand into his pocket and drew it out 
 full. 
 
 For a moment or two he stood in the moon- 
 light, looking steadily and sadly at the things 
 he held in his hand. 
 
 There was the little tin canister, there was 
 the brass tobacco-box, and there was his old 
 and beloved pipe. WiUiam laid them carefully 
 on the parapet and stood looking at them 
 intently. Then he looked hastily round to see 
 if there was anybody near, and then glanced 
 up at the moon as if objecting to be so spied 
 upon. In a little while he picked up his pipe, 
 and handling it with great affection he turned 
 it over and over again, examining with strange 
 fondness a crack which he had repaired himself 
 long ago. Then he laid it down carefully on 
 the bridge again, and picking up the little brass 
 box he opened it and took a long relishful sniff 
 at its fragrant contents. Closing the lid 
 presently with a loud snap, he commenced 
 rubbing the box on his thigh to make it shine 
 still more. Then he put it down alongside the
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 107 
 
 pipe and canister, and heaving a deep sigh stood 
 looking wistfully at them. 
 
 Presently he sighed again, took another look 
 round as if he would have been glad of an 
 interruption, and then, gathering the treasures 
 once more into his great hand, he held them 
 out over the dim waters below. Then he drew 
 his arm back again and hesitated. " Th' little 
 wenches ! Th' little black wenches," he 
 murmured, thickly ; " they're sunbry's little 
 Hannahs if they arrna moine. Lord help me ! 
 Lord help me ! " and as he thus prayed he 
 thrust his arm slowly over the parapet and held 
 his treasures over the water again. Then he 
 shut his eyes very tightly, paused a moment 
 waveringly, sighed again, and slowly opened his 
 hand. 
 
 Flop ! Flop ! went the pipe and box and 
 canister into the canal. William stood for a 
 moment peering through the pale moonlight at 
 the little widenmg rings on the water, and then, 
 with a sigh that was almost a sob, turned 
 hurriedly towards home. 
 
 By the time he reached his own house 
 he had partly recovered himself, and was 
 fast overcoming his regret at parting with his 
 treasures, and he did so the more easily, as he 
 not only began to feel a comfortable sense of 
 moral elation at the sacrifice he had made, but 
 commenced also to be apprehensive as to how 
 he would deal with his wife. She would be
 
 108 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 sure to notice if he did not take his nightcap 
 pipe, and he was not sure that, in spite of all 
 her recent denunciations of tobacco, she would 
 allow his sudden and complete abstinence to go 
 unchallenged. 
 
 He knew also that he would have a very 
 rough handling from his cronies at the chapel ; 
 but as he was often in disgrace with them, he 
 felt less concerned about that than otherwise 
 he might have done. 
 
 But however unsuspecting Hannah might 
 have been, her husband's manner would have 
 aroused curiosity in the most indifferent mind. 
 He sidled into the house humming a tune with 
 a busy sort of drone in it. Then he took down 
 the violin and began to play, running, however, 
 from one tune to another in a most erratic and 
 confusing sort of way. 
 
 Then he started a conversation, but he 
 talked so rapidly and incoherently, and so 
 entirely unlike his own laconic style, that that 
 alone would have been sufficient to excite 
 suspicion in a far duller person than his sharp 
 little wife. Presently he took his clogs off, 
 and made off upstairs to bed in his stocking 
 feet, for slippers were quite uncommon luxuries 
 to Scowcroft males. 
 
 When he had got upstairs old Hannah stood 
 listening on the hearthstone at the creaking of 
 the boards over her head under William's 
 enormous weight. She was evidently thinking
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 109 
 
 rather than listening, and in a moment or two 
 she turned with one of her characteristic jerks, 
 and drawing a low stool from under the table 
 she stepped upon it and began exploring the 
 mantelpiece end just where William's smoking 
 materials were kept. Thej were all gone ! 
 
 Then she leaned over and searched a little 
 three-cornered shelf in the chimney corner, 
 but nothing satisfactory could she find. Then 
 she got down from her perch, put the stool 
 away in an absent jjondering way, stood for a 
 time looking fixedly into the fire, and then 
 with an "Hay mi," '^Hay dear mi," she 
 proceeded to join her husband. No word or 
 hint did Hannah give of her discovery, but 
 William was kept awake for an hour or two 
 that night with the disturbing certainty that 
 his wife had found him out. 
 
 Several days passed, during which William 
 went through all the stages of experience to 
 which those who make such self-sacrifices are 
 subject. At first he was buoyed up by an 
 elevating sense of moral victory. Then he 
 suddenly discovered that this was spiritual 
 pride, a worse sin even than smoking. Then 
 the colour seemed to fade out of his sacrifice, 
 and he felt inclined to despise his own heroic 
 act, and to think cynically of the romantic 
 appearance his actions had for a time assumed 
 in his mind. 
 
 Oddly enough, for two or three days he felt
 
 110 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 no great desire for the foresworn weed, and was 
 surprised and very inconsistently disappointed 
 at the ease with which he had conquered it 
 after all. 
 
 A few days more, he told himself, and he 
 would be entirely free from the appetite, and, 
 strange to say, he did not feel half as elated at 
 the prospect as he kn^w he ought to be. Then 
 his friends found him out, and the obstinacy 
 aroused by their rough and unsparing chaff 
 carried him over several more days. By this 
 time he felt that the struggle was practically 
 over, and he was greatly surprised, if not 
 disappointed, that he had got through the 
 crisis so easily. 
 
 For three or four days now he had had 
 practically no desire at all for his old idol, and 
 was beginning to despise the hold which he 
 had imagined it had obtained over him. 
 
 Meanwhile, Hannah was greatly exercised 
 about the matter. Eeally she did not care 
 a jot whether her husband smoked or not, 
 only she must have something to **read off 
 abaat " occasionally. In fact, she had so long 
 been accustomed to tobacco that she was sur- 
 prised to find how much she missed it herself. 
 And if she missed it, what must her husband 
 be passing through ! Nobody knew better 
 than she how dearly he loved his pipe, and 
 although, of course, she took care not to let him 
 see it, and kept him in his place out of sheer
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. Ill 
 
 force of habit, yet she loved her hig, quiet, 
 tender-hearted husband with intense affection, 
 and was ready to cut her tongue out when she 
 found that its wicked wagging had deprived 
 him of one of his few earthly indulgences. For 
 several days now, therefore, she had been 
 narrowly watching William, and inflicting on 
 herself all sorts of mental castigations. Six- 
 pence per week ! she said to herself ; that was 
 all he ever spent. What was that if it really 
 did give him the pleasure it seemed to do ? 
 And then she went back over all the years of 
 their married life, and recalled the numberless 
 sacrifices, great and small, he had made for her 
 and for their one child now in heaven. She 
 reminded herself also of the many nights on 
 which he had sat up nursing httle Hannah 
 during her illness, and the delight which the 
 nttle angel took in seeing her father puff away 
 at his pipe. Then she compared William to 
 aU the other men she knew, and especially to 
 Silas Shaw, for whom she had once nearly given 
 William up in their courting days, but who was 
 now a rough, drunken, canal boatman. Oh, 
 what a wicked woman she had been, and how 
 keenly she watched William during those days 
 of his abstinence ! 
 
 One day as she was musing on these things 
 the greengrocer came to the door, and Hannah, 
 hastily wiping away a tear with the corner of 
 her apron, went out to make her purchases.
 
 112 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 The hawker was a youthful member of the 
 " Mutual," and a violent anti-tobacconist. 
 
 "Well, Hannah, is he stickin' yet?" he 
 cried, as she came to the cart side. 
 
 " Stickin' ! Wot art talkin' abaat ? " she 
 demanded, with unusual asperity^ although she 
 knew quite well to whom the young- fellow was 
 alluding. 
 
 "Abaat yore William. He's gan o'er 
 smookin', Aw yer, an Aw whop (hope) he's 
 owdin' aat. The ' Mutuals ' dun sum good yo' 
 seen." 
 
 " Aw wish th' ' Mutual ' an' aw th' bermyeds 
 as goos tew it wur at th' bottom o' th' say, so 
 theer." And Hannah looked fiercer than the 
 hawker had ever seen her do in her life. 
 
 " Whey, Hannah," he cried, " wot's up ? 
 Aw thowt yo' wanted yore William ta give up." 
 
 " Tha thowt wrung then ! Awd rayther he 
 smooked till he wur black i' th' face, an' if he 
 doesna tak to'ot ageean, Aw'll — Aw'U start 
 mysel'." 
 
 "Bud, Hamiah, it's wasteful, yo' known, 
 blowing good brass int' th' urr" (air). 
 
 " He nubbut smooked tew aance a wik, tha 
 lumpyed," this with almost blazing indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Tew aance ! Well, that's sixpence a wik, a' 
 sixpence a wik for forty yer cums ta" — but he 
 never finished his arithmetic, for Hannah was 
 back on the doorstep, and, drawing herself up
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 113 
 
 to her very fullest height, which was not very 
 high after all, she delivered her final philippic : 
 " Aw tell thi Aw durn't cur ha' mitch it is ; if 
 it gan him as mitch cumfort as it seems ta ha' 
 done, it's abaat th' cheppest mak o' cumfort as 
 Aw've iver yerd on. An' if he doesn't start a' 
 smookin' afore th' wik's aa Aw'U — Aw'U mah 
 him ! " And retiring as red as a turkey cock, 
 and in imminent danger of sudden tears, she 
 banged the door angrily in the greengrocer's 
 face and left him to himself. 
 
 Now the same day WilHam had had a very 
 worrying time at the mill. Everything had 
 gone wrong with him. Early in the morning a 
 loom had broken down, and whilst he was 
 ^'fettlin" it he turned round and discovered 
 suddenly that there was an enormous " float " 
 on the other loom. And so for hours that day 
 he had only had part of his looms going. 
 
 Towards three in the afternoon, however, 
 things began to get right again, and when at 
 last he was able to stand up and stretch him- 
 self, he sighed with a big sigh of relief as he 
 glanced down the alley and saw all his looms at 
 work once more. Then all at once there came 
 upon him an intense longing for his pipe. It 
 was very sudden and unexpected, but most un- 
 accountably strong. In five minutes he wanted 
 a pipe worse than he ever remembered to have 
 wanted one in his life. He sent up hastily a 
 little prayer for help, but somehow he found
 
 114 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 that their was no heart in his petition. He 
 tried to resist the feeling — he couldn't smoke in 
 the mill in any case. He struggled to shake it 
 off and forget it, but there it was. Then he 
 began to look at the clock over the weaving 
 shed door, and tried to think of his pleasant 
 little house, and how nice it would be to rest 
 there when six o'clock came. But into the 
 picture of restful comfort his fancy painted, 
 there somehow floated a little brass tobacco-box 
 and a most tempting little pipe. Oh, what 
 should he do ? Tobacco he must have by some 
 means. More than once the impulse came to him 
 to go down the loom alley to Pee Walker and 
 borrow a quid and try to chew; but that he 
 had always held was so much worse than smok- 
 ing that common consistency compelled him to 
 resist the desire. It was a long, terrible after- 
 noon, and when six o'clock came William went 
 home still struggling with a fierce desire for his 
 old comforter. 
 
 Hannah received him with quite unusual 
 kindness, and brought out what was in those 
 days a very rare delicacy, only procurable at 
 the grocer's, and carefully reserved for Sundays 
 — a pot of marmalade ; and the helping she 
 gave him made him absolutely certain that 
 something was going to happen. 
 
 But, strange to say, the wonderful marmalade 
 was rather insipid for once, and even a little hot 
 fat-cake which Hannah produced out of the oven
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 115 
 
 about half-way through the meal failed to 
 appease the longing of the poor weaver. 
 Indeed, he was glad when the meal was over, 
 and turned away from the table feeling that he 
 ought to be an exceedingly happy and grateful 
 man, and he wasn't. Oh ! what ^a poor, weak 
 thing he must be, and how basely ungrateful. 
 
 Then Hannah began to clear away the tea- 
 things, and presently she thrust the little table 
 close to his chair, closer, in fact, than usual, 
 and William leaned his elbow upon it, and sat 
 looking wearily into the fire and fighting with 
 his craving for the weed. Once he thought 
 Hannah was poking about strangely near him, 
 but glancing round with his eyes without mov- 
 ing his head he found that she was just disap- 
 pearing into the back-scullery. 
 
 Then he sighed again and moved his elbow. 
 What was that? Not surely the smell of 
 tobacco to tempt him stiU further ? He sniffed 
 again. It was strangely like it. Yes ! there 
 it was, unmistakable this time. He moved his 
 elbow again; it seemed to strike something 
 hard. He sat up and took a good look at the 
 table. Yes, there it was close to him — a tin 
 canister with a pot nob screwed in upon the lid, 
 just like his old one, and full of most tempting 
 dark shag, and there by its side was a new 
 churchwarden pipe. 
 
 William positively went cold. He saw through 
 it all in a moment. This was his little wife's
 
 116 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 way of expressing repentance, and William felt 
 he would like to smoke just to show her that all 
 was well. 
 
 But he dare not, and the more he longed for 
 it the more he felt he dare not. And as he sat 
 there, one moment looking- longingly at the 
 objects of temptation, and the next turning his 
 back to them and gazing into the fire, Hamiah 
 came out of the back kitchen. As she passed 
 towards the fire she glanced sharply at the 
 table and noticed that her gifts had not been 
 touched, and then, leaning forward over the fire, 
 she began to poke it very vigorously, glancing 
 every now and again stealthily at William's un- 
 usually perturbed face. 
 
 Presently she reached a candle from the 
 mantelpiece, and setting it down near the 
 tobacco she drew her chair up to the table, put 
 on her spectacles, and made a sort of show of 
 darning stockings. 
 
 Two or three times she glanced at the 
 tobacco, and then again at her husband ; and 
 presently she said in soft, coaxing tones, as if 
 she had not previously noticed his abstinence, 
 " Artna' gooin' furt smook, lad ? " 
 
 William started from his reverie, flushed a 
 little, rubbed his big fat face, and then said, 
 " Smcokin's sinful, wench." 
 
 "Wot?" cried Hannah, sternly, " has thaa 
 started o' strainin' at a gnat an' swallerin' a 
 camil? Awm shawmed fur thi ! "
 
 I 
 
 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 117 
 
 William's eyes opened slowly in mystified 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Hannali ! " he cried, " Aw tliowt thaa 
 didn't loike me f urt smook ? " 
 
 " Aye, thart allis thinkin' some lumber. 
 Dust think Aw should a' letten thee smook aw 
 theeas yers if Aw hedn't loiked it? Thaa's 
 smooked lung enuff ta pleeas thisel', tha'U ha' 
 ta smook ta pleeas me naa/' and, pushing her 
 hand across the table, she slid the tobacco 
 and pipe towards him. 
 
 But William didn't offer to take them. He 
 somehow felt he could not. And so, as he sat 
 there glowering into the fire, Hannah resumed : 
 " Naa, Aw'll tell thi wot. Aw'm gooin' t' have 
 tew aances a wik off Noah, an' if thaa doesn't 
 smook it, Aw'll smook it mysel'. 
 
 The mental picture of his fastidious little 
 wife with a churchwarden pipe was too much 
 for William, and he burst into a great laugh. 
 As it subsided, Hannah gave the tobacco 
 canister another push, but William did not 
 heed her. 
 
 After that they sat for several minutes in 
 silence, and at length Hannah said, in a soft, 
 restrained voice, "Aar Hannah used loike ta 
 see thi smook didn't hoo, lad ? " 
 
 William winced, and a vision of a little fairy 
 child who used to climb up on his knees and 
 light his pipe for him, and then ripple off into 
 a merry Httle laugh, which he would have given
 
 118 WILLIAM'S IDOL. 
 
 worlds to hear again, came before him and his 
 eyes grew dim. 
 
 "Dust remember haa hoo browt thi poipe 
 ta cumfort thi that neet thi muther deed ? " 
 Hannah went on softly, lookmg at her work 
 through glasses that were getting very misty. 
 
 "Dunna, Hannah, dunna," cried William, 
 putting out his hands. 
 
 But Hannah got softly up, and pulling out 
 the stool again reached up to the mantelpiece 
 and brought down a long vase-shaped vessel of 
 brown clay. It was full of pipe-lights, and as 
 she put it on the table she said gently, " Aar 
 Hannah towd me th' wik afoor hoo deed ta 
 allis keep it full o' spills fur her daddy's poipe, 
 an Aw hev done ever sin'. Bud haa con Aw 
 du that if tha' niver smooks ? " 
 
 There was a long silence, during which 
 William, though he, of course, saw the weak- 
 ness of his wife's argument, seemed strangely 
 moved, and glanced wistfully at the tobacco. 
 
 " Bud smooldn' sa wasteful, tha' knows. Tan." 
 
 " Wasteful ! Them as talks abaat it being 
 wasteful spends twice as mitch up a watch 
 guards an' '^dickies' an' foine clooas." Then 
 she rose and went off into the scullery again, 
 and when she returned William was seated with 
 the churchwarden held out before him, amid 
 clouds of wreathing smoke, with a look of 
 placid satisfaction on his face which even an 
 anchorite could not have beginidged him.
 
 JACKY'S TROUBLE.
 
 I 
 
 JACKY'5 TROUBLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Miles Grimshaw, di'essed in the seedy, black, 
 greasy-at-elbows-and-knees which had in its 
 better days done duty as his semi-clerical 
 Sunday best, came hurrying, with his coat- 
 tails flying, down Cinder Hill Lane and along 
 the croft, with amazement and consternation 
 expressed on every feature of his speaking face. 
 
 " Wotiver's ta dew, lad ? " cried his big, 
 round wife, coming out of the scullery, with a 
 dish in one hand and a towel in the other, and 
 gazing at him in wonder as he stood panting on 
 the door-mat. 
 
 " Ta dew ! ivery thing's ta dew ! Th' divil's 
 brokken lose, th' Church is disgraced ! A good 
 men's gooan wrung, an' a dacent woman an' 
 her dowters turn't into th' street ! " and Miles 
 nearly broke down as he spoke. 
 
 '^ Miles ! " cried Mrs. Grimshaw, standing in 
 stern anxiety over her husband, who had 
 dropped into a chair, " tha'U be gooin' of i' 
 sum o' them figgaries o' thine, as sewer as 
 Awm a livin' woman. Be quiet wi' thi, an' 
 tell me wot it's aw abaat."
 
 122 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 " Abaat ! it's abaat starvashun an' ruin, an' 
 disgrace to th' Church ! that's wot it's abaat ! " 
 And Miles rose to his feet and glared fiercely 
 at his wife, whilst a tear stood on his faded 
 cheek, and his wide mouth worked in pathetic 
 twitches. 
 
 Dinah looked very grave by this time, and 
 standing back a little and balancing herself 
 uneasily she demanded: "Miles Grimshaw, 
 arta goin' ta tell me wot's ta dew or tha 
 artna ? " 
 
 " Wot's ta dew ? " and Miles glanced at his 
 wife as if she had been the cause of the great 
 disaster. "Whey, Jacky o' th' Gap's gotten 
 th' hums in — that's wot's ta dew." And having 
 at last got rid of his awful news, Miles sank 
 back into his chair, whilst his wife limply 
 dropped into another. 
 
 There was silence for a moment or two, 
 during which Dinah sat looking at her husband 
 with a stunned and bewildered expression, but 
 Miles could not bear his wife's sad look. 
 
 " Dunna, woman ! dunna stur (stare) o' that- 
 unce," he cried, and then rising and walking 
 about excitedly in front of the fire, clasping his 
 hands together and wringing them in acute 
 distress, he wailed : " Oh, Jacky ! Mi owd 
 friend ! mi owd friend Jacky ! " and, groaning 
 like a man in an agony, he stamped on the 
 sanded floor. 
 
 But Dinah was Quiet William's sister in
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 123 
 
 more senses than one, and so after sitting in a 
 dazed, helj)less manner in her chair for a few 
 moments, dm-ing which she contrived to get out 
 of her husband in a disjointed sort of way some 
 few particulars of the great calamity, she 
 quickly rose, put away her pot and towel, and 
 leaving the washing-up to take care of itself, 
 she put on her outer garments, selecting by 
 some odd sort of instinct her black ones, as if 
 for a funeral, and in a few moments was hurry- 
 ing, as fast as her ponderous proportions would 
 permit, up the lane towards Cinder Hill Farm, 
 sighing and crying and quietly praying for her 
 friends as she went. 
 
 Arrived at the farm Dinah made her way to 
 the back-door. Opening it softly, she crossed 
 the scullery towards the big kitchen. Pushing 
 the door open before her without knocking, she 
 drew back for a moment with a start, for there, 
 seated comfortably by the fire, smoking a short 
 clay pipe, was the smug-faced, bullet-headed 
 Nat Ogden, the bailiff. 
 
 Ignoring Nat's offensively familiar nod, and 
 turning her eyes away from him with cold 
 severity, she asked, in a husky voice, " Wheer 
 arr they ? " 
 
 But before Nat could answer Dinah heard a 
 step and a startled cry behind her, and turning 
 quickly round she caught a tall, worn-looking 
 woman in her arms, and silently hugged her to 
 her breast. They stood there for several
 
 124 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 minutes without speaking, and then Dinah 
 began to stroke gently the head that was buried 
 in her bosom. " Poor wench ! Poor wench ! " 
 crooned Dinah, glancing sympatheticallj down 
 on the sobbing woman, " bud tli' Lord knows, 
 wench — th' Lord " — but just then the face on 
 her breast was lifted suddenly, and with hot, 
 flaming cheeks the stricken woman cried out 
 vehemently, " It's nor him, wench ; it's no 
 Jacky, Awll tak me deein ooath it's nor him." 
 At that moment there was another wail, and a 
 fair-haired girl with red, swollen eyes and 
 quivering lips came rushing in from somewhere, 
 and seizing Dinah's fi*ee arm, cried : " Neaw, 
 Dinah ! Neaw ! It's no' my fayther. Tell 'em 
 aw sooa. Tell aw as knows uz it's nor him. 
 He wodna hurt a maase, Dinah." 
 
 '^' Neaw, wencli, he wodna Aw know ; he 
 wodna," murmured Dinah, soothingly ; and 
 then she stopped, and looking round inquiringly 
 she cried, " Bud wheer is he ; wheer is the poor 
 lad?" 
 
 " Huisli ! Huish ! " cried both women at once, 
 and dragging her further away, and pointing 
 to a door close to where they had been standing, 
 the younger woman cried : " He's i' th parlour, 
 Dinah, an' he'll noather cum aat, nor speik nor 
 eight (eat). Oh, wot mun we dew, Dinah; wot 
 mun we dew ? " 
 
 Dinah soothed the distressed woman, who 
 seemed more concerned about the effect of the
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 125 
 
 trouble upon Jackj than anything else, as best 
 she could. 
 
 "Yo mun leuk up, bless yo," she said. 
 " God's up aboon, yo known ; sooa leuk up. 
 It's allis darkist afoor dayleet. God bless yo 
 booath, an' poor Jacky, tew," and, with another 
 loving, mother-like hug and a long, clinging 
 kiss to each, she left them. 
 
 Meanwhile, Miles stood staring, first at the 
 fire and then out of the window, quite unable to 
 keep himself still under the disturbing influence 
 of his own thoughts. But it was not in his 
 nature to remain alone and in silence under such 
 circumstances, and so in a few moments he went 
 out to consult with the only one of his cronies 
 available at that hour of the day — Noah the 
 grocer. 
 
 Noah was cutting and weighing thick twist 
 into half -ounces, but when Miles had communi- 
 cated to him the sad news they adjourned into 
 the little parlour next to the shop, and for the 
 next two hours discussed the painful subject in 
 all its bearings. 
 
 As it drew near to six o'clock Miles returned 
 home, and, having drawn from his wife the 
 scanty additional details of the sad event she 
 had to oifer, he snarled and grumbled at her 
 because she could tell no more, but seemed 
 greatly disturbed by the information that Jacky 
 would see nobody. 
 
 As he mused on these doings, watching im-
 
 126 JACKY'S TROUBLE. 
 
 patiently for tlie mill to stop in order that the 
 question might be discussed in full council, 
 Noah joined him with a long clay pipe and 
 sat down to wait for the approaching con- 
 sultation. 
 
 Quiet William was the first to arrive. He 
 had heard something of the trouble in the mill, 
 and came hastily to get the details. Raising the 
 latch he held the door a little way open, and 
 looked searchingly into the faces of Miles and 
 Noah and, finding there abundant confirmation 
 of his fears, he heaved a heavy sigh, stepped in- 
 side softly, closed the door after him, and went 
 and sat down very close to the fire without 
 saying a word. He had scarcely got seated 
 when Jimmy the Scutcher arrived. Before 
 entering, Jimmy had taken a hasty peep over 
 the window curtain, and when he saw the 
 long faces of his friends, his own assumed a 
 most peculiar expression. The side with the 
 expressive eye in it puckered up as if in ex- 
 treme pain, whilst the other side assumed a 
 portentous length and gravity. Jimmy, too, 
 had heard the news in the factory, and had 
 knocked down the " little sewer " who brought 
 him the intelligence. 
 
 For a long time nobody spoke, but at last 
 Noah got up and knocked the ashes out of his 
 pipe, and the others watched the operation 
 with a painfid, abstracted sort of curiosity. 
 Then as he refilled it he remarked, slowly.
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 127 
 
 " Poor Jacky ! he wur niver mitch. of a 
 manager." 
 
 Now Noah, though much better off than the 
 rest of his associates, was never regarded as of 
 very much account, his opinions being mostly 
 very mild reflections of the emphatic ones 
 of Miles, and the sentiment he had just given 
 utterance to had been expressed times without 
 number in bygone days by the excitable tailor, 
 between whom and Jacky no uninitiated one 
 would have guessed there was anything more 
 than ordinary friendship, for they were too 
 much alike to get on well together. But now, 
 though Noah's tone was not in the least 
 censorious, but rather apologetic. Miles jumped 
 to his feet, and, glaring at Noah, cried in 
 bitterest sarcasm, " That's it. Gooa on ! The 
 poor felley's daan, sa give him a punce" 
 (kick). 
 
 Noah stopped in the midst of lighting his 
 pipe, and looking at Miles in alarm and depre- 
 cation, whilst the pipe-light burned its way 
 perilously near to his fingers, he began meekly, 
 "^ Aw nobbut said " 
 
 " Thaa nobbut said ! Neaw ; bud if th' poor 
 lad ud a bin here, tha dama a said ^ chirp.' 
 He's mooar brains i' his little finger nor sum 
 on uz hez in arr yeds, but just 'cause he conna 
 bring his moind daan to chalking cubburd 
 durs, and keeping Tommy bewks, he conna 
 m-a-n-i-d-g-e," and Miles put unutterable scorn
 
 128 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 and mockery into his pronunciation of the last 
 word. 
 
 Quiet William heaved a great sigh. 
 
 In a moment Miles had jerked himself round, 
 and was demanding fiercely, " Wor art thaa 
 siking at? It 'ud leuk better on thi if tha'd 
 oppen thi maath an' say summat atsteed a 
 snurching and sniftering theer." 
 
 Miles 's tirade, though it did not appear to 
 affect William in the least, had a moving effect 
 on the mind of Jimmy the Scutcher, and he 
 just seemed to be about to say something when 
 his daughter opened the door, and without 
 looking at him called into the room, " Fayther, 
 yo're ta cum to yo're baggin." 
 
 But Jimmy, though still in his greasy mill 
 clothes, loftily and ungraciously waved his hand 
 for the girl to be gone, and in a moment they 
 were alone again and in silence. 
 
 Then two or three of the less important of 
 the chapel people came in, and as they had 
 many questions to ask and many remarks to 
 make, conversation soon became general. It 
 was all, however, extremely sympathetic 
 towards Jacky, for the slightest hint of blame 
 was at once pounced upon by Miles, and the 
 person who uttered it had a very bad five 
 minutes. 
 
 Presently Jimmy was sent for once more, but 
 again he waved his hand imperiously, and the 
 messenger departed as she came. As the door
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 129 
 
 closed Quiet William lifted his head, and 
 glancing up at the clock over the mantelpiece 
 softly remarked, " It's toime fur t' meetin'." 
 
 It was prayer-meeting night, a fact every- 
 body present had until that moment forgotten, 
 and when they were thus reminded nobody 
 heeded. And Miles probably voiced the feel- 
 ings of the whole company when he said, with a 
 heavy sigh, " Awve na hert fur meetin's ta- 
 neet." 
 
 The others sighed in sympathetic endorse- 
 ment, and just when a stranger would have 
 thought the subject had been dropped — especi- 
 ally considering that neither Jimmy nor 
 William had had tea or were washed and 
 dressed for a meeting — William looked once 
 more fixedly at the clock, and asked in the 
 same low tones as before, " Wot's meetin's 
 fur ? " 
 
 Nobody replied, and the before-mentioned 
 stranger might have concluded that nobody 
 had heeded William's remark ; but in a few 
 moments the big man began to sidle towards 
 the door, and presently disappeared. Nobody 
 seemed to notice his departure, but in a 
 minute or so Jimmy the Scutcher, dirty and 
 " linty " as he was, got up and followed, and 
 nobody needed to be told that he had not 
 gone home to tea. After another brief 
 interval, Noah and the others left one by one, 
 and at last Miles, now entirely alone, looked 
 
 9
 
 130 JACKY'S TROUBLE. 
 
 resignedly round the room, and, picking up 
 his hat, departed to join the rest at the 
 meeting. 
 
 Now it was well-nigh impossible to get Quiet 
 William to take any public part in the affairs 
 of the church. Only on very rare occasions 
 had he ever even led the prayer-meeting, but 
 on this sad night, without consulting anybody, 
 he took charge of the proceedings. Everybody 
 present prayed, but nobody made any definite 
 reference to the one thing that lay heavily on 
 their hearts. When he was concluding William 
 seemed suddenly to get "liberty." Whilst 
 only using language of studied generality, it 
 was evident to all that he was thinking chiefly 
 of their friends at Cinder Hill Farm. When 
 he came to " Aw — aw, them that are i' 
 trubbel," his voice faltered ; but he got over it, 
 and with uplifted hands and glowing, intense 
 faith he prayed until those who were not 
 entirely overcome by the simple petition 
 listened with the feeling that they were fol- 
 lowing one inspired. And when the long, im- 
 passioned prayer was over, Abram Briggs, as 
 he went out at the door wiping his eyes, turned 
 to the equally affected Noah, and said, ear- 
 nestly, " Sum rooad aat ull be fun fur Jacky 
 after this, tha'U see." And Noah, turning and 
 looking earnestly at Abram, said in tones of 
 solemn conviction, "If ther isna, ther isna a 
 God, that's aw."
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 131 
 
 II. 
 
 Later on that night William, Miles and 
 Jimmy might have been seen plodding their 
 way through the mud along Cinder Hill Lane 
 to the Farm. Their purpose was to see Jacky 
 at all costs. But they did not succeed. He 
 would not see anybody, and Mrs. Jacky and her 
 daughter stood before the parlour-door and 
 tearfully entreated the deputation not to persist 
 in its purpose. In a long conversation, during 
 which William did nothing but shake his head, 
 and the rest of the party, including the women, 
 had to exert all their powers to keep Miles 
 from quarrelling with the obnoxious bailiff, 
 they elicited all that was at present known by 
 the women on the subject. It was the bank 
 that had taken such sudden action. The local 
 manager had been dismissed unexpectedly, 
 and for some reason instant action had been 
 commenced against two or three overdrawn 
 debtors, amongst whom was the unfortunate 
 Jacky. 
 
 That was all the women had to tell, and even 
 that information had not been obtained from 
 the farmer himself, but from the bailiff and 
 others. 
 
 As they were departing, after offering a few 
 clumsy words of consolation to the women, it 
 was noticed that WiUiam was missing, and
 
 132 JACKT'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 looking round and stepping back into the 
 kitchen they espied WilKam kneeling at the 
 inexorable parlour-door, behind which was the 
 heart-broken Jacky; and before they could 
 speak they heard him repeating, in a loud voice 
 and with his mouth to the keyhole, "When 
 thou passest through the waters I will be with 
 thee, and through the rivers they shall not 
 overflow thee ; when thou walkest through the 
 fire thou shalt not be burnt, neither shall the 
 flame kindle upon thee." 
 
 For the next two days little was talked about 
 in Scowcroft but Jackj^'s trouble. Miles and 
 his friends went about with sad faces and bowed 
 heads, and seemed to find their only comfort in 
 getting together in the evenings, and smoking 
 and sighing and saying nothing — for all the 
 world like Job's friends without Job, and with- 
 but also their obstinate views about the govern- 
 ment of God. In their hearts they all feared 
 that Jacky had not been the best of business 
 men, but they were ready to fall upon and rend 
 any incautious j)erson who ventured, however 
 distantly, to hint at such a thing. They knew, 
 also, that there had been a mortgage on the 
 farm when Jacky took it from his father, and 
 though Jacky had never exactly hinted at 
 financial difiiculty, and his wife and daughter 
 always held their heads rather high, yet it was 
 an open secret amongst them that their friend's 
 worldly position had never been as easy and
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 133 
 
 secure as appearances would seem to have in- 
 dicated. 
 
 Of course Dame Rumour was busj in these 
 days, and Jacky's companions were hurt and 
 stung every few hours by some fresh and unjus- 
 tifiable story. It was confidently stated that 
 Jacky had not been solvent for a dozen years, 
 and evil-minded ones added significantly, " An' 
 him preiching loike a bishop aw th' toime." 
 
 Miles went in pursuit of his calling to the 
 farm adjoining Jacky's, but when he had got 
 the coat he had to turn taken to pieces, and was 
 sitting cross-legged on the large table under 
 the kitchen window tacking it together, old 
 Garlick, the farmer, came in and at once intro- 
 duced the topic of the hour. To his surprise 
 Miles, who had generally a very decided opinion 
 on almost any subject that could be introduced 
 to him, and was always ready at any moment 
 to state and defend that opinion, and pour 
 scathing ridicule upon any contrary one for any 
 length of time, was on this occasion simply 
 dumb. Nothing that Garlick could say had 
 any eifect in inducing him to talk. 
 
 "Well," grunted the farmer, in his wheezy 
 way, as he stood with his back to the fire and 
 his hands behind him, looking uneasily at the 
 tailor, " Awst be sorry ta see Jacky sowd up, 
 that's sartin, and Awm thankful aboon abit as 
 he doesn't belong ta aar chm'ch." 
 
 Now, if the slow-minded Garlick intended
 
 134 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 this as a means of making Miles say or do 
 something he succeeded ; for the tailor suddenly 
 sent the coat he was stitching flying into the 
 window bottom, and then spinning himself 
 quickly round he jumped from the table, 
 stepped hastily to the door, made a gesture as 
 of a man casting the dust off his feet, and 
 before anybody could stop him he was plunging 
 through the mud in his working slijjpers 
 towards home. The Garlicks kept Miles's boots 
 in the hope that he would be compelled to go 
 back for them. But though when they finally 
 sent them home they sent also an apologetic 
 message, old Garlick's coat has never been 
 finished tui'ning to this day. 
 
 If there was any person in Scowcroft who 
 could be said to derive real satisfaction from 
 the rumours that were going about it was that 
 singular individual Reuben Tonge, the sand- 
 man. As has been already hinted in a previous 
 chapter, Eeuben had been brought up a 
 Methodist, and at one time bade fair to be 
 a shining light at the chapel. But he had a 
 very proud, imperious temper, and when Annie 
 Clarkson rather lightly jilted him and soon 
 after married one of his companions, Jacky 
 o' th' Gap, he had left the chapel, become 
 a backslider and a keen-tongued scoffer at 
 religion, so that the sudden dishonour of his 
 erstwhile successful rival must be supposed to 
 have been particularly gratifying to him. He
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 135 
 
 heard the news amongst the earliest, and 
 laughed a great, hoarse laugh. And when the 
 person who told him the tidings had left him, 
 he still stood in the back-lane where the com- 
 munication had been made, looking musingly 
 at the ground, and evidently in deep thought. 
 Presently, he lifted his head, looked round for a 
 moment, gave vent to a queer sound which 
 even the experienced " Pablo " could not 
 quite understand, and then giving his dingy 
 steed a familiar knock with his whip, he 
 said, " Another canting Methody, Pablo ! 
 Another canting Methody ! " and then lifting 
 his head he sent ringing down the lane, his 
 ancient cry, ^' Weshing up mugs, stew mugs. 
 Whaite sand an' ruhhiii stoan." 
 
 Later in the same Saturday afternoon, it was 
 discovered that Quiet William was not to be 
 found, and it was concluded by his friends that 
 he was making another attempt to see the 
 unhappy Jacky. This turned out to be correct, 
 and about six o'clock he was seen to turn the 
 corner from Cinder Hill Farm, and presently he 
 entered his brother-in-law's house. In a few 
 minutes all the friends had gathered to hear 
 the news. 
 
 Yes, William had seen their old friend, and 
 the picture he drew of Jacky's haggard look 
 and hollow, weary eyes brought lumps into 
 their throats and drew heavy sighs from all 
 present.
 
 136 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 William brought also brief but authentic par- 
 ticulars of the trouble. In short, it amounted 
 to this, that unless Jacky could find £500 
 within the next few days he would be sold up 
 and turned into the lane. 
 
 Jacky couldn't see where he could get one- 
 tenth of the money, though it was an open 
 secret that he had befriended many an mifor- 
 tunate acquaintance in similar difficulties, pro- 
 bably to his own hurt. Nat Ogden and his 
 assistants were to commence marking the goods 
 for the sale on the folloNAdng Monday morning. 
 The big man told his story very slowly, with 
 many sighs and pauses, and when he had 
 done a feeling of helpless dumbness fell on 
 the company, and the smoke poured out of 
 the smokers' lips in thick, jerky volumes. 
 
 " Poor felley ! Poor, poor felley ! " groaned 
 Noah. 
 
 "Aye, God help him," responded Abram 
 Briggs. 
 
 " An' uz," groaned Noah. 
 
 "Aye, an' uz tew," sighed Abram. 
 
 Jimmy the Scutcher sat behind a thick cloud 
 of smoke, evidently trying to control his very 
 peculiar countenance. At last, taking his pipe 
 out of his mouth, and speaking in his hardest 
 tones, he remarked, *^ A penn'orth a help's woth 
 a paand o' pity." 
 
 " Pity ! " cried Miles, starting as if he had 
 been stung, and almost shrieking in his excite-
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 137 
 
 ment, " Is ther a mon here as wodna give his 
 last shiUin' ta save him ? " 
 
 Every face in the company looked an 
 emphatic endorsement of Miles's demand, and 
 every eye was turned with a sort of challenge in 
 it upon the Scutcher. 
 
 Jimmy was, as usual, entirely unmoved, but 
 in a moment or two, fixing his off eye keenly 
 on Miles, whilst the rest listened intently, he 
 rose to his feet, and striking the table with a 
 mighty thump, cried, " Daan wi' thi brass, 
 then." 
 
 Now the idea behind this challenge was so 
 entirely new, that the men who heard Jimmy's 
 words sat looking at him with half-opened 
 mouths and eyes full of astonishment and per- 
 plexity ; for they were all poor men, and the 
 times were none of the best. 
 
 For some time nobody spoke, but presently 
 Miles jumped to his feet, clambered hurriedly 
 up the stairs behind the door, and was imme- 
 diately heard walking about on the floor above 
 and opening and shutting drawers and boxes. 
 Then he returned, nearly missing his footing as 
 he came down. His eyes shone with excite- 
 ment as he came into the light again. He was 
 pale, and his tightly-drawn lips twitched with 
 emotion. He had a greasy black book in his 
 hand. It was the pass-book of the Wallbury 
 Penny Bank, and contained entries of the rare 
 and scanty savings of a hfetime. Stepping
 
 138 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 forward he banged it defiantly down on the 
 table, and looking eagerly at Jimmy, cried, 
 " Ther's forty-wiui paand odd theer ; naa folia' 
 thi leeader.'* 
 
 Jimmy, who had evidently planned something 
 of the kind and come prepared, put his left 
 hand into his inside coat-pocket and produced 
 a book similar to Miles's, and throwing it care- 
 lessly down on the top of Miles's, he said 
 quietly, " Aw theers — sixty-seven mooar." 
 
 No painter on earth could have painted Quiet 
 William's face at this moment. Surprise, 
 delight, gratitude and a blending of embarrass- 
 ment were mingled strangely upon it. But at 
 last, giving way to the tears that couldn't be 
 kept back, he stammered out, " Aw — Aw — hav' 
 na brass ; bud Aw — Aw — Aw — con morgige th' 
 haase." 
 
 And this was a trying moment for prudent 
 Noah. He moved uneasily in his chair, coughed 
 nervously, blinked his small eyes with curious 
 rapidity, and then said, "We'er nobbut lannin' 
 (lending) it Aw reacon ? " 
 
 Miles gave a violent start, a blaze of indig- 
 nation flashed into his face, and he was just 
 about to explode on the unfortunate Noah, 
 when Jimmy sprang up, and stopped him with 
 an imperious gesture. He knew, as they all 
 did, that Noah was better off than the rest of 
 them, and could help substantially if he would. 
 He was, therefore, a person to be managed in
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 139 
 
 this difficult business, and so, standing in front of 
 the excited Miles, he turned to Noah, and said, 
 *^ Of course, we'er aw lannin' it. Dust think 
 Jacky ud tak' it ofP uz onj other rooad ? " 
 
 " Jack J," cried William, in sudden concern, 
 " Jacky must know nowt abaat it till it's dun." 
 
 But Jimmy stopped him with another master- 
 ful and impatient wave of his hand, and stood 
 facing Noah, evidently waiting for that worthy's 
 contribution. There was a long pause, during 
 which Miles was fidgetting behind Jimmy, but 
 at last Noah said, hesitatingly, "Well, awst 
 ston me corner ? " 
 
 The only other person present was Abram 
 Briggs, and as he was notoriously henpecked, 
 nobody was surprised when he announced, 
 " Awst ha' ta see aar Martha abaat it." 
 
 Then they fell into a discussion as to how the 
 thing should be managed. They were a long 
 way as yet from the five hundred pounds 
 required, but it was eventually decided to hand 
 the matter over to Noah, who, though he hadn't 
 a banking account, was, after all, a man of 
 business; and when they separated later on, 
 everybody looked as though a great load had 
 been lifted from theii* minds.
 
 140 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Meanwhile a very different scene was being 
 enacted at Reuben Tonge's house in Lark Lane. 
 The weather, cold and raw all day, had turned to 
 rain at night, and Reuben, having had his 
 " baggin " and made Pablo comfoi-table for the 
 night, proceeded to make up a good fire, and 
 clearing his table, pulled out a couple of dirty 
 account-books, and sitting down before them 
 was soon engrossed in their contents. Reuben, 
 though his dress and appearance were mean 
 enough, and his occupation poor, was quite a 
 capitalist in his way. He did a little select 
 and very secret busmess as a money-lender, 
 confining his operations to places and people 
 outside Scowcroft. He was also virtual owner 
 of two or three of the canal coal-barges, and 
 dabbled a little in mortgages and ground- rents. 
 His recent effort in connection with his 
 daughter and the Scowcroft mill had quite dis- 
 organised his arrangements, and he was consid- 
 erably overdra^vn at the bank. It was necess- 
 ary, therefore, that he should look well after his 
 affairs and pull himseK round as quickly as 
 possible. He was, as will have been seen, a 
 man of strong, deep natm-e, but he had allowed 
 himself to be warped and injured by his early 
 disappointment in love. Jacky o' th' Gap had, 
 he concluded, beaten him in the fight for Annie,
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 141 
 
 because he was supposed to have money, and 
 therefore since that time Reuben had bent all 
 his energies upon the acquirement of wealth. 
 He had neglected himself, allowed his nature 
 to harden and sour, and was now at the end of 
 thirty years, in possession of considerable 
 means, whilst his successful rival was bankrupt, 
 and would in a few days be without so much as 
 a covering for his head. Reuben was thinking 
 of all these things as he balanced his books, and 
 was disappointed to find that he was not happier 
 for the reflection. He had dreamed of this 
 day of triumph for years, and now that it had 
 actually come, he could not honestly say that it 
 gave him much satisfaction. He had stopped 
 for a moment, and, with his face turned to the fire 
 and his pen between his lips, he was looking 
 meditatively at the sputtering coals. Just then 
 a knock came at the door, and Reuben turned 
 his head to listen. The knock was low and 
 timid, and the sandman, after staring hard at 
 the door and listening for a moment, con- 
 cluded that it must be a beggar, and so 
 resumed his bookkeeping. He had redipped 
 his pen, and was just about to make another 
 entry, when the knock came again, louder than 
 before, but still timid and hesitant. Reuben 
 gave an impatient grunt, and went hastily to 
 see who was there. Throwing back the catch 
 over the " sneck," and opening the door 
 hastily, he bent his head, and with knitted
 
 142 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 brows peered crossly into tlie darkness. The 
 visitor was a woman, tall and respectably 
 dressed, and Eeuben recognised her at once, 
 and his heart began to beat. 
 
 "Whoa is it? What dust want?" he de- 
 manded, gruffly, pretending not to recognise 
 her. The woman waited for a moment, evi- 
 dently expecting that the sandman would see 
 who she was, but as he didn't or wouldn't, she 
 said, faintly, " It's me, Reubin." 
 
 " Thee ! An' whoa the f errups art thaa, 
 comin' at this toime at neet ? " 
 
 But the woman, disappointed and disheart- 
 ened at not being recognised, and unable to find 
 further language, stood mutely in the dark. 
 
 Reuben waited a moment or two, and then, as 
 no response came to his rough question, he 
 bent down, and knitting his brows again, as if 
 vainly attempting to read his visitor's counte- 
 nance, he cried, more roughly than ever, 
 " Whoa are-ta ? Cum in a' show thi'sel if tha 
 wants summat," and, turning round, he led the 
 way to the fire, and the woman shrinkingly 
 followed him. 
 
 As the door swung to behind her, she stepped 
 abashed and confused upon a piece of old sack- 
 ing which served the sandman for a doonnat, 
 and stood timidly waiting once more to be 
 identified. 
 
 " Oh ! It's thee," is it ? " cried Reuben, pre- 
 tending suddenly to recognise her ; and a pang
 
 JACKY'S TROUBLE. 143 
 
 went to his heart as he took in the dejected 
 and sorrowful expression of a face that had 
 once been so bright and sweet. But, heeding 
 not his own heart, and dropping into a hard, 
 mocking tone, he went on : " But thar't mistan 
 wench. Tha doesn't want me, tha doesn't hnow 
 me tha knows ; tha hasn't known me for 
 monny a yer." 
 
 The suffering woman shook for a moment 
 with feeling, and dropped her head, whilst 
 shame and resentment struggled within her to 
 overcome an evidently great purpose and defeat 
 her errand. Presently she obtained a little 
 self-mastery, and said, quietly, "Th' Reubin 
 Tonge as Aw knowed, wi' aw is fawts, wur 
 genrus." 
 
 Reuben burst into a great laugh. 
 
 '^ Genrus ! Oh, aye ! " he cried. '^ Mooar 
 Methody cant. Then thar't beggin' arta ? " 
 
 Reuben pretended to suppose that his visitor 
 was canvassing for subscriptions; but the 
 woman was overwrought ; and, catching at his 
 last words, whilst her brimming cup of bitter- 
 ness at last overflowed, she burst into a passion 
 of tears, and cried, " Aye, Reubin, Aw'ni 
 beggin'." 
 
 The sandman was stirred to the depths of his 
 being. He was not usually affected by women's 
 tears, but this woman had never been like the 
 rest of her sex to him. But he would not show 
 his feeling. He laughed again, louder and
 
 144 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 more harshly than ever, and cried, in feigned 
 astonishment, "Wot! Jacky o' th' Gap woife 
 beggin' off a poor owd sond-knocker ! Preichin 
 Jacky woife beggin' of wun o' th' scum ? " 
 
 But the agitated woman was too desperate 
 now to be influenced by taunts, however cutting, 
 and so she cried, wringing her thin hands, 
 " Aye, Eeubin, beggin', weer i' troubbel, 
 Reubin. Weer i' trouble," and, leaning over, 
 the stricken woman dropped her head upon the 
 drawers standing near to her, and began to sob 
 as if her heart would break. 
 
 Reuben, greatly disturbed in spite of himself, 
 turned his back on his visitor and began to 
 glower sulkily at the fire. But in a moment 
 the weeping woman was by his side, and whilst 
 the tears rained down her pale cheeks, and dis- 
 figured a face that was still very comely, she 
 cried with humility, almost abject, "Help uz, 
 Reubin — help uz, fur sake o'-o'-o'-owd toimes." 
 
 But poor Annie had touched the wrong chord 
 this time. " Owd toimes," sneered the sand- 
 man, ** which owd toimes? Th' toime as tha' 
 left me stonnin' three liaars i' th' rain woll 
 thaa wur marlocking wi' Jacky i' yore parlour ? 
 Th' toime as thaa sniggered and snurched as 
 thaa druv past me owd sand-cart an' thee 
 peerched up in Jacky's new trap? Th' toime 
 as thaa threaped Jacky's sister daan, as tha' 
 wurna' gooin' wi' me, an' niver hed dun ? Is 
 them th' toimes as tha' wants me ta think
 
 JACKY'S TROUBLE. 145 
 
 abaat ? " and for the moment Reuben was really 
 bitter. 
 
 Mrs. Jacky heaved a great sobbing sigh, and 
 was just about to reply when Reuben resumed, 
 almost savagely: **Thaa'd a' hed me if ther 
 hedna' a' been ony Jacky abaat ; bud a sondmon 
 wur noawheer wheer a farmer cum. Well, tha 
 wanted thi farmer and tha's getten thi farmer. 
 Tha's made thi bed ; tha mun shift ta lie on it 
 sum rooad." 
 
 This was all very cruel, and the suffering 
 woman shivered as the hard words fell on her 
 like so many blows. She felt if she spoke just 
 then she would ruin her case, so her hand 
 dropped to her side again and she stood quietly 
 crying. And her silence and his own sudden 
 remorse irritated Reuben more than her words 
 had done, and so, with a curl of his masterful 
 lip, he went on scornfully : "A Methbody 
 with bums in, an' a preicher, tew, if he'd 
 a' stopped a' whoam an' moinded his wark 
 atstead o' gaddin' abaat ." 
 
 *' Reubin ! " screamed the goaded woman, 
 turning fiercely round with anger and defiance 
 blazing through her tears, "^ Dunna darr ta say 
 a wo'd ageean Jacky. Sithi Aw'll say it naa, 
 ith' wo'st trubble Awve ever hed. Ther' isn't a 
 mon in Scowcroft parish as can howd a candle 
 tew him. Theer' ! " and here the maddened 
 woman drew herself up in passionate disdain. 
 " Thee ! tha artna fit ta woipe his shoon an' niver 
 
 10
 
 146 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 wTir. If Aw hed to dew it ageean Awd tak' 
 him if he hadna' a rag ta his back — bless 
 him ! " and breaking down with sudden tears, 
 she gave the man near her a push, and suddenly 
 rushing to the door was gone before he could 
 prevent her. 
 
 IV. 
 
 When Mrs. Jacky left him on that dismal 
 Saturday night Eeuben stood on the hearth- 
 rug for a long time like a man in a di'eam. He 
 had had the revenge he had waited for for 
 years, and the taste of it was positively bitter 
 to him. All that was good in him commended 
 Annie for what she had said and done, and 
 this made him bitterly angry with himseK. He 
 never imagined that Jacky's wife would have 
 taken his words as she had done. Least of all 
 did he expect she would have left him with her 
 errand unaccomplished, and the sandman 
 actually caught himself sighing. He moved 
 about the house absently for some time, and 
 then sat down to his accounts again. But he 
 could not give his mind to them. The hag- 
 gard, tearful face of the woman he had once 
 loved Avith aU the strength of his deep nature 
 haunted him, and bluiTed the figTires as he 
 looked at them. These books had diverted his
 
 JACKY'S TROUBLE. 147 
 
 mind and given him relief and pleasure many a 
 time before, but now their charm was entirely 
 gone, and he presently shut them up with a 
 petulant snap, and putting them hastily away 
 went and stood in the doorway, listening to the 
 dripping of the rain. 
 
 Where was she ? — that pale, sad woman 
 he had so ruthlessly driven from his door ? 
 Then he moved uneasily, and presently went 
 out into the broken-down old stable to see 
 that Pablo was comfortable for the night. 
 Somehow the silent presence of his old com- 
 panion soothed him, so he lingered over his 
 work, pausing every now and again to listen to 
 the rain and wonder where Annie was. Then 
 he stroked and patted his pony until that 
 sagacious animal looked round inquiringly as 
 if wondering what this unwonted gentleness 
 would lead to. Presently, moving his hand 
 from Pablo's back, where he had been tenderly 
 examining a raw place, Reuben began to 
 pat his ragged neck, and then, as he turned to 
 go, he said, " Pablo, thee an' me durnt breik th' 
 Sabbath mitch, but weest ha ta dew it ta- 
 morn, Awm thinkin'," and then as he moved to 
 the door, he added, " if it is breikin' it." 
 
 Next day about noon, though, the weather 
 was stUl threatening, Reuben, in a shaky- 
 looking old trap, not much more respectable 
 than his sand-cart, left home on a journey, 
 apparently to Wallbury. But, after making a
 
 148 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 call there, he travelled onward to other places, 
 and when they returned, late that evening, 
 though the pony looked tired, Reuben had a 
 much more cheerful air than when he left in 
 the earlier part of the day. 
 
 Pablo did not even then seem to have quite 
 recovered his astonishment at being taken out 
 on a Sunday, but his surprise was still greater 
 when he found himself, in spite of an almost 
 unalterable precedent to the contrary, actually 
 making his way to Wallbury again early on 
 Monday morning. 
 
 They put up as usual at the "Black Lad," 
 and whilst Pablo munched his corn, his master 
 rapidly made his way down Coalgate to the 
 bank. 
 
 The Town Hall clock chimed a quarter to ten 
 as he went along, and, discovering that he was 
 somewhat early, Reuben checked himself, and 
 dropped into a quiet saunter. As he turned 
 the corner of the street and came in sight of 
 the bank, he suddenly pulled up, and gave a 
 low whistle of astonishment, for there, right 
 under the gas lamp opposite the bank door, 
 stood Miles, William and Noah, evidently wait- 
 ing for the bank to open. Reuben looked for 
 the moment annoyed and disappointed, but 
 another thought seemed to strike him, and the 
 next moment he had dodged into a convenient 
 passage, and from this vantage-point he stood 
 looking at his acquaintances with a puzzled.
 
 JACKY'S TROUBLE. 149 
 
 and not too amiable expression on his strong, 
 rouo^h face. 
 
 Now the circumstance which interfered with 
 Reuben's procedure requires some little explana- 
 tion. The fact was that the friends had dis- 
 covered that after all they could do £300 was 
 the very utmost they could raise in this 
 emergency. Quiet William had then proposed 
 that Noah should go over to Wallbury and see 
 if the bank manager could be induced to accept 
 a smaller sum, and the grocer had agreed. But 
 by Sunday night his courage had failed him, 
 and he had conceived a most imaccountable 
 dread of the manager. And so, as a last 
 resource. Miles and William had undertaken to 
 accompany him and see what could be done. 
 
 They were none of them much acquainted 
 with the ways of banks, and so, being all exceed- 
 ingly uneasy and impatient, they had left 
 Scowcroft by seven o'clock in the morning, and 
 had reached the bank before nine, only to dis- 
 cover that they were an hour too early. There 
 was nothing for it, therefore, but to wait, and 
 so they had been standing under the lamp for 
 the last hour. 
 
 At last, just as the clock struck ten, a 
 sprightly young clerk flung open the doors, and 
 the three Scowcrofters, intimidated by the 
 clerk's manner and overawed by the grandeur 
 of the place, stepped nervously in, and falter- 
 ingly asked to see the manager.
 
 150 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 He had not arrived, but would be there in a 
 few minutes, and the clerk showed them into a 
 private room, and shut the door upon them. 
 Then the friends took their hats off — they were 
 all dressed in their Sunday best — and seated 
 themselves on the very outer edge of their 
 chairs. Miles gazed round with undisguised 
 curiosity and wonder. Noah sat looking earn- 
 estly into his hat as he held it in his hand, and 
 Quiet William sighed deeply, and moved his 
 lips in silent prayer. 
 
 They all started as if caught in some dis- 
 honourable act when the door suddenly opened 
 and the manager entered. Then they all rose 
 from their seats in embarrassment and bade the 
 official a curt and awkward " good morning." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you ? " 
 said the manager, putting away his umbrella, 
 and hanging his hat up, as if this dreadful 
 business of theirs was the commonest thing on 
 earth. And then William looked at Noah, and 
 Miles did the same, and added an energetic 
 nod ; but Noah seemed tongue-tied, and looked 
 helplessly at William. Miles could hold in no 
 longer, and so stepping forward and putting a 
 shaky hand on the manager's table he said, 
 " We're comin' abaat that bother o' Jacky o' th' 
 Gap's." 
 
 *' Jacky o' th' Gap," murmured the bank 
 official in perplexity. " Oh, ah ! the Cinder 
 Hill Farm affair, I suppose ? "
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 151 
 
 " Aye ! that's it," cried Miles, now fairly at 
 liberty. "Yo'n made a mistak', mestur; yo'n 
 sent trubbel to wun o' th' dacentest chaps i' 
 Lancyshire," and Miles made the manager's 
 pens jump on the inkstand as he brought his 
 fist down on the table with an emphatic thump. 
 
 '^No doubt ! No doubt! " said the manager, 
 a little startled by the tailor's energetic manner. 
 " But unfortmiately that won't pay the bank's 
 claims ; will it, gentlemen ? " 
 
 " Wot will then ? " demanded Miles, now 
 quite courageous ; "■ if it's ony good tew yo' 
 ther's wun or tew on uz here as 'ull foind three 
 hunderd paand," and the way Miles quoted the 
 figure ought to have filled the bank man's mind 
 with visions of untold gold. 
 
 But somehow it did not. He gave a slightly 
 impatient gesture, and trymg to keep a con- 
 temptuous look out of his face he shook his 
 head and said, " No use whatever, gentlemen — 
 no use at all." 
 
 Quiet William groaned audibly and sighed 
 under his breath, " Lord help us ! " Noah 
 glanced up at Miles with an " I-told-you-so " 
 sort of look, and Miles, goaded by a sense of 
 failure, was just about to make an indignant 
 reply, when the door opened and in stepped 
 Reuben Tonge. 
 
 " Hello ! " he cried, affecting extreme as- 
 tonishment at the sight of them, "wot's yo' 
 chaps doin' here ? "
 
 152 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 None of them replied. Reuben Tonge was 
 the sworn enemy of the chapel and had been 
 for many years. Moreover, he was specially 
 bitter against " Preiching Jacky," as he sneer- 
 ingly called their friend, and had been ever 
 since Jacky's marriage. 
 
 This was certainly not the man to be taken 
 into their confidences, and, in fact, his sudden 
 appearance was regarded by each of them as a 
 bad omen, and they realised keenly how he 
 must be gloating over Jacky's ruin and their 
 own great trouble. 
 
 So nobody spoke, and Reuben, after looking 
 anxiously from one to the other, asked, " Aw 
 reacon you cum'n abaat Jacky han yo ? " 
 
 And whilst Miles glared sidlen defiance at the 
 sandman, and Noah hung his head shyly, Quiet 
 William, who had more exact knowledge of 
 Reuben, and especially of some of his recent 
 acts than the others, proceeded to tell him their 
 business. And as AVilliam in his gentle way 
 told the story of their sorrowful sympathy with 
 Jacky, their anxiety for the honour of the 
 church, and their proposed sacrifice of all their 
 little savings, the manager's eyes grew misty, 
 and even hard Reuben had to turn his shoulder 
 to the speaker and gaze steadily at the frosted 
 window. 
 
 When William had finished and fallen back 
 into his seat, Reuben turned again, and looking 
 them over calculatingly for a moment, said.
 
 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 153 
 
 " Well^ it's a rum un, this is ; Aw've come on 
 th' same busniss mysel'." 
 
 The three men looked at him with fresh 
 astonishment, and so he proceeded : " It's reet. 
 Aw've come abaat nowt else " ; and then, going 
 over and touching Miles on the buttonhole, he 
 said, " Naa leuk here. Aw dew a bit o' 
 businiss wi' theeas fowk. Gooa yo're ways 
 wlioam, an' leeave it ta me." 
 
 The three friends hesitated ; but on the 
 manager assuring them that the affair would 
 not suffer in the hands of their odd neighbour, 
 they reluctantly departed. 
 
 It was a melancholy walk home for this dis- 
 appointed deputation. Miles was full of hope 
 one moment and full of fear the next ; Noah 
 maintained an unalterable tone of despondency ; 
 but William seemed quietly, but immovably, 
 hopeful. 
 
 Reuben had told them he would see them 
 later in the day, and so they kept together and 
 lingered at Miles's in most restless impatience. 
 About three o'clock Reuben drove up to the 
 door in his jingling old conveyance, and by 
 his side sat a clerk from the bank — a sign 
 which William regarded as most distinctly 
 hopeful. 
 
 " Naa, then," cried Reuben, brusquely, " jump 
 in, an' come on to the farm." 
 
 Pablo never had a heavier load in the old trap 
 in all his memory, and he puffed and panted up
 
 154 JACKY'S TEOUBLE. 
 
 the Cinder Hill in anything but an amiable 
 mood. 
 
 When they arrived Reuben bade the clerk go 
 first into the house^ and when a moment or two 
 later he returned bringing Nat Ogden with him, 
 Reuben, who had never been in the house for 
 over thirty years, led the way into the kitchen. 
 But the sudden and unexpected removal of the 
 bailiff had caused excitement within, and when 
 they entered the kitchen they found Jacky 
 standing on the hearthrug, and his wife and 
 daughter clinging to his arms and crying for 
 relief and joy. 
 
 " Thar't a bonny mon ! " cried Reuben in 
 assumed indignation, as soon as he put eyes on 
 Jacky. 
 
 " Reuben ! " cried Mrs. Jacky, suddenly step- 
 ping between her husband and the sandman, 
 '' tha munna say a word ! Aw'U darr thi t' 
 say it ! " 
 
 Miles was stepping forward, but before he 
 could speak Reuben turned fiercely on Mrs. 
 Jacky, and, pointing at her husband, cried, 
 *' Dust know wot he's dun? " 
 
 " Aw durnt cur ^vot he's dun ! He's diui 
 nowt ! Nowt ! Aw tell thi." 
 
 "Dust knowhaa he's gettenintathis lumber?" 
 
 '^ Neaw, nor Aw durnt cur ! He's dmi nowt 
 wrong Aw'm sartin." 
 
 "He's getten i' this mess wi' being bun 
 (bound) fur that foine cousin o' thine az run
 
 JACKY'S TROUBLE. 155 
 
 away last Wissun Day. An' 'cause he gan his 
 wod, he'd nooa mooar sense nor pay, the foo 
 him ! " And Reuben turned and looked at Jacky 
 with a look in which scornful reproach seemed 
 to be struggling with something very like 
 admiration. 
 
 So that was the explanation of the unex- 
 pected distraint — Jacky, to save his wife's family 
 pride, had, unknown to her, and, of coui-se, to 
 the rest of his friends, been bound for a cousin 
 of hers — a showy, plausible, but untrustworthy 
 farmer at Sniggleton — and when he disappeared 
 suddenly, as the other bonds could not pay, 
 Jacky had overdrawn an already unsatisfactory 
 account at the bank. Tilings had gone badly 
 with him since, and then when the old bank 
 manager was found to be defaulting and was 
 suddenly replaced, Jacky's account proved on 
 examination to be so unsatisfactory that 
 summary proceedings had at once been com- 
 menced. The scene that followed is quite 
 beyond the descriptive powers of the present 
 chronicler, and so we leave the rejoicing friends 
 to their gladness. Reuben Tonge, it appeared, 
 had spent Sunday afternoon in getting at the 
 facts in his own peculiar way, as to the original 
 cause of Jacky's trouble, sorely disturbing the 
 mind of the new bank manager by interviewing 
 him on the Sabbath Day, and the sandman 
 greatly enjoyed the grimace with which the 
 mercurial Miles received this last item of in-
 
 156 JACKY'S TROUBLE. 
 
 formation. Still everybody expressed great 
 gratitude to Reuben for his help, and especially 
 for the fact that Jacky's character and the 
 church's honour had been saved. 
 
 "Pablo," said Reuben that night, as he 
 foddered his pony and mused over the events of 
 the day, ^' wun or tew moaar things loike we'en 
 hed ta-day an' them Methodys 'uU convart thy 
 old mestur." 
 
 And Pablo looked as if he had not the 
 slightest objection.
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER.
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 I. 
 
 ScowcROFT to all its other claims to distinction 
 could add the great honour of possessing the 
 most remarkable musical genius for miles 
 round. To look at, Billy Wardle was anjrthing 
 but prepossessing. His large long head and 
 longer features, and his tremendous arms 
 caused him, when sitting, to look tall, but when 
 he stood up it was seen that he had never been 
 much above middle height, and a slight stoop 
 made him appear even less than he was. He had 
 mild-looking, almost soft blue eyes, a wide but 
 weak mouth, and a few long and neglected 
 hairs at each side of his face, and under his 
 chin were evidently the best that Billy was 
 capable of in the way of hirsute adornment. 
 
 Nobody ever looked less like a man of mark 
 than did Billy as he sat in his place on a 
 Sunday, waiting for the minister to give out the 
 hymn. But when the number had been 
 amiounced, and the instruments, or in later 
 days the organ, had played the tune over, and 
 the minister had read the first verse, you were 
 startled by a sudden and terrific vocal explosion, 
 and glancing upwards, you beheld a sickly-look-
 
 160 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 ing man with a hymn-book^ held as far away 
 from him as possible in one hand, whilst with 
 the other he was wildly beating time, and his 
 head, when it was not turned round to admonish 
 some laggardly smger, was held at such an acute 
 angle and so far away from the hymn-book, 
 that your surprise at the music was soon for- 
 gotten in fear that the singer would over- 
 balance himself and fall. 
 
 Billy could not read music at all, but he 
 knew every tune in the tune-books in use at 
 the chapel, could play any instrument intro- 
 duced to him, and could reproduce almost any 
 tune he had once heard. It was no use any 
 mischievously-disposed preacher sending up to 
 the singing gallery a list of peculiar metres in 
 the hope of puzzling Billy. The only result 
 was a twisting, twirling, many-runned tune, 
 which woke up the old folk to vociferous ecstacy, 
 and caused the younger ones to stand still in 
 bewildered and helj^less diunbness. Billy could 
 only read very indifferently, but he knew most 
 of the hymns by heart, and could fiU up any 
 forgotten lines with most artistic pom poms, 
 interspersed with emphatic and jerky instruc- 
 tions to his assistants. 
 
 And sing witli all the — pom-po-pom-po-pom, 
 And sing witli — nay, wenclies, bell aat, 
 And sing with all the — ler 'em hev it, lads, 
 The hendless song a-bo-o-o-ove, 
 The pom pom song abuv.
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 161 
 
 Billy was the author of several very popular 
 local tunes, and at least one most astonishing 
 anthem, and was often absent during the earlier 
 part of the summer conducting the music at 
 adjacent village anniversaries. 
 
 But of late Billy's throne had been a some- 
 what uneasy seat. Some of the younger people 
 in the choir could read music a little, and one 
 of the tenors had learnt the wonderful new 
 tonic sol-fa. Besides which, young Abram 
 Briggs, who played the organ, had a standing 
 grievance against his conductor in the fact that 
 he was never consulted in the selection of 
 tunes, and though he and other juniors in the 
 singing pew knew several grand new tunes, 
 they were compelled, Sunday after Sunday, to 
 sing the very oldest of the old, and were 
 sternly snubbed both by their leader and by the 
 authorities of the chapel if they made anything 
 approaching to a complaint. 
 
 But of late the J^oung people had received 
 considerable support from outsiders. The 
 junior minister had on two recent occasions 
 asked for particular tunes to certain hymns, 
 and on being informed on the second of these 
 occasions that "We sing noa new-fangled 
 balderdash here," he had shrugged his shoulders 
 and elevated his eyebrows in a manner more 
 expressive than any possible words. 
 
 And then it was plainly hinted, though with 
 bated breath by those few degenerate souls 
 
 H
 
 162 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 who liad so far forgotten themselves as to 
 attend the parody of an anniversary held 
 recently by the Methodist Adullamites in 
 " Joany's loft," that the music on that occasion 
 was better than that at the Scowcroft Chapel, 
 " sarmons " and *'mooar moderner," and this, 
 in spite of several long and heated arguments 
 in his defence, had done more to injure Billy's 
 prestige than anything else. 
 
 What made matters worse was that most of 
 the young people at the chapel were ardent 
 teetotalers, and though they had no particular 
 fault to find with Billy on that score, save that 
 he would neither sign the pledge nor attend 
 their meetings, yet his two sons were notorious 
 in the village for drunkenness, pigeon-flying, 
 and every species of riotous living, whilst his 
 wife, who by the way was the sister of Jimmy 
 the Scutcher, was not only a fierce-tongued and 
 brawling neighbour, but was more than sus- 
 pected of drinking habits as well. And the 
 virtuous young Temperance advocates of Scow- 
 croft, many of whom were in the singing pew, 
 protested that it wasn't " dacent " for the 
 husband and f atlier of such a disreputable set to 
 be leading the worship of the chief sanctuary. 
 
 And as luck would have it, just at this 
 time a new bookkeeper came to the mill. He 
 turned out to be a Methodist, and as book- 
 keepers were regarded as persons a little above 
 the common run, the chapel people received
 
 BILLY'S BLUKDEE. 163 
 
 him with open arms, and congratulated them- 
 selves on having bagged a great prize. Judge, 
 therefore, of the consternation of the one party 
 and the triumphant pride of the other when, 
 after attending the services one whole Sunday, 
 the bookkeeper actually postponed his selection 
 of a pew, on the ground that he was not sure 
 he could ^' cast in his lot " with them because 
 the music was really so very old-fashioned and 
 slow that it made him " fail' crill " to hear it, 
 and entirely destroyed any chance of profitable 
 worship. This was serious. The bookkeeper 
 was, of course, an educated man, and a great 
 catch for the chapel ; his opinion, therefore, as 
 a mere ordinary worshipper was of great weight, 
 and to allow him to go to church, or to that 
 disreputable " Joany's loft," would be an ever- 
 lasting disgrace. But when it was discovered 
 that the new-comer had been harmoniumist and 
 choirmaster at a small Independent chapel in 
 Manchester, the young people at once realised that 
 Providence had sent them, not only a powerful 
 leader in [their opposition to Billy, but also 
 an efficient and up-to-date successor to that 
 worthy's position. And now from mere 
 spasmodic skirmishing the struggle suddenly 
 passed to serious conflict. The bookkeeper was 
 suave and insinuating, and excessively friendly. 
 He invited the young folk to his house in relays 
 of three or four, and gave them evidence of his 
 skill and knowledge of music, deftly expressing
 
 164 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 his surprise at the musical quality of some of 
 their voices, if only they were properly trained. 
 Then he related stories of some of his own 
 musical triumphs, and alluded in a familiar, 
 almost patronising, way to some of the leading 
 musicians of the day. This was the man. They 
 would have some music at Scowcroft if only 
 they could get " Mestur Kyle " (Royle) to lead 
 them. " Owd Billy " was a " blethering owd 
 Bluffinyed." He had a " vice loike a corncrake," 
 
 and was " that ignorant " 
 
 And the more vociferous and vehement the 
 opposition became the more stubborn and im- 
 movable were Billy's defenders. The heads of 
 the church were unanimously and enthusiastic- 
 ally on his side. He was an old friend. His 
 taste in tunes was exactly theirs, and they had 
 so long regarded him with pride as one of the 
 chief glories of the place that all attacks upon 
 him seemed to them to be so many challenges 
 to proper authority, and threatened the very 
 foundations of order and government. If Billy 
 went some of them would speedily have to 
 follow, and the instinct of seK-preservation 
 made them obdurate. Never did those masters 
 of strong language. Miles and Jacky o' the 
 Gap, perform such feats of denunciation. 
 Never was the terrible Jimmy so cutting in his 
 3atires and so prolific of caustic, biting jokes. 
 Even the peaceable Noah the grocer waxed 
 argumentative, and Quiet William was be-
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 165 
 
 trayed into language very unlike his name and 
 character. 
 
 " Aw wur axin' the beuk-keeper abaat yond 
 pew this morning," said Noah, slowly, as they 
 sat round Miles's fire early one Saturday 
 evening. 
 
 '* Tha niver did, thaa lumpy ed ! Aw'd see 
 him at Dixey afur Aw'd ax him ageean," cried 
 Jacky, indignantly. 
 
 " Well, wot said he ? " demanded Miles, with 
 threatening looks. 
 
 *' He said as he hadna' made up his moind 
 yet. He wur thinkin' o' tryin' Adam's shop 
 (Joany's loft) ta morn." 
 
 ^^Let him tak' his papper dicky an' fancy 
 moustache wheer hee's a moind. We can dew 
 baat him, Aw con tell thi." 
 
 " He said as Billy's vice remoined him of a 
 crow as 'ud getten the chin-cough." 
 
 " The impident hupstart ! " shouted Miles. 
 " Billy were singin' i' that chapel afoor he wur 
 born ! Chin-cough, hay ! Ther's mooar music 
 i' Billy's clugs nor i' aw his brazzened body ! " 
 
 " Dust remember haa he used sing ' Thaa 
 Shepherd ov Hisrael an' moine' ta owd Eansom ? 
 It used mak' me fair whacker wi' jye. Aw 
 used feel as if Aw wur i' heaven," said Quiet 
 William, softly. 
 
 " Heaven ! Tha'U ne'er yer nowt loike it 
 ageean till tha yets theer, that's sartin ! " cried 
 Jacky, vdth a tear in the corner of his eye.
 
 166 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 
 
 " He's sung ' Eock of Ages ' at mooar 
 deeath-beds nor ony mon i' Lancashire," said 
 Noah, with conviction. 
 
 '^^ Aye, an' Aw whop as he'll sing it at moine, 
 tew," cried Jacky, with a suspicious sniff. 
 
 "An' moine, tew," responded William and 
 Noah. 
 
 *'We mun ston up for him, chaps. We 
 mun f eight ! We munna hev that blessed owd 
 chapil turnt into a music-hall. It's bin th' 
 gate o' heaven tew uz mony a toime, an aar 
 faythers afoor uz. We mim feight fer it ! We 
 mun feight ! " and Miles pursed out his lips and 
 projected his dim and struck his fist with a 
 desperate and yet pathetic resolution. 
 
 " If iver Billy goes off his peirch i' that sing- 
 ing pew it ull no be his f awt, it ull be aars" and 
 Jimmy the Scutcher looked steadily at Dinah's 
 paper-covered special occasion copper kettle 
 hanging on the joists above Miles's head, and 
 drew out the ^'aars" to a most expressive 
 and emphatic length. 
 
 '^ He'll neer gooi^off that peirch till he's 
 carried off feet f urmost," cried Miles. " He's 
 owd and he's welly blind, bud — bless his owd 
 
 pow (head) Wot the ferrups is that?" and 
 
 Miles whisked round and stared hard at the 
 closed outer door, whilst the rest rose hastily to 
 their feet and did the same. 
 
 And they might well stare, for as Miles was 
 about to pronounce a fervid and for him tender
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 167 
 
 eulogium on the absent choirmaster, a most out- 
 rageous noise was heard outside. It sounded 
 Hke a wild Indian war-whoop, and was f oUowed 
 by the shriU laughter of a number of youthful 
 voices. 
 
 All those assembled round Miles's warm fire 
 stood still and held their breath. Not a sound 
 was heard save the crunchmg of sand under 
 their clog irons, and all at once there smote on 
 their ears the words of an old Methodist tune 
 sung as only Billy Wardle could sing it. 
 
 I'm a pilgrim liand a stranger, 
 Rough and thorny is the road. 
 
 "Wot the heck is he up tew? " shouted 
 Miles, looking round at his friends in wonder 
 and indignation. Nobody replied, and so as 
 the singing proceeded and had a very eccentric 
 and irreverent sound about it. Miles stepped to 
 the door and flung it open. 
 
 The rest stood still on the sanded floor in- 
 tently listening. 
 
 In a moment they heard an angry exclama- 
 tion from Miles, and then the singing stopped 
 and the laughter recommenced, and was louder 
 than ever. 
 
 Then they heard the singer give a wild and 
 most ungodly yell, and then strike olf into 
 another tune. It was a most strange pro- 
 ceeding. What could it mean? But at that 
 moment the door closed abruptly, and Miles,
 
 168 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 white and trembling, stepped back into the 
 house, and standing in the middle of the floor 
 and looking round on his friends, in a voice of 
 cruel dismay he cried, "■ Chaps, it's Billy ! An' 
 he's drunk — ay, drunk as a foo' ! " 
 
 And with another cry that was almost a sob, 
 he dropped into his chair and buried his head 
 in his hands. 
 
 The rest gave vent to various sounds in which 
 wonder, fear and distress were blended. Then 
 they stood and gazed at each other with looks 
 of stupefied horror, and then by sudden consent 
 they rushed to the door, and standing in the 
 entrance beheld the following humiliating 
 spectacle. 
 
 There in the middle of the croft, nearly 
 opposite to the chapel, stood Billy. He still 
 had on his dirty workaday clothes, which 
 ought to have been changed hours ago. He was 
 without hat, and had only one clog. Around 
 him was a ring of boys and girls, with piggy 
 sticks and cricket bats in their hands, jeering 
 and laughing, and evidently wickedly enjoying 
 the sad sight. All down the row fronting the 
 croft every door was occupied by a spectator, 
 and those who had been already in the croft 
 when Billy appeared had left their various 
 occupations, and were standing in groups and 
 watching the scene, half in shame and half in 
 amusement. Yes, Billy was drank, mad drunk, 
 and standing there, in the midst of an ironical
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 169 
 
 but applauding audience, he was running from 
 one dear old tune to another, and bawling and 
 gesticulating until the more serious of the 
 spectators shuddered at the profanity of it. 
 
 And as the friends stood there enduring 
 torments of mortification and shame a finishing 
 touch was given to the disgraceful scene by the 
 sudden appearance of Billy's wife. She came 
 running across the croft, angrily shaking her 
 fist at her husband, and then when she reached 
 him she seized him by the back of his coat-neck, 
 gave him several energetic shakes, called him 
 names we cannot write, and then transferring 
 her grip from his coat to the back of his arms, 
 she got behind him, and giving him a starting 
 push, ran him before her homewards. 
 
 And as if this were not humiliation enough, 
 just at this moment a well-known yellow pony 
 came slowly round Lark Lane corner. A great 
 scornful laugh smote on their ears, and the 
 mocking face of Reuben Tonge turned sneer- 
 ingly towards them, whilst his harsh voice was 
 heard crying, "Anuther canting Methody, 
 Pablo ! Anuther canting Methody ! Wayshin'- 
 up mugs, stew mugs, wliaite sand and ruhhin 
 stoan ! "
 
 170 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 II. 
 
 When the vociferating and gesticulating Billy 
 and liis termagant wife disappeared round Cinder 
 Hill Corner, Miles and his friends slmik back 
 into the house with feelings it would be 
 impossible adequately to describe. Amaze- 
 ment, shame, and mortificaticm struggled 
 together in their minds. They were humiliated, 
 but above all they were defeated. For the 
 scene they had just witnessed was all that was 
 needed to complete the triumph of Billy's 
 enemies. Even his friends could not help hiin 
 now, and just when they were making a last 
 desperate stand in his defence, Billy himself 
 had played into their opponents' hands and 
 settled the matter. 
 
 For a time no one spoke. Most of them- 
 remained standing, and those who had di'opped 
 into chairs squirmed about in them and 
 groaned mitil their seats creaked in melancholy 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Lord help uz," sighed Jacky o' th' Gap, 
 with a most lugubrious countenance. 
 
 ^' Aye, Lord help uz," responded Noah, and 
 then they were silent again, whilst each was 
 busy with his own mortifying thoughts. 
 
 ^' It's happen a sunstrooak," ventured Quiet 
 William at last. 
 
 And this was just the little touch that
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 171 
 
 Miles's pent-up feelings required in order to 
 explode, and so he whipped round, and glaring 
 at his unfortunate brother-in-law, he cried in 
 outraged indignation : '^^ S-u-n-s-t-r-o-o-a-k, 
 thaa lumpyed. Hast ony een (eyes) i' thi yed ? 
 Sunstrooak, mon ! it's drink strooak ; it's Red 
 Cat strooak ; it's ale strooak ! We're byetten 
 (beaten) , mon ! We're floored ! and we're dis- 
 graced in at th' bargin." 
 
 " Aye, it's aw up wi' uz naa," sighed Jaeky, 
 wearily shaking his head. 
 
 '^An' th' bewk-keeper 'uU ger in," groaned 
 Noah. 
 
 There was another long, melancholy silence, 
 and then Quiet William got up and went 
 out, and nobody needed to ask where he had 
 gone. 
 
 ''An' it's th' Trust sarmons ta morn," said 
 Noah at length, sadly. 
 
 " Aye, goa on wi' thi ! Mak' it wur nur it 
 is, thaa sniftering Joaab's comforter, thaa," 
 snapped the irascible Miles, and then, glaring 
 round resentfully at the rest, he cried, sarcasti- 
 cally, " Hez ony on yo' else owt noice ta say ? " 
 
 " He'll be on his peirch ageean i' th' morn 
 yo'U see," said the Scutcher, with conviction. 
 
 " On his peirch ! " shouted the goaded Miles ; 
 '' bud he winna ! He shanna ! " 
 
 " Wot's th' use meythering ? " added Jacky, 
 " he'll ne'er goa i' that singin' box ageean as 
 lung as he lives."
 
 in BILLY'S BLUKDEE. 
 
 The others, Jimmy excepted, looked a sorrow- 
 ful admission, but just then William returned, 
 and walked with a crestfallen and dejected air 
 to his seat. As he ventured no information. 
 Miles, after waiting impatiently for some 
 time, whisked round sharply and demanded, 
 " Well ? " 
 
 But William did not reply. 
 
 "Speik, mon! Wot's he say?" demanded 
 the tailor, fiercely. 
 
 " Nowt." 
 
 Miles looked at William as though he would 
 like to put him under torture to compel him 
 to be more communicative, and Jimmy the 
 Scutcher asked cautiously, " Wot's hoo say ? " 
 
 " Nowt." 
 
 As a matter of fact, Billy's wife had banged 
 the door in the big man's face, and told him 
 from behind it that when she wanted any of the 
 chapel people she would send for them ; and 
 the men sitting round the fiire remembered, as 
 an additional difficulty, that Rachel and her 
 good-for-nothing sons had done their best for 
 years to wean BiUy of his attachment to the 
 chapel. 
 
 The friends lingered at Miles 's all the even- 
 ing, [partly in the hope that some one would 
 be able to devise some means of escape for 
 them, and partly out of fear of the criti- 
 cisms they knew they would encounter if they 
 went abroad.
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 173 
 
 One thing", however, was agreed upon. Billy 
 must be prevented at all costs from taking his 
 place in the singing-pew on the following day, 
 and as nobody cared to face Billy's wife Quiet 
 William and Jacky o' th' Gap were deputed to 
 waylay the erring choirmaster if he attempted 
 to enter the chapel, and thus prevent him making 
 things worse. 
 
 The next morning proved very wet, and 
 Jacky was somewhat late at his post. William, 
 however, was there, and he stood very de- 
 jectedly propping up the railings outside the 
 chapel when Jacky arrived. 
 
 " Hast seen owt on him ? " asked Jacky as 
 he came up, out of breath with hurrying. 
 
 " Neaw." 
 
 They waited a while, but Billy did not 
 appear. 
 
 The congregation began to gather, but no 
 Billy. The preacher arrived, but still no 
 Billy. 
 
 " He's no' comin'," said Jacky at length. 
 " Pooer lad, he conna face it." 
 
 William looked very hard at the Mill chim- 
 ney, and after blinking his eyes rapidly and 
 trying to swallow something, he said, "Pooer 
 felley ! Pooer owd lad ! " 
 
 Just then the organ began to play, and the 
 two watchers turned and nodded at each other 
 in mutual confirmation of their previously 
 expressed conviction that Billy was not coming.
 
 174 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 Then, without speaking, they entered the 
 porch, and as they did so they turned and 
 stared at each other in surprise and consterna- 
 tion, for the singing had commenced, and 
 above every other sound they could hear Billy's 
 loud, harsh tones ringing through the chapel 
 as if nothing had occurred. 
 
 Before they could speak the red inner door 
 opened, and out stepped the bookkeeper with 
 outraged righteousness written on his smug 
 face. After him came several of his supporters, 
 and glancing upwards they saw the members 
 of the choir, evidently by pre-arranged agree- 
 ment, picking up their books and disappear- 
 ing down the narrow back-stairs, making all 
 the noise possible, presumably as a protest 
 against Billy's scandalous presence. 
 
 The two discomfited watchers walked sadly 
 up the stairs to their seats in the gallery, but 
 when Jacky reached his pew and glanced round 
 William was just disappearing downstairs 
 again. As the hymn went on the singing-pew 
 gradually emptied, luitil when it ceased Billy 
 was absolutely alone. 
 
 Very little heed was given that morning to 
 the prayer, and the quiet of the service was 
 disturbed again and again by the banging of 
 pew-doors, as several righteously indignant 
 worshippers, who felt they could not stay to 
 countenance the offending presence of the choir- 
 master, left the chapel.
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 175 
 
 When 
 
 Come, Holy Ghost, our hearts inspii'e, 
 
 whicli was the perpetual chant at Scowcroft, 
 was started, Billy was still alone, but hearing 
 the deep bass tones of a second voice suddenly 
 blending with the leader's, the worshippers 
 glanced up and beheld Quiet Wilham standing 
 as close as ever he could get to Billy, and singing 
 away with all his might, as if he would fain 
 take the place of all those who had left, and in 
 apparent unconsciousness of the many as- 
 tonished eyes that were fixed upon him. 
 
 When the service was over every man with 
 any semblance of right to do so made for the 
 vestry, and when the preacher entered he found 
 it full of indignant and protesting men who 
 were shouting out in the excess of their excite- 
 ment their various opinions on the crisis which 
 had thus sadly arisen. 
 
 Somebody suggested that Billy be sent for, 
 but the messenger who went in search of him 
 announced that he had already disappeared. 
 In the course of a long and noisy wrangle the 
 friends of the bookkeeper made it abundantly 
 clear that no compromise was possible, and the 
 looks of virtuous indignation which they cast 
 upon Miles and his party made those worthies 
 feel as though they were in some way respon- 
 sible for what had taken place. 
 
 At last, after a long and heated discussion
 
 176 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 
 
 the authorities undertook that Billy should be 
 kept out of the singing-pew pending a future 
 settlement of the case, and all were preparing 
 to disperse when some one rashly suggested 
 that the bookkeeper should be asked to take 
 Billy's place, at any rate until something 
 definite could be arranged. 
 
 Miles and his friexids suddenly stiffened, and 
 looked sour and defiant, but as the bookkeeper's 
 advocates protested that they only meant this 
 as a temporary arrangement, without any pre- 
 judice to the final appointment, the old men 
 were constrained, though much against their 
 feelings, to give way, and all seemed settled for 
 the time, when, to everybody's astonishment, 
 Quiet WiUiam suddenly turned obstinate. 
 
 " Aw'U tak cur as Billy does na goo in, an yo 
 mun keep th' bewkkeeper aat, tew," he said, 
 with quiet firmness ; and so, though victory 
 seemed to be thus slipping from their grasp in the 
 very moment of success, the friends of the new 
 man were compelled to be content, for though 
 William was gentleness and conciliation itself 
 as a rule, they had learnt long ago that when 
 he did take a stand it was more than useless to 
 try to move him. 
 
 Several Sunday dinners were spoilt in Scow- 
 croft that day, for when the party in the vestry 
 broke up it was only to split into two sections, 
 the larger one standing in the croft and debat- 
 ing afresh the various points of the situation,
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 177 
 
 and tlie smaller one adjourning to Miles's to 
 decide how to deal with Billy. 
 
 It was a melancholy business. One moment 
 they were anathematising the bookkeeper and 
 all his ways, and the next they were expressing 
 their mortification at the conduct of their old 
 friend Billy. 
 
 How were they to proceed ? 
 
 William could not be induced to visit the 
 offending choirmaster's house again at any 
 price. Jimmy the Scutcher had not been on 
 speaking terms with his sister for years, 
 and the rest plainly dare not face her at 
 all. Someone suggested the extreme expe- 
 dient of a note, but Billy could not read 
 writing, and his better educated sons were too 
 worthless and wicked to be approached, even if 
 they were at home and sober, which was exceed- 
 ingly doubtful. It was evident that Billy was 
 avoiding them, for Quiet WiUiam reported that 
 when he rose from his knees after the benedic- 
 tion BiUy had already disappeared. Nobody 
 seemed able to make any very useful sugges- 
 tion, and so William and Jacky were deputed 
 once more to waylay the offender and prevent 
 him taking his place in the singing-pew. 
 
 And this time they would be early enough. 
 Soon after five o'clock they posted themselves, 
 one at the gate to intercept Billy as he went in, 
 and the other near a clothes-post in the croft 
 to watch for his approach. They watched and 
 
 18
 
 178 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 
 
 watched, but Billy never appeared. Then Tom 
 Crompton, the chapel-keeper, came to unlock 
 the doors, but still no Billy. A number of boys 
 began to assemble round the doors, but no BiUy. 
 Then the congregation commenced to arrive, 
 and Jacky came from his position at the clothes- 
 post to consult with William. 
 
 Just then a red-haired lad came clambering 
 down the gallery steps, and leaning over the 
 '* banister," he stood looking for a moment at 
 the two in consultation, and then cried in a 
 loud whisper, " Heigh, William, dun yo want 
 Billy?" 
 
 Jacky, who stood with his back to the 
 entrance, suddenly wheeled round and replied, 
 " Aye ! wheer is he ? " 
 
 "He's i' th' singin'-pew." 
 
 The two outwitted watchers turned and gazed 
 at each other in bewilderment, and then, as 
 Jacky 's face grew longer and longer, a sneak- 
 ing smile flickered for a moment on WiUiam's 
 broad face, and he cried, under his breath, 
 " Well dun, Billy ! " 
 
 Just then Miles, who was steward that year, 
 came rushing down the narrow entry on the 
 south side of the chapel, and with his thin hair 
 flying, and his face all awork with nervous 
 agitation, burst upon them, crying indig- 
 nantly : " Wot arr yo dooin' theer, yo gawping 
 lumpyeds ! He's i' th' chapil ! He's i' th' 
 singin'-pew. Aw tell yo."
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 179 
 
 At this moment a number of young people 
 were approaching the entrance. They caught 
 Miles's words instantly, and in a minute or two 
 they were standing in the croft outside the 
 railings absolutely refusing to enter until 
 the objectionable choirmaster had been re- 
 moved. 
 
 Then they were joined by others, then more 
 still, until the front of the chapel was almost 
 blocked with people all talking in restrained 
 tones, not so much about Billy's fall as about 
 his shameless and hardened persistence. By 
 degrees, and after much coaxing, some of them 
 were induced to enter the chapel, where the 
 service had already commenced, but the greater 
 number strolled off in small parties to adjacent 
 cottages to discuss matters. 
 
 The heads of the church took no part in the 
 service that evening. Most of them, in fact, 
 never entered the main building at all, and 
 those who did simply stole up the front stairs 
 to satisfy themselves by actual sight that Billy 
 was in his place, and immediately came down 
 again. 
 
 Things were becoming desperate, and after a 
 long, low-toned discussion in the vestry it was 
 determined to waylay Billy as he came down 
 the back stairs and carry him off bodily, if he 
 resisted, to Miles's house, and try to bring him 
 to reason. 
 
 And by this time a kind of suspicion had
 
 180 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 
 
 arisen against William, and so Jimmy and 
 Abram Briggs were deputed to carry out the 
 arrangement. 
 
 As soon as the collection had been made the 
 two stationed themselves in the passage at the 
 foot of the singing gallery stairs, and waited. 
 The last hymn was sung, and Billy's strident 
 voice was heard up to the very last notes of it. 
 Then there was a short pause, and then a shuffl- 
 ing of feet and a banging of pew doors, and 
 the thudding of feet going down the front 
 staircase, but nobody came down the back 
 stairs. Billy had escaped before by being 
 first man out of the building, but he was 
 certainly in no hurry this time. Then the 
 organ stopped, and young Abram Briggs, the 
 organist, came stumbling down the narrow 
 stairs. 
 
 "Is he comin'?" demanded Abram's father. 
 
 " Is whoa comin' ? " 
 
 " Billy." 
 
 " Billy ! He gooan lung sin ; he strade o'er 
 th' partition an' went alung the gallery an' aat 
 at the front dur ! " 
 
 Something very hke anathemas broke from 
 the lips of the cheated liers-in-wait, and they 
 turned sulkily round and made for Miles's, 
 where their coming was impatiently awaited. 
 
 Their appearance empty-handed and dis- 
 couraged brought forth more cries of discomfi- 
 ture, and when Miles arrived just behind them.
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 181 
 
 the reproaches to which he had subjected Jacky 
 and William for their failure were as nothing to 
 those he heaped on the hapless heads of Jimmy 
 and Abram. 
 
 Then he discovered that Quiet William was 
 not present, and demanded to know where 
 'Hhat shaf&ing sawftyed " was. Nobody knew, 
 whereupon the irate tailor asked them fiercely 
 "what they used their een for," and then 
 including both them and the absent William 
 in one general sweep of condemnation as 
 " dateliss, numyeds," he put his hands under 
 his semi-clerical coat-tails and stood glower- 
 ing around, whilst, the rest, with gloomy and 
 abashed faces, slowly charged their pipes. 
 
 A few minutes later a scuffling of feet was 
 heard outside. The door was flung noisily 
 open, and the offending choirmaster came 
 staggering into the room as if he had been 
 pushed from behind, followed by Quiet William 
 looking somewhat " checked " and out of 
 breath. 
 
 Billy had a crestfallen and almost frightened 
 look, and as he fell into a chair, and sitting 
 sideways, leaned his arms on the chair-back and 
 bui'ied his head in them, the onlookers thought 
 that they never saw him look so utterly 
 miserable. 
 
 For several minutes nobody spoke. Miles 
 looked down again and again at the unhappy 
 Billy as if about to address him, and fidgeted
 
 182 BILLY'S BLimDEE. 
 
 about uneasily as if scarcely knowing how to 
 commence. 
 
 " Thar't a bonny mon, artna ? " he said, look- 
 ing Billy over from head to foot. 
 
 But the culprit neither moved nor spoke, and 
 William gave a long, sympathetic sigh as if to 
 reassure the suffering man. 
 
 It was quite enough, however, for the peppery 
 Miles. 
 
 " Wot's up wi' thee ? " he demanded with a 
 snarl. 
 
 WiUiam paused a while, softly hissed a frag- 
 ment of a tune between his teeth, and then 
 answered slowly, " Nay, Aw wur nobbut 
 thinkin' abaat Him as talked abaat thro win' th' 
 fost stooan." 
 
 " Sfcooan ! It's nor a stooan az hez come 
 daan upon aar chapel to-day; it's a — a — 
 havalanche ! " and Miles, whose zeal for the 
 honour of the chui'ch was blended, at the 
 moment, with ungodly pride at having so 
 appositely hit upon a long expressive word, 
 glared dej&antly around on the company. 
 
 The accused man uttered a deep groan, but 
 gave no other sign. 
 
 Miles waited for some time to give Billy an 
 opportunity of replying, but as he did not do so 
 he cried at last, " A Methody leeadin' singer 
 lewks weel guzzlin' i' th' Red Cat, doesn't he ? " 
 
 The culprit hastily hfted his head as if about 
 to speak, and then, closing his eyes as if in
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 183 
 
 pain, and groaning more deeply than ever, he 
 di'opped his head again upon his chair-propped 
 arms. 
 
 " He's no' bin i' th' Eed Cat fur twenty yer," 
 remarked William, quietly. 
 
 " Eed Cat ! Neaw ! He's bin wi' them 
 wastril lads ov his ta Kitty Codger's, Aw 
 reacon ! " 
 
 '' He's neer bin i' Elitty's sin he wur born." 
 
 '^ Then wheer the f errups did he get it ? He 
 geet plenty on it sumwheer, that's sartin." 
 
 William shook his head slowly, as if that 
 were the point that specially puzzled him. 
 
 Then there was another pause, and at last 
 Miles resumed, " Well, ther's wun thing sartin : 
 he goos inta that singing-pew no moaar, chuse 
 haa?" 
 
 Billy gave a start, moved uneasily in his 
 seat, and then, lifting a haggard face, he cried 
 piteously : " Dunna, lad ! Dmina ! " 
 
 Miles was touched. A sudden film seemed to 
 pass over his vision ; but seeing that the rest 
 were in similar plight he obstinately choked 
 back his emotion, and said, " Aw see nowt else 
 fur it. Tha'll ha ta goo aat." 
 
 Billy jumped to his feet, a wild, desperate 
 look in his eyes, and his face all wet with tears. 
 
 '^ But Aw winna goo ! Aw conna ! Dun yo 
 want ta kill me ? " 
 
 " But tha mun goo ! " 
 
 " But Aw winna goo ! "
 
 184 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 There was a dead silence. A man wlio 
 actually would not resign when bidden was a 
 novelty, and the assembled authorities looked 
 at each other in perplexity. 
 
 At last Jimmy the Scutcher raised his head, 
 and with a sad face and sadder voice said, 
 " Tha'U ha ta goo, lad ! " 
 
 Billy, now fairly at bay, turned upon Jimmy, 
 and cried in pleading, protesting tones, " Aw 
 tell thi Aw wiiuia goo ! Aw've set i' that pew 
 forty yer. It's the ony bit o' heaven ther is i' 
 my loife. Wod yo tak' that off me ? " And 
 with another wild cry he shook his fist in pas- 
 sionate desperation, and reiterating " Aw 
 winna goo ! Aw winna goo ! " he made a 
 sudden dash at the door, and before any one 
 could stop him was gone. 
 
 III. 
 
 In the moody and fitful conversation that 
 followed Billy's sudden exit, it became clear to 
 Miles that if he wished to carry his point he 
 would have to proceed with great care. For it 
 was very evident that William and Jimmy only 
 needed a very little to drive them into open 
 defence of the choirmaster at all cost and against 
 all comers. Jacky, too, was by no means
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 185 
 
 decided in his mind, and Miles felt himself 
 very shaky on the point. William and Jimmy 
 would not hear of Billy's place being filled, 
 either by the bookkeeper or any one else, and 
 when Miles demanded if they thought it right 
 that a " druffen felley " should lead the singing 
 they simply sighed and said nothing, and the ut- 
 most he could get them to consent to was that 
 for the present Billy should be kept out of the 
 singing-pew. And the week that followed 
 brought no relief to the situation. The young 
 people and the more advanced of the older ones 
 were mianimous in demanding Billy's instant 
 dismissal, and even threatened that if there were 
 any more " dilly-dallying " they would carry 
 the matter straight to the super. And young 
 Abram Briggs, the organist, who was the only 
 person in the village who could play the instru- 
 ment, and had been especially trained at the ex- 
 pense of the trustees, stoutly declared that it was 
 a teetotal organ, and there would have to be a 
 teetotal leader if it continued to be played at 
 all. 
 
 Billy was the mill cop- carrier, and in that 
 capacity came into constant contact with the 
 hands. They had therefore many opportuni- 
 ties of speaking with him, but he now adopted 
 a stand-off and gruffly taciturn manner that 
 kept everybody at a distance, so that the gener- 
 ally genial and loquacious old man compelled 
 everybody to leave him alone.
 
 186 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 Saturday afternoon came round again, and, 
 in spite of the numerous discussions, reluc- 
 tantly commenced and painfully prolonged, no 
 settlement of the case had been arrived at. 
 Everybody agreed that Billy must be kept out 
 of the singing-pew for the following Sunday, 
 and several others at any rate, but the 
 cop-carrier's manner left in the minds of 
 the authorities an uneasy feeling that Billy 
 himself might have quite other views of the 
 matter. 
 
 It was decided on Satui'day evening at Miles's 
 that the chapel should be watched from earliest 
 morn, so that if the offender tried to enter 
 surreptitiously he could be prevented. This 
 was accordingly arranged for, Abram senior 
 and Noah watched from daybreak to prayer- 
 meeting time, and were then relieved by Quiet 
 William and Jimmy. HaK-past nine arrived 
 and no sign of Billy. At a quarter to ten the 
 chapel-keeper came to open the doors and attend 
 to his duties. Still no sign of Billy, and the 
 watchers were just coming to the conclusion 
 that their old friend had thought better of the 
 matter when the chapel-keeper came clambering 
 noisily down the back stairs crying, as soon as 
 he saw his friends, " Whey, chaps, he's theer ! " 
 
 "Theer! Wlieer?" 
 
 " On his peirch i' th' singin'-pew ! " 
 
 The two watchers turned and looked stupidly 
 at each other for a moment, and then, rushing
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 187 
 
 indoors, climbed up the narrow staircase and 
 saw for themselves. 
 
 Yes, there was Billy. He had a rumpled, 
 dishevelled sort of look about him, and his 
 seedy Sunday clothes were creased all over, 
 indicating only too clearly that he had slept in 
 them, and must therefore have entered the 
 chapel the night before. 
 
 He did not move or turn round as the 
 astonished men gave vent to various character- 
 istic exclamations, but sat steadily looking into 
 his own old hymn-book with a look of dull 
 desperation on his face. 
 
 " He's getten in through th' vestry winda ! " 
 shouted the chapel-keeper in a loud whisper 
 from the bottom of the staircase. Quiet 
 William stood looking down on the obstinate 
 choirmaster with a face in which sympathy and 
 amusement were struggling for the mastery, 
 and then, without a word or a sign of what he 
 was about to do, he stepped carefully down 
 towards Billy, stooped, and threw his great 
 arms suddenly round him, lifted him to his 
 feet, and whilst Billy kicked and struggled, and 
 almost shrieked in protestation, carried him 
 down the stairs through the yard, and along a 
 narrow back lane to his own little cottage in 
 Lark Lane. And that was the last that was 
 seen publicly of Billy that day. 
 
 Now Jimmy the Scutcher had from the 
 beginning of this unfortunate business been
 
 188 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 strangely quiet about it, though evidently 
 deeply and anxiously concerned. The fact was, 
 he looked at the subject from a standpoint of 
 his own. Billy had married Jimmy's sister, and 
 the Scutcher had good reason to suspect that 
 Billy's wife gave him a very uncomfortable 
 time of it. For the first few years of their 
 married life there had been constant storms ; 
 rumour darkly hinted even at blows. But after 
 a while these seem to have ceased ; but Billy 
 lost his old sprightly look, and jocose garrulous 
 manner and looked habitually pensive and 
 dejected. It was commonly supposed that he 
 was "i' th' club" (henpecked), a suggestion 
 which Billy always resented with quite unneces- 
 sary heat. For years now no particular notice 
 had been taken of the family, and whilst Billy 
 had grown more and more attached to the 
 chapel, and especially to his own department in 
 it, his sons had become notorious dninkards 
 and gamblers, whilst his wife was more than 
 suspected of being inclined to drink. 
 
 But Billy would not have it so. The mis- 
 demeanours of his sons were too numerous and 
 too flagrant to conceal, but any hint, however 
 distant, at misconduct on the part of his wife, 
 he resented with the utmost heat. 
 
 Some years before the circumstances we are 
 narrating took place, Jimmy the Scutcher had 
 found reason to remonstrate with his sister 
 on her conduct towards her husband, but
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 189 
 
 though Jimmy was a terror to all ordinary 
 people in debate, he was no match for his fiery 
 sister, and after a long noisy interview he had 
 poured a last fierce volley of reproach and 
 threatening upon her and had left the house, 
 and since then the two had never spoken. 
 
 But this disgrace of his brother-in-law's 
 troubled him a great deal more than he showed. 
 He could not help thinking that Billy's wife 
 had had something to do with his fall, and 
 strongly suspected that some more than usually 
 distressing circumstance had driven the un- 
 happy choirmaster to take to drinking. 
 
 The preacher that morning therefore need 
 have had no fear of the great ciitic had he 
 known it, for truth to tell Jimmy heard next to 
 nothing of the sermon, his mind being occupied 
 altogether with painful thoughts about his poor 
 friend who had just been forcibly removed from 
 the chapel. 
 
 In the quietest part of the same afternoon, 
 therefore, Jimmy sauntered into Quiet Wil- 
 liam's cottage. " Wheer is he ? " he asked, as 
 he sat down on the long-settle and carelessly 
 threw one leg upon it whilst he drew a long 
 clay pipe from up his coat-sleeve. 
 
 William jerked his thumb upwards to indi- 
 cate that Billy was in bed upstairs, and went on 
 smoking. 
 
 After several minutes of silence, during which 
 William was evidently preparing to speak, he
 
 190 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 
 
 leaned forward, tapped Jimmy significantly 
 on the knee, and said, "Aw'U tell thi wot 
 it is : tiler's summat mysteerious abaat aw 
 this." 
 
 Jimmy put on a complicated look of secrecy, 
 nodded slowly, and then waited for William to 
 proceed. 
 
 " AwVe fun aat az he's neer bin in ony ale- 
 haase within tew moile of here, an' he hedna 
 toime furt goo furrer." 
 
 Jimmy nodded again comprehendingly, and 
 then said, " It's my belief aar Rachil gan it 
 him aat o' pui^e divilment." 
 
 "Nay, hoo'd no goo that fur, sureZz," said 
 William. 
 
 " Aw tell thi hoo'd dew it ta spoite th' chapil 
 an' haggrivate me." 
 
 WiUiam looked as if he were very loath to 
 believe any such thing, but Jimmy went on 
 with a sudden accession of resolution : " Thaa 
 con dew as tha's a moind, bi^t if he goos Aw 
 goo, that's aw." 
 
 William was evidently of much the same 
 mind, but contented himself with leaning back, 
 sighing heavily, and remarking, " Th' chapil 
 winna be th' chapil baat Billy." 
 
 Then they lapsed into silence, and as the 
 boards over their heads began to creak, and it 
 was evident that Billy was getting up, William 
 hastened upstairs to attend to him, and pre- 
 sently returned followed by the disgraced singer.
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDBE. 191 
 
 looking very sheepish and crestfallen, but all 
 the better for his rest. 
 
 Nobody spoke, and Billy shrank shyly into a 
 chair in the opposite corner of the fireplace to 
 William. Then Mrs. William brought in the 
 tea, and they all drew up to the table. Billy 
 tried to eat, but could not ; his food seemed to 
 be choking him ; and at last, putting down an 
 untasted cup of tea, he burst into a great sob, 
 and cried in quivering tones, ^' Hay, bud yo arr 
 koind ta me." 
 
 " Huish ! mon, huish ! " cried William, 
 scarcely less agitated than his visitor. " Ha 
 sum crumpets, wi' thi ? " And he thrust a 
 piled-up plate of the delectable Sunday tea 
 confection close under Billy's nose. 
 
 But Billy was thinking of things far more 
 serious than crumpets. 
 
 " Aw've disgraced you aw'. Aw've shawmed 
 yo'. Aw wuish Aw'd a-deed afoor Aw'd dun 
 it," he wailed, with a burst of hot tears. 
 
 " Huish, lad ! Dumia tak' on ! Tha con 
 live it daan, tha knows." 
 
 '^ Live ! " he almost screamed ; " Aw conna 
 live at aw ! Dun yo' think Aw con live baat 
 the chapil ? " and then he paused and sobbed 
 again, crying presently, "Aw'U niver dew it 
 ageean. Niver ! Mver ! " 
 
 Nobody wanted any tea after that, and so, 
 after giving Billy a moment or two to recover 
 himself, William asked gently, " Wot did t'
 
 192 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 
 
 dew it fur? Hed yore Rachil bin agate on 
 thi?" 
 
 A sudden change came over poor Billy. A 
 look of alarm and suspicion shot into his red 
 eyes, and he cried earnestly, " Aar Eachil ? 
 Neaw ! Hay, hoo's a good un, Eachil is ; hoo 
 made me a fat cake last neet." 
 
 **Aw thowt tha^d happen getten drunk 
 'cause hoo'd been fratchin' wi' thi ; — sum f elleys 
 does." 
 
 " Neaw ! — hay, neaw ! Aar Eachil had nowt 
 ta dew wi' it," and the look of suspicion on 
 Billy's face deepened. 
 
 All this time Jimmy had been listening in- 
 tently and narrowly watching his brother-in-law, 
 and as William paused, evidently by no means 
 satisfied, Jimmy rose to his feet, and putting on 
 a most fearful scowl he tapped BiUy on the 
 shoulder and said sternly, " Billy, thar't lyin'." 
 
 " Naa, then, thee let me alooan," cried Billy, 
 more frightened than ever. 
 
 '^ Aw tell thi' thar't lyin'. Yore Eachil's bin 
 agate on thi." 
 
 "Nay, hoo hasna — no — no mitch." 
 
 "Naa, come ! aat wi' it." But neither stern- 
 ness, nor threats, nor coaxing could induce 
 Billy to say anything against his wife, and so 
 at last, though still very suspicious, his two 
 friends turned the conversation to other phases 
 of the subject. 
 
 Greatly relieved to get away from what he
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 193 
 
 evidently regarded as dangerous ground, the 
 cop-carrier became exceedingly pliable on all 
 other points. 
 
 He consented after a struggle to abandon his 
 intention of resuming his seat in the singing- 
 pew, and then, as it was thought wise that 
 everybody should know as soon as possible of 
 his change of mind, he also agreed to go to the 
 chapel and sit somewhere else. 
 
 Having gone so far, Billy went further and 
 announced his intention of going to the penit- 
 ent form after the service, and it was with 
 some difficulty that he was dissuaded. So far 
 all was well. Billy went and sat with Quiet 
 William in the front pew of the gallery. The 
 singing-pew being thus empty, the organ led 
 the singing alone, and Billy stood up by the 
 side of his friend, hanging his head down, and 
 every now and again wiping his eyes. After 
 service William took Billy with him to Miles's, 
 and the company assembled there did its best 
 to make the poor fellow feel at home. Late in 
 the evening, however, a note was brought to 
 Miles. It was from the super. He had 
 been preaching at Cockey Lane in the after- 
 noon, and had there met the bookkeeper, who, 
 as they walked home together towards Wall- 
 bury, told him the story of Billy's fall and the 
 agitated condition of the society, and the note 
 was a brief request to Miles to call a special 
 leaders' meeting for the following night. Now 
 
 13
 
 194 BILLY'S BLONDER. 
 
 the bookkeeper could not have taken a course 
 more certain to defeat his own ends than the 
 one he had resorted to, for when the super's 
 note had been read there was not a man present 
 but was heartily, almost fiercely, on Billy's 
 side. 
 
 " Oh ! he thinks he'll manidge it that rooad, 
 does he ? " cried Miles, indignantly. " Well, 
 them as lives th' lungest 'ull see th' mooast, 
 that's aw," and the rest looked eloquent en- 
 dorsements of Miles's words. 
 
 The rest of the evening, Billy having de- 
 parted, was spent in raking up and reciting all 
 the good things the choirmaster had done, and 
 the sacrifices he had made for the Scowcroft 
 chapel and congregation. 
 
 Next night the super arrived to find the 
 vestry lighted up and prepared for the meeting, 
 but quite empty. He waited a while, but 
 nobody came. He began to pace up and down 
 the room impatiently, looking every moment or 
 two at his watch, but nobody arrived. A 
 quarter of an hour passed and he was still alone. 
 He limited up the chapel-keeper and made a few 
 inquiries. 
 
 But that ojB&cer knew nothing, or, at any rate, 
 would tell nothing, and at last the super made 
 his way to Miles's. 
 
 When he opened the door he could scarcely 
 see for tobacco smoke. As it had cleared a 
 little he glanced round and discovered that the
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 195 
 
 room was inconveniently full, every man whom 
 he expected to have seen at the vestry being- 
 present, Jimmy the Scutcher alone excepted. 
 
 '^ Gentlemen, have you forgotten the meet- 
 ing ? " he asked, in not too gracious tones. 
 
 *' Neaw," answered Miles, with a rising 
 inflection of his voice which was ominous had 
 the super known it. 
 
 " But we must not stay here. I have come 
 over purposely. We must go and hold the 
 meeting." 
 
 Miles leaned as far back as he could in his 
 chair and said, with a studious indifference as 
 he contemplated the shank end of a ham that 
 was hanging on the joists near the door, " Yo 
 con goa if yo'on a moind." 
 
 " But, gentlemen," began the super, amazed 
 
 and a little nettled, "we must really " 
 
 But just then the door oj)ened and in stepj)ed 
 Jimmy the Scutcher, still greasy, and covered 
 with lint and dirt, having evidently not yet 
 been home since he left the mill. He appeared 
 not to have seen the super, but stepping eagerly 
 across the floor and standing over Quiet 
 William, he fixed upon him that terrible eye of 
 his, and glancing slyly at the super out of the 
 other, he cried, " Didn't Aw tell thi he wur 
 lyin'?" 
 
 William looked up eagerly and demanded 
 "Haa dust know 9" 
 
 " Aw've fund it out. Aw've bin maulin' wi'
 
 196 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 
 
 yond owd — owd huzzy iver sin' the shop (mill) 
 losed." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Aw could get nowt aat of her fur a great 
 while, the brazzened besom ; bud at the lung 
 last Aw've fun' this aat," and Jimmy paused 
 for the question ht knew would follow. 
 
 "Wot?" 
 
 ^^ He wurna drunh of his oivn accord^''' and 
 having delivered his master stroke, Jimmy 
 stepped back to watch its effect on the rest. 
 
 There was a long pause. "Yes, but no- 
 body can make a man drink if he doesn't want 
 to, you know," said the minister dubiously. 
 
 " Conna they ? Hay, mestur, yo' dunna 
 know iverything, an' yo' dunna know aar 
 Eachil." 
 
 The minister seemed disposed to argue the 
 point, but he soon found that every man 
 present believed with Jimmy, and that it would 
 be impossible to get anything like an impartial 
 discussion of the case. He soon learnt also 
 that Billy had retired from his post, and as 
 this was the main point of anxiety with him 
 just then, he was fain to leave the rest for 
 the present, and in a short time he took his 
 departure. 
 
 The next Sunday the singers were all back in 
 their places, and Billy sat once more with his 
 old friend Quiet William. 
 
 In a week or two efforts were made to get
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 197 
 
 the bookkeeper appointed choirmaster, but on 
 that question tlie elders were quite immovable 
 and the singers had to be content for the time 
 with such guidance as Abram the organist 
 could give them, the bookkeeper meanwhile 
 transferring his patronage to " Joany's loft." 
 
 For the next few weeks nothing worth 
 recording in connection with this story 
 occurred, except that our friends noticed that 
 Billy was gradually getting very thin and 
 sickly-looking, and that even when the choir, 
 repenting of their harshness, sang a tune which 
 Billy always regarded as his greatest triumph 
 in original composition, he never put in a note. 
 
 And just then a diversion occurred. One of 
 those exciting and yet morally and spiritually 
 fruitful revivals broke out at the chapel, and for 
 a time Billy and his fall were forgotten in the 
 overwhelming interests thus excited. 
 
 The effects of this visitation manifested 
 themselves, as they often do, in somewhat 
 singular forms, and one day a deputation of the 
 choir, made up entirely of teetotalers, way- 
 laid Billy after a week-evening service, and 
 formally invited hiin to return to his place in 
 the choir. Very sadly, and yet with a firmness 
 strange to him, Billy declined, and the elders 
 of the church, though greatly disappointed, 
 admitted that they Hked him all the better 
 for it. 
 
 One evening, just at the commencement of a
 
 198 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 
 
 special revival service, who should walk into the 
 chapel but Eachel Wardle. Billy was sitting 
 upstairs, and did not see her, but as soon as the 
 prayer-meeting commenced, Rachel, without a 
 word of invitation, walked straight up to the 
 Communion rail and fell on her knees. Then 
 Billy saw her, and a cry that was almost a 
 scream, broke from him, and he hurried down- 
 stairs, and in a moment or two was kneeling 
 and praying at her side. 
 
 One or two, as was the custom, went to 
 speak to her, and were somewhat nonplussed 
 by the candour and naivete of her descriptions 
 of her feelings and desires. 
 
 Presently she rose to her feet, and turning 
 her back on those who were counselling her 
 and facing the congregation, she cried, 
 "Fowks, Aw conna get saved till Aw get 
 sunmiat off my crop." Billy, still kneelmg at 
 the communion rail, gave a little startled cry at 
 the sound of his wife's voice, and rose hastily 
 to his feet as if to interrupt her. 
 
 But she waved him back with her left hand, 
 and said, " Aw've bin a weary bad un fur a 
 deeal o' years naa," and then she paused to 
 wipe her streaming eyes. " Bud Aw should 'a' 
 bin a foine seet wur if Aw hedn't a-hed a hus- 
 band as wur a hangil aat o' heaven." 
 
 " Huish, woman ! huish ! Sit thi daan," cried 
 Billy, in eager and yet somewhat suspicious 
 excitement.
 
 BILLY'S BLUNDER. 191) 
 
 " Aw wimia huisli ! Aw'U speak clause wot 
 tha says." 
 
 Then Billy turned with distress in his eyes 
 to the congregation, and cried, ^^Yo munna 
 believe her, fowks. Her's wandthering." 
 Rachel stood quietly still for a moment with 
 more dignity than seemed possible to her, and 
 then she went on, " Aye, Aw've bin wandthering 
 ta lung, bud Aw've come to my senses at last." 
 
 " Bless the Lord," rang out all over the 
 chapel. 
 
 "Fowk," she continued, "Aw want ta tell 
 yo' abaat aar Billy being drunk." 
 
 The responses and "Amens" instantly 
 ceased, and there was a deathly stillness all in 
 a moment, whilst Billy jumped to his feet and 
 was about to interrupt again, when Quiet 
 William, who had stolen up behind him, took 
 him by the arm and pulled him back, at the 
 same time covering Billy's mouth with his 
 great hand. " Fowk, he didna tak it hissel ; it 
 wui' teemed daan his throttle bi his nowty lads 
 an' his nowtier woife." "■ God forgive her." 
 
 "Hallelujah!" shouted several through 
 choking throats. 
 
 Rachel seemed about to say more, and had 
 opened her mouth for the purpose, but suddenly 
 breaking down she turned and rushed at her 
 husband, and seizing him by the neck and pas- 
 sionately kissing him, she cried, " Bless thi owd 
 face! Bless tin!"
 
 200 BILLY'S BLUNDEE. 
 
 The scene that followed must be left to the 
 imagination of the reader. Only when the 
 excitement had somewhat sudsided somebody 
 suggested a hymn, and Billy, starting forward 
 and raising his voice, burst out in one of the 
 very oldest of the old Scowcroft tunes — 
 
 God moves in a mysterious way 
 His wonders to j)erform. 
 
 And next Sunday Billy resumed his place in the 
 singing-pew.
 
 A SILENT SERMON.
 
 I
 
 A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 I. 
 
 The long row of cottages facing the croft at 
 Scowcroft was broken in two places, the first 
 by the chapel and the second by Noah's 
 grocer's shop. This, the chief place of business 
 in the village, stood back a little from the rest 
 of the houses, and was a squat, wide-windowed 
 stone structure, which belonged to the period 
 when Scowcroft was a quiet agricultural 
 hamlet, undistm-bed and undisfigured by canals, 
 mills and mill-people. In those days it had 
 been a small farmhouse, with a neat garden 
 and wooden palings in front; but now the 
 fence had vanished, the garden had been 
 trodden hard, and there was nothing but an 
 open space littered with old soap-boxes, butter- 
 tubs, and the like. The low, wide, dusty 
 window had a thin layer of nuts on the bottom, 
 upon which stood imitation Chinese bowls of 
 green coffee berries, whilst a tall, fly-blown cone 
 of loaf-sugar occupied the place of honour in 
 the centre. These were backed U23 by once- 
 gorgeous show cards, which had held their 
 positions longer than most of the customers
 
 204 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 could remember. The shop itself had a broken, 
 flagged floor, and a ceiling hidden from view 
 by innumerable bundles of candles of all counts, 
 strings of onions, brushes, breakfast-cans, 
 clogs, pattens, and blue-and-white pint-jugs, 
 interspersed here and there with hams and sides 
 of bacon. The counter was L-shaped, and at 
 the end nearest the svindow there was a small 
 desk hidden behind a pile of mustard and 
 Epsom salts boxes. In the inner wall was a 
 small window, which commanded a view of the 
 counter and the desk at the end of it, and 
 which was screened on the inside by a curtain. 
 This curtain was a very dainty one, for how- 
 ever untidy and greasy the shop where Noah 
 and his assistant Peter reigned, everything was 
 as neat as a new pin in the house, and these 
 two worthies had to be on their very best 
 behaviour when they ventured across its 
 threshold. 
 
 Late one windy afternoon in the middle of 
 the week, when business was slack and cus- 
 tomers few, Peter was standing at the desk 
 apparently deeply engrossed in booking, but 
 really engaged in a very much higher kind of 
 literary labour. He was of medium height, 
 but his long neck and short trousers made him 
 look taller than he was. He had a narrow, 
 receding forehead and a long weak chin, pro- 
 minent teeth, dark, sunken eyes, and a helpless 
 sort of mouth which always had a pathetic
 
 A SILENT SERMON. 205 
 
 curve about the corners. There were signs 
 that he ought to have had a slight moustache, 
 but such adornments were not considered quite 
 religious, and so his lip was always carefully 
 shaved whenever it seemed to him to require it, 
 which, to tell the truth, was not very often. 
 He had long black hair, which was thick and 
 bristly, and would have stood up and made him 
 look quite fierce, only it was copiously hair- 
 oiled and carefully combed back to make its 
 owner look poetical. Not that Peter aspired 
 to be a maker of rhymes ; his ambition soared 
 far higher than that. It was the dream of 
 his life to be a preacher and thrill the crowds 
 at anniversaries, only nobody had any idea of 
 it but himself, and his most partial friends 
 would have laughed at his aspiration had they 
 known of it. And nobody knew this better 
 than Peter himself, and so he kept it to himself 
 and brooded over it and nursed it, and dreamed 
 beautiful di'eams of the great day coming when 
 those who scorned him now would listen with 
 wondering ears and gaping mouths to his 
 enthralling eloquence. Meanwhile he was pre- 
 paring himself, as he thought, and making 
 sermons ; yes, and preaching them, too, only as 
 yet he had found no audience but the boxes in 
 the shop, or the gooseberry bushes in his aunt's 
 garden up Cinder Hill Lane. 
 
 At the moment we are introduced to him he 
 is revising and rehearsing one of these won-.
 
 206 A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 derful discourses. It is laid on the little desk 
 before liim, and he is reading it half aloud to 
 himself. Presently he warms to his work and 
 begins to move his right arm about very earn- 
 estly, then he raises it above his head in tragic 
 emphasis, then he suddenly shoots it out as if 
 giving some imaginary adversary a knock-down 
 blow, and then as he evidently approaches a 
 grand climax he wildly throws both his long 
 arms into the air and brings them down with 
 an emphatic thump upon the desk, making the 
 stumpy pens dance again and the brass weights 
 on the counter jingle in their scales. 
 
 And all this time some one is watching him. 
 The cui'tain of the little window above de- 
 scribed is turned back just the least trifle, and 
 a fair siuiny face, with laughing grey eyes, is 
 peeping at him in evident enjoyment of his 
 caperings. 
 
 Unconscious of the amusement he was pro- 
 viding, Peter was still standing with his hands 
 on the desk glaring with head thrown back and 
 pursed-out lips at the bacon and candles and 
 pint- jugs hanging from the low roof above 
 his head, when the cracked door bell was sud- 
 denly set ringing, the little white curtain at 
 the window was hastily dropped, and in 
 stepped a very brisk-looking young fellow some 
 three years Peter's senior. He was altogether 
 a striking contrast to the young grocer — smart, 
 good-looking, and well-dressed, with a bright.
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 207 
 
 lively air about liiin which, made him popular 
 wherever he went. By profession he was an 
 accountant; that is, he collected rents and 
 debts and club-money, and canvassed for orders 
 for furniture on the weekly payment system, 
 and so was very well known in the neighbour- 
 hood. Besides this he was a local preacher, a 
 taking teetotal advocate, and a very popular 
 Lancashire dialect reciter. Altogether, in fact. 
 Squire Fogg was about the best known and 
 most popular yoiuig fellow in the neighbour- 
 hood, a great favourite with the young men, 
 and a perfect Adonis amongst the " wenches." 
 
 " Hello ! Pe, lad," he cried, as he came 
 fussily up to the counter, " heaw goes it ? " 
 But though his tones were very cordial his 
 manner showed little interest, and his eyes 
 wandered eagerly towards the little window 
 and the inner door at its side. 
 
 " Oh, Awm reet enuff," replied Peter, slipping 
 a piece of butter-paper over his manuscript, and 
 coming shyly out from behind the desk. " It's 
 windy, isn't it ? " and he put his hands into his 
 pockets under his apron, and leaning against 
 the fixtures behind him, assumed an appearance 
 of ease he was far from feeling. 
 
 " Aye," answered Squire, absently ; and then, 
 suddenly changing his manner, he raised his 
 eyebrows, dropped his voice, and, jerking his 
 thumb in the dii'ection of the inner room, he 
 asked, eagerly, " Th' owd chap in ? "
 
 208 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 "Neaw," answered Peter, in slow, hesitant 
 tones, for he was thinking rapidly, and a great 
 idea had suddenly entered his head. 
 
 " Aw say. Squire, that wur a grand sarmon 
 tha preiched a fortnit sin." 
 
 " Oh, aye, aye ! " replied Squire, with care- 
 less impatience ; and then, lowering his voice 
 again, he said earnestly, " Pe, is hoo hi 
 hersel' ? " 
 
 But Peter was thinking on quite different 
 lines to those of his visitor, and so ignoring, if 
 he had really heard, the question, he inquired, 
 '^ Is it yezzy ta mak sarmons. Squire ? " 
 
 " Oh, aye, aye," answered Squire, impati- 
 ently. " Is hoo in, mon — is hoo in ? " 
 
 " Aye ; a-a-a n-e-a-w — dust feel narvous 
 
 when chaa preiches. Squire ? " 
 
 ^^Preichin' be hanged! " cried Squire, 
 angrily, hut just then a new thought flashed 
 into his quick mind, and pulling himself up 
 sharply, he demanded, "Wot art meythering 
 abaat preiching fur ? " 
 
 Peter went white to the lips, changed his 
 position nervously, and then answered slowly, 
 " Nay, nowt." 
 
 ^' Naa then, dunna start o' lyin' ; tha's getten 
 summat i' thi noddle; aat wi' it, mon," and 
 Squire glared imjDatiently at the aforesaid 
 noddle as if he would very much like to have 
 knocked it against the fixtures. 
 
 Peter twisted his clog heel about uneasily in
 
 A SILENT SERMON". 209 
 
 the sand, glanced up shyly at a string of pick- 
 ing-hooks above Squire's head, and at last 
 forced himself to say, " Nay, Aw wur nobbut 
 thinkin' Aw met try ta preich mysel'." 
 
 " Thee ! " cried Squire, and with aU the effort 
 he made he did not succeed in keeping sui'prise 
 and contempt out either of his face or his 
 voice. 
 
 There was a pause, during which Peter was 
 feeling that he could have crawled into the pro- 
 verbial mouse-hole, whilst Squire was slowly 
 conquering his astonishment and collecting his 
 thoughts. Presently he said, leaning over the 
 counter and speaking in tones of coaxing confi- 
 dence, " Pe, thee an' me's allis bin thick." 
 
 " Aye ! oh, aye," cried Peter, in eager tones. 
 
 "Well, if thaa'U help me, Aw'll help thee." 
 
 "Wilta? Wilta, lad?" and Peter's sallow 
 face beamed with eager delight. 
 
 " Sithi, Pe, if thaa's ony preiching in thi 
 thaas't preich." 
 
 " Shall Aw ? Hey, shall Aw ? " 
 
 "An' if thaa wants ta goa on th' plan thaas't 
 goo on th' plan." 
 
 " ShaH Aw ? Hey, shall Aw ? " 
 
 " Thaa shall, lad, thaa shall ; bud tit fur tat, 
 thaa knows." 
 
 " Oh, aye, aye ! Sithi Aw'll read thi a bit o' 
 this," and Peter was stepping up to the desk to 
 produce his precious manuscript, when Squire 
 laid his hand on his arm, and, checking him, 
 
 14
 
 210 A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 said hastily, " Owd on ; thaa mun dew summat 
 fur me fost." 
 
 " Aw reet, wot dust want ? " 
 
 Squire paused, glanced stealthily round, 
 gripped Peter's arm tightly, and, scowling with 
 a look of intense mystery, earnestly said, 
 " Pe, Aw want get thick wi' Dolly, an' thaa 
 mun help me." 
 
 All the eager light faded out of poor Peter's 
 face ; he went pale to the lips, which trembled 
 as he helplessly licked them. 
 
 But Squire, although he was staring hard 
 at the young grocer, never noticed the change ; 
 he was too intent on his own thoughts and aims 
 to trouble about Peter's feelings. 
 
 " Thaa mun talk tew her abaat me, an' tell 
 me wot hoo says." 
 
 But Peter only licked his lips and stared 
 helplessly before him. 
 
 "An' thaa mun tell her az aw th' wenches 
 i' th' village wants me." 
 
 Still Peter never spoke. 
 
 " An' thaa mmi tell her az Aw'm makkin 
 tew paand a wik, an' mooar." 
 
 Peter heaved a great sigh, and Squire could 
 not help noticing now that something was wrong 
 with his friend. " Pe ! Pe ! wot's up wi' thi ? " 
 he cried, with more of impatience than sym- 
 pathy in his voice. 
 
 " A-a-ax me summat else," stammered Peter, 
 in choking tones.
 
 SILENT SERMON. 211 
 
 " Summat else ! ger aat wi' thi ! Aw want 
 tlii ta dew this. Tli' owcl chap's claan on me an 
 hoo's az f awse az a f oomart, bud Aw'U hev her ! 
 Therr's nowt loike her abaat here, an' Aw'll hev 
 her, if Aw dee fur it." 
 
 Peter looked at his interviewer with gather- 
 ing fear and distress, and pressed against the 
 fixtures as if he would have shrunk through 
 them if he had been able. "Bud Aw 
 conna " 
 
 " Thaa comia ! Thaa con if thaa's a moind, 
 Sithi ; thee keep thi blinkers oppen, an' th' f ost 
 toime az th' owd chap goes aat at neet thee whip 
 raand ta aar haase, an' then leeave it ta me, 
 an' Sithi, Pe, th' fost neet az Aw get her bi 
 herself i' that parlour, thaas't goo tak my 
 appintment." 
 
 But just then the cracked door-bell rang 
 again, and in stepped old Noah. Squire looked 
 confused for a moment, and then putting on a 
 bold face he greeted the grocer effusively, and 
 cracked a clumsy joke about Noah looking " as 
 smart as a snig." But Noah really looked 
 very stern and glum, and stood still, evidently 
 waiting for Squire to finish his business and be 
 gone ; and so, after a, few rather stammering 
 words and a significant look at poor Peter, he 
 hastily departed. 
 
 ^'Wot's yon mon want?" demanded the 
 grocer when the door had closed. 
 
 " Nay nowt j we wur nobbut talkin'.
 
 212 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 "An' dew Aw keep a big bluffin-yed loike 
 thee furt talk ta wastrils loike yond ? " 
 
 " Aw wur nobbut " 
 
 " Thaa wur nobbut — well, if Aw catch yo at 
 it agean Aw'U chuck him aat o' th' shop an' 
 thee efther him, soa Aw'U tell thi! " And 
 with a fierce, threatening look Noah walked 
 forward into the house, and poor Peter was 
 once more alone. 
 
 II. 
 
 For the next five minutes or so Peter bustled 
 noisily about the shop, presumably with a view 
 of convincing his master that he was busy. 
 Then a customer came in, and he talked to her 
 in an unnecessarily loud voice for the same 
 purpose; but although she only wanted three 
 articles, Peter made so many mistakes in 
 serving her that she asked him if he was in 
 love, and appeared by her face to have a fear 
 that something even worse than that was the 
 matter with him. 
 
 When she had gone Peter, heedless evidently 
 of the banter he had just provoked, stood 
 gazing absently at the dusty old ink-pot on the 
 desk with thoughts that were clearly very dis- 
 tressing. As he thought his chin dropped, the
 
 A SILENT SERMON. 213 
 
 corners of liis mouth began to droop patheti- 
 cally, and turning half-round he looked earn- 
 estly at the shelf against the window jamb, 
 and appealing as if for sympathy to the hair- 
 oil and castor -oil bottles before him^ he 
 moaned, " Awm in a bonny pickle naa." 
 
 Then his eyes wandered pleadingly around 
 the shop, as if looking in vain for pity and 
 com.fort, and finally they came slowly back to 
 the manuscript on the desk. His brow cleared 
 a little, he stepped up to the paper and began 
 slowly to scan the writing. Suddenly, who- 
 ever, he started, sprang back, and stood glaring 
 wildly at the document. Then he dashed for- 
 ward again, seized the paper and crushed it in 
 his hands ; then he threw it upon the floor in 
 tragic disgust, and putting his clog upon it, 
 stamped it down on the sanded flags. For 
 some time he stood looking down on the once 
 cherished manuscript, and presently the fierce 
 look on his face began to fade before one of 
 tender concern, the leg holding down the paper 
 grew limp, and then moved just enough to 
 release it. He stood gazing thus for a full 
 minute or more, and ultimately he stooped 
 down and rescued the document, and placing 
 it once more on the desk he carefully straight- 
 ened it out and brushed off the adhering 
 sand. 
 
 "Hey, wot a pickle Awm in," he groaned 
 again, and began to move aimlessly about the
 
 214 A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 shop, as if to divert his painful thoughts by 
 active employment. But Peter did very little 
 real work that night, he groaned deeply every 
 few minutes, made all sorts of absurd mistakes, 
 and at regular intervals groaned out again, 
 " Hey, wot a pickle Awm in ! Hey, wot a 
 pickle Awm in ! " 
 
 When the shop closed that night Peter 
 seemed very reluctant to go home. He loitered 
 about domg odd jobs for the wilful little lady 
 who ruled in the grocery parlour, until Noah 
 lost his temper and inquired if he was intend- 
 ing to sleep there, upon which Peter affected 
 great haste and departed, but forgot his haste 
 as soon as he got clear of the house and 
 dropped, though the wind was still high, into 
 t!io slowest saunter. 
 
 Presently he approached the cottage in 
 I'iuder Hill Lane where he resided with his 
 only relative, a rather gruff and hasty-tempered 
 aunt. 
 
 " Naa then, Gawmliss, dust see wot a puther 
 thaar't makkiii' ? " cried Aunt Jemima, who 
 was fat and squat, with a broad masculine face 
 and a distinct moustache, as Peter opened the 
 door and let in a rough gust of wind. 
 
 The young grocer quietly closed the door 
 after him and proceeded to hang his greasy cap 
 on a peg behind it. , 
 
 As he did so he sighed, and then sidled 
 quietly to a seat already set for him at the
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 215 
 
 table where a large empty basin was waiting 
 his use. 
 
 Jemima, still grumbling, brought the 
 porridge pan from the hob and emptied part 
 of its contents upon the plate, and then brought 
 forth from the pantry a jug of milk, and with 
 a discontented " Theer " set it before her 
 nephew. 
 
 Then she retired to a little low seat near the 
 fire, and commenced to work upon a partly- 
 finished hearthrug. 
 
 And as she worked she watched the unusually 
 gloomy youth at the table. Two or three times 
 she seemed about to speak but did not. At 
 last, rising to her feet and going over to the 
 other side of the fire, where she had a better 
 view of Peter, she asked, brusquely, " Wot's up 
 wi' thi ? " 
 
 " Me ! nowt ! " exclaimed he, with feebly 
 affected surprise. 
 
 Jemima stepped up to her nephew, and 
 giving his shoulder a push so that she could 
 see his face more distinctly she demanded, 
 sternly, « Wot's up. Aw tell thi." 
 
 Peter moved uneasily in his chair, and then, 
 shaking off the hand on his shoulder, he mur- 
 mured, " Dunno meyther me." 
 
 " Arr ta gooin' ta tell me," and Jemima 
 lifted her hand, which for so short a person 
 was a very broad one, and holding it out as if 
 prepared to box his ears demanded once more
 
 216 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 and with increased sternness, " Wot's up wi' 
 thi ? " 
 
 Peter wriggled still more uneasily in liis cliair, 
 and then answered in an injured tone, " Squire 
 says he'll larn me t'preich." 
 
 "Well ! that's wot tha wants, isn't it? An' 
 a bonny mess tha'll mak on it, tew." 
 
 " Bud he wants me ta dew summat fur 
 him." 
 
 " Well ! wun gooid turn desarves anuther, 
 sureli. Wots he want thi ta dew ? " 
 
 " He wants me ta help him ta get thick wi' 
 DoUy." 
 
 " Is that aw ? He met a wanted me bi th' way 
 thaa talks." 
 
 Miserable as he was Peter couldn't help 
 smiling at the grotesque idea suggested by his 
 aunt, but the smile soon died away, and he 
 sighed again and looked more wretched than 
 ever. 
 
 ^' Well," demanded Aunt Jemima, still stand- 
 ing over him, and evidently waiting for more 
 explicit information, " that's yezzy enough, 
 wot's ta hinder thi ? " 
 
 But Peter only shook his head and sighed. 
 
 " Naa then, if he helps thee whey conna thaa 
 help him. Aw should loike f urt know ? " 
 
 Peter threw his head back and shut his eyes 
 tightly, and tm-ning his face to the ceiling he 
 cried piteously, " Aw conna. Aw conna ! " 
 
 Jemima, who under all her roughness loved
 
 A SILENT SERMON. 217 
 
 this nephew of hers as much as mother ever 
 loved her son. was now genuinely alarmed, but 
 as according" to her philosophy she might do 
 anything under the sun rather than show it, 
 she only looked the more grim and uncom- 
 promising as his distress increased, and so in a 
 moment she demanded, "Wot the ferrups dust 
 want, thaa lump-yed ? If hoo wants him tha'll 
 ha nowt ta dew, an' if hoo doesn't want him 
 tha'll ha nowt ta dew ; wot art meythering 
 abaat?" 
 
 " Yo' dunna know. Aunt, yo' dunna know." 
 
 '' Wot dunner Aw know ? " 
 
 " Aw want Dolly mysel'." 
 
 III. 
 
 To say that Aunt Jemima was astonished by 
 the statement with which the last chapter 
 closed would be an altogether inadequate 
 manner of describing her condition. She was 
 simply dumbfounded. It was the very last 
 thing mider the sun she would have expected 
 to hear. And then it was so very distressing. 
 She knew Peter, and in her fond eyes he had 
 no equal. But her strong Lancashire common 
 sense made it impossible to be deluded about
 
 218 A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 him, and she had only too much reason to 
 know his many limitations. She had to admit 
 — to herself, at any rate — that he was not 
 bright, and she was perfectly well aware that 
 her neighbours regarded him as scarcely compos 
 mentis. She knew also how the villagers would 
 laugh at the idea of Peter " puttin' up " for the 
 dainty Dolly Ward, and how much their chaff 
 would irritate her excitable nephew. She had 
 only too much cause to remember also how 
 prone her poor charge was to these ridiculous 
 infatuations how excited he was about them 
 whilst they possessed him, and how ill and 
 miserable he became when he had to abandon 
 them. For years now she had been haunted 
 with a feeling that one day he would have an 
 infatuation that he would not get over, and 
 she felt as she stood looking at him now that if 
 that fatal delusion was to come, this was it. 
 His craze about preaching was bad enough, but 
 this was infinitely worse. 
 
 Peter had always been very delicate. She 
 told people yet, in confidential moments, that 
 she should never "rear" him. He had had 
 about every complaint that a child could have, 
 and it is only doing her the barest justice to 
 say that but for her slavish devotion to him he 
 would not now have been alive. Any great 
 strain, she felt sure, would be fatal to him. 
 This, therefore, was the time for a supreme 
 effort, and she made it. For fully half-an-
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 219 
 
 hour she exerted her very considerable powers 
 of argument to their utmost ; roug-h raillery, 
 vigorous abuse, biting ridicule and coaxing 
 cajolery were all tried, and when these made no 
 impression she at last fell back on a weapon 
 very seldom used by her, and sat down and 
 softly cried. This last argument certainly did 
 seem to affect Peter. He was startled, ashamed, 
 and deeply distressed. He fidgeted about until 
 the chair creaked under him ; then he got up 
 and began to pace about the room. At last he 
 stopped and seemed about to speak, but just 
 then a new idea seems to have entered Jemima's 
 head, for she raised her head, sat staring at 
 her nephew for a moment or two, and then 
 said, abruptly, " Peter." 
 
 " Wot ? " 
 
 " Artna thaa starting o' preichin ? " 
 
 "Aye, wot be that?" 
 
 " Bud tlia'U nobbut be a Local, Aw reacon ? " 
 
 Now this was the first time that his aunt had 
 admitted the possibility of his being able to 
 preach at all ; she was letting the cat out of the 
 bag. She did believe in him. She evidently 
 thought that he might even be thinking of 
 something more than mere lay preaching. 
 Well, if she thought so, why not? This had 
 been beyond his wildest dreams. But if he 
 could preach at all, why not altogether ? He 
 had caught his aunt this time, and would make 
 the most of his opportunity.
 
 220 A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 " Bud Aw mun be a Local f ost ; th' plan f ost, 
 an' th' ministiy eftlier." 
 
 " Bud if thaa goos i' th.' ministry thaa conna' 
 be wed fur a great while. Thaa munna meyther 
 wi' wenches, mon." 
 
 ^^Bud, aunty. Squire 'nil get her." 
 
 " Squire me leg ! Dust think hoo'U bother 
 wi' Squire if hoo sees a chonce of a minister ? " 
 
 Peter's face was a study. Delight and won- 
 derment struggled together upon it. He stood 
 gazing at his aunt in a sort of ecstasy, and at 
 last he rushed at her, and, slapping her heartily 
 on the back, he cried, " By gum, aunt, yo' arr 
 a stunner ! " and Jemima was afraid for a 
 moment that the lad was going to kiss her, but 
 that was a form of caressing they had not 
 indulged in for years. 
 
 And whilst Peter was pacing excitedly about 
 the floor, and talking in broken snatches about 
 his great future, poor Jemima turned her face 
 to the wall, and murmured under her breath : 
 ^' God forgi' me for lyin'. He's aw Aw hev i' 
 th' wold." 
 
 For a full hour after this poor Peter walked 
 about the house and talked and dreamed of his 
 coming pulpit glory, and Aunt Jemima, with 
 many sharp pangs of remorse, encouraged him, 
 and finally sent him off happy and contented to 
 bed. Then she had a bad half -hour with her- 
 self on the hearthstone before retiring, and on 
 her way to rest she paused to listen at Peter's
 
 A SILENT SERMON". 221 
 
 half -open bedroom door. Then, assured by his 
 heavy breathing that he was asleep, she stepped 
 softly into the room and approached his bedside. 
 
 She began to cry again as she stood watch- 
 ing him, and presently she murmured through 
 her tears, ''Bless thi lad, tha's preiching enew 
 i' thi heart if tha's noan i' thi yed," and wiping 
 her wet eyes with the corner of her working 
 brat, she glided softly away to repent of her 
 fibbing and accuse herself of much other 
 wickedness, but not to sleep. 
 
 Next morning Peter was at his work betimes, 
 and was in a tolerably comfortable frame of 
 mind. But just as he was finishing lighting 
 the fire, which was his first task every morning, 
 a soft voice was heard humming a tune up- 
 stairs, and a moment later Dolly came down. 
 Poor Peter ! all his aunt's labours of the pre- 
 vious night were undone in a moment. There 
 was nothing remarkable in Dolly's features ; 
 many a factory girl in Scowcroft could have 
 given her points in that respect. But not one 
 of them had such a radiant skin, or such bright 
 sunny eyes, and her hair, such a mass of fluffy 
 golden glory was it, that that alone would have 
 made her beautiful. Peter felt his heart jump, 
 and her gay '^Mornin', Pe Lad," sent such a 
 thrill through him that he was glad to escape 
 into the shop. And here, as he dusted the 
 counter and polished the scales, he was fighting 
 his battle over awain. How could he srive her
 
 222 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 up even in pretence and only for a time? 
 BesideSj if she was to wait for hini to become 
 a minister, slie must know that he was intending 
 to be one, and for the life of him he dared not 
 tell her. Moreover, wouldn't his aunt's won- 
 derful plan involve deceit and treachery towards 
 his friend Squire ? How could anything- 
 prosper if there was falsehood in it ? He must 
 find some other way of worldng the details of 
 his plan, or rather his aunt must, for she had 
 to do ail the scheming for both of them. At 
 any rate, for the present he would do what he 
 had promised to Squii-e, and God would bring 
 it all right, with the help of his aunt. A 
 moment later a bright voice from the house 
 called him to breakfast. 
 
 " Pe," cried Miss Dolly, as he drew up to the 
 table, " thaa lewks bonny an' peart this morn- 
 in' ; wot's up wi' thi ? " 
 
 Peter's heart nearly came into his mouth. 
 Now for it ! But he would do what he had 
 promised. 
 
 ^'Nay, nowt," he answered, with a tell-tale 
 quaver in his voice. ^' Aw wur thinking abaat 
 yo'." 
 
 " Me ! Naa, Pe, noan o' thi bother ! Wot 
 abaat me ? " 
 
 ^' Aw know sumbry as loikes yo' terble." 
 
 " Aye, it's thee. Aw reacon." 
 
 Oh, what a tumult of struggling feelings 
 rolled over poor Peter's heart all in a moment.
 
 A SILENT SERMON. 223 
 
 Dolly would have been blind indeed if slie had 
 not seen long ago the idolatrous love with 
 which he regarded her, but she never dreamed 
 of it as the love that leads to marriage, and 
 felt at liberty to joke about it, as, in fact, she 
 often had done. It had been one of Peter's 
 difficulties that she always received his atten- 
 tions in this spirit. 
 
 " Nay, it's no me — no this time." 
 
 " Then tha's gan o'er likin' me, has ta ? " and 
 this naughty pussy, playing thus tormentingly 
 with her poor suffering mouse, arched her brows 
 and showed her small white teeth and laughed, 
 whilst her victim went white as the tablecloth, 
 and felt very much like crying. 
 
 It was some time before Peter could speak, 
 but at last he found power to say, " It's sumbry 
 bet-ter tin me — a foine seet." 
 
 And Dolly, who somehow began to suspect 
 that she was giving unintentional pain, answered 
 gently, as she bent over him and pulled at the 
 tuft of hair which even oil could not keep in its 
 place on Peter's forehead, '^ Nay, ther's noabry 
 loikes me better tin thee, is ther, Pe lad ? Bud 
 whoar is it ? " 
 
 And the question at the end of the sentence 
 just saved Peter. He paused, choked down a 
 sob, and at last blurted out, "It's Squire — 
 Squire Eogg." 
 
 " Him ! " cried Dolly, in disdainful surprise, 
 and she tossed her golden head and looked
 
 224 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 scornful ; but even Peter was able to perceive 
 that her scorn was not very real, and that a 
 gleam of sharp curiosity and pleasure shot into 
 those bewitching eyes. 
 
 '' Hay bur he does loike yo, Dolly — he's i' luv 
 wi' yo." 
 
 Dolly had stepped back a little, but she now 
 came forward again, and putting her hand on 
 the crown of Peter's head she tilted it back 
 until she could look right into his eyes, and 
 then she asked, very deliberately, " Haa does 
 thaa know, Pe ? " 
 
 Peter blinked his eyes and tried to turn his 
 head, but there was no escape from those great 
 grey orbs that were gazing so searchiDgly into 
 his, and so at last he stammered, " He towd me 
 sa hissel." 
 
 " Did he ! It's loike his impidence ! " And 
 then she released her hold upon Peter, and 
 stepping back, surveyed him critically from 
 head to foot, and at last continued : " He's a 
 consated, stuck-up gawby. Whoa'd hev him, 
 dust think?" 
 
 " Hev him ! Whey, Dolly, aw th' wenches i' 
 th' village is efther him." 
 
 « An' dii he tell thee that tew ? " 
 
 But Peter found he had gol; into another 
 tight place, and was just beginning to wriggle 
 uncomfortably in his chair when Dolly's father 
 came downstairs, and Peter made his escape 
 into the shop.
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 225 
 
 IV. 
 
 Before the day was out, however, DoUy had 
 pumped poor Peter dry, and by the spirits she 
 seemed to be in and the way she sang about 
 the house he was compelled to conclude that 
 the information pleased her, and he was at 
 liberty to proceed to the next step in the 
 negotiations. 
 
 After tea he noticed, as he expected, that 
 Squire was hovering about the shop outside, 
 and so, taking his cue, though with a heavy 
 sigh, he slipped out at the back door, having 
 previously given Squire the arranged sign. 
 When he returned, having stayed away as long 
 as he deemed it prudent, he found Squire lean- 
 ing over the counter and talking earnestly to 
 Dolly, who was propped against the fixtures as 
 far away from her wooer as she could get, and 
 looking very demure, though Peter could see 
 instantly that the two were already on very 
 friendly terms. 
 
 Next night Squire came again, and stayed 
 even longer, and on the third visit, when Peter 
 returned to the shop, the two, instead of part- 
 ing, adjourned to the house^ and the lover 
 stayed quite a long time. 
 
 This sort of thing went on for about a fort- 
 night, and Peter began to wonder when his 
 
 15
 
 226 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 instructions in the art of sermonising would 
 commence. 
 
 One night, however, when Squire, after stay- 
 ing longer than usual, came out of the inner 
 room he looked more than usually elated, and 
 turning back, he came up to the counter where 
 the young grocer was engaged, and gripping 
 him tightly by the arm, he cried, excitedly, 
 '' Awve getten her, lad ! Awve getten her ! 
 Hay, Pe, hoo is a clipper ! hoo is, fur shure." 
 
 Peter, to whom the news came like a death- 
 knell, was just opening his mouth to mention 
 the subject of sermonising, when a deep, 
 struggling cough was heard outside, and as 
 they both knew that this was the sign that 
 Noah was returning from his usual chat at 
 Miles Grimshaw's, Squire, pulling himself to- 
 gether, made for the door, and meeting Dolly's 
 father with an airy " Good neet, Noah," he 
 hastened away, leaving Peter to bear the brunt 
 of Noah's wrath for keeping the shop open so 
 much after time. 
 
 And now our young friend began to be tor- 
 tured with most painful self -accusations for 
 deceiving his employer. Noah had taken him 
 when the doctor had said that he was not fit to 
 work any longer in the mill, and it seemed to 
 poor Peter to be the very basest deceit to 
 conceal from him what was going on in his 
 absence. On the other hand, it would not do to 
 get Dolly into trouble, and after all this seemed
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 227 
 
 to be tlie only way open to the great goal of 
 his hopes, so he smothered down his feelings 
 and heartily wished the business was at an 
 end. 
 
 Now the formality of asking the young lady's 
 father was not generally observed in Scowcrof t ; 
 the parents being left, as a rule, to find these 
 things out for themselves. And in this case 
 Squire, though a most ardent lover, seemed to 
 be, for some reason, exceedingly anxious that 
 the thing should be kept from Noah, at least 
 for the present. And to tell the whole truth, 
 Dolly found that the secrecy of her courtship 
 added so much spice to it that she was almost 
 as anxious as her lover to keep the thing a 
 secret for a little while. During these occur- 
 rences, therefore, she was unusually kind to 
 Peter, on whom they both to some extent de- 
 pended for protection, and that youth was 
 expecting that every time he came Squire would 
 make some proposition about the preaching 
 lessons, and so was more content to be kept at 
 the shop as a cover for the courters than he 
 otherwise might have been. All the same he 
 grew very impatient, and at last one night when 
 Squire was departing he found Peter dressed 
 ready to go home, and was a little surprised 
 when he joined him at the door, and made as if 
 he would walk along with him. Squire didn't 
 like it, but there seemed no help for it, and 
 besides Peter was such a simple fellow that it
 
 228 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 would be easy enough to shake him off when- 
 ever he wanted. 
 
 As they walked along Peter seemed at a loss 
 for something to say. He mentioned that it 
 was "a sloppy neet," a second, and then a 
 moment or two after a third time. He seemed 
 to be about to say something two or three times 
 and then changed his mind, and at last as they 
 drew near to Squire's door he stopped sud- 
 denly in the middle of the path, and with a 
 nervous, anxious face he managed to squeeze 
 out, " Squire, when arr ta goin' furt tak me 
 wi' thi ta preich ? " 
 
 " Preich ! " and then he suddenly remembered 
 and went on, " Oh aye, Aw'll tak thi some day, 
 lad. Good neet ! " and leaving Peter standing 
 in the lane, he disappeared hastily into the 
 house. Peter got no sleep that night, but next 
 evening he joined his friend again and reminded 
 him of his promise, only to be rebuffed more 
 rudely than before. Then Squire took to 
 avoiding the wovild-be preacher by going out at 
 the back door of the groceiy, although he of 
 course gave Dolly some other reason for so doing. 
 This went on for about a week, Peter mean- 
 while suffering untold agonies of anxiety and 
 fear. On the following Monday night, however, 
 he resolved to be " up sides wi' Squire," and so 
 leaving the shop at the usual time, he lingered 
 about the entrance of the back-yard until 
 Squire shovdd appear.
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 229 
 
 He had not to wait long, for Noah had grown 
 suspicious of late that all was not as it ought 
 to be at the shop, and so he retui-ned earher 
 than usual. Squire, taken somewhat by sur- 
 prise and greatly disappointed, was compelled 
 to make a sudden bolt for it, and in doing so, 
 ran straight into the arms of Peter. 
 
 " Naa then, lump-yed, ger aat o' me road, 
 wilta," he cried, as he pulled up and discovered 
 with whom he had collided. 
 
 " Squire, Squire," began Peter, " tha pro- 
 mised, tha knows." 
 
 " Promised ! whoa promised ? Wot did Aw 
 promise ? " shouted the angry lover. 
 
 " Ta tak me ta try fui't preich." 
 
 " Thee preich ! thaa great cawf-yed ! ger aat 
 o' me seet ! " and giving the too-confiding Peter 
 an angry push that sent him staggering into a 
 filthy ditch, he disappeared into the darkness. 
 
 Peter, all wet and muddy, scrambled out of 
 the water, and stood looking in a dazed and 
 woe-begone manner in the direction Squire had 
 taken. It was all over now ; even to his dull 
 wits the truth came home that Squire had never 
 really intended to help him in his great ambi- 
 tion. Slowly and sadly he began to move 
 towards home. Before coming into Aunt 
 Jemima's presence, however, it was necessary 
 to decide upon his course of action, and it 
 seemed to him, when he was sufficiently re- 
 covered to be able to think, that it would be
 
 230 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 best for the present to say nothing to her. She 
 was verj violent when really roused, and might 
 make matters worse by letting out Dolly's 
 secret, which seemed to him to be a sacred 
 thing to be hidden in his heart until the proper 
 time to reveal it came. Whatever else he must 
 be faithful to Dolly. 
 
 Contriving, therefore, though with consider- 
 able difficulty, to get into the cottage and up- 
 stairs without revealing his condition, he 
 hastily removed his wet garments, and then 
 waited until he heard his aunt go into her own 
 bedroom, when he slipped down into the little 
 back scullery and washed himself, and was quite 
 comfortable before Jemima reappeared. 
 
 For two or three days Peter went about 
 scarcely knowing where he was. For besides 
 the ill-treatment he had received he was nearly 
 heart-broken at the thought that his grand 
 dream of being a preacher had been destroyed, 
 and he had nothing in life to think about. 
 
 And every day he seemed to feel his disap- 
 pointment more and more. It took away his 
 appetite and exposed him to constant and very 
 awkward questions both from his aunt and 
 Dolly. His faith in his fellow-men had 
 received a rude shock, and he felt lonely and 
 miserable. But to have to give up the idea of 
 preaching ! that was the bitterest thought of 
 all. 
 
 But before long his thoughts were turned
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 231 
 
 into a different channel, and his own sufferings 
 were forgotten in liis concern for his beloved 
 Dolly. Every Thursday he had to go to an 
 adjoining village to take parcels of groceries, 
 and was often somewhat late in getting back. 
 On this particular week he was later than usual 
 owing to an accident to the little cart he drove. 
 As he was returning, sitting in his trap and 
 musing on the topic which was with him night 
 and day, he observed a couple of courters a 
 little way on before him. There was nothing 
 very remarkable in that, to be sure, but Peter 
 thought that the female looked rather like his 
 mistress Dolly, and just as he got up to them 
 the moon, which had been for a moment behind 
 a cloud, came out again and shone straight 
 down on the man. It was Squire Fogg, and 
 therefore the young woman with him must be 
 Dolly, as she was of about the same height and 
 figure. 
 
 It had got to that then. They were " walk- 
 ing out " in the regular fashion, and as the young 
 lady clung very close indeed to her companion 
 he could only conclude that she liked this 
 even better than indoor courtship. And now 
 Peter felt his own deep love for Dolly suddenly 
 awakening. Oh ! how sweet it would be to have 
 her walking by his side and leaning on his 
 arm like that. But that was now for ever 
 impossible — somebody else had got her, and got 
 her with his assistance and as the result of a
 
 232 A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 mean trick. Peter could scarcely sit in his 
 seat. He longed to go and tear his young 
 mistress out of the arms that were now 
 encircling her. But did she know what a mean 
 liar and deceiver the man she was learning to 
 love was ? Ought he to let her marry without 
 telling her ? If she married and was unhappy 
 he felt as if he should go mad. Oh ! what a 
 predicament for a poor lad to be in. Just then 
 the pony turned into the croft, and a moment 
 later pulled up at the grocery. Peter had a 
 "bundle from the dressmaker's for the mistress, 
 and so taking it out of the cart he carried it 
 through the shop into the house. But as he 
 opened the door he came to a sudden stand, 
 and the bundle dropped from his nerveless 
 grasp, for there, sitting cosily by the fire, was 
 DoUy. 
 
 *^ Dolly ! " he gasped, and then, what with 
 one thing and what with another, Peter had a 
 sudden and awful sense of overwhelming 
 pressure and slipped down on the mat in a dead 
 swoon. 
 
 V. 
 
 When Peter came to himself he found that 
 he was reclining on the big long-settle under the 
 little Avindow that looked into the shop. Some- 
 body was evidently propping him up, and feeling
 
 A SILENT SERMON. 233 
 
 something warm beating behind his ear he 
 glanced up and discovered that he was leaning 
 on Dolly's breast, and that her soft left arm 
 was encircling him. 
 
 " Arr ta badly, Pe ? " murmured a low, sym- 
 pathetic voice close to his ear. 
 
 " Hey, neaw — Awm bet-ter naa," and in con- 
 firmation of this statement he immediately 
 fainted away again. 
 
 When he recovered Dolly's arm was still 
 round him, and a warm, wet little cheek was 
 being pressed against his. " Poor lad," she 
 murmm-ed. " Poor Pe ! Arr ta bet-ter ? " and 
 she bent down and kissed him. 
 
 Better ! Peter didn't want to be better if 
 that was being ill. He was in heaven, and the 
 kiss was like the kiss of an angel. Then he 
 opened his eyes and saw the grocer standing 
 looking at him on the door-mat. 
 
 Noah lingered about a few minutes asking 
 Peter every moment or two how he ''felt 
 hissel'," and then went off into the yard to put 
 up the pony. 
 
 And by this time Peter had somewhat 
 recovered, and was sitting up and leaning 
 against the end of the "settle," whilst Dolly 
 fussed and crooned about him until the delighted 
 lad began to feel quite spoilt. 
 
 Then she brought a cup of hot tea with a 
 little whisky in it and compelled him to drink 
 it. He felt better after this, and began to try
 
 234 A SILENT SEEMOK. 
 
 to compreliend the situation and decide upon 
 some coui'se of action. 
 
 " Haa lijHg is it sin Squire left ? " he asked, 
 cautiously, as the maiden took the empty cup 
 from him. 
 
 " Left ? — he's no bin here ta neet ; wot fur ? " 
 
 Peter paused a moment before answering, 
 and then he said, looking earnestly into the 
 face still bent over him, " H-a-y, Dolly, yo dew 
 loike him, dudna yo ? " 
 
 " Naa, Pe, ger aat wi' thi ; Aw loike thee a 
 foine seet bet-ter." 
 
 Peter felt his head beginning to swim again. 
 Oh, why was she so cmelly kind ? He knew 
 she didn't mean it — not in the sense he desired, 
 at any rate. Oh, what was he to do? He 
 might be able to give her up himself ; he would 
 do that whatever it cost him. He knew that he 
 was in no sense the kind of fellow Dolly would 
 fancy. But then he loved her with all the power 
 that he possessed, and he could not see her 
 giving herself away to a man who was already 
 deceiving her. The woman he saw with Squire 
 could not possibly have been Dolly ; there could 
 be no doubt whatever that the two he saw in the 
 lane were on the most loving terms with each 
 other. Was his darling mistress, who was fit 
 to be the bride of a duke, to be a mere second 
 string to a base man's bow ! It was not to be 
 thought of for an instant. Poor Peter was not 
 very quick as a rule, but in this case love made
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 235 
 
 him keen, and he racked his poor brain, as he 
 sat looking at the glowing fire, to try and decide 
 what was the right thing to do m^der the cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 He decided to do nothing for the present. 
 He would go home and think about it and per- 
 haps, if that seemed the best course, consult his 
 aunt. 
 
 He sat thinking and resting on the end of the 
 long settle for some time, and at last, announc- 
 ing that he felt " Aw reet naa,' he got up to go 
 home. Dolly wanted him to wait until her 
 father came in that he might help him on the 
 road, but Peter, declaring again that he felt 
 " Aw reet," went ofP by himself. The air out- 
 side was very refreshing, and he felt himself 
 improving every step he took. He would not 
 go indoors yet, he would walk about a little and 
 think. 
 
 " Hello, Pe ! is that thee, lad ? Aw wur just 
 seeching thee." 
 
 "The voice sent a thrill through Peter's 
 frame — it was the voice of Squire. Not a word 
 could Peter get out. He turned round to face 
 his enemy, but only stared at him with a dazed 
 and terrified look. 
 
 " Awm planned at Baalamb Fowt o' Sunday ; 
 wilt come and thry ? " 
 
 But Peter was beyond all that now. The 
 desire to preach was as strong within him as 
 ever, but even if he could have trusted this
 
 236 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 plausible tempter, his own interests were not 
 to be considered for a moment where the 
 happiness of sweet mistress Dolly came. 
 " Neaw, Aw winna/' he answered, with 
 peremptory fierceness, and glared at Squire 
 as though he would have liked to fly at his 
 throat. 
 
 " Hello ! thart huffed, arta ? Christians 
 should furgive an' furget, tha knows ; it's a 
 noice little place ta start at is th' fowt." 
 
 *' Awst no goo ! Awst niver goo wi' thee, 
 thaa lyin' wastril thaa." 
 
 And though Squire disregarded Peter's offen- 
 sive tone, and argued and coaxed for several 
 minutes, he only made Peter more resolute and 
 abusive. 
 
 And now Peter wanted to get away, and 
 turned in the direction of home. 
 
 " Pe ! Pe ! here, lad, dunna goo yet ! A-a- 
 hast towd Dolly wot tha seed ta neet ? " 
 
 " Towd her ! Neaw ! bur Aw will dew if Aw 
 live till th' morn." 
 
 For fully ten minutes the embarrassed lover 
 argued with Dolly's champion to bring him to a 
 different mind, but without the slightest success. 
 Peter, in fact, only grew the angrier, and said 
 the more provoking things as Squire became 
 more and more oily and persuasive. At last 
 his patience seemed to become exhausted, and 
 as another idea suddenly struck him he put on 
 a look of fierce anger, and shaking his fist in
 
 A SILENT SERMON. 237 
 
 Peter's flushed face he cried, "Sithi! if tha 
 does tell her Aw'll, I — Aw'll knock thi brains 
 aat." 
 
 "Knock 'em aat then, Awst tell her." 
 No sooner said than done. In a moment 
 the hard fist of the infuriated Squire flew 
 into Peter's face, and he went staggering 
 into the hedge, whilst his now terrified 
 assailant rushed frantically from the spot. 
 Half an hour later, as Eeuben Tonge, the 
 sandman, was returning from one of his 
 rounds, he thought he heard a moan in the 
 hedge bottom, and glancing down he could 
 make out indistinctly something very like a 
 human form. He stopped the never too eager 
 pony and got out, only to discover the prostrate 
 and partly conscious Peter. In a few minutes 
 the wounded yovith had been gently laid in the 
 cart bottom, and Pablo was being led along at a 
 pace that exactly suited his tastes, but was not 
 very often possible with so energetic a master. 
 Now there happened to be a heap of stones 
 lying just where Peter had fallen, and as he 
 was found with half his face upon the heap, 
 Reuben concluded that he had fainted and 
 fallen upon them. And what Dolly told, 
 immediately she knew of the affair, of Peter 
 fainting in their house, seemed so exactly to fit 
 in with the idea that when Peter came to full 
 consciousness next morning he found that view 
 of the case so generally accepted that it was a
 
 238 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 relief to him in liis feeble condition to allow the 
 explanation to stand until such times as he was 
 fit to think and decide upon a course of action. 
 Alas ! it was many a day before he reached that 
 state, and when he did so he found that Squire, 
 who was one of the first to hear this version, 
 and took courage from it, had already got very 
 much further on with his ardent courtship, and 
 that Noah had discovered it and had raised no 
 more serious objection than a sulky grumble. 
 Poor Peter ! he was now in a worse fix than 
 ever. When Dolly really liked anybody she 
 did like them, and was their uncompromising 
 and almost intolerant defender. Squire was 
 just the man to make the most of his oj)portun- 
 ities, and had such a way with women that 
 Peter felt certain that by this time she was 
 head over ears in love with her suitor. 
 
 What was he to do ? He had allowed the 
 popular version to go uncontradicted so long that 
 he couldn't very well bring forth any other now. 
 And yet he could not warn Dolly without giving 
 some reason, and if he began his tale he knew 
 that he would be compelled to finish it. 
 
 Meanwhile Squire was making the most 
 of his chance. He was very uneasy and 
 very apprehensive as to what Peter might 
 do or say. He determined therefore to, if 
 possible, anticipate any trouble by inducing 
 Dolly to think less highly of her champion. 
 He began, one night, to drop hints as to
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 239 
 
 Peter's soundness of mind, and was surprised 
 to find how quietly Dolly took it, although he 
 did not quite like or in fact understand, 
 the look she gave him as he was speaking. 
 Then he ventured further, and was just 
 about to make his first serious point, when 
 Dolly suddenly flamed up, and for the 
 next five minutes he could not believe his 
 own ears. She stood up to it; she clenched 
 her little fist, she stamped, and before 
 she had done there was not a doubt 
 left in his mind as to the place poor Peter held 
 in his lady-love's affections. It was clear to 
 him, therefore, that he would have to make his 
 peace with Peter by some means, though by 
 what was not at all apparent. Upon his next 
 visit to Dolly, however, an unexpected oppor- 
 tunity presented itself. He had begun to 
 inquire very earnestly about Peter's health, 
 when he suddenly noticed a tear rise into her 
 grey eyes, and her face became very grave. On 
 inquiry he found that the doctor had expressed 
 some doubts as to his patient's ultimate 
 recovery, and had recommended a prolonged 
 rest and change of air. A horrible fear took 
 possession of him. What if he should find 
 himself charged with Peter's death ? Recover- 
 ing himself, however, he reahsed that this was 
 his opportunity. If Peter could be got out of 
 the way until the marriage was over he could 
 take care of himself afterwards. Besides, what
 
 240 A SILENT SERMOIN'. 
 
 a fine opportunity was presented for getting 
 into Dolly's favour by playing the generous 
 patron to Peter. That was the plan ! Having 
 once seen his chance. Squire was not long in 
 making use of it. The very next forenoon, 
 when he knew that Aunt Jemima would be at 
 the mill, he made his way to Peter's residence. 
 
 " Art in, Pe ? " he asked, as he opened the 
 door. 
 
 "Aye, Aw'm in, and Aw want f/tee." And 
 Peter, white to the lips and trembling all over, 
 stood up to receive his visitor. 
 
 "Thaa wants me? Wot dust want?" And 
 though the tone was low and wheedling, the 
 expression on the speaker's face was one of 
 keen anxiety. 
 
 *' Wot 'ud Dolly say if hoo knew wot Aw 
 know ? " 
 
 " Naa, Pe ; come, lad ! Sithi " 
 
 And then, after appealing very earnestly to 
 the generosity and good nature of his friend, 
 he unfolded the scheme that meant so much to 
 his own future prosj)ects. Peter listened so 
 attentively to Squire's plausible plan that he 
 thought he was going to succeed right away, 
 especially as it was offered with an expression of 
 sorrow and as some atonement for the injury 
 done. But when he had finished Peter paused 
 a moment, and then said, quietly, '' Squire, 
 Aw'U agree ta aw as thaa says, if thaa'U gi' 
 Dolly up."
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 241 
 
 " Grive her up ! Aw'll dee fost! " 
 
 " An Aw'll dee afoor thaa's t' liev her." 
 
 VI. 
 
 And there the two stood, white and excited, 
 and glaring at each other in fierce defiance. 
 Squire looked as if he could have torn the frail 
 figure before him to pieces, but as this was not 
 his cue for the moment he dropped his eyes, 
 relaxed his clenched fist, and then commenced 
 to coax again. But Peter was not to be moved ; 
 the more Squire talked the more obdurate he 
 became. Then the desperate man suddenly 
 changed his tactics. Turning from his rival, 
 he dropped into a chair with a gesture of impa- 
 tience, and commenced to glower at the fire. 
 Presently he began to look very sorrowful, then 
 he sighed, and, leaning back in his chair, 
 closed his eyes and seemed in deep and very 
 troubled thought. Then he sighed again^ and 
 more heavily ; and at last, bursting into tears, he 
 gripped Peter's arm tightly, and cried in appar- 
 ently deep distress, " Pe, Aw've dun wrung — 
 wrung ta thee, wrung ta Dolly, an' wrung ta 
 iverybody ! Aw'm a wastril ! Pe, Aw'm a 
 sinner ! Aw'm nowt else ! " 
 Peter was visibly relenting. 
 
 16
 
 242 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 "Oh, Pe, wot mun Aw dew? Aw'm a 
 sinner ! Aw'm a wastril ! Lord ha' massy 
 on me." 
 
 ^' Happen God 'ull f orgi thi, lad," stammered 
 Peter, his eyes swimming- with tears. 
 
 " He winna ! He conna ! Aw'm ta bad ; bud 
 Aw did it aw fur luv o' Dolly." 
 
 That was sufficient. Peter felt that a man 
 mig-ht be forgiven for almost anything he 
 might do for his dear mistress's sake, and so, 
 with quivering lips and streaming eyes, he 
 cried, eagerly, " Yi ! He will, lad ! He'll forgi 
 thi just naa, a — a — an' soa will Aw." 
 
 "Wilta, Pe— wilta? God bless thi, lad!" 
 and seizing the limp hand of the poor fellow he 
 was deceiving, he shook it fervidly, and blessed 
 him again and again. 
 
 It was soon settled after that they were to be 
 fast friends henceforth, and Peter was to help 
 him to get Dolly as soon as possible. 
 
 But Peter had forgotten for the moment 
 Squire's second sweetheart, and when he sud- 
 denly remembered her he tui'ned stubborn 
 again. But Squire had a very easy explanation 
 of that. She was a girl who had ^^meythered 
 his life aat," and he was free to admit that he 
 had been " a bit sawft wi' her." But it was all 
 over. The night Peter saw them together was 
 the last time he had seen her, and he only 
 \dsited her then to finally break with her. 
 " Clippin " ? Yes, they were " clippin " — at
 
 A SILENT SERMON. 243 
 
 least, she was, and he had put up with it as 
 best he could because it was the last time. 
 
 And so the two were reconciled, and Peter, 
 though he still declined Squire's offer of a 
 holiday at Southport, expressed himself as very 
 grateful. As Squire was departing he turned 
 back. 
 
 *^ An', Pe, lad, thaa'll put a good word in fur 
 me when thaa sees Dolly ? " 
 
 " Aw will, lad — Aw will " ; and Peter beamed 
 upon his penitent friend with a look of trustful 
 confidence and pleasure. 
 
 But the crafty hypocrisy he practised upon 
 Peter availed its author nothing*, for, a few days 
 later, a young woman about Dolly's age and 
 height called at the grocery. Before she left 
 she had established a claim upon the deceitful 
 Squire that satisfied his fiancee, and filled her 
 with an indignation that was almost terrible to 
 behold. Happily, she found that her affection 
 was not so deeply engaged as might have been 
 expected. She possessed quite her share of that 
 dislike of '^' bounce" so characteristic of the 
 people of her county, and had never been as 
 entirely satisfied with her lover as he, in his 
 vanity, had imagined. 
 
 It was almost a relief to her to have done 
 with the business ; but that did not prevent her 
 making Squire's punishment as severe as she 
 could. 
 
 When her visitor had gone and she had had
 
 244 A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 time to recover herself, she sent for her 
 father out of the shop, and then sent for her 
 lover. 
 
 He came eagerly enough, but after listening 
 to his angry sweetheart for ten minutes he was 
 only too glad to depart, and Noah was so 
 delighted with the way his daughter had 
 " combed his yure fur him " that he slapped her 
 heartily on the back, and then went off to tell 
 his cronies at Miles's. 
 
 The next night Squire was *' planned" to 
 conduct the week-night service, and Jacky o' th' 
 Gap prophesied that he "wouldn't face up." 
 The others, however, were of a different mind, 
 and so it was left to Jimmy the Scutcher to 
 " heckle " him if he did. 
 
 Now it happened that Peter did not hear of 
 what had transpired that night, and came down 
 to the grocery next day unconscious of any 
 change. When he asked his young mistress 
 what was the matter — for Dolly had got over 
 her first indignation and had just been having 
 a quiet little cry when he arrived — she tossed 
 her head, and answered somewhat tartly, ^* It's 
 that wastril of a chap tha fun me." And then 
 she told him all that had happened, and Peter, 
 in his indignation, blurted out something that 
 awakened Dolly's suspicions, and in a few 
 minutes she had compelled him to tell her 
 everything. Dolly's anger was wonderful to 
 see ; she actually shed tears of indignation as
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 245 
 
 he detailed Squire's many deceptions. She was 
 like a mother hearing- the story of some wrong 
 done to her child, and her httle body quivered 
 with scornful resentment. Noah, when he 
 learnt about the matter, was almost worse than 
 his daughter, and waylaid Jimmy on his way 
 from the mill to post him up with these 
 additional particulars. 
 
 Jimmy, who had for years shown an un- 
 accountable prejudice against Squire, received 
 the information with manifest satisfaction, and 
 prepared himself for a good innings. When 
 Squire arrived at the chapel vestry he was 
 somewhat taken aback to see that apartment 
 quite full of men. His heart misgave him, but 
 having no idea that Peter had rounded on him, 
 he prepared to l)rave it out. 
 
 " W-e-1-1, Pe, lad," began Jimmy, in his very 
 blandest tones, " arta i' good fettle ? " 
 
 " Aw'm reet enough ; wheer's th' liymn- 
 bewk?" 
 
 Jimmy was sitting on the hymn-book ; but 
 without moving he followed Squire with his 
 protuberant eye as he hung up his hat, and, 
 then, disregarding his inquiry, he dropped into 
 an, if possible, oilier tone, and asked, " Wot's it 
 goin' ta be ta-neet ? " 
 
 But Squire was not relieved ; Jimmy was 
 never so dangerous as when he adopted this 
 tone, and the others had looks on their faces 
 which confirmed his worst suspicions, and so he
 
 246 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 answered, sulkily : " Tha'U yer it sewn enuff — 
 wheer's th' hymn-bewk ? " 
 
 " Aye, Aw reacon sa ; Squire con ta preich 
 off ony text — reet off, tha knows ? " and Jimmy 
 really looked so very innocent that Squire began 
 to wonder whether there really was any reason 
 to feel as much alarmed as he actually was. 
 But the presence of so large a company, and 
 the mysterious absence of the hymn-book were 
 not reassuring, and so, at a loss to know what 
 to think, he answered : " Awm no goin' t' dew 
 ta neet — whoas getten th' hymn-bewk ? " 
 
 As he spoke "the Ijuneasy preacher lifted his 
 head and glanced at the faces of the men who 
 were seated around the room, and meeting in 
 every eye stern and menacing looks he quailed 
 visibly and began to think it time to beat a 
 retreat. " Well yo' con tak th' bewk an' th» 
 sarviss, tew ! " he cried, angrily, and turned to 
 the door. But as he did so Quiet William rose 
 from his seat and placed his big body against 
 the entrance in a manner that was unmistak- 
 able. 
 
 " Nay ! Nay ! dunno goa, lad," drawled 
 Jimmy, in mock expostulation ; we want t' yer 
 thi preich. Ween getten a text fur thee, tew." 
 
 Squire was now fairly at bay. He was also 
 beginning to be very frightened, and so his one 
 desire was to get out of the room by some means 
 or other ; dissembling, therefore, he answered, 
 " Well, wot is it ? "
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 247 
 
 But Jimmy was enjoying himself too much 
 to be in any hurry^ and so, looking beamingly 
 upon his victim, he said, " Hay, it's a grand 
 text ! If ther's awmbry i' this wold con preich 
 off it, thaa con ! " 
 
 " Wot is it ? " 
 
 " It's sumwheer i' th' Saams — Jacky, just 
 reich me that theer Bible." 
 
 With slow and painful deliberation the tor- 
 mentor turned over the leaves of the sacred 
 book, pausing every now and again as if to 
 recollect where the text he was seeking was. 
 Meanwhile, Squire had glanced more than once 
 towards the door again, but William was there 
 still, and looked too stern to encourage the idea 
 of a rush. 
 
 ^' Oh, it's here," cried the tantalising Jimmy 
 at length. ^' Hay, it's a topper ; thaa could 
 preich aw neet off it, Squire." 
 
 " Wot is it, mon ? Wot is it ? " 
 
 *^ Saam a hundred an' wun, voss seven — just 
 lend me thy specs, Jacky." 
 
 Jimmy took the glasses, laboriously breathed 
 upon them, carefully wiped them with his 
 pocket handkerchief, and then read out : 
 
 "^ He that worlceth deceit shall not dwell within 
 My house ; he that telleth lies shall not tarry in 
 My sight.'' 
 
 There was a deadly stillness in the room for 
 a moment, during which Jimmy was still bent 
 over his book, evidently musing deeply. All at
 
 248 A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 once he rose to his feet_, and snatching off the 
 ill-fitting glasses he lifted his head and looked 
 at the wretched Squire as though he would 
 wither him with his glance. 
 
 " Thaa lyin' slotch ! thaa brazened tew-f aced 
 hypocryte, thaa ! ger aat o' God's haase." 
 
 But Squire could stand it no longer. With 
 a cry like an enraged beast he sprang at his 
 tormentor, and would doubtless have done 
 him serious mischief. But just then Quiet 
 William's great arms were thrown around him, 
 and he was dragged, foaming at the mouth, 
 into the croft, and then flung out into the 
 darkness. And from that time Scowcroft knew 
 Squire no more. 
 
 When the details of the gay deceiver's treat- 
 ment of Peter became known in the village the 
 sick youth found himself astonishingly and 
 delightfully popular, his friends vying with 
 each other in showing him all sorts of little 
 kindnesses. This notwithstanding, Peter grew 
 visibly weaker under their eyes, and Miles 
 Grimshaw went about prophesying all the 
 dreadful doom that awaited Squire if "Owt 
 happens yond pooer lad." 
 
 But the doctor removed all danger of that by 
 declaring that, although the blow he had 
 received had been a shock to him, yet he was 
 far gone before that, and nothing could long 
 postpone the end. This deepened the sym- 
 pathy shown to the sufferer, and gave great
 
 A SILENT SEEMON. 249 
 
 distress to Aunt Jemima and Dolly. Every 
 day now Noah was dispatched early in the fore 
 noon to bring Peter down to the grocery, and 
 he stayed there until his aunt fetched him 
 home. These were happy days. Dolly fed 
 and coddled and talked to her charge until the 
 time flew by with amazing rapidity, and Peter 
 was always surprised and sometimes even a little 
 disappointed when the evening came. Dolly 
 knew more than anybody else about his great 
 ambition to be a preacher, and drew him out 
 as often as possible on his favourite topic. 
 One day she beguiled him into reading that 
 precious manuscript of his, and discovered to her 
 astonishment that instead of being the feeble, 
 cooing, gentle thing she expected from such 
 an author, it was a terrible denmiciation of 
 sin and sinners, and contained lurid and most 
 realistic descriptions of the miseries of the 
 lost. She never asked for a second edition. 
 
 Now Peter was constantly exercised in his 
 mind as to whether Dolly was not secretly 
 mourning for Squire after all, though her lan- 
 guage was definite enough to satisfy any one. 
 Every now and again, therefore, he brought 
 the conversation round to this subject, and 
 Dolly, to gratify him, talked pretty freely about 
 the matter. One day, when they had become 
 unusually confidential, even for them, Peter, 
 after a longer pause than common, said, 
 " Dolly, wot sooart of a felley wilt liev when
 
 250 A SILENT SEEMON. 
 
 tha does get merrit ? " and Dolly, who was 
 standing on the hearthrug and hanging clean 
 clothes upon a long rack over her head^ and 
 whose only thought was to say something that 
 would please him, answered, " Summat loike 
 thee." 
 
 " Dolly ! " 
 
 But she appeared not to notice his amazed 
 exclamation, and went on as though she were 
 talking to herself, " Bud ther's nooan sa monny 
 loike thee, lad," and then, as a sudden choking 
 came into her throat, she murmured to herself, 
 " An' when ther is God taks 'em." 
 
 There was silence for a moment, and Dolly 
 moved to the other end of the rack, and so 
 came close to her companion. Presently she 
 felt a trembling hand laying hold of her apron, 
 and a husky voice asked, "^ Dolly, docs ta loike 
 me — a that way ? " And Dolly turned and put 
 her hand on the sallow brow of her wooer, and 
 answered, " Wot else ? " 
 
 Peter was some time before he could speak. 
 His words seemed to be choking him, but at 
 last he asked, in eager, wondering tones, *^ Bud 
 tha wodn't merry me if Aw wur weel, Dolly ? " 
 
 And a great gush of feeling came into poor 
 Dolly's heart as she remembered that he never 
 could get well, and, reckless of everything but 
 his pleasure, she replied, stoutly, though with 
 shaking voice, " Wod'nt Aw ? Thee be sharp 
 and get weel and tha'll see."
 
 A SILENT SERMON. 251 
 
 If anything on earth could have saved poor 
 Peter this would have done ; but it was not to 
 be. He lingered all through the winter, and 
 one day in the early spring he passed quietly 
 away in his sleep, and they laid him in the old 
 churchyard beside his mother. Dolly insisted 
 on joining Aunt Jemima as chief mourners, 
 and when the last sacred office had been 
 performed, and the mourners — of whom there 
 was a great company — were turning away from 
 the grave, Aunt Jemima, leaning over the side 
 and looking down upon the plain coffin below, 
 sobbed out, " Bless him ! He'd some grand 
 sarmons in his hert." 
 
 " Aye, if nobbut he could a preiched 'em," 
 sighed Dolly. 
 
 " Them soart o' sarmons doesna need 
 preichin'," said a voice behind them, and Quiet 
 William walked away wiping his eyes.
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT.
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Miles Gkimshaw was in the very worst of 
 humours. Before dinner he had been quite 
 amiable ; twice during the forenoon he had 
 called the long-suffering Dinah " owd chicken," 
 which was the most certain of signs that all 
 was well with him, and was also a form of 
 endearment he only permitted himself to use 
 on very rare occasions. And now ever since 
 about eleven o'clock he had been snapping and 
 snarling at everthing and everybody. Abram 
 Briggs, junior, who had called about his new 
 Sunday coat, was " fair taken to " when, upon 
 offering a very mild and hesitating criticism of 
 its fit, he was called an "awkered, cross-cornered, 
 crow-boggart as noabry c'ad fit " ; and " Tay- 
 wayter Martha," who had called to impart to 
 Dinah a piece of most interesting gossip, went 
 away without ever getting her story told, as 
 Miles fell upon her immediately she entered 
 the house, about her irregular attendance at 
 class. Dinah, seeing how things were, had 
 taken quite miusual pains. with the dinner, but 
 they were apparently all wasted, for the one
 
 256 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 bacon coUop was " brunt tew a coak " (cinder) 
 and the other was " red-raw," whilst potatoes 
 and oat-cake and small beer were all deficient 
 in some way. And when the irascible tailor 
 resumed his work things were no better ; when 
 he couldn't find his wax it was of course 
 because Dinah had mislaid it ; the " smoothin' 
 iron " was cold and the fire never could heat 
 it properly — it was always so full of " ess " 
 (ashes) . 
 
 As for the new plan that had just come in, 
 and was in reality the cause of all this per- 
 turbation. Miles snorted at it, gave vent — as he 
 sat cross-legged on the table, looking at it — to 
 short, sarcastic little laughs, and at last crushed 
 the offending sheet up in his hands and flung it 
 scornfully into the window-bottom, amongst the 
 clippings. 
 
 " For shawm o' thisel, Miles, wot's up wi' th' 
 plan," and Dinah, as she finished putting the 
 dinner-pots away in the side-cupboard, leaned 
 her portly form over the table and rescued the 
 disgraced document. 
 
 "Oh, nowt! Nowt! It's a topper!" and 
 Miles laughed — a loud, sardonic laugh. 
 
 " It's reet enuff fur owt Aw see." 
 
 " Reet enuff ! " And Miles spun round on 
 his seat and down upon the floor, and snatch- 
 ing the plan from Dinah's hands he spread it 
 carefully out on the table. 
 
 " Dust caw that reet ? an that ? " he cried
 
 THE STJPEEINTENDENT. 257 
 
 excitedly, pointing at first one number opposite 
 the name of Scowcrof t, and then another, " Tew 
 hexorters an three on-trials and awth windbags 
 ith circuit." "Reet is it," and Miles burst 
 into another mirthless laugh. 
 
 And Dinah looked as she was commanded? 
 but not at the Scowcrof t appointments at all. 
 She ran her eye over the numbers opposite the 
 circuit chapel, and then those for " Rehoboth," 
 the second chapel, which was in the suburbs of 
 Wallbury, and when she had satisfied herself 
 that No. 7 was not appointed at either of these 
 important places she understood all about her 
 husband's anger, for No. 7 on the circuit plan 
 was Miles Grimshaw. 
 
 She sighed a little, and Miles was just about 
 to explode upon her when the door opened and 
 in walked Miles's particular crony, Jacky o' th' 
 Gap. 
 
 The farmer's coat was open, his scarf hung 
 loose, and his hat was tilted back on his head, 
 whilst his lips were compressed and his eyes 
 rolled about restlessly, all of which were signs 
 that his mind was not at rest. 
 
 " Tha's getten it Aw see," he remarked, stand- 
 ing with his hands behind him and his back to 
 the fire. 
 
 " Getten it ! aye ! an a bonny thing it is," 
 and Miles threw up his chin in disdain, and 
 went sulkily on with his stitching. 
 
 " He owt niver ta mak anuther plan wo '11 his 
 
 17
 
 258 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 wik," and Jacky's lips tightened with grim 
 emphasis, and then glancing round into the 
 right-hand corner of the fire-place he reached 
 out a small bundle of long clays, took down the 
 tobacco-pot from the mantel-piece, and sinking 
 into the nearest seat he commenced to charge, 
 upon which Miles whisked away the garment 
 he was making, and descending to the floor, 
 and standing agressively before his companion 
 asked, fiercely, " Wot did Aw tell thi th' fost 
 time Aw iver clapped een on him ? " 
 
 Jacky evidently did not all at once remember, 
 and threw himself back in his chair, pufiing out 
 a huge volume of smoke and looking medita- 
 tively at the joists above him, but Miles could 
 not wait, and so he went on. ** Aw towd thee 
 i' yond vestry as yond chap' Ud ha wovven his 
 cut i' twelve munth, didn't Aw ? " 
 
 "Tha did, lad," replied the farmer, nodding 
 his head in confirmatory recollection. 
 
 Now, these two men were popular local 
 preachers. Their sermons were expressed in a 
 sort of modified vernacular, and what their 
 utterances lacked in literary grace or grammat- 
 ical correctness they made up in racy point and 
 idiomatic force. This being so, they were often 
 more welcome in local pulpits than more 
 polished, but less interesting preachers, and 
 were always much in request. But the new 
 superintendent, who had only been on the 
 ground since last Conference, now some four
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 259 
 
 months past, had judged them by what he had 
 seen of them in their own village, and in their 
 private capacities, and had only appointed them 
 at the smaller places. And this was the real 
 grievance, and for the next hour or so the 
 minister's ears must have burnt most distress- 
 ingly, for not only his plan-making but every 
 prominent act of his administration since he 
 had been in the circuit was canvassed, and 
 he was roundly condemned as a bungler and a 
 failure. 
 
 Not a single allusion was made, of course, to 
 their own appointments, it was the weak and 
 corrupt favouritism which had given three 
 more "Ministerial " appointments to Mill-houses 
 than to Scowcroft that was stigmatised, and the 
 outrageous folly of sending ^ Hexorters ' Kke 
 Harry Nobby and Fat Rafe " (Ealph) to so im- 
 portant a place as the one they worshipped at 
 and the thoughtlessness of sending ' Owd 
 Dottle " all the way to Greenhalgh Fold in the 
 winter quarter, and the appointment of Dobson 
 at the circuit chapel just because he was a mill- 
 owner and circuit steward. 
 
 *' Aw dunnot know ha yo tew con fur shame 
 o' yer faces," cried Aunt Dinah, out of all 
 patience at last. '^* Yo'n nowt to dew bud lewk 
 at his face ta see wot he is." 
 
 " Wot's thaa know abaat it ? " cried Miles, 
 with an impatient fling of his head. 
 
 ^' Aye ! they sen as th' chap as wur hung at
 
 260 THE SUPEEINTENDBNT. 
 
 th' New Bailey t'otlier day lied a face loike a 
 clierrybim," laughed Jacky, a little uneasily, 
 and they tried to resume their talk, but some- 
 how Dinah's remark had made an impression, 
 and in a few minutes Jacky took his depar- 
 ture. 
 
 Miles couldn't settle to work any more, how- 
 ever, for even though his mind was somewhat 
 relieved by the conversation they had just 
 finished, he already began to feel another 
 distui'bing influence. The super whom they 
 had been so energetically denouncing was 
 coming to tea that day, or, at any rate, he 
 was expected to do bo. It was the week-night 
 service night, and, besides that, it was the day 
 for holding the annual Leaders' meeting — 
 always an important event at Scowcroft. As 
 has been explained in a previous chapter, official 
 affairs were conducted on somewhat original 
 principles in this village. The " Grave and 
 reverend seigniours " settled everything in their 
 informal councils, either at Miles's house, or 
 when lingering behind in the vestry. The 
 supers were not supposed to know this, of 
 course, but they must have been guileless men 
 indeed if the very perfunctory and expeditious 
 manner in which business was got through did 
 not awaken their suspicions. By the time, how- 
 ever, that the good men had found out how 
 they were manipulated they had also generally 
 conceived considerable respect for and confi-
 
 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 261 
 
 dence in those who thus hoodwinked them, and 
 were content to let well alone. But there was 
 always an element of uncertainty about the 
 first oiRcial meeting- held by a new chief, and 
 the arrangements for his regulation had to be 
 made with special care. It is necessary to ex- 
 plain also that there was a very rigidly pre- 
 served official ring at Scowcroft, and the chief 
 positions of honour rotated upon a well- under- 
 stood and jealously preserved plan, from which 
 no departure could be made. On the occasion 
 of which we are speaking the outgoing officials 
 were Miles and Abram Briggs, and it had been 
 arranged according to precedent that Jimmy 
 the Scutcher and Noah were to succeed them, 
 and it was Miles's duty to get the absolute 
 necessity of these appointments, and no other, 
 fixed in the minister's mind during the time 
 that they were drinking tea together. Miles, 
 therefore, got himself washed and dressed in his 
 meeting coat, and sat down before the fire to 
 await the arrival of his spiritual superior, whilst 
 Dinah made ready a quite wonderful tea. 
 Things that had not seen the light of day for 
 months were brought out of the cupboard, for 
 only the very best that they had was to be 
 given to the minister, even though he was, as 
 far as they could see, a somewhat unsatisfactory 
 character. 
 
 But the minister did not come ; the tea hour 
 arrived, but still no super. Miles was indig-
 
 262 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 
 
 nant ; it was just like him ! He had never 
 expected anything else. He was no more fit to 
 manage a circuit than he was fit to fly. Super 
 or no super he would have his tea. Half an 
 hour passed, Miles filling up the time with long 
 and scathing denunciations of the new preacher 
 and all his ways. Then he insisted on having 
 his tea, *'^ Parson a or noa parson," and before 
 he had concluded that very unsatisfying meal 
 the rest of the church ofiicers began to arrive, 
 for it was part of the " Plan of campaign " that 
 these should drop in before service time, in 
 order to reinforce their spokesman, if haply 
 any misguided super should prove untractable. 
 
 Each man as he arrived raised his eyebrows 
 in sui'prise when he discovered that the ex- 
 pected cleric had not arrived, but they all found 
 Miles so exceedingly touchy that they settled 
 down in their places and said little or nothing. 
 
 "He's happen not sa weel," said Quiet 
 William at last in musing tones, and looking 
 straight before him at nothing in particular. 
 
 " He will be when he's getten' th' length o' 
 my tungue. Aw con tell thi' ! " And Miles 
 turned and glared at the speaker as if he were 
 to blame for the missing man's absence. 
 
 " Huish ! " cried Dinah, suddenly ; and almost 
 before she could stop her irate spouse the 
 minister stood on the door-mat. He was a tall, 
 rather stately-looking man, with a thin, in- 
 tellectual-looking face and pensive expression.
 
 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 263 
 
 As he stood looking round on the company he 
 sighed a httle, raised his eyes, which had a 
 wearied and sorrowful look in them, and then 
 said, with a slight bow, " I am afraid I've kept 
 you waiting, Mrs. Grims " 
 
 But just at this point Miles rose hastily to 
 his feet, and, avoiding the minister's eye, he 
 said, roughly, " It's toime furt goo to tli' chapel, 
 mestur." 
 
 The minister, who seemed somewhat pre- 
 occupied, lifted his eyes again at these brusque 
 words, and was silently leading the way into the 
 open air, when Quiet William sidled up to him, 
 and, after glancing somewhat anxiously at his 
 face, said softly as they walked along, ^'^Hay 
 yo did cumfurt me wi' that last sarmon o' yores, 
 mestur." 
 
 A ray of light seemed suddenly to light up 
 the minister's face, and he slipped his arm into 
 William's, and murmured softly, " Thank you, 
 brother, thank you." 
 
 Arrived at the vestry, the discontented officials 
 seated themselves on the benches around the 
 sides of the walls, but further away from the 
 preacher than usual. Upon observing which, 
 Wilham placed his big body right under the 
 minister's nose, and throughout the service 
 kept up a most appreciative and stimulating 
 succession of nods, smiles and low ejaculations, 
 in significant contrast to the stony and quite 
 unusual silence of the others. The discourse
 
 264 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 
 
 was briefer than usual — "A pup off an owd 
 Sunday sarmon," as Miles declared afterwards. 
 Then the congregation dispersed and the ofl&cial 
 meeting commenced. At the super's sugges- 
 tion, William moved a comprehensire vote of 
 thanks to the retiring stewards, and after an 
 awkward pause it was seconded and carried 
 very perfunctorily. 
 
 "And now, gentlemen, some of you have 
 borne the burden and the heat of the day a 
 very long time, and there are a number of 
 very interesting young people in the church 
 who are doing nothing, suppose we introduce a 
 little new blood into the meeting." William 
 shot an apprehensive look at the chairman. 
 Miles gave vent to an angry snort, Jimmy the 
 scutcher's expressive eye began to bulge out 
 ominously, and the rest holding their heads 
 back against the white-washed wall shot side- 
 long telegraphic glances at each other. The 
 super was going far beyond Miles's very worst 
 predictions, "There's Brother Entwistle and 
 Brother Greaves and our young friend Barlow," 
 went on the minister, as nobody spoke. Miles 
 and Jacky uttered exclamations of amazement, 
 the others tilted back their heads against the 
 whitewash at still acuter angles and smiled 
 at the ceiling, whilst even WilHam was not 
 able to keep a look of pained surprise out of 
 his face, for the young fellow last named was 
 a bumptious, long-tongued, aggressive fellow.
 
 fflE StJPEElNTENDENT. 265 
 
 who was secretary of the improvement society, 
 and the willing tool of the mischief -making 
 new bookkeeper. 
 
 The minister was not very observant evi- 
 dently, for after waiting a moment or two for 
 someone to speak he went on, " Suppose I 
 nominate, then, our excellent Poor-stewards to 
 be the new Society stewards ; those who agree 
 please to show in the usual way." 
 
 This appointment was, of coui'se, in harmony 
 with the decisions already arrived at, and so 
 every one present voted at once. 
 
 "And now, which of these young men will 
 you have ? They are all good fellows — but you 
 know them better than I do ; somebody please 
 make a selection." There was a long and awk- 
 ward pause, and at last the chairman said, 
 '' Come, let us get on ? What do you think. 
 Brother Grimshaw ? " 
 
 " Me ! Nay, no me ! Aw no nowt ! Oh, 
 neaw " — and Miles laughed, a bitterly sarcastic 
 laugh. 
 
 The minister began to suspect that there was 
 something wrong, but as nobody spoke he pro- 
 ceeded, " Well, then, I will nominate Brother 
 Entwistle and Brother Barlow to be our Poor- 
 stewards " — and then he paused again. No- 
 body replied, and so, after hesitating and 
 looking round, he said, "Those who approve, 
 please vote." Not a hand went up; even 
 William, though looking very uncomfortable,
 
 266 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 
 
 kept his hands clasped on his knee before him. 
 The chairman looked astonished. He was 
 accustomed to have to deal with all sorts of 
 people in all sorts of meetings, but this was a 
 new experience. " You don't vote, gentlemen ! 
 What is the matter?" 
 
 Nobody replied, and Quiet William was just 
 about to relieve the tension by making a con- 
 ciliatory remark when he heard a peculiar but 
 well-known cough behind him, and glancing 
 apprehensively around, he observed Jimmy just 
 in the act of rising to speak. William winced 
 and glanced pityingly at the man in the chair. 
 
 " Mestur shuper," began Jimmy, in his most 
 dry and delusive drawl, " haa lung an yo bin i' 
 this circuit ? " 
 
 " Oh, never mind that," replied the minister. 
 " Let us get on with the business." 
 
 ^' Abaat five munth, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Never mind, never mind ! Speak to the 
 point, please." 
 
 *' Dun yo know haa lung wee'n bin here ? " 
 
 " Well, well, sir, never mind ! Let us 
 proceed." 
 
 "■ Ivery mon i' this place ta-neet wur born i' 
 Scowcrof." 
 
 The super fell back in his chair with a little 
 gesture of despair, and Quiet William sighed 
 heavily. 
 
 " An' wee'st be here when yo're gone." 
 
 William was about to interrupt, but the
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 267 
 
 minister restrained him with another little wave 
 of the hand, and Jimmy growing, if possible, 
 more deliberate every word, proceeded : " If Aw 
 wur yo, mester shuper, Aw'd let weel alooan, 
 an' stick to th' owd uns." 
 
 Thereupon Jimmy slowly resumed his seat, 
 and throwing back his head he joined the others 
 in an earnest contemplation of the ceiling. 
 
 There was that in Jimmy's tone which indi- 
 cated that he was face to face with quiet and 
 yet obstinate resistance, and so the " super " 
 decided that he must have more light before he 
 took further action ; he somewhat hastily, 
 therefore, adjourned the meeting until he 
 could make up his mind what was the right 
 thing to do. 
 
 When he had gone Miles, standing in the 
 midst of his friends and fellow-conspirators, 
 projected his great broad chin, and shaking his 
 fist emphatically, said, " Yond chap 'uU ha ta 
 shmit at th' yer end, moind that naa ! " 
 
 And William astonished everybody by 
 replying " Aye ! He's ta gooid fur uz — pooer 
 felley." 
 
 II. 
 
 EoR some days the obstructive Scowcroft offi- 
 cials were in some doubt as to how the super 
 would act in the matter, and spent their time 
 speculating on the next move, and encouraging
 
 268 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 
 
 each other to resist any encroachment upon 
 what they regarded as their rights. William 
 seemed like deserting them, and shook his 
 head and sighed whenever anything stronger 
 than usual was said. But he never could be 
 relied upon when it came to crises like these, 
 and the most that could be expected of him was 
 that he would do nothing to interfere with their 
 chances of success. 
 
 A fortnight passed away, and the service 
 night came roiuid again. This time it was the 
 third or junior minister who was appointed, and 
 the stewards had received a note from the super 
 stating that "his excellent colleague" would hold 
 the adjourned meeting and finish the business 
 left over. This was another offence ; the annual 
 meeting could only be held by the super himself, 
 and this was really only part of the former meet- 
 ing. Besides, the young minister was very popu- 
 lar in Scowcroft, and nobody wished to seem to 
 be opposing him. The super was " duflfing," he 
 dar'nt come and fight the matter out himself. 
 Besides, Jimmy the Scutcher had serious doubts 
 as to whether it was legal for an unordained 
 minister to hold the meeting, and he spent what 
 little time he had before the service in search- 
 ing through ** Grindrod's Compendium " in 
 search of the law on the subject. " Will the 
 leaders kindly stay behind a few minutes at the 
 close of the meeting ? " said the preacher just 
 before he pronounced the benediction. As the
 
 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 269 
 
 worshippers rose to their feet, however, Jimmy 
 glanced round upon his colleagues and jerked 
 his head doorwards ; and they, obeying his 
 signal, sidled out of the room, leaving the 
 young cleric with no supporters except Quiet 
 William and two leaders who were nobodies. 
 A quarter of an hour later news was brought to 
 the house that the meeting had been duly held, 
 and that " th' yung mon " had announced to 
 those who met him that he was instructed by 
 his super to nominate two of the old officials, 
 which he then proceeded to do and immedi- 
 ately closed the meeting. 
 
 Yes, the super had given in, and they had 
 won the day. They ought, therefore, to have 
 been satisfied, but they were not. Now they 
 pretended to despise the super for his cowardice ; 
 he had ^^ noa spunk in him." He " hedn't th' 
 pluck of a maase," and his attempt to shelter 
 himseK behind his young and popular colleague, 
 and draw them into a quarrel with that delight- 
 ful young man, was denounced in unmeasured 
 terms. 
 
 The next Sunday evening the super closed 
 the service without holding a prayer-meeting — 
 an unheard of thing at Scowcroft ; and, as if 
 that were not enough, he excused himself from 
 going to supper at the appointed place, which 
 happened to be Jimmy's, and then walked off 
 to take his coffee at the new bookkeeper's. 
 Even Quiet William seemed disappointed at
 
 270 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 this, and allowed his friends to rail at the 
 offender all the evening without a single word 
 of protest. The next time the super was 
 appointed at Scowcroft on the week-night he 
 sent a supply. 
 
 " Wots thaa want ? " demanded Miles in his 
 fiercest tones, as the young man entered the 
 vestry. 
 
 "The super has been called away to Man- 
 chester to attend an important committee," 
 was the reply. Not another word was spoken 
 to the stranger until the service was over, and 
 it seemed as if he were about to get away with- 
 out further trouble ; but just as he was leaving 
 the vestry door Jimmy sauntered up, and eye- 
 ing him over very deliberately said, "It's th' 
 f ost toime as that tha's bin here, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I only knew a few hours ago and was 
 not very well prepared," said the stranger, 
 apologetically. 
 
 " Oh ! tha wornt, wornt thaa," drawled the 
 ten'ible critic, whose fame had long been known 
 to the preacher. " Well, tha con tell th' super 
 az he can goa ta Manchester as oft as he's a 
 moind if he'll send thee," and with a sniff that 
 was peculiar to him after he had said any- 
 thing intended to be final he turned away and 
 left the relieved substitute to make his way 
 home. 
 
 The next time the super came to Scowcroft 
 he discoursed on the character of Judas Iscariot,
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 271 
 
 and in the course of his opening remarks 
 described him as an interesting psycholog'ical 
 study. Jimmy, whose face up to this moment 
 had worn a look of ostentatious endurance, at 
 once began to show interest, and when, a 
 moment later, the preacher alluded to one of 
 the traitor's " idiosyncrasies " his eloquent eye 
 began to stand out ominously; but when, just 
 as he was concluding, he added a remark which 
 he called a " corollary " Jimmy shut up his 
 open Bible with a vicious bang and turned his 
 head towards the gallery door in a manner 
 which even a dull man could have understood 
 at once. Next Saturday night Jimmy came 
 home with a huge dictionary, which was tied 
 up in a big red bundle handkerchief, and which 
 he had purchased at a second-hand book-stall 
 in the Wallbury Market, and the following 
 Sunday the faded tome was added to his 
 already formidable - looking collection in the 
 pew. 
 
 But Jimmy's greatest objection to the new 
 super's preaching was on account of its exces- 
 sive deliberateness ; the Scowcroft standard of 
 pidpit eloquence demanded energy and emphasis 
 and gave the palm to voluble perorations, whilst 
 the super was quiet and slow. "Caw that 
 preichin'," cried Jimmy, sitting in his usual 
 chair at Miles's after the unhappy Judas 
 sermon, " Aw caw it ackering an' hawmpling 
 (hesitating and limping). Flowin' language,"
 
 272 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 he went on scornfully, in answer to a criticism 
 of the super which had been imported from 
 Wallbury, " it niver flows at aw, it comes aat 
 on him a drop at a toime loike alicar (vinegar) 
 aat ov a tripe-staw bottle," and this brilliant 
 simile was so much to the taste of those who 
 heard it that the poor parson was often after- 
 wards denominated " Owd Alicar bottle." 
 
 About this time, also. Miles and Jacky dis- 
 covered, or thought they discovered, signs of 
 discontent with the new super in one or two of 
 the villages they visited on preaching excur- 
 sions. These complaints they listened to very 
 eagerly, and then they retailed a long list of the 
 grievances, which Scowcroft had against the 
 same unlucky individual. When they reached 
 their general meeting-place at Miles 's house 
 they, of course, gave full and particular, not to 
 exaggerated, accounts of what they had heard, 
 thus strengthening, both in their own minds 
 and in the minds of those who listened to 
 them, resentful feelings against the offending 
 minister. 
 
 Long before the March quarterly meeting — 
 at which the annual invitation is given to 
 ministers to continue in the circuit — came, our 
 friends had resolved that they would take the 
 very extreme step of not voting for the super, 
 and even, if necessary, voting against him. Quiet 
 William did his utmost to prevent them, and 
 might even have succeded, but, unfortunately
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 273 
 
 for his good intentions, just on the eve of the 
 great event, the super committed another and 
 even less excusable transgression. He com- 
 plained from the pulpit that Scowcroft did not 
 contribute its proper share to the Worn-Out 
 Preachers' Fund, and in the vestry after the 
 service he hinted pretty plainly that, in his 
 judgment, the blame lay with the "leaders." 
 That settled it ! There must be no " shafflin' 
 wark naa." William was abused without 
 measure or mercy after the preacher had gone, 
 and when the day of the Quarterly Meeting 
 came Jimmy actually got off work for half-a- 
 day in order to attend that fateful gathering. 
 
 As the four leaders of rebellion were passing 
 up Lark Lane they were somewhat disconcerted 
 to find WiJliam standing at his cottage door 
 and evidently waiting for them. He also had 
 got off work, and the others felt that they 
 could have done very well without him, for he 
 was so peace-loving that he was certain to put 
 a " Scotch " in their wheel somehow ; and then 
 he was so very sly when he was " up ta owt " 
 that his presence was nothing short of 
 suspicious. When they reached the school- 
 room door at Wallbury, however, William said 
 he had " a bit of a arrand," and left them ; and 
 the super, going home, disturbed and sad, a few 
 hours later, found a small parcel lying on the 
 study table, which on opening he discovered 
 contained a half-pound of tobacco, accompanied 
 
 18
 
 274 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 
 
 by a small slip of paper on which was written 
 in a rough scrawling hand, "From a lovin' 
 frend." When the financial statement came to 
 be read, the senior steward paused at the name 
 of Scowcroft and called the attention of the 
 meeting to the fact that the contribution from 
 that place was some fifteen shillings below 
 what was usual, and as there was an awkward 
 silence many eyes were turned to the back 
 bench where our friends were sitting. William 
 ducked his head and groaned apprehensively ; 
 and well he might, for a moment later the 
 meeting was startled by the rasping voice of 
 Jimmy the Scutcher crying out, "Bet-ter 
 preichin', bet-ter pay." Scowling faces were 
 turned angrily upon the daring Scutcher, and 
 William was just rising to his feet when the 
 steward very wisely resumed his reading of the 
 accounts. Presently the time for giving the 
 invitations came, and the official upon whom 
 that duty devolved commenced a very sincere 
 and glowing eulogium upon the super. There 
 were shufflings of feet and certain very peculiar 
 gruntings from the place where the Scowcrofters 
 were seated ; all smothered instantly, however, 
 by a stentorian " Yer ! yer ! " from William. 
 
 Then several others followed in the same 
 eulogistic vein, including one at least of those 
 upon whom the leaders of rebellion had been 
 depending for support. Then the vote was put 
 to the meeting, and the anger of the Scow-
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 275 
 
 crofters gave way to quick feelings of shame 
 and surprise as they saw every hand in the 
 meeting held up except theirs, William in fact 
 standing to vote, and extending both hands as 
 far as he could stretch them. 
 
 " On the contrary " was called, and those 
 close enough to see were greatly edified to 
 behold the four malcontents suddenly drop 
 their heads into their hands, whilst Quiet 
 William stood menancingly over them with an 
 expression on his face which boded ill indeed 
 to any one who might dare to exercise his 
 rights. 
 
 The rest of the meeting's proceedings were 
 of little interest to our friends, although 
 they did make a clumsy attempt to redeem 
 themselves by a boisterous demonstration when 
 their favourite third minister's name was sub- 
 mitted. But the meeting received their effort 
 very coldly, and when the gathering broke up 
 the four abashed and humiliated conspirators 
 were the first to depart. After shaking the 
 super's hand in his own mighty paw until 
 that good man winced again, William hurried 
 away after his friends. Nobody would speak 
 to him, and for some distance they did not even 
 address each other. At last, just as they were 
 striking the Scowcroft road. Miles exploded 
 upon his big brother-in-law ; the ice having 
 thus been broken, they were soon all talking- 
 together, and William was having a very warm
 
 276 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 time of it indeed. Miles was so excited that he 
 stopped in the road to thunder out his threats, 
 and was so engrossed in this occupation that 
 neither he nor any one else had heard a rattling 
 cart come down the road after them. At this 
 moment the cart stopped, and the rough voice 
 of Reuben Tonge was heard calling out, " Naa, 
 then, ger in if yo wanten." 
 
 At another time our friends would have been 
 surprised at so civil an offer coming from their 
 old enemy, but now they were so engrossed in 
 their angry discussion that they did not think 
 of the peculiarity of it, and sulkily climbed into 
 the cart from behind, still continuing their 
 debate. Eeuben sat quietly in the front of the 
 vehicle eagerly listening, but giving no sign ; 
 and when they reached his house and, curtly 
 thanking him, departed, still absorbed in fret- 
 ful debate, the sand man stood watching them 
 as they went down the lane, and at last, as they 
 were just disappearing, he pointed after them 
 with his whip, and as his strong upper lip curled 
 he said, " Pablo ! see how these Christians 
 love." And Pablo seemed so impressed with 
 this revelation of the weakness of good people 
 that he stood staring down the road in deep 
 meditation, and had to be actually led into his 
 own stable.
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 277 
 
 III. 
 
 Now tlie Superintendent liad not caught the 
 very disloyal remark that fell from the redoubt- 
 able Jimmy at the Quarterly Meeting ; neither 
 had he noticed that the Scowcroft contingent 
 did not vote ; m fact, he did not feel that he 
 ought to observe how anybody voted. And the 
 applause that followed the carrying of the 
 resolution was so unanimous and hearty that he 
 could not doubt that his ministry was acceptable 
 to the great majority, and that was all he felt 
 he could fairly expect. Still, he noticed that 
 there was something unusual in the affair, and, 
 being a highly sensitive man, he was some- 
 what troubled, and tried to get some informa- 
 tion from his colleagues. But these good men 
 only laughed ; it was some characteristic eccen- 
 tricity on the part of the Scowcrofters, and 
 that was all they would tell him. All the 
 same, the super allowed the matter to trouble 
 him, and went home in a somewhat depressed 
 and anxious frame of mind. At home, however, 
 he had other things to occupy his thoughts, for 
 his only son was sinking fast into the grave 
 under the baneful influence of consmnption, 
 and as he was the only one left of all his chil- 
 dren the good man was in deepest sorrow about 
 it. The next day the servant announced that a 
 queer, rough-looking man with a sand-cart had
 
 278 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 called and left two cock cliickens and a basket 
 of new-laid eggs. A few days later lie came 
 again, and kept Barbara talking quite a long 
 time at the back door whilst he plied her with 
 a number of very pointed and inquisitive ques- 
 tions about "Th' mestur." The super gave 
 orders that if he called again he was to be 
 detained until he could get to the door to speak 
 to him, but when the day but one after the 
 man made his third visit and was asked to wait 
 to speak to the master, he answered very 
 gruffly, and when the minister had been called 
 and appeared at the kitchen-door, it was only 
 to see a stout unkempt man with a dirty yellow 
 pony just disappearing at the other end of the 
 back lane. 
 
 Meanwhile Miles and his friends were only 
 recovering somewhat slowly from their discom- 
 fit i:re at the Quarterly Meeting. The fact was 
 tliey had begun to feel heartily ashamed of the 
 part they had played at that gathering, and 
 were very uneasy about the super's next visit. 
 Latterly they had fallen to blaming each other 
 for what had taken place, and it was all that 
 Quiet William could do to keep the peace 
 amongst them. 
 
 On the morning of the super's next appoint- 
 ment at the village William, contrary to 
 custom, went a little way to meet the 
 preacher. 
 
 " Good mornin', mestur shuper. H-a-y, Aw
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 279 
 
 am fain ta see yo'. Wee'st hev a grand toime 
 this mornin'." 
 
 "Thank you, Mister William. I hope so; 
 but everybody " 
 
 " Aye, iverybody ! We Aw loiken yo' i' 
 Scowcrof ther'll be a slappin' congrigation, 
 yo'll see." 
 
 *' Thank you ! Thank you ! But I'm afraid 
 — ^the Quarterly Meeting, you know." 
 
 " Quarterly Meetin' ! Hay, Aye, it wur a 
 gradely good vooate, wornt it ? Aw wur welly 
 skrikin' when Aw seed 'em stick ther hons up." 
 
 The minister was touched and yet uneasy, 
 for William was rather overdoing his part. 
 
 " YeSj but everybody is not like you, my dear 
 friend ; your brother-in-law, for instance " 
 
 ^' Him ! Hay, mester, yo' dunna know aar 
 Miles yet. He allis talks coUywest to wot he 
 thinks. Bud he knows when he yers a gradely 
 good sarmon. Aw con tell yo." 
 
 By this time they had reached the chapel, 
 and William fussed about the minister in the 
 vestry until his very eagerness to make things 
 pleasant increased the " super's " suspicions. 
 Then Miles came in with a curt '^ Mornin'," 
 followed immediately by Jimmy, who did not 
 speak at all. 
 
 But William proved to be right : there was a 
 quite exceptional congregation that morning, 
 for William had canvassed for it, and the 
 super preached with more than usual vigour,
 
 280 THE SUPERINTENDEKT. 
 
 whilst our quiet friend kept up a running fire 
 of ejaculations which manifestly stimulated 
 the man in the pulpit. Whilst the congrega- 
 tion was singing the last hymn Miles and Noah 
 were having an animated discussion in the 
 vestry. There was a half-crown in the collection, 
 and this was so entirely unprecedented a sum to 
 be given at an ordinary service that these two 
 worthies were discussing what must be done. 
 It was a mistake, of course, and Miles was 
 urging Noah to go into the pulpit and ask the 
 minister to announce that the person who had 
 given it in mistake for a penny might correct 
 the error in the vestry. But Noah proved 
 obstinate ; he was not accustomed to go into 
 pulpits and Miles was. It got to the last verse 
 of the hymn, and ultimately Miles was con- 
 strained to venture on the errand. But just as 
 he opened the door to go into the chapel he 
 caught sight of some one he had not seen before. 
 His jaw dropped, he hesitated and turned 
 round, and as the congregation went to prayer 
 he turned hastily to the vestry, and staring in 
 amazement at his colleague gasped out, "Whey, 
 mon ! dust know whoas here ? " 
 "Whoa?" 
 
 " He hesna bin i' this chapil fur twenty yer 
 an' mooar." 
 "Whoa?" 
 
 "Owd scratch 'uU be comin' to chapil 
 next."
 
 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 281 
 
 ^' Whoar is it^ mon ? Speik, wilta ? " 
 *' Reubin Tonge, an' noabry else." 
 Noah gave the little tailor a rough push to 
 one side, and darted for the chapel door, but 
 the congregation was dispersing, and so, miss- 
 ing his man, he came back hastily and made 
 for the door of the vestry, where he stood 
 watching for a sight of the visitor. Reuben 
 was dressed in a new suit of black, with a new 
 silk hat, a high collar and broad black stock, 
 and looked what he really was — a substantial 
 man of property. A more striking transforma- 
 tion it would be difficult to conceive, and the 
 astonishment and curiosity of the chapel people 
 was so great that the super and his transgres- 
 sions were for the moment forgotten. And at 
 night the minister had Reuben in his congrega- 
 tion again, and Miles and Noah found another 
 half-crown in the collecting-box. 
 
 But Reuben did not come on the following 
 Sunday, nor on the Sunday after that ; and it 
 was only on the next visit of the super that he 
 reappeared at the chapel. What did it all 
 mean? The only conclusion that they could 
 reach was that it was another instance of that 
 inveterate contrariness for which Reuben had 
 been so long distinguished. Everything that 
 the authorities at the chapel liked he disliked, 
 and everything that they condemned he took up 
 and defended. This had been his habit now 
 for many years, and the present was only a
 
 282 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 somewliat more remarkable instance of his 
 strange perversity. 
 
 The spring was somewhat late, the weather 
 had indeed been genial, but it suddenly harked 
 back and the temperature was that of mid- 
 winter again. A Sunday or two after the 
 strange appearance of the sandman at the 
 chapel, Miles Grimshaw had been appointed at 
 the most distant place on the plan and had to 
 drive in an open conveyance. The evening 
 turned out rough and wet and bitterly cold, 
 and Miles was conscious as he rode behind the 
 second minister and another "local" that he 
 was catching cold. Next day he felt better 
 than he expected, but towards evening he 
 began to be unaccountably tired and listless. 
 By bedtime he was quite feverish, and though 
 he threatened all sorts of pains and penalties to 
 any one who suggested the idea of a doctor, 
 Quiet William went off to fetch one, and, 
 returning about ten at night, suddenly ushered 
 him into Miles's bedroom. The doctor said 
 that Miles was in a very serious condition, and 
 predicted that it would require every effort they 
 could put forth to save him from rheumatic 
 fever. Miles was indignant. The doctor was 
 a "numyed," a "blethering quack," and 
 several other equally objectionable things 
 besides, and William and poor Dinah were 
 *' mopesing molly-coddles," and as for staying 
 in bed all the doctors and all the wives in
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 283 
 
 creation should not keep him in bed longer 
 than next morning. 
 
 But next morning Miles never named getting 
 up, he had something else to think about. He 
 had passed a woeful night and was, if possible, 
 Grosser than ever. During the forenoon he 
 seemed to improve a little, and for some time 
 lay very quiet in his bed. Dinah, who had been 
 up all night and had travelled up and down 
 stairs numberless times, was still standing 
 anxiously at his bedside, when a knock came at 
 the back door, 
 
 Dinah hurried downstairs once more and 
 opened the door very cautiously, for it was 
 blowing a hurricane outside, and fine sleety 
 snow was whirling about in thick clouds. 
 It was the super. He was covered with the 
 small snowflakes and looked cold and very 
 thin. 
 
 *' Hay, mestur ! Yo'n neer come aat a morn- 
 in' loike this ! Wotiver's browt yo' here o' 
 thisunce ? " 
 
 " I heard that Brother Grimshaw had taken 
 cold on Sunday, and was very ill; how is 
 he ? " 
 
 " An' han' yo' come fro' Wallbury ta see aar 
 Miles a day loike this ? " 
 
 " Certainly ! How is he ? Can I see 
 him ? " 
 
 *' He's up sturs. Yo con goo an see him 
 yorsel' ! " and Dinah, who was bursting into
 
 284 THE SUPERINTENDENT. 
 
 tears and scarcely knew what she either said or 
 did, surprised the minister by hurrying off into 
 the pantry to conceal her emotion, leaving him 
 to find his way upstairs by himseK. 
 
 The staircase was opposite the door, and Miles 
 had heard every word that had been said. When 
 the minister reached the little bedroom he 
 found the tailor sitting up in his bed, and evi- 
 dently trying to control his face. 
 
 " Well, Brother Grimshaw, I'm sorry to find 
 you so unwell, but you were serving a 
 good " 
 
 But Miles just reached out his hand, and, 
 taking the minister's in his, he shook it passion- 
 ately, and cried through rising tears, "God 
 bless yo," and then, suddenly releasing his 
 grasp he turned away and buried his head in 
 the bed clothes and could not be induced to 
 speak a word. The super stayed some time, 
 and Dinah was scandalised at her husband's 
 behaviour ; but it made no difference. Miles 
 would not uncover his face ; only as he was 
 going down the stairs the minister heard a 
 hoarse, quavering voice, broken as if by a sob, 
 crying after him " God bless yo," and he went 
 away with the feeling that the Scowcrofters 
 were stranger than ever, and more difficult to 
 understand, and that he never should get to 
 know them. 
 
 Dinah was loud in praises of the super when 
 he had gone, but Miles would not say a word.
 
 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 285 
 
 and even when, two days later, by which time 
 he had thrown off the danger and was sitting 
 up in bed, his wife began enlarging upon the 
 good man's thoughtful and self-sacrificing visit. 
 Miles did not join in. 
 
 In a few days the tailor was convalescent, 
 and received permission to come down stairs, 
 and then his wife informed him that Eeuben 
 Tonge had called twice to inquire after his 
 condition. Miles was more surprised than ever. 
 What could be coming over the fellow ? When 
 his cronies came in that night he mentioned 
 the matter to them, but nobody could give 
 even a likely guess as to what had produced 
 this great change in their old enemy. 
 
 All day the following Sunday Miles stayed 
 indoors, but at night there was a full attend- 
 ance of his associates round the fire. 
 
 Jacky o' th' Gap ventured a disparaging 
 remark about the super, but nobody took it up. 
 Then Jimmy the Scutcher commenced in a 
 similar vein, and was just turning to appeal to 
 Miles when the door opened and in stepped, of 
 all persons in the world, Reuben Tonge. Two 
 or three rose from their seats in pure amaze- 
 ment, but nobody offered the newcomer a chair. 
 Reuben looked coolly round, and then remarked 
 to the master of the house, "Thar't comin' tew. 
 Aw see." 
 
 " Aye," answered Miles, shortly, and there 
 was an awkward pause.
 
 286 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 Then, as the sandman seemed to be inclined 
 to stay, Dinah came forward and asked him to 
 sit down. 
 
 Reuben sank carelessly into a chair, drew out 
 a short wooden pipe, and leisurely charged it, 
 everybody present watching the operation with 
 painful interest. 
 
 Then the visitor leaned back laxily in his 
 chair, and contemplated the joists above his 
 head, and, finally, without changing his posi- 
 tion, he remarked, *'Awve fun' a Christian at 
 last as is a Christian." 
 
 As this was an implied reflection on all pre- 
 sent several of the faces hardened somewhat, 
 but nobody answered. 
 
 " Aye, an' he's a parson, tew." 
 
 The stillness deepened. 
 
 " An' a Methody parson, tew." 
 
 There was still no response, but the eyes of 
 the company were all turned upon the speaker 
 with quickened interest. 
 
 "He wur born amung th' quality, an' they 
 turnt their backs on him 'cause he wur 
 religious." Reuben paused for some response, 
 but as none came he proceeded. " An' he 
 gan up a thaasand a yer ta be a Methody 
 parson." 
 
 Quiet William gave an exclamation of admir- 
 ation, but nobody else showed any sign. 
 
 " An' he went a bein' a meesionaary amung 
 the blacks. It wur a whot place, wheer
 
 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 287 
 
 white folk couldn't live, bud he kept on 
 stoppin'." 
 
 " Bless him," muttered William, under his 
 breath. 
 
 " All' his woife deed, bud he wouldna' leev 
 his wark." 
 
 " That's summat loike," assented Miles, with 
 growing interest in the story. 
 
 '^An' his two little wenches deed, bud he 
 wouldna' leeav." 
 
 The expressive eye of Jimmy began to roll 
 about as if he were getting excited over some- 
 thing, as, indeed, he was. 
 
 " An' then he wui' took bad hissel', and hed 
 ta be browt whoam." 
 
 " Grod bless him ! " shouted William, unable 
 any longer to restrain himself. 
 
 " Bud as sewn az he get bet-ter he were fur 
 off ageean, bud th' doctors said az if he did it 
 ud kill him." 
 
 Every pipe in the company was sulkily 
 smouldering because its owner had forgotten it, 
 and was waiting breathlessly for the speaker's 
 next word. 
 
 " Bud he went." 
 
 The interest was now painful, and even the 
 phlegmatic Jimmy gasped, " Goa on, moii." 
 
 " He said he wanted ta translate Scriptur' 
 into th' langu'ge o' th' country." He stopped 
 five yer, an' they buried his owdest lad woll he 
 were away."
 
 288 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 " Bless him ! Bless liim ! " broke in Dinah, 
 " Hay, Awd loike fur't d see that felley." 
 
 Reuben glanced at the sobbing woman with 
 a very peculiar look, and then went on. " An' 
 when he'd finished his translating he wur 
 welly deead. An' they browt him whoam 
 agean." 
 
 " An' he wur tew yer af oor he were fit fur 
 owt." 
 
 '^ He met weel ; he ought ta niver a dun nowt 
 no moor — he owt t'hed a pension fro' Parlia- 
 ment," shouted the glowing, full-hearted Miles. 
 
 " They sent him tew a hard circuit." 
 
 '• The lump-yeds, it's a shawm ! It's nowt 
 else ! " shouted Abram Briggs. 
 
 And now it seemed as if Reuben had finished, 
 for he made no attemj)t to proceed. 
 
 " Well ! Goa on wi' thi," cried Jimmy, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Nay, Aw've no mooar ta say." 
 
 Then, forgetting that they were scarcely on 
 friendly terms with the man who had told them 
 this wonderful story, they began to quiz him with 
 all sorts of questions about the hero they had 
 been hearing about. Was he alive? Could 
 they by any means ever get to see and hear 
 him ? Miles announced his purpose of going to 
 Manchester, or even further if he could only see 
 such a man. 
 
 *' Grandest felley Aw iver yerd abaat," cried 
 Jimmy.
 
 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 289 
 
 " "We ne'er getten sich f elleys as that at aar 
 meesionary meetings," said Jacky, who generally 
 was the most voluble of the critics, hut who in 
 the presence of Eeuben had special reasons for 
 silence. 
 
 " Dust think we cud get him fur aar snr- 
 mons ? " inquired Miles, looking eagerly at 
 Reuben, who was rising to depart. 
 
 '^Aw darr say yo met if yo tried, but Aw 
 yer yo dunna think mitch abaat him in Scow- 
 crof." 
 
 " Uz ? Dun we know him ? Whoar is he ? " 
 
 Reuben put his chair away carefully against 
 the wall, and then standing carelessly on the 
 mat, he replied : " Aye, Aw think some on yo 
 knows him, his name's Lingard," and whilst 
 shouts of amazement came from the company, 
 Reuben, with a smirk of delight at the con- 
 sternation he had caused, stepped to the door 
 and was gone. Lingard was the name of the 
 unpopular super. 
 
 But the now all interesting minister never 
 came to Scowcroft again, for the unseasonable 
 and unexpected winter weather which had 
 given Miles his bad cold proved fatal to the 
 minister's son, who died in a few days, leaving 
 a broken-hearted and lonely parent, who thus 
 lost his last and only earthly tie. The good 
 man was so broken down by his great calamity 
 
 19
 
 290 THE SUPEEINTENDENT. 
 
 that lie was compelled to go away, and when a 
 subscription was started to pay the expenses of 
 the holiday, the circuit stewards were surprised 
 at the astonishing contributions that came from 
 Scowcroft, Miles Grimshaw's donation being 
 higher than that of the richest man in the 
 circuit, and only exceeded by that of the 
 eccentric sandman, Reuben Tonge.
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CA5E.
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 I. 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon — the Saturday 
 afternoon of the year, in fact — at Scowcroft, 
 the one preceding the " sarmons " day. The 
 croft, always lively on Saturdays, now wore an 
 unusually animated appearance, the ordinary 
 travelling hawkers' carts having been reinforced 
 by several strange ones of gay and rakish look. 
 Opposite " Tay Wayter Martha's " was a 
 gorgeous red-and-white-striped nut and brandy- 
 snap stall, and at the other end of the row was 
 a small stall doing apparently a large business 
 in baloons, monkeys-up-the-stick, pea-shooters 
 and rag dolls. In the middle of the croft, 
 nearly opposite the chapel, a man, with thick, 
 raucous voice, was inviting the juvenile popula- 
 tion to invest in " A stick an' tew glawses fer a 
 ha'penny,' whilst old Eb. Cribby and his lame 
 daughter Lavinia were selling posies and 
 " sarmon button-holes " out of a very shaky 
 wheel-barrow. The smaller juveniles were 
 gathered in little groups around these alluring 
 '' emporiums," and gazing with wide-open eyes 
 and toffee-smeared mouths at the wonderful
 
 294 k SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 treasures so seductively offered for sale, whilst 
 tlie older ones were crouched in doorways, in 
 various stages of dishabille, cleaning Sunday 
 boots or poKshing the rarely-used best cutlery 
 for the approaching anniversary festivities. 
 
 At the chapel Quiet William and several of 
 the teachers were busy putting up the stage or 
 platform, and Tom Crompton, the chapel- 
 keeper, in a frightful condition of nervous ex- 
 citement and profuse perspiration, was fetching 
 and carrying for the stage builders one minute, 
 and the next minute making excursions and 
 alarums after the childi-en who, having spent 
 their pocket-money, were standing round the 
 chapel gate, long sticks of wall-paper-covered 
 treacle-toffy in their hand, and small and very 
 green-looking apples bulging out of their 
 pockets, every now and then venturing to peep 
 into the porch, and thus coming into collision 
 with some of the not too amiable stage 
 builders. 
 
 The only door that was shut in the row was 
 that of Miles Grimshaw's house, inside which 
 the irascible tailor was stitching and shearing 
 at various belated garments which were re- 
 quired for the coming morrow. Every now and 
 again the future wearers of these garments 
 came to the door to see how their coats and 
 trousers were progressing; but as they held 
 the door in their hands, and glanced at the 
 flurried and anxious face of the gentle Dinah,
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 295 
 
 they either retreated without asking the 
 question that was upon their li^JS, or else they 
 stopped in the middle of their first sentences 
 and beat hasty retreats, followed by rasping 
 sarcasms and most terrible threats from the 
 irate tailor. 
 
 At Jimmy the Scutcher's, on the other side 
 of the chapel, preparations for the coming 
 Sabbath were already in an advanced state. 
 Sarah Ann, the eldest daughter, still in her 
 factory clothes, was cleaning the window, 
 pausing every now and again to converse with 
 Letty Hollows, who was standing in the next 
 doorway, and who had her own reasons for 
 being interested in the doings of the Scutcher's 
 household. Inside the house Mrs. Jimmy, a 
 tall, thin, somewhat, worn-looking person, was 
 going about with an absent, preoccupied air, 
 glancing every now and again at the little, 
 drunken-looking clock on the inside wall, and 
 then turning to gaze earnestly across the croft 
 as if expecting some one to come over the 
 canal bridge, as indeed she was ; whilst Jimmy 
 himself, washed and dressed, was sitting in his 
 shirt sleeves with a long clay pipe in his mouth 
 and a little dog-eared book in his hand, from 
 which he was hearing Harriet Jane repeat her 
 Sunday's " piece." 
 
 Harriet Jane was not getting on very well, 
 her fear of her terrible father seeming to con- 
 fuse and clog her memory, and Jimmy conse-
 
 296 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 quently wore puckers of irritation and impatience 
 on his rug-ged face. 
 
 The " piece " was Longfellow's " Village 
 Blacksmith," and Harriet Jane had reached the 
 fourth verse, though not without hesitation and 
 stumbling. She stood heavily on one leg, the 
 corner of her best pinafore crumpled up in her 
 hand ready to be used upon her frightened eyes. 
 
 She had just finished the third verse : 
 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
 Then she drew a long breath, and was about to 
 commence the next verse when her eyes sud- 
 denly darkened, she gave a short gasp, and 
 then raised her head and began to gaze help- 
 lessly at the joists above her head. 
 
 " When the evening sun is lo-o-ow." 
 
 " Oh, it's low ageean, is it ? Twicest i' wun 
 neet ; it's a funny soort ov a sun." 
 
 Harriet Jane gave a little hysterical giggle, 
 but hastened to suppress it as her father turned 
 his terrible eye upon her. 
 
 "When the evening sun is low," she re- 
 peated, helplessly, and gave undoubted signs of 
 approaching tears. 
 
 " Harriet Jane," drawled the Scutcher, in 
 slow and biting tones, " Aw'm sorry for th' sun 
 reet enuff , bud Aw conna skrike abaat it. If 
 Aw wur thee Aw'd leeav it wheer it is, a' goa 
 on to th' next " 
 
 But the tortured reciter had a sudden flash
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 297 
 
 of memory, and plunged off at racehorse speed : 
 
 He goes on Sunday to the cliurcli, 
 And sits among his b'iys. 
 
 But an ominous creak from the critic's chair 
 suddenly stopped her, and as she held her breath 
 apprehensively her father turned to look at the 
 clock, and then, as if addressing that article of 
 domestic furniture as a colleague in judgment, 
 he proceeded : " Naa, this sun's summat loike a 
 felley, a dacent, religious soort of a chap ; he 
 goes to th' church an' sits amung th' b'iys " — 
 and then suddenly whisking round and glaring 
 fiercely at poor Harriet Jane, he shouted, 
 *' Dust know as tha's skipped a voss, thaa 
 lumpyed ? " 
 
 But just then a stentorian " Whoy ! " was 
 heard outside, and Jacky o' th' Gap, addressing 
 a string of objui'gations to his twenty-year-old 
 grey mare, came clambering down out of his 
 shaky old gig into the house. 
 
 " Gettin' thi piece off, wench ? " he cried, as 
 he entered. " Give it maath, lass, plenty o' 
 maath. That's gotten ta keep th' family name 
 up, tha knows." 
 
 " Aye ! hoos getten summat ta keep up, 
 sureZi," grunted Jimmy, as he emptied a parcel 
 of tobacco into a big jar, and then handed the 
 vessel to Jacky. 
 
 " Keep up ! " cried Jacky, in his energetic 
 way. " Hoo hez that ! Scowcroft 'as allis been
 
 298 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 th' best place i' tli' circuit fur pieces, and the 
 best piece-sayers i' Scowcrof ' liaz alKs cum aat 
 o' this haase, anna they ? Hast f ergetten yore 
 Caleb ? There's nowt i' th' countryside cud 
 touch him ! " 
 
 And then the thin face of Mrs. Jimmy came 
 out from behind the kitchen-door with some- 
 thing of an uplifted look u]3on it, and she said, 
 as she offered Jacky a drink of small beer : 
 "Dost remember th' last toime he set up, 
 Jacky? His piece hed thorty-seven vosses in 
 it, an' six loines in a voss ? " 
 
 "Hi, sure!" cried Jacky, "an' he went 
 through it loike steeam an' niver slipped a 
 wod. There's now't loike him i' Lancashire, 
 that's sartin'." 
 
 A soft light came into the worn eyes of the 
 delighted mother, and, putting a hand gently 
 on Jacky's shoulder, she asked, '' An' wot wur 
 it as that bump-feeling felley i' Wallbury 
 market said abaat him? " But Jimmy, who 
 had more than his share of the Lancashire 
 man's dislike of open praise, either of himself 
 or his belongings, scowled threateningly at his 
 wife and replied sternly, "Aar Caleb's noa 
 better nur he should be. Aw con tell thi'." 
 
 The indignant mother tossed her head a 
 little, and was apparently about to retort 
 somewhat hotly upon her provoking husband, 
 when there was a short cry at the door, and 
 Sarah Ann was seen coming in from her
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 299 
 
 window-cleaning with some mysterious-look- 
 ing something crouched behind her. A mo- 
 ment later a tall, good-looking young fellow 
 of about twenty-two rose up from behind 
 Sarah Ann's skirts, and with a joyous ^'Hew 
 dew, all on yer ? " sprang into the middle of 
 the room. 
 
 But although he had been six months absent 
 in his situation in Manchester, and was the 
 only son and pride of the family, there was no 
 embracing, no kissing-. The sisters came very 
 near to him, and looked as though but for 
 country shame they would have liked to take 
 him round the neck. Letty Hollows, following 
 him in at a little distance of time stood shyly 
 in the door-way with a light in her eyes she 
 was trying in vain to conceal. The mother 
 stepped back towards the kitchen-door, having 
 suddenly become as shy as a school-girl, and 
 heaved a great sigh, whilst pride and delight 
 made her sad face quite beautiful for a moment. 
 Jimmy, after a startled glance at the new- 
 comer, turned hastily away, and fixed an appa- 
 rently absorbed look upon a little oak-framed 
 funeral-card hanging over the fire-place, and 
 everybody looked away from everybody else 
 with shame-faced and almost guilty looks. 
 
 There was a moment of embarrassing silence, 
 and then Caleb suddenly remembered the pre- 
 sence of Jacky o' th' Gap, and relieved his own 
 and everybody else's feelings by taking him
 
 aoo A SUSPICIOUS case. 
 
 enthusiastically by the hand, and asking him 
 over and over again how he was. Jacky re- 
 sponded in a characteristically boisterous 
 manner, and the ice having thus been broken, 
 the younger people began to talk and ask 
 questions with a nervous rapidity which was 
 meant to conceal their nearly uncontrollable 
 emotion. 
 
 In the midst of it all Letty suddenly remem- 
 bered herself, and said she must be "gooin','' 
 upon which Caleb, to the delight of all the 
 women folk, uttered a hasty but emphatic 
 protest, rushed at the retreating maiden, caught 
 her cleverly in the doorway and — it could only 
 be attributed to the unwonted excitement of 
 the occasion — actually kissed her as she tried 
 to escape him. Upon this Mrs. Jimmy retired 
 into the kitchen again, to dry her eyes, and 
 murmur a fervent " Thank God ! " and the 
 embarrassed but happy Letty accepted for the 
 first time an oft-repeated invitation to stay to 
 her " tay." MeauAvhile, Jimmy was still en- 
 grossed in his distant study of the funeral card, 
 and but for one spasmodic roll of his nether 
 eye, just when the smack of the kiss was heard, 
 nobody would have thought that he was at all 
 conscious of what was going on around him. 
 
 When tea was ready Mrs. Jimmy frustrated 
 a carefully-arranged plan of her daughter's 
 for placing Caleb next to Letty, by dropping 
 into the seat herself, and whilst the rest were
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 301 
 
 busy eating and talking she was nibbling 
 gingerly at a piece of bread and carefully study- 
 ing her idolised son. And somehow the ex- 
 amination was not quite satisfactory, for her 
 husband, watching her narrowly, caught her 
 sighing once or twice, and even he was dis- 
 turbed to find a tendency in himself to the 
 same pensive exercise. 
 
 Late that night, when the rest had all retired, 
 Jimmy sat moodily smoking by the expired fire, 
 whilst his wife went about doing little odds and 
 ends of work, or rather pretending to do them, 
 but in reality waiting for her husband to com- 
 mence a conversation on their beloved son. 
 
 But the Scutcher seemed a long time in 
 beginning. At last, however, as she was piling 
 some wood on the hob by the fire for use next 
 morning, he leaned back in his chair and sighed 
 sarcastically. 
 
 " Aye ! f eshionable breeches an' lastic-side 
 boots." 
 
 Mary winced, drew herself up to her full 
 height, and cried querulously, "Well, he mun 
 dew as uther young felleys does, Aw reacon." 
 
 Jimmy blinked his eyes rapidly, poured out 
 a great volume of smoke, blinked again, and 
 then said, " An' a watch in his waistcut pocket, 
 an' a cheean loike a booat rooap." 
 
 Mary had reached the kitchen door, but, 
 stung by this second sneer at her favourite, she 
 turned round and retorted, hotly, **He's ag
 
 302 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 good as his faythur, an' a foine seet bet-ter, sa 
 theer," and then she broke down and vanished 
 into the kitchen, trying in vain to choke back 
 her angry tears. 
 
 But the remorseless Jimmy was not yet 
 content. He knew that in her heart his wife 
 was as concerned at what they had seen in 
 Caleb as he was himself, and in fact very much 
 more so, and this cruel banter was his only way 
 of discussing the matter with her. 
 
 Ten minutes passed before Mary came near 
 him again, and when she did so it was only to 
 demand, in her surliest tones, if he was going 
 to bed that night ; but Jimmy had to relieve 
 his mind fully, and so he sat for a minute or 
 two without speaking, and then drawled out, 
 '^An' a Shakespeare collar an' a goold-plated 
 ring." 
 
 And then Mary, with a candle already in her 
 hand, stepped into the middle of the flooi', and, 
 standing defiantly before her husband, cried 
 through a fresh flood of indignant tears, " Aye, 
 an' he'st hev a solid goold cheean, if he wants 
 wun, bless him," and with this final though 
 consciously feeble shot the distracted mother 
 turned to the staircase and was gone. 
 
 Jimmy sat for some moments in the darkness, 
 evidently in deep thought, and at last he heaved 
 a long sigh, and groaned out, " It's aar fawt. 
 Lord, nor 'is. Dunna punish th' lad fur his 
 payrunt's proide. Dunna ! Lord, dunna ! "
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 303 
 
 II. 
 
 Jimmy did not get to sleep until the small 
 hours of the morning, and consequently awoke 
 too late to go to the usual Sunday morning 
 prayer-meeting". The sun was shining in at the 
 bedroom window, and it was evidently going to 
 be an ideal anniversary day. And now Jimmy 
 began to feel that his fears of the preceding 
 night had been a little excessive. Caleb was 
 " nobbut a bit gallons, loike th' rest o' young 
 chaps," and he had been rather foolish to 
 trouble himself so much about the lad's little 
 vanities. He would think no more about the 
 matter. Just then he heard a burst of very 
 un-Sabbathlike laughter, and realising that 
 household discipline demanded his restraining 
 presence downstairs, he made haste to dress 
 himself, and descended the creaking stairs in 
 his stocking feet — for slippers were unmanly 
 luxuries in his eyes. The scene that met him 
 when he arrived on the lower floor not only 
 aroused his fatherly ire, but brought back aU 
 his previous night's fears. There on the 
 hearthstone stood young Caleb, dressed in a 
 new suit of clothes of disgracefully fashionable 
 cut. His coat was hung over a chair back, he 
 wore also a fine white cotton shirt, a pair of 
 shining patent leather slippers, whilst cocked on 
 the top of his head, at an irresistibly comical
 
 304 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 angle, was Sarah Ann's new Anniversary- 
 bonnet. Caleb, with the broad ultra-fashionable 
 cuffs of his shirt turned up over his elbows, and 
 a long fork in his hand, was pretending to 
 superintend the cooking of a pound of those 
 wonderful and famous Smithy door sausages, 
 which the better end of the Scowcrofters always 
 brought home as rare dainties on their occa- 
 sional visits to Manchester. The girls, who 
 were without their frocks, and had their hair in 
 curl papers, were watching their frolicsome 
 brother with eyes that danced with delicious 
 fun, and even the mother was peeping out from 
 behind the kitchen door, her face wreathed 
 with smiles that looked all the sweeter because 
 there was a shadow of pain behind them. 
 
 It required all Jimmy's boasted self-control 
 to save him from a most compromising grin, 
 but when with a supreme effort he had escaped 
 that disgrace he assumed a look of awful stern- 
 ness, glared round severely on the confused 
 merrymakers, and then, after a terrible pause, 
 remarked in biting tones : " Oh, Aw'm a 
 whoam. Aw see ! Aw thowt Aw wur sleepin' 
 o'er a bar-parlour." 
 
 " Mornin', f ayther ! " cried Caleb, flourishing 
 the fork, whilst Sarah Ann shyly snatched her 
 precious new bonnet from his head. " Cum on 
 wi' yo ! Theas sausage is dun tew a toucher. 
 Muther, dun yo know wot ther made on ? " 
 
 " Naa, Caleb ! " cried both the girls at once.
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 305 
 
 in deprecatory anticipation of one of their 
 brother's old jokes. 
 
 " They niakken 'em aat o' owd shoon an' 
 hymn hewk backs daan Shudehill way, bud 
 theas is made aat o' ceaw-heel-pie an' hair-ile. 
 They're stunners." 
 
 The girls uttered cries of nausea, and 
 Caleb, with a delighted chuckle, whisked the 
 hissing sausages upon the table and called upon 
 all the rest to " reicli tew." 
 
 Jimmy drew up to the table with a face of 
 gathering gloom, and interrupted his son in the 
 telling of a funny story to ask a blessing. 
 
 Caleb commenced his duties as carver by 
 selecting the brownest and most tempting 
 sausage for his mother, who took her plate 
 with a hand that suddenly began to shake and 
 eyes that had a quick light in them. And then 
 the hght all at once became tears, and unable 
 longer to control feelings that had been gather- 
 ing ever since her beloved son came home, she 
 burst out, "Bless thi, lad, Aw'm fain ta see 
 thee," and dropped her head over her plate and 
 blushed like a maiden ; for the stern eye of her 
 husband was upon her, and she realised that 
 she had broken every canon of Lancashire 
 reticence and unpardonably committed herself. 
 
 But the awkward pause that followed was 
 not to Caleb's mind at all ; he was intent upon 
 enjoying himself and on making everybody else 
 enjoy themselves as far as possible ; and so he 
 
 §0
 
 306 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 felt resentful at his father's sternness, and 
 inwardly resolved to give him something to be 
 sulky about as soon as possible. 
 
 "■ Caleb, when is it yore sarmons ? " asked 
 Sarah Ann, as she handed her brother a piece 
 of new oven-bottom cake. 
 
 " Aar sarmons ? Wot dust meean ? Theas is 
 aar sarmons." 
 
 *^ Ger aat wi' thi ! Aw meean yore sermons 
 i' Manchester. Thaa goos to th' schoo, 
 dustna?" 
 
 And Caleb, glancing hastily at his mother 
 out of one -eye, noticed that she was waiting 
 his reply with an interest that was painful, and 
 so, feeling still a little resentful, he glanced out 
 of his other eye at his father, and as that 
 worthy was looking very ostentatiously out of 
 the window to conceal the fact that he was 
 awaiting as eagerly as his wife for the answer, 
 Caleb gave way to inward anger, and with a 
 toss of his head answered, " Schoos ! Aye, 
 there's plenty o' schoos i' Manchester." 
 
 "Bud which does thaa goo tew?" asked 
 Sarah Ann, after a somewhat painful pause. 
 
 " Me ! Me goo to th' schoo ? Not me," 
 and Caleb laughed a boisterous but not very 
 successful laugh. 
 
 Then there was another long and embarassing 
 pause, broken only by a heavy sigh from the 
 mother. 
 
 '^' Then wheer dust put thi toime in ov a 
 
 ]i
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 307 
 
 neet ? " asked Sarah Ann, and everybody 
 looked away from everybody else as if afraid to 
 hear what was coming. Caleb stole a long, 
 uneasy glance at his mother, but again his 
 resentment at their unjustifiable suspicions 
 overcame all other feelings, and he answered 
 defiantly, " Oh, th' Albert Gardins an' the 
 Strawberry Gardins an' th' iheayter, and sich 
 loike." 
 
 There was a sudden choking sob ; mother fell 
 back in her chair, and throwing her apron over 
 her face, uttered a piteous wail, and Sarah Ann, 
 rising from her chair hastily, cried almost in 
 tears, " Dunna believe him, muther, he's lyin'. 
 Haa could ta for shawm, Caleb." 
 
 Caleb rose from his chair and walked sulkily 
 to the door, where he stood looking across the 
 croft with resentment and penitence struggling 
 together upon his face. Poor mother hastened 
 into the scullery, where she could be heard try- 
 ing to smother her sobs, and the girls sat look- 
 ing down on the now despised dainty on their 
 plates, and biting their lips to keep their tears 
 back. As for Jimmy, he had never moved ; he 
 stiU sat looking through the window, but he 
 had become sternly pale, his great left eye 
 seeming to protrude and dominate his whole 
 face, whilst the morsel of sausage he had in his 
 mouth might have been poison, judging by the 
 difficulty he had of getting rid of it. Then he 
 turned away from the table, leaving a newly-
 
 308 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 filled cup of coffee untouched, and groping in 
 the corner of the fire-place for his pipe, he 
 stuck it unfilled into his mouth, and with an 
 effort to appear unconcerned sat staring 
 moodily at the fire. 
 
 For seven or eight minutes Caleb stood in 
 the doorway looking fixedly before him, and 
 only the rapid motion of his left leg gave any 
 indication of the state of his feelings. Once or 
 twice he turned slowly round and glanced into 
 the house, his gaze resting each time upon the 
 kitchen door. Then he commenced to whistle 
 a hymn tune in low, wavering tones, turning 
 round as he did so, and gliding towards a large 
 picture-frame containing funeral-cards, which 
 he began to study intently. Then he moved 
 across the floor to the other side of the wall, 
 where was a similar picture, and became 
 absorbed in that. Then he transferred his 
 attention to a small rosewood frame hanging 
 on the inner wall near the pantry door, and 
 containing a print of Mr. Wesley and Dr. Coke. 
 This occupied his thoughts, at least in appear- 
 ance, for quite a long time, but suddenly he 
 glanced hastily round the room again, made a 
 rush at the pantry door, and Jimmy, sitting 
 still and morose by the fire, heard a scuffle and 
 a series of short cries in the pantry, followed 
 by a rousing kiss, and then there was a 
 moment's silence again, and Caleb emerged 
 from the pantry with his hair very much
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 300 
 
 ruffled, and trying to hide a look of sheepish 
 bashfulness behind an appearance of sudden 
 and delighted recollection. 
 
 " By gum, wenches, Awd welly furgetten ! 
 Well, that is a mank, ony way. It must a bin 
 mi fayther as put it aat o' mi yed wi' talkin' sa 
 mitch." 
 
 And whilst the girls laughed rather con- 
 strainedly at this sally on their father's taci- 
 turnity, Caleb scrambled noisily upstairs and 
 presently returned with a small parcel. 
 
 " Naa, then ! Come on wi' yo ! Who speiks 
 f ost ? " he cried in nervous excitement, and 
 commenced to fussily unwrap the parcel. 
 
 " Me ! " cried Harriet Jane, eagerly, and 
 Caleb thrust into her hand a packet which, 
 when she had opened, proved to contain a 
 quantity of tobacco. 
 
 " Naa, then, lumpyed ! " he cried, delightedly, 
 "tha'rt no wantin' thi fayther's 'bacca, surest," 
 and as his sister pettishly jerked the packet 
 across the table towards her father's elbow, 
 Caleb, rejoicing to think that he had so easily 
 got over the ordeal of presentation to his 
 sphinx-like parent, chuckled gleefully and dived 
 his hand once more into the parcel. A pair of 
 gloves for Sarah Ann was the next thing pro- 
 duced, with a serious exhortation not to let 
 Sammy Dick "^ sile 'em bi squeezin' 'em whol 
 th' collection wiu' bein' made." 
 
 Then came a small box containing a brooch
 
 310 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 for Harriet Jane, who, whilst she received it, 
 could not help noticing that a similar one was 
 being surreptitiously slipped into her brother's 
 pocket, and she was not therefore surprised 
 later in the day to see Letty Hollows with a 
 resplendent ornament pinned upon her white 
 dress. 
 
 While this had been going on mother had 
 stolen quietly out of the pantry and crept to 
 Caleb's elbow, and was looking shyly down 
 upon his parcel. 
 
 "Hey, muther ! " he cried, catching sight of 
 her, and hastily covering up something in the 
 parcel with his hands. " Aw'd clean furgetten 
 yo ! Well ! wot uiun wi dew ? This is a bonny 
 mank." And then, after looking at her for a 
 moment in well-dissembled astonishment, he 
 went on : " Ne'er moind ; Aw'll bring yo wun 
 o' them new fancy Chignons as is comin' up. 
 Aw will, fur shure." 
 
 But the mother, with a quiet, confident 
 smile, gently pushed away her son's hands from 
 what they were covering, and drew out of the 
 parcel a beautiful new hymn-book. She stood 
 for a moment looking down at her present, 
 then raised her eyes for a moment to her son's 
 face ; then lifting the book, tapped Caleb 
 lightly on the head with it and turned away 
 hastily into the pantry again, where, hugging 
 the gift to her breast, she reminded herself 
 that it was only a very carelessly-dropped word
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 311 
 
 that she had uttered about wanting a new 
 hymn-book, and it was months since she had 
 done so, and yet here it was. And putting her 
 precious present into the window-bottom and 
 plunging her hands into the wash-basin again, 
 she murmured, "A lad as thinks ov his 
 muther loike that's no goin' t' be a wastril, 
 bless him." 
 
 III. 
 
 And whilst the proceedings narrated in the last 
 chapter were going on around him Jimmy was 
 sitting still and stony before the fire. He had 
 charged his pipe and lighted it at least twice, 
 but it had now been out for some time, and he 
 appeared entirely unconscious of the fact, and 
 every now and again took a long, pensive pull 
 at it. He was greatly disturbed. Up to some 
 two years ago Caleb had worked in the mill as a 
 weaver. But the lad, greatly to his father's 
 delight, had again and again declared that he 
 wasn't going to " ston behint a loom aw his 
 days," and though as in duty bound Jimmy had 
 sternly reproved the lad's "proide," he had 
 been greatly pleased at the declaration, and 
 raised no objection beyond indulging in a 
 characteristic jibe when Caleb annomiced his 
 determination of going to the Wallbury
 
 312 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 night - school twice a week. It was a 
 long way to go for learning, and Jimmy 
 shrewdly reasoned with himself that if this was 
 merely a passing whim his son would soon 
 weary of it, and if he did stick to it that would 
 be the clearest possible evidence that he ought 
 to be encouraged. Caleb had stuck to it, thus 
 falsifying all the prophesies which his father 
 had perversely made to the proud mother, when 
 she tried to ascertain the state of her husband's 
 mind on the subject. At last Caleb won the 
 first prize at the night-school for book-keeping, 
 and was strongly recommended by his teacher 
 to apply for a situation in Manchester as a 
 clerk. 
 
 Jimmy, when his son made this annomice- 
 ment to him, treated the matter with great 
 scorn, told him he was " gettin' tew big fur his 
 shoon," and bade him " stick of his wey vin'." 
 But as his father did not formally forbid the 
 attempt, Caleb answered advertisement after 
 advertisement mitil at last a favourable offer 
 was made him. 
 
 Then, to everybody's surprise and perplexity, 
 Caleb's mother suddenly opposed the whole 
 thing. She would lose her son for ever, he 
 would become a " f oine gentleman " ; he would 
 forget his "owd muther," and " happen lewse 
 his sowl." 
 
 Then the Scutcher came out in fine style. 
 His wife's opposition had arisen far more than
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 813 
 
 she was aware of herself from Jimmy's own 
 remarks at odd moments when he was in a scoff- 
 ing vein, for she had secretly great faith in his 
 judgment. But now Jimmy rose to the occa- 
 sion ; with glorious inconsistency he poured lofty 
 scorn on his wife's fears, and indignantly denied 
 having ever expressed such views as she now 
 reminded him of. She was a " meythering owd 
 maddlin," and wanted to make her son a " slav- 
 vering molly-coddle." " He had ne'er expected 
 nowt else " ; the lad " hed a bit a spunk in him 
 loike his fayther." If only he (Jimmy) had had 
 haK Caleb's chances he would have been a 
 manager before now. 
 
 And so, of course, Caleb had his way, and 
 went to the great city and became a clerk. And 
 this was his third visit home in about eighteen 
 months. On the two previous occasions his 
 mother had been so surprised and delighted 
 with her son's handsome, gentlemanly appear- 
 ance, and so uplifted by the remarks of her 
 female friends, that she had forgotten all her 
 fears, and was only too willing to believe that 
 in this case, at any rate, she had justified her 
 husband's oft-repeated declaration that *' Aw 
 thy meyse (mice) is tigers." 
 
 And just in proportion as " mother " got 
 over her fears and indulged her maternal pride, 
 Jimmy, with natural contrariness, lapsed again 
 into his old scofiing and unbelieving manner. 
 Whenever Caleb's excellences were described in
 
 314 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 his presence lie curled his expressive upper lip, 
 and hummed and haa'd and sniffed in a most 
 provoking manner, and listened to extracts 
 from his son's letters with ironical, unbelieving 
 sneers. 
 
 Now, however, this elaborate pretence of 
 scepticism suddenly became painfully real. He 
 had all an old-fashioned villager's mistrust of 
 town folk and town ways. He had more than 
 his share of Lancashire prejudice against show 
 and bounce, and his son's manner and appear- 
 ance seemed to him to justify his worst fears. 
 
 Just at this moment Harriet Jane slided 
 towards him the Kttle packet of fancy tobacco, 
 and Jimmy, though he neither moved nor 
 spoke, felt strongly tempted to snatch it up and 
 toss it into the fire. Then lest there should 
 be any mistake as to his appreciation of his 
 son's gift, Jimmy got up to refill his pipe out 
 of his own tobacco-box, only to discover that 
 his pipe was still full. Having risen, he some- 
 how felt it awkward to sit down again, and so 
 still standing, he relighted his pipe and saun- 
 tered aimlessly towards the door. 
 
 Pausing a moment in the doorway, he pre- 
 sently wandered across the croft to the canal 
 bridge, and stood leaning over the wall, moodily 
 and absently contemplating the water beneath 
 him. 
 
 " Grand day fur th' sarmons, Jimmy," cried 
 a thin, squeaky voice behind him. Jimmy
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 315 
 
 recognised tlie speaker by his tones, and so 
 without moving or even turning his head he 
 answered in his surliest manner, "It's reet 
 enufe." 
 
 The new-comer was a tall, thin man of about 
 thirty-five, who was the only Scowcrofter 
 besides Caleb who was employed in Manchester, 
 and who for several years now had carried on a 
 leisurely and intermittent courtship with 
 Jimmy's eldest daughter, Sarah Ann. He was 
 employed in the same warehouse as Caleb, but 
 though he had been there as many years as 
 Caleb had been months, the younger man was 
 already several places before him in rank. 
 
 Jimmy seemed more taciturn even than usual, 
 but as his companion had come to talk, and 
 was not inclined to let the opportunity slip, he 
 proceeded, '^ Aw see yore Caleb's a whoam tew. 
 Hay he's a wik un yore Caleb is." 
 
 Jimmy felt a sudden sinking within him, and 
 so turning round and leaning against the bridge 
 wall he demanded, sharply, ** Whey ! wot does 
 tliaa know abaat aar Caleb? " 
 
 " Oh, nowt ! novrt ! We dunna teU tales aat 
 o' th' schoo' tha' knows, Jimmy." 
 
 Jimmy eyed the speaker steadily for several 
 seconds, and then turning his back upon him 
 with a look of freezing disdain, he coolly 
 resumed his contemplation of the canal. 
 
 " JSTaa, Jimmy, dunna be vexed ; tlier's j)lenty 
 wur nur yore Caleb, Aw con tell thi."
 
 316 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 But Jimmy maintained an icy silence. 
 
 The informer fidgeted for a moment or two, 
 then moved a little further away from his com- 
 panion, and turning to look over the bridge, 
 munnured as if to himself, " Aw've ne'er seen 
 him drunk, nur goin' wi' fly women noather, 
 an' they con say wot theyn a moind." 
 
 All at once the Scutcher wheeled round, and 
 with white set face and blazing eyes he lifted 
 his hand and struck out at the traducer of his 
 son. But the coward was too wary, and stepped 
 aside, and Jimmy went sprawling against the 
 other side of the bridge wall. 
 
 When the fallen man picked himself up his 
 companion was nowhere to be seen. Jimmy 
 stood looking about him for a minute or so, 
 then fell to contemplating the broken pipe in 
 his hand, and finally, with a groan and some- 
 thing very like a curse, he strode slowly back 
 towards home. 
 
 Then he changed his mind, not caring to face 
 his own in that condition, and turned off up 
 Twiggy Lane, and when at length he returned 
 to his own house the young people had gone to 
 join the school procession, and Jimmy found 
 himself alone with a sorrowful-faced wife. 
 
 A single shy glance at her husband's face 
 told Mrs, Jimmy all she needed to know. She 
 had no idea, of course, of what had taken place 
 on the bridge, but to her anxious mind what 
 they had seen and heard since Caleb came home
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 317 
 
 was more than sufficient to explain her hus- 
 band's stern and gloomj looks. Then her 
 heart went out to her son. They couldn't expect 
 him to be the same as if he had stayed at 
 home. — Oh ! how she wished he had done. — But 
 he was her only son, and it cut her to the heart 
 to see his father so troubled about him. 
 
 ^' He's noa woss nor uther folks's lads if we 
 knew aw," she murmured at last, with a heavy 
 sigh, but Jimmy did not answer her. " It wur 
 niver my will fur him to goa," she continued, 
 after another long silence. Jimmy jerked him- 
 self round in his chair and seemed about to 
 make a hot reply, but he suddenly checked him- 
 self and only looked at her with stern protesting 
 look. 
 
 Then she went to the window, where she 
 could see the scholars beginning to form in 
 procession, and then turning away with a 
 smothered cry, she came and put her hand 
 gently on her husband's arm and said in low, 
 coaxing, but tremulous tones, " Less tak him 
 away, lad, afoor it's ta late." 
 
 Jimmy sprang to his feet as if he had been 
 stung. " Woman," he cried, in fierce anguish, 
 " thaa talks loike a meythering foo ; it's ta late 
 naa. Aw tell thi." 
 
 The Scutcher and his wife never saw the 
 Sunday-school procession that day, although it 
 passed their door, and when the children came 
 home they found the atmosphere of the house
 
 318 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 so heavy with a mysterious gloom that their 
 own tongues seemed tied, and dinner was eaten 
 almost in silence. Caleb in particular seemed 
 uncomfortable, and fearing that his parents 
 had been having words about him, he tried to 
 be gentle and conciliatory, and made every 
 possible overture short of actual request for 
 pardon to his silent and surly father. 
 
 Jimmy had some doubts as to whether he 
 could go to the service in the state of mind he 
 was in, but eventually he made an effort and 
 insisted on his wife going with him. Both the 
 services passed off satisfactorily ; the sermons, 
 although Jimmy found that he could only 
 listen to them by fits and starts, satisfied him, 
 the sun in the hands of Harriet Jane went down 
 in its best manner, and the collection was up. 
 Altogether the services did Jimmy good. He 
 found himself watching with painful interest 
 the conduct of his son, and concluded that 
 either Caleb was a consummate hypocrite or 
 that he was agitating himself about his boy 
 without any just cause. During the interval 
 between the services Jimmy heard Harriet 
 Jane whisper to her mother that " Aar Caleb 
 put a whoU haaf sovrin into th' box," and 
 Jimmy was divided between a fear that so 
 unusual a sum could not have been honestly 
 gained, and joy at the generosity of his son. 
 
 When the evening service was over, Jimmy 
 found himself able to join his old friends at
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 319 
 
 Miles's, and presently got so animated in a dis- 
 cussion on the afternoon's sermon that for the 
 moment he quite forgot his fears. Recollecting 
 himself, however, m good time, he left the 
 tailor's house earlier than usual, and was just 
 settling himself down to a go-to-bed pipe when 
 the door was suddenly burst open, and with a 
 wailing scream Letty Hollows came staggering 
 into the house crying, " They'n tan him ! Oh, 
 they'n tan him." 
 
 Letty's cry was immediately drowned in 
 another, and Caleb's mother, with a piercing 
 shriek, flung herself upon the weeping girl. 
 
 *' Wot ? " cried Sarah Ann, coming rushing 
 downstairs. "Whoa? Whoa's tan him? 
 Whoa an they tan ? " 
 
 " Caleb ! " cried the unhappy Letty. 
 '^They'n tan him. Th' bobies fro' Man- 
 chester as tan him, an' ther comin' here." 
 
 As she spoke two policemen entered the 
 house from behind her and immediately began 
 to explain. Something had gone wrong at the 
 office, and Caleb was suspected. They had 
 come in a gig, and had met Caleb in the lane 
 courting Letty. They had arrested him at 
 once, and two of them had driven off to Man- 
 chester with the prisoner, whilst they (the 
 speakers) had stayed behind to search the 
 house.
 
 320 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For some minutes nothing was heard in the 
 house but the sobs and wails of the distracted 
 mother and sweetheart, mingled with inco- 
 herent protestations from Caleb's sisters. 
 
 ^' He browt summat wi' him when he coom 
 whoam, didn't he ? " said one of the officers at 
 length. ^' We mun see it." 
 
 " Nay yo' winna ! He browt nowt, and yoU 
 see nowt," and with streaming eyes and sud- 
 denly-defiant looks the wretched mother rose to 
 her feet and stood at the staircase door to pre- 
 vent the search. 
 
 ^' Bud he towd uz sa hissel," remonstrated the 
 officer gently ; 'Hie said he hed a carpet bag." 
 
 " He hadna ! Aw tell yo' he hadna ! Fur 
 shame o' yursels, yo' hard-herted wastrils." 
 
 " Well ! We mun see at ony rate." 
 
 *' Nay, yo winna ! YoU no goo up thoose 
 sturs ta-neet. 0-o-h, ha' marcy, will you ! 
 Lord, do Thaa ha' marcy ! " and the distracted 
 mother leaned against the staircase door as if 
 her son were behind it, and they were seeking 
 his life, and she was resolved to lose her own 
 to save him. 
 
 *' Dunna muther ! dunna ! " said Sarah Ann, 
 soothingly, though her face wore a look of sur- 
 prise and shame that her mother should thus 
 plunge recklessly into falsehood.
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 321 
 
 But " mother " still clung to the staircase 
 door, and leaning her tear-stained face against 
 it she sobbed, " Theyn tempted him tew it ! 
 Theyn tempted him ! he'd ne'er a dun it of 
 hissel'," and then, after a moment or two of 
 passionate sobbing, she went on, " Haa could 
 ta, Caleb ! Haa could ta ! tha's brokken thi 
 muther's hert." 
 
 But at this moment there was the noise of a 
 chair being pushed violently over the sanded 
 floor, and the next instant Jimmy, white to the 
 lips and in a perfect passion of indignation, 
 strode over to his weeping wife, and seizing 
 her violently by the shoulders and pressing her 
 against the door, so that she was compelled to 
 show her anguished face, he shouted, hoarsely, 
 " Woman, art thaa aar Caleb's mother ? " 
 
 " Aw am ! Aw am ! God help me ! " was 
 the wailing reply. 
 
 "An' does thaa believe az aar Caleb, aar 
 Caleb's a thief an' a liar an' a wastril?" and 
 with face all a-work and expressive eye rolling 
 fearfully about Jimmy stood glaring at the 
 sobbing woman before him. ''If Aw thowt 
 tha. did," he went on, " if Aw thowt tha did, 
 sithi, Aw'd — A'wd fell thi ta my feet ! " and 
 then releasing the now-terrified woman from 
 his grasp he pushed her away from the door, 
 and, flinging it wide open, he turned to the 
 officers, and cried, " Goa up wi' yo' ! Seearch 
 wheer yo'n a moind. An' goo tew his 
 
 81
 
 322 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 lodgin's i' Manchester, an' seearch theer, an' 
 if yo' foind owt, if yo' foind owt ageean 
 him, see yo', yo' con tak' him to th' New 
 Bailey an' hang him — aye, an' his owd fayther 
 wi' him." 
 
 And thus did Jimmy and his wife illustrate 
 in their own persons the different effect upon 
 different temperaments of the same great love. 
 In the mother it took the form of anxious 
 solicitude and a Thomas-like apprehensiveness 
 which made behef in misfortune to her beloved 
 fatally easy, and in the father it brushed away 
 all petty prejudices, and laid bare the broad 
 foundations of an attachment and trust which 
 misfortune could only increase. 
 
 By this time the neighbours had got to know 
 what was going on, and came hurrying in to 
 offer sympathy and get fuller information. 
 Jimmy treated the women with a merciful 
 indifference, for which they were very grateful ; 
 but the men who entered were met by the 
 Scutcher with such stares of challenging inquiry 
 that they lapsed one after the other into dis- 
 creetest silence, and were fain to wait to 
 discover Jimmy's attitude on the question before 
 they ventured to express any opinion. 
 
 This divided the company into two parties — 
 one standing round Jimmy in moody, 
 wondering silence, and the other trying to 
 soothe Mrs. Jimmy's sorrows with loud lamen- 
 tations of their own.
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 323 
 
 Then Quiet William came in, and at once set 
 the tongues of the men loose, expressing 
 himself in tones as empathetic as those just 
 used by the Scutcher as to his confidence in 
 Caleb's innocence. 
 
 Taking their cue from William, the rest 
 became equally certain and much more 
 demonstrative as to the final issue of the 
 matter. Then they began to cross-question 
 the weeping Letty as to the exact occurrences 
 connected with Caleb's arrest, and as this 
 gave food for further discussion everybody had 
 an opinion and everybody else a reminiscence 
 that bore more or less directly on the case. 
 The debate had been proceeding for some 
 minutes, and Miles Grimshaw was just finishing 
 an emphatic little homily to Mrs. Jimmy, the 
 chief point of which was that it was a trial and 
 would " Aw cum reet, tha'U see," when some- 
 body suddenly missed Jimmy. Search was 
 made for him in vain, and it soon became 
 evident that the distracted father had started 
 off for Manchester. Then William announced 
 that he must be going, but he was so mysteri- 
 ously hurried in his manner that everybody 
 guessed in a moment that he had gone after 
 Jimmy. It was some twenty odd miles to the 
 great city, but both the men knew every inch 
 of the road, having in earlier days tramped it 
 many a time carrying *' cuts " on their heads. 
 William overtook his old friend very soon, but
 
 324 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 little was said between tliem^ and they jogged 
 along together with heavy hearts through the 
 still summer night. 
 
 Never to be forgotten were the hours of that 
 weary night to Jimmy's household. The dis- 
 tracted mother sat rocking herself to and fro 
 and moaning out her unavailing lamentations, 
 and the girls, scarcely less affected, clung to 
 each other and hung on the necks of sym- 
 pathising neighbom's. One by one their friends 
 left them until only Dinah Grimshaw and Quiet 
 William's kindly little wife remained. The 
 morning dawned very early, but brought no 
 relief, and as hour followed hour the sufferers 
 began to expect news, though they could not 
 understand how it was to reach them. Break- 
 fast time came, and Dinah did her best to make 
 the sorrowing women take some refreshment, 
 but with little success. Jacky o' th' Gap had 
 brought his trap down, and offered to drive 
 them all to the city, and though the poor 
 mother was all for going. Miles and Noah, 
 the grocer, advised that nothing should be done 
 until some tidings had been received. Ten 
 o'clock came, and eleven, but still no news. 
 Noon arrived, and Mrs. Jimmy was almost 
 getting beyond control. 
 
 Just, however, as the hands were coming 
 home from the mill to dinner a boy on a pony 
 drove up to the croft and asked for the 
 Scutcher's house, A moment later he had
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 325 
 
 handed a telegram — the first they had ever 
 received — to Sarah Ann at the door. Before 
 the trembling girl could open it, however, it 
 was snatched out of her hand, and her mother, 
 hugging the flimsy packet to her heart, began 
 to moan and weep afresh. 
 
 " Oppen it, muther ! oppen it ! " 
 
 " Aw darna ! Aw darna ! " moaned the 
 wi'etched woman. 
 
 " Then let me oppen it. Dew, muther ! " 
 
 " Aw darna ! Aw darna ! " 
 
 " Cum, cum, wench," said Dinah Grimshaw, 
 coaxingly, and, stealing an arm round her 
 friend, she drew the telegram from the 
 trembling fingers and handed it to Sarah 
 Ann. 
 
 But the daughter, only a little less excited 
 than her mother, fumbled so with the envelope 
 that Miles, who had heard the news and came 
 running in, snatched it from her, and, tearing 
 it open, glanced hastily at the contents, and 
 then, casting the fateful document into the air, 
 he cried out wildly, " Aw said sa ! Aw said sa ! 
 an' Awm reet ! " 
 
 This shout brought in the little crowd that 
 had gathered about the door, and when Miles 
 had thus got a larger congregation he sought 
 for the telegram, carefully smoothed it out, and 
 then, after an impressive pause, read : 
 
 All right — a mistake. Coming home. — Caleb. 
 
 The present chronicler has no power to
 
 326 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 describe the scene that followed, and must 
 leave it to the imagination of his readers. 
 Everybody had been right. Nobody had ever 
 had any doubts as to the innocence of him who 
 was now the hero of the hour. They all knew 
 Caleb and his folks too well to think that he 
 could have done anything wrong. 
 
 Mother, however, was only half convinced. 
 It " was only sent to th' 'sizes," and Caleb was 
 " bailed aat." At the least he had lost his shop 
 (situation), and would have to go to "weyving" 
 again, though she confessed afterwards that on 
 the whole she would rather have liked that. 
 But the more dubious " mother "was the more 
 confident the rest became, and she listened 
 with a hungry eagerness to all their reasons 
 for being sure that her fears were ground- 
 less. 
 
 About tea-time the three absentees returned, 
 and then the mystery was explained. Pilfering 
 from the petty cash had been going on in the 
 Manchester ofiice for some time, and the cashier 
 had been driven almost to his wits' end to 
 discover the culprit. Latterly suspicion had 
 seemed to point to Caleb, and after he had 
 left for home on the previous Saturday dis- 
 coveries had been made which seemed to con- 
 firm the suspicions. The police had been 
 called in, with consequences of which we are 
 aware, and Caleb had been arrested in the 
 manner already described. Then a message
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 327 
 
 had been sent to the junior partner, who was 
 away on his holidays. That gentleman, who 
 was a fiery, impetuous little man, had returned 
 at once, and when, upon arriving at the office 
 on Monday morning, he had been told that 
 Caleb was the culprit and was now in prison, 
 he had flown into a great rage, called the 
 cashier a grinning idiot, and then darting 
 across the room he had seized a sallow-faced 
 clerk by the neck and shaken him until the 
 wretched man had been fain to confess and beg 
 for mercy. Then the irate little man had called 
 for a cab and driven at top speed to the police 
 station, where he had called the chief inspector 
 a lunatic, and then after a few words of ex- 
 planation had dragged Caleb out of the place, 
 and with a kick behind had ordered him off 
 home for a week and sent him staggering into 
 the arms of Quiet William, who, with the now 
 triumphant Jimmy, was waiting in the passage 
 outside. 
 
 When the joy of the reception had some- 
 what subsided and a bountiful tea had been 
 partaken of, Jimmy lounged out of the house 
 to his place at Miles's fireside, and Caleb got 
 Letty Hollows into a corner and made her 
 blush again and again as he reminded her of 
 the compromising things she had said when 
 ^^th' bobbies were takkin' me," and Letty 
 really looked so very pretty as she blushed 
 that her lover might have committed himself
 
 328 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 before company, but that she drew away from 
 him and pretended to want to speak to Sarah 
 Ann very particularly. Meanwhile, Quiet 
 William was sitting and staring at the empty 
 fire-place, with a musing but delighted expres- 
 sion on his big face. Presently he glanced 
 round slyly into the corner occupied by the 
 courters, and then, beckoning Mrs. Jimmy 
 to him, he jerked his thumb over his left 
 shoulder and said in a soft undertone, "Aw 
 thowt az tha said az he didna goo to th* 
 schoo'." 
 
 And a shadow came back for a moment into 
 the mothei 's face as she answered, with a little 
 sigh, " He towd uz sa his-sel'." 
 
 And William put out his great hand, and, 
 puUing her nearer to him until he could whisper 
 into her ear, answered huskily, "Whey, 
 woman ! he's th' Secretaary." 
 
 And as soft, grateful tears rose into the red 
 eyes of the mother, William began to feel very 
 moist under the eyelashes himself, and so, 
 pausing a moment to recover possession of him- 
 self, but gazing earnestly aU the while down 
 into the swimming eyes before him, he presently 
 cleared his throat, and, bending forward, said, 
 " An' tha towd me az he went to th' theayter 
 an' th' Strawberry Gardins." 
 
 "Well, he does, doesn't he?" And there 
 was a painful eagerness in the eyes that looked 
 so wistfully into William's.
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 329 
 
 ^' Whej, wench ! he's nee'r bin theer in his 
 loife. He spends his neets teichin' in a neefc 
 schoo'." 
 
 And then the overwrought mother^ lifting 
 her thin arms, cried out, " Bless the Lord ! 
 bless the Lord ! " And William ducked down 
 his head and buried his face in his hands ; and 
 as the young people flocked round their mother, 
 demanding what was the matter, William softly 
 stole away, and a few minutes later was sitting 
 with his cronies at the tailor's house. 
 
 Here the first excitement of the conversation 
 on the topic of the hour had subsided somewhat, 
 and there was a little lull as William arrived. 
 When the big man had charged his pipe, how- 
 ever, Jacky o' th' Gap, looking steadily at the 
 smoke that was issuing in thick volumes from 
 William's mouthy heaved a long sigh^ and said 
 slowly: "Aye ther's sum foine lads bin turnt 
 aat ov aar schoo'." 
 
 And Jimmy gave most welcome and satisfac- 
 tory signs of having returned to his normal 
 condition by replying, with all his customary 
 contradictoriness, " Aye, an sum wastrils 
 tew." 
 
 A long meditative silence followed, but pre- 
 sently Jacky returned to the attack. Taking 
 his pipe out of his mouth, and leaning forward 
 and scowling at Jimmy as he tapped his knee 
 with the stem of his chui-chwarden, he cried in 
 a tone that challenged and defied contradiction.
 
 330 A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 
 
 "Yore Caleb uU be a pardner yond ofoor he 
 dees." 
 
 And Jimmy made the reply which everybody 
 expected from him when, after a somewhat 
 scornful and unbelieving pause, he answered, 
 '' Aye, when pigs flies."
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE.
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Wetshin'-up mugs ! Stew mugs ! Whaite 
 
 sand an' 7'uh-bin' sto " and the familiar cry 
 
 ended in a long fit of coughing as the sandman 
 drew up before a little row of stone cottages 
 just at the corner where Cinder Hill Lane ran 
 into the Wallbury High Eoad. "Pablo, lad," 
 gasped the hawker, laying his hand on the 
 pony's back and struggling to get his breath, 
 ^' we're gettin' owd, thee an' me ; weest sewn be 
 done fur if things goos on o' thisunce," and as 
 his face again became purple he bent down and 
 went off into another long cough. 
 
 "Hay, Eeubin^ yo dew saand bad! Wot- 
 iver's ta dew wi yo ? " The speaker was a 
 short, trim little woman of about thirty-seven. 
 She had a broad, serious brow and black wavy 
 hair, whilst her cheeks still wore some of the 
 bloom of youth, and her soft, dark eyes looked 
 at the coughing sandman with sympathetic 
 distress. She wore a pink print dress, with 
 white spots in it, which, though somewhat 
 faded and neatly patched on the bodice in two
 
 334 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 or three places, still became her well and set off 
 her very natty figure. 
 
 " It's losening, wench, it's losening," gasped 
 the sandman, and in confirmation of his state- 
 ment he went off immediately into another fit 
 of coughing. 
 
 ^' Hay, mon ! hud yo arr badly. Yo shuld'na 
 be aat wi' a cowf loike that. Cum into th' 
 haase, an' Aw'U gi' yo summat warm." 
 
 At another time the surly old hawker would 
 have declined this invitation, but this was one 
 of the few women he had learned to respect, 
 and his cough had reaUy exhausted him, and 
 so, with a crusty grunt, he followed her into 
 the cottage. In a few minutes the sympathetic 
 little woman had set him in an armchair by the 
 fire, and was busy mixing him a glass of black 
 currant tea, into which she dropped a few drops 
 of brandy, and as he held the smoking glass in 
 his hand and sipped at it, he heaved a sigh and 
 began to look round the room. It was scrupu- 
 lously clean ; the window-blind and the table- 
 top were almost equally white, the three little 
 fuchsia-pots in the window had been " ruddled " 
 until they looked as red almost as paint, the 
 fire-irons shone in a high state of polish, and 
 the mahogany chest of drawers reflected the 
 fire almost as in a glass. It was a long time 
 since Reuben had seen so sweet a little nest, 
 and his heart warmed towards the owner of it 
 as he looked again and again at the brightness
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 335 
 
 around him. And then the active little woman 
 began to advise him about keeping his feet dry 
 and wearing goose grease on brown paper on 
 his chest, and a bacon coUop round his neck at 
 nights, and finished by handing him two little 
 packets of herbs, " cumfrey and horehound," 
 with minute and oft-repeated instructions as to 
 how they were to be brewed and how often the 
 decoction was to be taken. And Eeuben, won- 
 dering at his own mildness, took the little 
 packet, and with a muttered and strangely 
 bashful " Thank thi, wench," rejoined Pablo in 
 the road. 
 
 As they went along Reuben seemed to be 
 lost in meditation ; then he stopped, and, 
 turning round, stood looking back at the little 
 cottage he had just left. Then he hurried 
 forward to overtake his cart, and in a moment 
 or two he had brought his steed to a standstill 
 in the road, and once more turned to gaze down 
 the road. Then, as if struck with a sudden 
 thought, he darted forward, and seizing Pablo 
 by the rein he brought him to a standstill, and 
 then pulling the animal's head half round and 
 pointing with his whip down the road he cried, 
 " Hoos poor, an' hoos hafe-clemmed, and hoos 
 worked ta deeath, and hoos a Methody, but 
 sithi, Pablo ! hoos ten times happier tin yore 
 Eeuben," and there was sorrow and regret and 
 keen disappointment in his face, and he shook 
 his head mournfully.
 
 336 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 After giving his master as much time as he 
 thought the subject demanded, Pablo started 
 again on his journey, leaving Reuben still 
 standing and staring down the road. Presently 
 the sandman made a sudden dart after his pony, 
 and seizing the bridle once more with an 
 impatient jerk, he cried, half angrily, " Sithi, 
 thaa owd haythen thaa ! If thaa doesna be 
 sharp and ger On wi' thi deein thall live ta see 
 yore Reubin a Methody ! Aye, an' a gradely 
 Methody tew ! " 
 
 And then another mood came over the 
 disturbed man, and taking the pony gently by 
 the reins he began to lead him along the road. 
 He was looking straight before him now, and 
 sadness and vain regret were in his face. Then 
 he heaved a heavy sigh, and jerking his thumb 
 over his shoulder in the direction of the cottage 
 he had left he muttered, " Hoo wudna lewh at 
 me ! Aw tell thi, Pablo," and he turned to the 
 pony once more as if it had raised some 
 objection, "hoo wudna lewk at me. Awmrich, 
 an' cud mak' her into a lady, an' her childer 
 into swells, and hoos next dur to th' bastile, 
 an hoo wudna lewk at me," and Pablo plodded 
 doggedly on as if this was an extraordinary and 
 unaccountable lapse on the part of his master, 
 of which it was not worth bis while as a self- 
 respecting and experienced animal to take too 
 serious notice. 
 
 When they turned the corner of Lark Lane
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 337 
 
 they of course came in sight of the sandman's 
 cottage, and as they did so Eeuben's counten- 
 ance changed, and an amused, half mischievous 
 look came into his eyes. 
 
 " Bi Gum, Pablo ! " he cried " we're coppt ! 
 We're fairly coppt this time ! ISTaa fur it." 
 
 There was a perambulator standing at the 
 cottage door, and somebody evidently well 
 acquainted with the mysterious and complicated 
 system of door fastenings in vogue there was 
 already in possession of the house. The sand- 
 man did his best to look penitent and apologetic 
 as he entered, but a smile lurked about the 
 corners of his big mouth. On the hearthstone 
 stood a bright-looking, well-dressed young 
 woman, who might be a little under or a little 
 over thirty. It was Mrs. Grace Westall, nee 
 Tonge, and she was dandling a baby up and 
 down as she talked. 
 
 " Father ! How could you ! Was there ever 
 such an aggravating man ! " 
 
 The sandman walked meekly to his seat. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you not to go out for a week ? 
 Oh, I could shake you, you old a — a — maddlin'," 
 and Grace, who as the mill-owner's wife now 
 usually talked decent English, or at any rate 
 Lancashire English, slipped unconsciously in her 
 pretty indignation into the dialect. 
 
 The sandman grinned, but never spoke. 
 Grace since her marriage and consequent 
 elevation in station had become quite an 
 
 22
 
 338 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 imperious little domestic tyrant, especially 
 toward her father, and Reuben liked her better 
 in this character than he had ever done as his 
 meek and dutiful daughter, and when she went 
 into one of her pretty tantrums Reuben 
 delighted to sit and watch her. 
 
 ^' You're worse ! I can see you are worse ! 
 And you might well ! " and the irate lady tossed 
 back her long yellow curls and shook her head 
 threateningly at her parent. 
 
 Then she took a little walk across the rug 
 with the baby, and then glancing scornfully at 
 the table she cried, more indignantly .than ever, 
 " And look at that table ! A week's pots 
 unwashed! What are they doing there? Where 
 are those lazy charwomen I sent ? " 
 
 But the sandman only grimied the more. 
 
 '' Where are they, I say ? " 
 
 ^^Aw sent 'em whoam." 
 
 " Sent 'em home ! And what for, pray ? " 
 
 " They aw wanted ta merry me." 
 
 And in spite of herself Grace had to laugh, 
 which was what her father most of all desired. 
 
 " Marry you ! I wish one of 'em would, I 
 do for sui'e ! " 
 
 After a moment's pause, during which Grace 
 was tossing her baby up and down, Reuben 
 drawled out, " Aw wur thinkin' o' puttin' up 
 ta Long Sally — bud hoo happen wodn't ha' 
 me," And Grace rippled out a long, merry 
 laugh, for Long Sally was about the ugliest
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 339 
 
 and most intemperate old woman in the parish^ 
 and a character to boot. 
 
 And then Grace tucked up her dress-sleeves 
 and carried away the dirty pots, and announced 
 that she was going to send her servant down 
 to '^'^ fettle up." Then she made some tea, 
 during which last operation Reuben went out 
 and put up Pablo. 
 
 Grace was just rolling down her sleeves again 
 and preparing to take up the baby, who was 
 becoming fretful, when her father returned 
 from the stable. 
 
 "Father," she said, turning to him quite 
 seriously, " I really wish you would find some 
 decent body and wed her. You won't come 
 and live at the house, and you can't go on like 
 this. You are gettin' older." But the twinkle 
 in Reuben's eye set her off laughing again, and 
 she hastened away to her own residence. 
 
 The sandman, who had followed his daughter 
 to the door, sauntered slowly and absently back 
 into his house ; then he put his hands into his 
 trousers pockets and stood looking through the 
 window with a far-away and somewhat pensive 
 expression on his square, strong face. Then 
 he took off his coat and hung it behind the 
 door, and once more resumed his gaze through 
 the window. A little sigh escaped him, and 
 turning round he took the little bundles of herbs 
 out of his coat pocket and stood looking at 
 them. Then he laid them on the table,
 
 340 REUBEN" CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 glanced again through the window, and with 
 another little sigh walked to the door. From 
 the door he wandered into the stable and 
 began to inspect his four-footed friend once 
 more. He groped in the manger to feel for 
 the corn, then he picked up a bucket and 
 offered the ragged looking animal a drink. 
 Once more he sighed, and this time more 
 heavily, and then, standing away a little and 
 appearing to take a long careful look at his old 
 companion, he murmured, " Neaw, neaw, 
 Pablo ! It winna dew, lad ! Thee an' me's ta 
 owd fur that sooart o' wark ! " and then as he 
 withdrew towards the door with another and 
 longer sigh he continued, ^' Bud sumbri 'ull ger 
 a bargin' some day, they will fur sewer, lad." 
 
 As Reuben stepped into the lane, and stood 
 fumbling absently with the fastening of the 
 stable door, he caught the patter of little clogs 
 coming along, and the murmur of children's 
 voices, and turning round he beheld two yoiuig- 
 sters, the children of the widow of whom he 
 was at that moment thinking. 
 
 " Hello ! Lizer," he cried, with a clumsy 
 affectation of eagerness and surprise, " wheer 
 arr yo goin' ? " 
 
 The eldest of the two childi'en stopped, and 
 began to look frightened as the sandman 
 sauntered towards them. " We're goin' whoam 
 tew arr baggin'," she answered timidly, and 
 stepped back a little. 
 
 i
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 341 
 
 " Aye ! " exclaimed Eeuben in pretended 
 surprise, "an' what dew yo hev fur yur 
 baggin' ? " 
 
 " Traycle butty-cake an' tay." 
 
 The sandman seemed overwhelmed with 
 astonishment for a moment, and then he asked, 
 " An' wot dun yo hev fur yur dinners ? " 
 
 The little girl hesitated as if she were not 
 quite sure whether these were proper questions 
 to answer, and then she replied " Bacon collops, 
 a — a — a — when we han ony." 
 
 The sandman seemed more surprised than 
 ever, and presently went on, " An' wot dun yo 
 hev when yo hanna ony collops ? " 
 
 Lizer hesitated again, glanced timidly back 
 down the lane, looked up again into the face of 
 her interrogator, and then answered almost in 
 a whisper, " Nowt." 
 
 The hawker hfted his heavy brows higher 
 than ever, and demanded hastily, " An' wot dun 
 yo dew then ? " 
 
 The little one was embarrassed ; surely her 
 questioner was asking very unjustifiable ques- 
 tions. She would evidently have very much 
 preferred to run away, but she had quite her 
 share of the Scowcroft children's fear of the 
 sandman, and so presently she stammered, 
 " Then my muther prays." 
 
 Reuben's hard eyes suddenly became most 
 unwontedly dim ; he choked back a novel rising 
 in his throat, and asked, in a voice that
 
 342 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 annoyed him by its huskiness^ " An' wot 
 then?" 
 
 Lizer seemed surprised at the question, and 
 with a little look of remonstrance and astonish- 
 ment she answered, " Oh ! ther's allis summat 
 comes then." 
 
 The sandman wheeled suddenly round, and 
 hastened indoors as if little Lizer had struck 
 him — as indeed she had. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now Reuben had not in the least exaggerated 
 when he had described the condition and 
 circumstances of Kitty Wallwork, the widow, 
 to his faithful steed. Since the death of her 
 husband some four years before she had found 
 the struggle of life very hard indeed, and had 
 many a time been reduced to the direst straits. 
 She lived by baking and selling bread and tea- 
 cakes, and by doing a httle washing. She had 
 her full share of that proper pride which hates 
 to acknowledge poverty, and her feelings on 
 this point were intensified by the recollection 
 that her present condition was an ample justi- 
 fication of the evil prophecies of her neighbours 
 when she had defied public opinion by marrying 
 into an unpopular family. Moreover, though
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 343 
 
 modest and quiet in her general demeanour, 
 Kittj was a very ambitious woman, and strove 
 to forget her present difficulties in highly- 
 coloured day-dreams of the future of her chil- 
 dren. If only she could get over three or four 
 more years; but that was the difficulty, and 
 every now and again she felt as if she had got 
 to the last extreme and would have to give in. 
 And things had reached an acute stage at the 
 time when she had her little interview with the 
 sandman, and she could not help wishing, as 
 she watched his creaking old cart go dovni the 
 road, that she had a little of the money which 
 rumom* credited him with possessing and for 
 which he had so little use. 
 
 But it was no use wishing and fretting ; the 
 winter was coming, her needs were great, and 
 she must work whilst she had the chance, so 
 she heaved another little sigh, threw her shawl 
 over her head, and hurried off to do a little work 
 for the Misses Garlick at the farm. 
 
 This employment, to her great joy, lasted all 
 that evening and the next day, and when she 
 arrived home on the following evening she was 
 greatly astonished to find her little coal-shed 
 crammed to overflowing with coals that would, 
 with the care she had learned to exercise, last 
 her all the winter. But who had sent them ? 
 The children knew nothing. Owd Hecky next 
 door was blind, and pleaded that as a reason 
 for his ignorance, though he did not say, as he
 
 344 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 might have done, that a load had also been 
 given to him as the price of his silence. The 
 other neighbours all went out to work, except 
 Martha Myers at the end of the row, and she 
 was away from home. Who could it be ? 
 
 And presently it struck her that it must be 
 the sandman, only it was so very unlike him, 
 and his character was so bad, that if it were 
 he, there must be some suspicious reason behind 
 the generosity. She mentioned her idea to 
 little Liza over a frugal supper, and the child 
 then remembered her interview with the sand- 
 man, and detailed it to her mother. Yes, it 
 was the sandman without a doubt, and almost 
 immediately poor Reuben was forgotten in the 
 widow's gratitude to her Maker. He had 
 answered her prayers, and did work in myste- 
 rious ways indeed, when He had answered her 
 prayers by sending her help through such a 
 channel. Then she began to fear whether it 
 was right that she should accept help from a 
 hard-hearted, money-grubbing old wretch like 
 Reuben. But she got over that by reminding 
 herself of stories she had read in tracts in which 
 God had sent help to His children in distress 
 from people quite as unlikely as Reuben, and 
 that night the little ones looked up into their 
 mother's half-transfigured face with solemn 
 wonder as she poured out her thanksgiving to 
 her Malzer for fulfilling His promises and help- 
 ing the widow in distress.
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 345 
 
 She was out when next the sandman came on 
 his rounds, and it was several days before she 
 got an opportunity of thanking him. 
 
 One morning, however, as she was busy 
 baking, with the door open, a shadow fell across 
 the entrance, and a rough voice demanded, 
 " Dust want owt, Kitty ? " It was Eeuben, of 
 course. He was seated on the little stone 
 table outside the door, and looked as uncon- 
 cerned as usual. 
 
 " Aye, Aw want thee. Aw want ta thank " 
 
 "Me! Thaa wants me! Bi Gum, Kitty, 
 Awm fain " 
 
 " Neaw ! Neaw ! " cried the widow, hastily, 
 whilst a faint blush rose to her face. "Aw 
 dunna meean that ; Aw want ta thank thi " 
 
 But again, and with obvious intention, Reuben 
 interrupted her. 
 
 "Aar Grace wur saying t'other day as Aw 
 owt get marrit." 
 
 And Kitty ducked her head down and drew 
 a short breath, and then she went on, " Aw 
 want ta than " 
 
 " Thaa wants ! Neer moind what thaa 
 wants. Aw wants a woife." 
 
 Kitty felt that the situation was getting 
 ridiculous ; she could feel her face beginning to 
 burn, and yet she was sure that the sandman 
 was only joking. And he had been very good 
 to her ; there was evidently some good in him 
 somewhere.
 
 346 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 Could she say anything that would do him 
 good and set him thinking in serious direc- 
 tions? She paused a moment, stole a rapid 
 glance at her visitor as he sat on the stone 
 table. Poor man ! perhaps nobody ever had 
 spoken to him for his good. She would try. 
 
 " There's summat else as thaa waants mooar 
 tin a woife, Reuben." 
 
 And then she caught her breath, fearing that 
 she had ventured too far, for the sandman was 
 credited with a dreadful temper. 
 
 " Wot's that ? " demanded Reuben, eagerly. 
 
 And Kitty bent her head over her dough, and 
 answered, timidly, " A cleean slate, lad." 
 
 But there was no explosion as she had ex- 
 pected ; there was no reply at all, in fact ; and 
 a moment later she heard the wheels of the 
 sandcart begin to creak slowly, and when she 
 raised her head her strange wooer had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 And then Kitty began to accuse herself of 
 all kinds of transgressions; she had repaid 
 Reuben's kindness by offending him ; she had 
 flown in the face of Providence just when God 
 had sent her most unexpected help. She had 
 given way to pride, and had robbed her children 
 by slighting the help they all so much needed. 
 Once more she had let her tongue get her into 
 trouble. Oh, what a foolish and wicked woman 
 she was ! 
 
 For two days poor Kitty continued to torture
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 347 
 
 herself about her mistake, and had resolved a 
 score of times that when next the sandman 
 came on his rounds she would make ample 
 amends for her ingratitude. 
 
 On the Saturday morning whilst she was 
 blackleading the firegrate, and was therefore 
 very hot and dirty, she was surprised to hear 
 the old familiar cry of the sandman about two 
 hours earlier than the usual time. Why was 
 he coming just then ? She would finish hastily 
 and wash herself before he reached her door ; 
 she could not possibly talk to him in that 
 condition. But before she had finished her 
 shining grate she heard a rough " Whoy wi 
 thi " outside, and almost instantly the door 
 opened, and the strong face of the hawker 
 looked in upon her. 
 
 " An' soa when thaa gets wed it'll be tew a 
 felley wi a clean slate, will it ? " cried Eeuben, 
 holding the door in his hand. 
 
 And Kitty, annoyed to be caught in that 
 condition, especially when she wanted to be 
 nice to the sandman, replied, without ever 
 turning round, " It will that." 
 
 " Oh." 
 
 And before she could rise to her feet or stop 
 him the sandman had banged the door and was 
 leading his pony down the road. 
 
 What a provoking man he was, and what an 
 unlucky and foolish woman was she ! The very 
 coals on the fire which she now poked so angrily
 
 348 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 were his gift, and she could not even be civil to 
 him. Besides, she had no rubbing-stone and 
 could not finish her work without. What was 
 she to do? Next day was Sunday, and the 
 sandman occasionally came to chapel now, 
 she would look out for him then and give him 
 her thanks. Yes ; that would be a very good 
 opportmiity, for Eeuben was not likely to be 
 able to evade the issue as he had done last time 
 if she spoke to him at the chapel door. 
 
 But that Sabbath Reuben did not appear, 
 and she had, perforce, to wait luitil his next 
 round. On the day but one after, she finished 
 her baking earlier than usual, and left her door 
 open so that she could hear him as soon as he 
 was in the neighboui'hood. She had also put 
 on her second-best dress which, alas ! was just 
 then her first-best too ; and having given her 
 hair just a little touch, she sat waiting for him 
 to approach. 
 
 Creak ! creak ! creak ! he was coming ; as 
 soon as he stopped at old Hecky's she would go 
 out to him. 
 
 Creak ! creak ! went the cart. He must 
 be opposite the door now, but she dare not 
 look. 
 
 Creak ! creak ! Why, he must be going 
 past ! 
 
 Kitty felt suddenly faint; turned to look 
 round the house as if to ask the various pieces 
 of furniture to behold this astonishing thing
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 349 
 
 and explain what it meant; and before she 
 could either move or speak, the pony and cart 
 and owner too were past. 
 
 Kitty sank back into her seat and felt very 
 much inclined to cry. She could have stopped 
 him by calling after him, of course ; but why 
 had he gone past? He had certainly never 
 done that before. He was offended, and well 
 he might be ! And Kitty did not know, of 
 coui'se, that whilst she was sitting staring at 
 the fuchsias Eeuben was standing some dis- 
 tance down the road and gazing back at her 
 cottage with much the same expression on his 
 face as stood at that moment on her own. 
 
 Later in the same day she heard news. Old 
 Martha Myers, who had returned home again, 
 came in evidently full of some very toothsome 
 gossip. The Black Lion, more commonly 
 known as " Th' Hole i' thi' Wall,'^ a low beer- 
 house on the outskirts of Scowcroft, was to be 
 closed. More wonderful still, for the house, 
 though of evil repute, was known to pay well ; 
 it had just come out that Eeuben the sandman 
 had been the owner of the place for some time, 
 and that it was his action that was causing it to 
 be closed. Kitty was more perplexed than ever. 
 She scarcely dared to hope that her few words 
 to the old hawker had had anything to do with 
 the matter, and still, if he had made up his 
 mind to act on her suggestion, this was about 
 the first and best thing: he could have done.
 
 350 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 Kitty began to feel worried about the matter. 
 When the little ones had been got off to bed 
 she sat down to have a good long meditation 
 about the subject^ but had scarcely composed 
 herself when a cart stopped at the door, and a 
 man bearing a sack of flour and a heavy parcel 
 strode into the house. To all her protestations 
 that the goods were not for her the man 
 opposed an obstinate heedlessness, and pre- 
 sently left her more bewildered than ever. 
 When he had gone she opened the parcel, 
 which proved to contain two dresses, one a 
 good stuff of fashionable pattern, and the 
 other — oh, marvel of marvels — a real black 
 sHk! 
 
 But the wonders of this most wonderful day 
 were not over yet. Kitty had just reduced 
 herself by strenuous efforts to something like 
 calmness, and was deciding that of course these 
 were gifts from the strange sandman, which 
 she could on no account accept, when a step 
 was heard on the flags outside, the door 
 opened, and in walked, of all persons, the 
 sandman himself. 
 
 ^•' Oh, thart theer aar ta," he remarked, and 
 then with the utmost coolness walked over to 
 the chair on the other side of the fireplace and 
 sat down. 
 
 An exclamation of surprise rose to the 
 widow's lips as she saw him enter, but his 
 perfect self-possession and his changed appear-
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 351 
 
 ance stopped her, and she rose slowly from her 
 seat and stood there staring helplessly at him. 
 She had never seen him look like this. He did 
 not wear his ordinary dirty every-day clothes, 
 neither had he on those gorgeous best blacks 
 which he affected when he came to chapel on 
 Sundays. It was a neat and evidently new 
 suit of dark mixture, which fitted him uncom- 
 monly well. Besides that he was shaved, and 
 his short, stumpy beard had been carefully 
 trimmed, and Kitty saw to her surprise that he 
 was after all a good-looking man. 
 
 As the widow stood looking at her visitor she 
 suddenly began to feel very awkward. She 
 realised that she must look like a shy schoolgirl. 
 AU the same she felt powerless to move. Why 
 was she so helpless? She always did feel 
 helpless in the presence of this man. She 
 understood now why people were so much 
 afraid of him. She was afraid of him herself. 
 Presently, with a painful effort, she managed to 
 say, " Hay, Eeuben, Aw'm glad tha's cum. Aw 
 — Aw — Aw — them coils " 
 
 " Naa, then, theer thaa art agean ! Dunna 
 bother me abaat th' coils." And the sandman 
 sounded angry, as he made an impatient gestiu*e 
 with the arm that was leaning on the other side 
 of the table. 
 
 Ej.tty could feel her heart beating, and had 
 to lean against the table for support. Oh, why 
 was she so " sawf t " just when she needed to be
 
 352 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 cool and firm ? There were several things she 
 had to say to her visitor, and now for the life 
 of her she could not decide which to mention 
 first. 
 
 Presently she ventured very penitently, " Aw 
 wur — Aw've bin ill off this last wik fur wot Aw 
 said tew thi." 
 
 And Reuben wheeled half round in his chair, 
 and cried eagerly, "Oh, tha's changed thi moind, 
 then hast ? " 
 
 " Neaw ! neaw ! Aw dunna meean that ! 
 Aw meean abaat wot Aw said abaat clean " 
 
 But the sandman perversely misunderstood 
 her, and broke in impatiently, " Wot's a toathre 
 coils ! Ha' sum sense, woman, an' think o' thi 
 childer." 
 
 *' Bud, Rewbin " — and Kitty tried to be calm 
 and speak firmly — " Aw conna ! Aw darna ! 
 It's no' reet, tha knows." 
 
 *' Reet ! " shouted Reuben, jumping to his 
 feet in anger. " Is it reet ta clem thiself , an' 
 clem thi childer, an' chuck ther chonces away 
 wi' proide ! Is that reet ? " 
 
 Kitty was bewildered; this masterful man 
 frightened her and paralysed her; she could 
 not even think clearly. At last she said, timidly, 
 "Aw trusten i' Providence " 
 
 " Providence ! " broke in the sandman ; and 
 striding across the floor towards the kitchen 
 door he suddenly wheeled round, and cried, 
 excitedly, "That's it! that's it! That's th'
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 353 
 
 way wi' aw yo' cantin' Metlioclys ; Yo' talken 
 abaat Providence, an' yo' pray ta Providence, 
 an' then when He sends ya wot yo' wanten yo' 
 conna tak' it fur proide ! " 
 
 But Eeuben had gone a little too far, and 
 Kitty felt her spirit rising. " Eewbin," she 
 commenced very firmly, but once more the irate 
 sandman broke in — " Sithi, Kitty, wilt ha' me 
 an' cumfort an' plenty o' brass, an' cloathes fur 
 thi childer, an' summat ta leeav 'em when tha 
 dees — wilta or wilta not ? " 
 
 But the woman in Kitty was aroused now. 
 What kind of love-making was this ? The idea 
 of being proposed to by a man in a passion ! 
 It was monstrous ! She drew herself up 
 proudly, took a long breath, and then answered, 
 "Ha' thi? Thee! Neaw, nor if tha'd ten 
 toimes as mitch, sa theer." 
 
 Reuben stood looking at her from head to 
 foot. He seemed all at once to have become 
 quite calm. And still he looked her over until 
 all the courage went out of her, and she began 
 to tremble. Then he drew his breath, walked 
 quietly to the door, and was just departing 
 when he turned round again, and said slowly, 
 " Kitty, Aw want thi an' Awst have thi. An' 
 if tha sends that flaar an' stuff back Awst send 
 twict as mich," and closing the door very 
 deliberately he was gone. 
 
 23
 
 354 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Left to herself Kitty sank into tlie nearest 
 chair and burst into tears. But just then she 
 heard the pattering- of little feet on the floor 
 above her head, and a moment later her whole 
 family was clinging around her and demanding 
 what was "ta dew." Poor children ! They 
 had become of late only too accustomed to 
 strange men coming to the house and " saucing " 
 their mother. They had seen her cry more 
 than once after the " rentman " or the 
 " c'llector " had called, but this was a new 
 voice they had heard shouting downstairs. 
 Who could this be ? And this tender, clinging 
 child-sympathy — the most touching of all con- 
 solations — softened the mother more than ever, 
 and for some moments she could only soothe 
 them and hug them to her breast. Then she 
 told them that it was only the sandman, and 
 showed them the big sack of flour, and told 
 them that he had given it to them. 
 
 "Then aar yo' skriking 'cause yore happy, 
 muther? " asked little Lizer, wistfully. 
 
 ^^Aye, chilt, aye," sobbed the mother, and 
 coaxed them back to rest. 
 
 Then the harassed woman went downstairs 
 again and sat before the fire and wept. And 
 somehow the crying relieved her, and she pre-
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 355 
 
 sently found herself sitting and gazing absently 
 into the fading fire. 
 
 After a little while she began to smile, and 
 presently she laughed outright. Eeally, her 
 wooer's extraordinary mode of proposing was 
 too ridiculous. But it was certainly in har- 
 mony with everything she had ever heard of 
 him ; he never did anything like anybody else. 
 Then she became serious again as the grave 
 question of accepting or otherwise of Reuben's 
 gifts presented itself to her mind. He had a 
 reputation for being generous in his own pecu- 
 liar way, and was reputed to be very well off. 
 Why shouldn't she swallow her pride and accept 
 his help for her children's sake? And there 
 might after all be something in what the man 
 had said about Providence providing for her, 
 and she rejecting. Perhaps God had seen she 
 was proud, and had taken this way of helping in 
 order to cure her of her sin. Poor soul ! It was 
 easy enough for her to think badly of herself. 
 
 But this proposal ! That seemed to compli- 
 cate everything. If Reuben was simply trying 
 to buy her there was an end of it, she could not 
 bear the thought. And every now and again 
 the idea of the possibility of accepting the 
 sandman passed through her mind. But some- 
 how she always shirked the thing, and pre- 
 ferred to argue the matter with herself without 
 reference to this element of the case. Again 
 and asrain her thougrhts went out to her chil-
 
 456 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 dren and their needs, and at last she stole off 
 to rest, but only to toss about and brood until 
 the small hours of the morning. 
 
 The children had their promised cakes when 
 they came down to breakfast next day, but not 
 from Reuben's sack. Kitty had not quite 
 settled that question yet. Then she took 
 another look at the tempting dresses, the silk 
 absorbing her thoughts for quite a long time, 
 until at last she thrust it nervously from her, 
 hastily threw the wrapper over it and carried it 
 upstairs. Not to keep, of course, but only to 
 be safe from harm until she should be able to 
 make up her mind. 
 
 As she was finishing her own breakfast, who 
 should come hurrying in but Peter, the grocer's 
 assistant, to know if she could bake bread for 
 a funeral on the morrow. The bread would 
 have to be made at once if she did, for it must 
 be neither too new nor too old. " Yes," she 
 said, in answer to Peter's inquiry and without 
 giving herself time to think, and then as the 
 messenger departed, she turned to Reuben's 
 sack and began to look at it very earnestly. 
 She had used all her own stock of flour to make 
 the children's cakes, there was no time to go 
 for more, or at least she tried to think there 
 was not — was it another Providence that this 
 order should come in like this, to compel her to 
 decide ? 
 
 Perhaps it was. She got up and went to the
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 357 
 
 sack and took hold of the tied neck. Then she 
 let it go somewhat hastily and drew her hands 
 away. Then she sighed and looked the bag- 
 over again very slowly. She might open it and 
 just see what kind of flour it was. It might be 
 common, and that would save her the trouble of 
 deciding for herself. The flour was the very 
 kind she always used. It must be Providence ! 
 She put her hands in to feel it, and then Ah ! 
 and then, in a moment or two she had taken a 
 portion out and was busy kneading it in her 
 mug, with a clouded and anxious face. 
 
 And that day Kitty was trying to pacify her 
 conscience by reminding herself how easily 
 Reuben could spare the things she had taken 
 from him. Then she told herself she would be 
 very kind to him when next she saw him. As 
 for the dresses, she was firmly resolved that 
 nothing in the world should persuade her to 
 accept them, she would make him take them 
 back the very next time he called, and when he 
 did come she would thank him for all he had 
 done, whatever he might say. Once or twice 
 the question of marriage passed through her 
 mind, but each time she dismissed it as some- 
 thing not to be considered. 
 
 On the third day Reuben turned up as usual, 
 and, to her great surprise, was as bland as she 
 had ever known him in her life — which was 
 not saying much. He made no allusion to the 
 last interview, and actually came into the house
 
 358 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 without being asked. Everything was in her 
 favour, and she at once plunged into her 
 thanks. Reuben frowned slightly when she 
 commenced, but patiently heard her out. 
 ^' Well, hast done thi nomminny ? " he asked 
 when she paused for breath. "Aye," she 
 replied, surprised at the mildness of his tone. 
 
 "Then let that dew fer allis. Aw Conner 
 abide sich foo-scutter " (silly talk) ; and then 
 without another word he strode out of the house 
 towards his pony. 
 
 " Rewbin ! Here, Rewbin, cum back wi' 
 thi." 
 
 But the sandman held on his way. 
 
 Kitty was so eager that she rushed out of 
 the house. " Rewbin, tha mun tak yond dress- 
 pieces back. Aw conna' keep em." 
 
 And Reuben turned round, and flourishing 
 his whip at her, answered, " Aw'll gi' thi dress- 
 pieces if tha doesnna' goo back," and then 
 wheeling round again, unconcernedly resumed 
 his journey. 
 
 During the next few days Kitty and the 
 sandman gradually became more and more 
 friendly. The hawker now called on one pre- 
 tence or another nearly every day, and on those 
 days on which he did not appear Kitty was 
 alarmed to discover that she strangely missed 
 him. Meanwhile the children grew plump and 
 rosy once more, and she dared not think of 
 what would become of them if she broke with
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 359 
 
 her benefactor. To her great relief Eeuben 
 never broached the subject of marriage, and 
 only showed his old temper when she attempted 
 to revive discussion on the question of the 
 di'esses. All the same, she resolved and 
 resolved again that she would never wear them. 
 In fact, she told herself every time she 
 thought of them that she dare not. She 
 noticed also that Reuben was now most exemp- 
 lary in his attendance at the chapel, and she 
 was delighted to hear her old leader declare as 
 they came from the class one night that the 
 sandman was turning over a new leaf, and 
 would be a " dacent Methody afoor Imig." 
 
 By this time also she had saved a little 
 towards her back rent, but was surprised and 
 rather uneasy that for two weeks the landlord's 
 agent had not called. The third week-end 
 came, and still the " rentman " did not appear, 
 and so on Monday morning after a very uncom- 
 fortable Sunday Kitty hastened down to the 
 agent's house to avert the coming dfinger. For 
 she could see in this man's absence nothing but 
 expulsion from her home. 
 
 The agent took her back rent quite eagerly, 
 and then, when she asked timidly why he had 
 not called, he looked up at her from his desk 
 with a glance of surprise, and demanded, 
 " Whey dustna know as th' haases is sowd ? " 
 
 " Sowd ! Neaw ! Whoa tew ? " 
 
 " Eewbin."
 
 360 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 And Kitty went home with a very uncom- 
 fortable feeling in her mind. She must stop 
 this. Keuben was almost keeping her, and he 
 was doing these things as a means of winning 
 her for himseK. It was not right that she 
 should deceive him. Neither was it right that 
 she should be living on a man who was nothing 
 to her. It was not decent ; it looked very ugly 
 indeed when she fairly faced it. But the 
 children ! Oh, what would become of them if 
 Eeuben ceased to help her. And they were 
 looking so bonny just now ; even little Milly, 
 the delicate one, was getting quite strong and 
 rosy. 
 
 On the other hand, the flour was gettmg 
 done, and now she could not conceive how she 
 had ever done without it, and the prospect of 
 having to buy again in small quantities seemed 
 very dreadful to her. Oh, what should she do ? 
 What could she do ? 
 
 And that very night Reuben came again and 
 almost immediately introduced the dreaded 
 topic. Kitty was terrified. What a man this 
 was : she never felt less able to contend than 
 she did just then. Could he read her heart? 
 Why had he waited until this day of her 
 weakness ? 
 
 " Neaw ! neaw ! neaw ! Dunna, Eewbin, 
 dunna ! " And she put her hands upon her 
 ears and refused to listen. 
 
 And the sandman, instead of " flyin' up " as
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 361 
 
 she expected, waited until she was a little 
 calmer, and then gently and gradually brought 
 her back to the subject. He talked about 
 having watched her ever since her husband's 
 death, and being much impressed by her quiet 
 devotion to her children. He praised the 
 children, and said what a pity it would be not to 
 give them a '^ chonce." Then he spoke of his 
 own position, and how easy it would be to make 
 her comfortable for life, and so on, and so on. 
 
 He was thinking of giving up the sand-cart 
 and retiring and ^' livin' different," which gave 
 Kitty the sweet feeling that perhaps the few 
 words about cleaning his slate had not been in 
 vain. And so this strange man talked and 
 reasoned and coaxed until at last poor Kitty, 
 with visions of a future for her children, 
 blended with a feeling of helplessness in the 
 presence of this overpowering lover, consented, 
 and Reuben went away a satisfied man. 
 
 And next day another sack of flour arrived, 
 and a side of home-cured bacon, and a piece of 
 cloth to make dresses for the children, and Kitty 
 tried to crowd back her feehngs into some 
 remote comer of her mind, and be happy for the 
 sake of the little ones. 
 
 But it was no use. It seemed as if a legion 
 of tormenting spirits had got into her soul, and 
 were stirring up her whole nature to rebellion. 
 She could not be quiet. She could not rest 
 anywhere, and when she went to bed she could
 
 362 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 not, and did not, sleep. Next morning she got 
 up very early and started off to the sandman's 
 to beg him to release her from from her promise, 
 but Eeuben had already left home, and though 
 she looked out for him all day he never appeared. 
 At night, however, he came to see her, but as 
 soon as she put eyes upon him all Kitty's 
 resolution melted away, and do what she would, 
 she could not muster courage to tell him what 
 she felt. 
 
 A week passed, a week of sleeplessness and 
 anguish for the poor widow, and at last she 
 began to realise that, however he might take 
 it, Eeuben must be told, or she would lose her 
 reason. By this time she had begun to feel 
 sorry for the sandman. She had led him on, 
 she had selfishly accepted gifts which would 
 give him a false impression. And she had 
 found him out. Under that rough exterior 
 there was a real kind heart, and it was wicked 
 of her to take his love when she could give him 
 none in return. Oh, what a base woman she 
 had been ! But she would put it right now. 
 And then she prayed, and as she prayed grew 
 calmer. Yes ! she could do it now, and would do. 
 Eeuben was too good to be treated like that. 
 
 The sandman seemed brighter and happier 
 when he came that night, and Kitty's heart 
 sank again as she looked at him. She had 
 resolved to speak as soon as she saw him, lest 
 she should be too much afraid afterwards. But
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 363 
 
 now that he was here, her tongue seemed tied, 
 and she welcomed him in silence. As he took 
 his seat in his favourite chair and accepted the 
 lighted spill she offered him, he looked up very 
 earnestly and searchingly into her face, but 
 said nothing. 
 
 Kitty felt as if she were choking, but for the 
 life of her she could not speak. 
 
 Presently the sandman turned slightly round 
 in his chair, and said in a tone of gentle 
 anxiety, " Thaa doesna' lewk weel, wench ! 
 wot's up vd' thi ? " and there was a chord of 
 sadness and regret in his tones that went to 
 Kitty's heart. It was the one touch needed to 
 set her free, and with a heartbreaking sob she 
 dropped on her knees at Eeuben's side and 
 burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 The sandman sat strangely still as she wept, 
 looking down upon her with a mournful mois- 
 ture in his small, sharp eyes, and at last he 
 leaned forward, put his hand on her hair, and 
 gently stroking it, murmured, " Poor wench ! " 
 And Kitty, whilst a new spasm of sorrow went 
 through her frame, sobbed on and did not 
 move. 
 
 After a little while Reuben leaned forward 
 again, and with the gentlest of touches upon 
 her hair, asked, slowly, "Kitty, tha'rt nor 
 happy abaat this wedding?" 
 
 Kitty was still weeping, though she listened 
 with painful interest to every word he spoke.
 
 364 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 Presently, as slie did not reply, he proceeded, "A 
 yimg woman loike thee conna take tew an owd 
 chap loike me — an' him a wastril tew ! conta ? " 
 
 And still Kitty did not reply, only she was 
 holding her breath and listening with tearful 
 wonder for what he was going to say next, for 
 it was evident he had not done. 
 
 " An' tha did it for th' sake o' thi childerj, 
 did t'na, wench 9 " 
 
 And Reuben's tones were more mournfully 
 symp.athetic than ever. Kitty had a feeling 
 that she was listening to a totally new Reuben, 
 such a one as she had never either heard of or 
 imagined. 
 
 And then there was a pause. She felt it was 
 time for her to speak, but what she was 
 hearing was so delightful, and withal so 
 wonderful that she felt she wanted to hear 
 more. But Reuben was in no haste to proceed, 
 and she was just about to lift her red and 
 tearful face, when the sandman bent over her, 
 and, laying his hand solemnly on her head, 
 said, " God bless thi, Kitty ! God bless thi ! " 
 
 Kitty's frame was shaken with a new parox- 
 ysm of feeling ; she sobbed and sobbed again, 
 and then she rose to her feet and blessed the 
 sandman with an intensity and passion that 
 amazed him. Then she declared that he was 
 far too good for her. He was an angel ; let 
 the world say what it liked, she knew. He 
 was an angel ; he was " nowt else."
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 365 
 
 Then she stopped and stepped back, and 
 stood looking at him with wonder and admira- 
 tion shining through her tears ; but before she 
 could speak he said, " Aw'll let thi off merrying 
 me, Kitty, up a wun condition." 
 
 " Nay, tha winna ! Awst no be let off. Awd 
 merry thi naa, if tha hedna a bodle." 
 
 Eeuben smiled a sad sort of smile, and then 
 repeated slowly. " Up a wun condition." 
 
 "An' wot'sthat?" 
 
 '' Az tha lets me help ta keep theeas childer." 
 
 And in spite of a fresh burst of tears and 
 many emphatic protests on Kitty's part the 
 sandman had his way. She was to pay no rent 
 and receive whatever he might send ; and as 
 Kitty poured out her overflowing gratitude for 
 the twentieth time the sandman sauntered to 
 the door, and as he opened it and was depart- 
 ing he turned round and said, in his old, hard, 
 rasping voice, " Awst start o' cleeanin' my 
 slate afoor lung." 
 
 IV. 
 
 There was a large company at Miles's ; all 
 the regular frequenters were there and one or 
 two additional ones. The fire burnt brightly, 
 the lamp shed a cheerful light over the com- 
 pany, and the region of the fireplace was thick 
 with tobacco smoke.
 
 366 REUBEN CLEANS .HIS SLATE. 
 
 Quiet William was descanting with glowing 
 face on the recent and most delightful change 
 that had come over Reuben the sandman. 
 
 " Aw've seen it cumin' fur months," he cried ; 
 '^an' it's cumin' gradelj, naa; he'll be a 
 member i' less than twelve months, see if he 
 isna." 
 
 Just at this point the door opened and Juddy 
 Hicks, the dogger, a man of about five-and- 
 thirty, came samitering in, and soon settled 
 into a seat. 
 
 "Well, it's the coppest thing as iver Aw 
 knowed," said Noah. 
 
 The scutcher, who was seated on the further 
 side of the fireplace, looked earnestly for a 
 moment at the last speaker, and then said, 
 in his slow, oracular way, " If yond mon turns 
 o'er gradely there's a chonce fur th' divil, 
 that's Aw." 
 
 " Oh, yore takin' abaat him, arr yo'," broke 
 in the new comer, though no name had been 
 named, and there was contempt and irony in 
 his pronunciation of the " him." 
 
 *^ Three or four pairs of eyes were turned 
 inquiringly upon the speaker, and quiet Wilham 
 began to frown, but nobody spoke. 
 
 " Aje," laughed Juddy, sarcastically, "a 
 bonny mon to turn he is." 
 
 " And whilst the lamp holds out to burn, 
 The vilest sinner may return," 
 
 quoted William, in loud rebuking terms.
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 367 
 
 Juddy laughed another hard unbelieving 
 laugh, and then he said, ^^Does yo' chaps 
 meean ta say as yo' dunna know wot he comes 
 toth' chapilfur?" 
 
 Quiet William rose from his seat, and stand- 
 ing over the traducer of the absent Eeuben, he 
 cried, in stern tones, "■ He cums ta worship 
 God, wot else ? " 
 
 Juddy leaned further back in his chair, and 
 looking with a grin at William, he cried, 
 ^' William, he cums a cooartin'." 
 
 There was a dead pause, and those present 
 turned and looked at each other with surprise 
 and curiosity in their faces. 
 
 " Whoar is he cooartin' ? " demanded Wil- 
 liam, without moving from before Juddy's 
 chair. 
 
 *^ Whey, Kitty Wallwork, fur sewer ; an' 
 funny cooartin' it is, tew." 
 
 And in a few moments Juddy had told his 
 tale. Everybody knew. The sandman was 
 going to the house every night, and sometimes 
 in the daytime, too. He had bought Kitty's 
 house, and Kitty herself had altogether changed 
 her appearance, &c., &c. "They're cooartin' 
 reet enough, bud it's a sooart a cooartin' az Aw 
 dunna loike th' lewk on, that's aw " ; and Juddy 
 finished by a mysterious little cough. 
 
 Astonishment, disappointment, and rising 
 disgust sat on every countenance, and at last, 
 after looking helplessly at Jimmy for some
 
 368 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 moments, Miles gasped out^ " Whej, mon ! hoos 
 nowt na bet-ter tin a kept woman." 
 
 And Jimmy, after taking time to think, 
 replied, " Hoo met as weel be livin' tally wi' 
 him at wunce." 
 
 And then William, who had all this time 
 been standing over Juddy, turned round, and in 
 tones strangely intense and bitter, he cried, 
 ^^Yo' letheryeds ! Yo' numskiills ! Aw conna 
 bide ta lewk at yo'," and with a gesture of 
 disgust he strode to the door and was gone. 
 
 Now Juddy had very particular reasons of 
 his own for being interested in the doings of 
 Kitty and Eeuben. The fact was he was casting 
 sheep's-eyes on the widow himself. He had 
 fancied her before she married his old com- 
 panion, Kitty's first husband, but had been 
 prevented from proposing because of his 
 poverty, for he was only an indifferent hand at 
 his business, having picked it up after he 
 attained manhood. Since Kitty had been free 
 again he had been constantly making up his 
 mind to approach her, but was deterred by the 
 fact that he was no better off than he had been 
 previously, and Kitty's three children made the 
 task of maintenance more difficult. He there- 
 fore had been about the first person to discover 
 the relationship between the widow and Eeuben, 
 and had watched them with a very jealous eye. 
 But he was in the sandman's debt, almost 
 hopelessly so, in fact, and therefore dare not
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 369 
 
 cross him. During the last few days, however, 
 he had heard so often about the scandal that he 
 thought he might safely speak; the matter 
 seemed to be common property, and even if it 
 got to Reuben's ears it was very unlikely that 
 the sandman would suspect him. Juddy was a 
 very decent fellow as a rule, but when a man 
 is jealous he sometimes gets beyond his own 
 control. 
 
 William, when he left the tailor's, made 
 straight away to Kitty's house. She was one 
 of his members, and he had a special responsi- 
 bility for her. He resolved as he went to be 
 very faithful and have the matter ended once 
 for all, but when he arrived the widow was so 
 very glad to see him, and evidently so very 
 unsuspicious, that he found it difl&cult to com- 
 mence what he intended to say. Abandoning, 
 however, his first plan, he tried to bring round 
 the conversation towards Reuben, and Kitty 
 seemed so very glad to speak about the sand- 
 man, and expressed herself so delightedly, and 
 yet so innocently, about the signs of reform 
 which had appeared in his recent conduct, that 
 William grew ashamed and angry again at the 
 innuendoes to which he had listened, and 
 eventually left without giving- any hint of his 
 original purpose in coming. When he got out- 
 side he stood wavering in the twilight for a 
 few moments, and then started off to interview 
 Reuben. This was, of course, a much more 
 
 24
 
 370 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 formidable task than talking to Kitty ; but 
 William reflected that he might perhaps make 
 the sandman see what he meant without actu- 
 ally telling what he had heard, and unless 
 Reuben were a very much worse person than he 
 supposed that would be sufficient. But Reuben 
 was not at home, and so William returned 
 homewards, and as the evening was not yet far 
 gone he passed his own cottage and went on to 
 Miles's again. 
 
 The company had thinned during his absence, 
 but those who remained were still discussing 
 the unsavoury subject with which he had left 
 them. 
 
 As he sank with a little sigh into his seat. 
 Miles, who was standing before the fii'e and 
 looking very grim and emphatic, having 
 evidently just deHvered himself of some very 
 conclusive and all-silencing verdict, turned to 
 him and cried with fierce, defiant emphasis, 
 " Naa, then ! ther mun be noan o' thi shilly- 
 shally wark abaat this. Yond woman's name 
 cums off th' bewk at wunct ! Mind that, naa." 
 
 And William, the quiet, gentle William, rose 
 to his feet, and shaking his great fist in his 
 brother-in-law's face whilst his own flamed with 
 anger, he cried, '^ If yond wench's name cums 
 off th' bewks moine cums off, tew." And then 
 after drawmg his breath he went on, " If tha'd 
 hawf as cleean a slate as hoo hez tha'd be a 
 foine seet bet-ter mon tin tha art."
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 371 
 
 But though William had not found courage 
 to tell Kitty of the rumours that were going 
 about, there were others who had no such 
 scruples, and she heard of it the very next day, 
 and heard of it in its most brutally suggestive 
 form. It went to her heart like a stab — all the 
 light seemed to have suddenly gone out of her 
 life, and she blamed herself with cruel perse- 
 verance for her lack of thoughtfulness in the 
 matter. However, now that she did realise all 
 that it meant, she must take immediate and 
 decisive action. As soon as it grew near to the 
 time at which Reuben would come, if he did 
 come, though, as a matter of fact, he scarcely 
 ever called now except on his rounds, she locked 
 the door and put out the light, that she might 
 appear to be out, and next morning she took 
 her children and walked all the way to a small 
 farm a mile on the other side of Wallbury, 
 where she spent the next fortnight with some 
 distant relations. She might probably have 
 stayed longer, for it appeared impossible for 
 her to go back to Scowcroft, and yet she could 
 not decide what else to do ; but at the end of 
 this time she realised that the evil tidings had 
 reached the farm, and there was a sudden 
 cooling of her welcome. The next day she 
 returned to her home. 
 
 In the meantime Reuben had discovered 
 what was the matter also. He had been 
 amazed and nonplussed when he discovered
 
 372 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 that Kitty had disappeared without leaving any 
 trace behind, and in his concern he began to 
 make all sorts of inquiries. And these ques- 
 tions of his, of course, only confirmed the 
 suspicions of those to whom they were made 
 that there had been something between Kitty 
 and him, and that Kitty had gone out of the 
 way to escape him. Little by little, by a hint 
 here and a look there, Reuben discovered that 
 something was wrong, and that somehow he 
 was considered to be responsible for it. But 
 he got at no facts, and so, worried and anxious, 
 he began to get angry and desperate. The 
 night following the day upon which Kitty came 
 home he slouched into the "Red Cat," and 
 called for a glass of spirits. Avoiding the 
 parlour, he dropped into a little apartment 
 which had been formed by partitioning off a 
 little space behind the " tap." In this position 
 he could hear what was going on in the 
 bar-parlour without being seen, though at the 
 time he never thought of it. He was very 
 miserable. He had been trying to do some 
 little towards " cleaning his slate," and all that 
 had come of it was a nasty scandal and deep 
 trouble to a woman he loved. A few months 
 ago he would not have cared about the 
 scandal; he had rather gloried in outraging 
 public sentiment, in fact ; but now, after some 
 months of long and painful struggling to be 
 better, he felt the thing very keenly indeed.
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 373 
 
 Just then he heard Kitty's name mentioned, 
 and pricked up his ears. And then it all came 
 out. The speaker was not detailing the story, 
 hut was evidently speaking of something that 
 was common property, and so Reuben had to 
 pick up the facts bit by bit. The laughs and 
 jeers of the men who were talking fell on 
 his ears without in the least distressing him ; 
 he was listening only for the facts. Little by 
 little the true position of affairs was made 
 clear to him, and as the conversation branched 
 off into speculations as to where Kitty had 
 gone, Reuben rose to his feet and stole slowly 
 home. 
 
 As he was giving a last look at his steed 
 before retiring to rest that night, he said, 
 mournfully, " Pablo, lad ; slate cleaning's hard 
 wark ! it's harder tin Aw thowt it 'ud be ! " 
 And then as he was leaving the stable he turned 
 suddenly and impatiently round again, and 
 Just as if the animal had been saying something 
 with which he did not agree, he cried, fiercely, 
 " Aw tell thi ther is ! Ther's monny a wun ! 
 Isn't aar Grace a Christian ? an' Quiet William ! 
 an — an — an — Kitty, God bless her ! Aye, an 
 Awst be a Christian tew if Aw con, an' tha con 
 say wot tha's a moind ! Awve tan nooatice o' 
 thee lung enuff, thaa owd haythen thaa ! " 
 
 Next day Reuben had an interview with 
 Quiet William, and by roundabout methods got 
 from him a shrewd suspicion as to who had first
 
 374 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 told him the rumours. Then he took a walk 
 round by Kitty's, and discovered to his delight 
 that she had returned, but he carefully avoided 
 being seen by either the widow or her children. 
 
 Two days later, as Juddy the dogger sat at 
 his work in the little building which he used 
 for the purpose, and which had once been a 
 butcher's shop, the door opened, and Eeuben, 
 looking, Juddy thought, very stern, walked in. 
 
 *^Awm cumin' a Setterda! Aw'U pay thi 
 awf a sovrin a Setterda, Aw, Aw will fer 
 sewer ! " cried Juddy, in great agitation. 
 
 But the sandman stood looking sadly and 
 a little scornfully on the dogger, and never 
 spoke. 
 
 " Aw've bed ta pay Cheetham's fur owler 
 wood, but Aw'll pay thi summat o' Setterda, 
 Aw will." 
 
 But Eeuben's mysterious silence began to 
 affect the dogger, and so he ventured to steal 
 a look at his visitor, and as he did so he went 
 suddenly cold as he remembered that Reuben 
 might have called about what he had said 
 about Kitty. 
 
 The sandman drew two pieces of paper from 
 his pocket and held them up. *'Dust see 
 theeas, Juddy?" One of the papers was an 
 I O U for £20, the other contained memoranda 
 of certain repayments. 
 
 "Well, Aw'll pay. Aw tell thi. Aw'U pay 
 summat o' Setterda."
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 375 
 
 Reuben walked to the fire and put the papers 
 in, and stood watching them burn. 
 
 Juddj dropped the clog that lay upon his 
 knee and stood up in sheer amazement. 
 
 " Wot the f errups hast dun that fur ? " he 
 demanded, sulkily ; but the mysterious sandman 
 made no reply. 
 
 Juddy watched the papers burn for some 
 timej and was just raising his head to speak 
 when his visitor said, slowly, "Juddy, Aw 
 believe thaa loikes Kitty Wallbrook, dustna ? " 
 
 "Well, what bi that? Wot hast brunt 
 them papers fur?" 
 
 Ignoring the latter part of Juddy's question, 
 Reuben went on, "Whey dustna merry her, 
 then?" 
 
 " Haa con Aw merry when Awm i' debt ? 
 Wot hast brunt them papers f m* ? " 
 
 The sandman paused, looked down for a 
 moment at his feet, and then said, " Then tha'd 
 merry her if thaa could affoard — if thaa could 
 keep her ? " 
 
 " Merry her ! Aye, would Aw if hoo'd ha 
 me. But wot hast brunt " 
 
 But the sandman stopped him by a hasty 
 wave of the hand, " Niver name them papers ta 
 me ageean — hoos woth hevin' lad." 
 
 " Hoo is that," cried Juddy, very earnestly. 
 
 " Juddy," said Reuben, with strange eagerness, 
 " hoos pure goold, Kitty is. Th' mon az gets her 
 'ull be weel off if he's no' woth a fardin'."
 
 376 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 There was a chord m Eeuben's voice that 
 somehow touched the dogger, and so he blurted 
 out all at once, " Aw yerd az yo wer ef ther her.'' 
 
 Reuben was now gazing pensively out through 
 the dii'ty little vsdndow, and presently, with a 
 long soft sigh, he said, " Aw think ta weel on 
 her ta tee her tew an owd f elley loike me —an' 
 besoide, hoo wouldna ha' me, lad." 
 
 They talked for some time after that, and in 
 the end Juddy was made to understand that his 
 debt was forgiven him, and that if he could get 
 Kitty's consent to marry him the sandman 
 would make some sort of provision for Kitty's 
 futui'e and give them a good start in life. 
 
 Juddy was overwhelmed ; again and again he 
 tried to thank his eccentric friend, but lie soon 
 found that that was the one thing that angered 
 the sandman. 
 
 When Reuben had gone Juddy gave himself 
 up to all kinds of delicious speculations and 
 wonderings. He tried several times to finish 
 repairing the clogs upon which he was engaged 
 when the sandman called, but found it impos- 
 sible to stick to any kind of work. One moment 
 he was melted down with gratitude at the 
 sandman's generosity, and the next he was 
 trying to arrange how he must propose to Kitty. 
 Once he kicked over his clogging stool in sheer 
 frolicsomeuess, and the next moment he burst 
 out singing, 
 
 " Cum, Mary, link tlii' arm i' moine."
 
 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 377 
 
 Presently, however, a thoughtful mood came 
 upon him, and standing where Reuben had 
 stood some little time before he stared hard 
 and abstractedly through the window, and 
 muttered ^' If owd Reuben's a wastril Aw 
 wouldna gi mitch fur sum o' th' chapil folk's 
 chonces." 
 
 Now Reuben's intention had been, after 
 seeing Juddy, to go over and arrange matters 
 as far as need be with Kitty, but he had been 
 so satisfied with Juddy's eagerness that he 
 thought that he might safely leave matters to 
 take their own course. And on the whole he 
 rather preferred not to go near Kitty at this 
 juncture. 
 
 A week later Juddy, with overflowing grati- 
 tude and thanks he dared not speak, reported 
 to the sandman that he had " getten her." 
 
 Reuben replied with a surly grunt that re- 
 minded the younger man of the Reuben of 
 other days, and then commanded him to go and 
 tell Liger, the village carpenter, to put a shop- 
 front into the large cottage that stood at the 
 far corner of Twiggy Lane, " and," he added, 
 thrusting a bundle of title deeds into his 
 hands, " see az tha taks cur o' them an' keeps 
 thi maath shut." 
 
 The deeds made Kitty the owner of the pro- 
 perty indicated, and accompanying them was 
 an envelope containing a banknote, presumably 
 to pay for the alterations.
 
 378 REUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 
 
 About two months later Juddy and Kitty 
 were married ; and though Eeuben was known 
 to be at the church whilst the ceremony was 
 being performed, he refused very peremptorily 
 Juddy's oft-repeated invitation to the ])reak- 
 fast. In the meantime, however, Juddy had 
 taken good care that the truth about Hatty's 
 relations with the sandman should be known to 
 the village, even though it involved certain 
 severe reflections on himself. Quiet William 
 was triumphant, and sat listening to Juddy's 
 explanations with beaming face. The others 
 pretended to receive the story with doubt, and 
 Miles and Jimmy ventured on the profound and 
 original prophecy that '* Them az lives lungest 
 'ull see th' mooast." 
 
 " See ! they will that ! " cried William, ex- 
 citedly. "They'U see Eewbin Tonge i' th' 
 Society afoor he dees, that's wot the'll see." 
 
 And William proved to be right, for Reuben 
 attended William's own class the very next 
 time it met. 
 
 One evening, about a month after Kitty's 
 marriage, Reuben went home after a visit to 
 the new clog-shop, and after partaking of 
 supper he sauntered into the stable to take a 
 final look at his faithful steed before he retired. 
 
 Pablo was lying down ; but as this was no 
 unusual thing, he bent down and gave him an 
 affectionate slap on the back. And then he 
 drew back and touched the beast with his foot.
 
 EEUBEN CLEANS HIS SLATE. 379 
 
 Yes ; there was no doubt of it, Pablo was dead. 
 Eeubeii stood looking at bis old comrade 
 mournfully for a few moments, and then with a 
 quaver in his voice he said, " An' tha's gen 
 o'er at last ! " And then after another heavy 
 sigh he added, "Well, if tha's gen o'er Awst 
 give o'er tew." 
 
 The sandman kept his vow ; the old sand- 
 cart appeared no more in Scowcroft ; but when 
 he had quietly buried his old friend in the pad- 
 dock at the country end of his house, he heaved 
 another heavy sigh and said, " An' naa Aw will 
 start o' cleeanin' my slate." 
 
 And next Sabbath he was found teaching the 
 infants in the Scowcroft Sunday-school. 
 
 The End.
 
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 In Spite of Himself. 
 
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 Crown 8vo, paper. Is.
 
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 NOVELS BY EMMA JANE WORBOISE. 
 
 Crown 8vo, uniformly hound in cloth. Three Shillinf$ 
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 The Abbey Mill 
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 Campion Court 
 
 Husbands and Wives 
 
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 Father Fabian Sir Julian's Wife 
 
 Oliver Westwood The Lillingstones 
 
 Lady Clarissa The Wife's Trials 
 
 Three Shillings each. 
 
 Married Life ; ob, thb Heartsease 
 
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 13 & 14, FLEET STREET, LONDON.
 
 IRew anb 
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 Published by 
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 13 & 14, Fleet Street, 
 London. 
 
 Octoler, 1893.
 
 I
 
 J.BIoun- 
 
 delle 
 
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 LONDON. 
 
 Ootoher, 1898. 
 
 James Clarke & Co.'s 
 New and Forthcoming Books. 
 
 3fictton, 
 
 THE SCOURGE OF GOD : A Romance of 
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 By John BIoundeIle= Burton, Autlior of 
 "Across tho Salt Seas," "The Clash of 
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 Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
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 The Story falls in the days of the Siege of 
 
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 These are the first volumes of a New Uniform 
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 By A. H. Moncur Sime. Pott 8vo, 
 cloth. Is, 
 
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 literary Rome Rule in Scotland such as we had in the 
 days of The Edinburgh Eeview." 
 
 Sir Lewis Morris says : — " It is o very intellectual 
 sketch of the life of the Northern capital, and contains 
 much that will be fresh to most readers. The style is 
 bright throughout and very pleasing."
 
 1 
 
 FOETHCOMING BOOKS. 
 
 Paul 
 Haupt, 
 H. How- 
 ard Fur= 
 ness. 
 
 C. J. Ball 
 
 HE. 
 Ryle. 
 
 S. R. 
 Driver, 
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 White. 
 
 Ube ipol^cbrome WM. 
 
 A New English Translation of the Books of the 
 Bible. Printed in Colours exhibiting the 
 Composite Structure of the Books. With 
 Explanatory Notes and Pictorial Illustra- 
 tions from Nature and from Ancient 
 Monuments of Egypt, Assyria, Palestine, 
 &c. Prepared by Eminent Biblical Scholars 
 of Europe and America, and edited with 
 the assistance of Horace Howard 
 Furness, by Paul Haupt, Johns Hopkins 
 University, Baltimore. 
 
 Volumes Eeady or Nearly Eeady : — 
 
 THE BOOK OF GENESIS. Translated, with 
 Notes, by C. J. Ball, M.A., Chaplain 
 of Lincoln's Inn, Editor of the " Variorum 
 Apocrypha." IMay, 1899. 
 
 THE BOOK OF EXODUS. Translated, with 
 Notes, by Herbert E. Ryle, D.D., 
 
 President of Queen's College, Cambridge, 
 and Hulsean Professor of Divinity. 
 
 THE BOOK OF LEVITICUS. Translated, 
 with Notes, by S. R. Driver, D.D., 
 
 Eegius Professor of Hebrew and Canon of 
 Christ Church, Oxford, one of the Revisers 
 of the Authorised Version, and H. A. 
 White, M.A., Fellow of New College, 
 Oxford. 114 pp., printed in two colours 
 (W> pp. translation, 50 pp. notes). Four 
 fall-page Uluatrations (one in colours), and
 
 FOETHCOMINa BOOKS. 
 
 S. R. 
 Driver, 
 H. A. 
 White. 
 
 four illustrations in the 
 gilt top, price 6s. net. 
 
 Notes. Cloth, 
 [^Ready. 
 
 "Leviticus has fared hadly. It has t(?«n regarded 
 either as a mass of uninteresting and obsolete ritual 
 or as a ji^arri/ for incredible allegorising. Driver 
 and White have rescued it from the doulle reproach. 
 It is a book of genuine historical and religious 
 worth, and euery chapter overflows with interest. 
 They simply restored it as it is. And it is most 
 precious and stimulati'ng , There is little variety of 
 colouring of course, hut the irai slotioii is beyond 
 anything i/«' done into English, and the notes are 
 full and pertinent. There are four full-page plates 
 and four smaller illustrations." 
 
 — Expository Tiues. 
 
 •• A version that will malce the sense of the original 
 more clearly inteUigihle to the English reader than 
 any existing version. . , . The notes as a whole 
 are admirable ; it would be difficult, and eren. impos- 
 sible, for the English reader to find elsewhere in any 
 convenient form, such help in the interpretation of 
 Leviticus." 
 — G. Buchanan Gbat in " The ChkistiauWobid." 
 
 •* The names of the translators. Canon Driver and 
 Mr. H. A. White, are ample giMrantees for the high 
 scholarship and critical soundiiess of the work. The 
 translation is, it is hardly necessari/ to say, exact. 
 It may be more to the purpose to add that it is 
 also in clear idiomatic English." 
 
 — Manchesxee Guakdian. 
 
 *' The notes will he found most useful, both in explain- 
 ing the structure of the book and in elucidating its 
 meaning; and, in short, the volume cannot fail to 
 prove mos* serviceahle to such as may desire to study 
 minutely, in the light of the latest scientijie criticisnii 
 t?us ancient law-book." — SCOTSMAN. 
 
 "The translation and notes are scholarly and sug- 
 gestive. The translation is specially interesting and 
 valuable."— Glasgow Herald. 
 
 "Dr. Driver's name will serve in Britain as a 
 guarantee of the thorouqhness of the scholarship and 
 fMcness of judgment displayed in this volume. . . , 
 The fruits of immense labour are most reverently and 
 instructively presented in this fine volwme." 
 
 — Arbroath Hxbald. 
 
 •' That the work will be a valuable, indeed an invalu- 
 able, contribution to the progress of IHliUcal study, 
 no one can doubt." — Good Words.
 
 J. A. 
 
 Pater- 
 
 Aon. 
 
 a. A. 
 
 Smith. 
 
 W. H. 
 
 Bennett. 
 
 0. F. 
 Moore. 
 
 " Any one reading it can see at once Jioic, according to 
 this 'Higher Criticism,' the hooli has heen con- 
 structed. . . . The high reputation of the chief 
 editor of this volume for Hehrew scholarship is well 
 liiwwn, a/nd naturally claims the most careful study 
 for anyviorlc that is issued hy him." 
 
 —North Beitish Daily Mail, 
 
 " A uorfc which cannot be ignored," 
 
 — Cambridge Independent Pbess. 
 
 THE BOOK OF NUMBERS. Translated, 
 with Notes, by J. A. Paterson, D.D., 
 
 Professor at the Theological Seminary, 
 Edinbm-gh. iMay, 1899. 
 
 THE BOOK OF DEUTERONOMY. Trans- 
 lated, with Notes, by George Adam 
 Smith, D.D., LL.D., Professor of Hebrew 
 and Old Testament Exegesis at the Free 
 Chnrch College, Glasgow. [May, 1899. 
 
 THE BOOK OF JOSHUA. Translated, with 
 Notes, by \V. !1. Bennett, M.A., Pro- 
 fessor of Hebrew and Old Testament 
 Exegesis at Hackney and New Colleges, 
 Londou. [^December. 
 
 THE BOOK OF JUDGES. Translated, with 
 Notes, by G. F. Moore, D.D., Pro- 
 fessor of ±iebrew in Andover Theological 
 Seminary. 98 pp., printed in seven colours 
 (42 pp. translation, 56 pp. notes). Seven 
 full-page illustrations (including a map in 
 colours), twenty illustrations in the Notes. 
 Cloth, gilt top, price 6s. net. iBeady. 
 
 " I odiiu're the sIciU \nth which the most necessary 
 information on the origin of the book is here com-
 
 FOETHCOMING BOOKS. 
 
 11 
 
 municated to the English reader, and the ful- 
 ness and yet conciaen-ess of the notes. As to the 
 colours which indicate the sources of the existing com- 
 posite work, 1 can by no mea/ns sympathise wUh the 
 laughers who have begun to show themselves. If the 
 public are to be enabled to see what analytic criticism 
 comes to, such a plan an Dr. Haupt has devised, and 
 Professor l\[oore and others have endeavouredto carry 
 out, mos indispensable. As a specvmen of fine prose I 
 ■mould gladly quote the story ef Jephthah's daughter, 
 hut it may be enough to inmte the reader to get the 
 boofc, and turn to the passage at once." 
 
 — Dr. Chbtne in " The Expositor." 
 
 "The translation is in clear, strong, dignified modern 
 English. The explanatory notes are concise, to the 
 point and adequate. The map and illwstraiiotis ore 
 jitst what is required to throw light on the book." 
 
 —Manchester Guardian. 
 
 " Prof essor G. F. Moore, ofAndover, stands in th» front 
 rank of Old Testament students. His English render- 
 %ng is readable, though itloohs to faithfulness first and 
 to style only in the second place. His notes are pomt«d 
 and helpful ; his criticism is free and thorough- 
 going, without becoming either precipitate or showy," 
 — Critical Beview. 
 
 J. Well- 
 hausen, 
 H. How- 
 ard 
 Puroess. 
 
 THE BOOK OF PSALM5. Translated by 
 J. Wellhausen, D.D., Professor of 
 Semitic Languages at Gottingen, and H. 
 Howard Furness, Ph.D., LL.D., Editor 
 of " The Variorum Shakespeare." 224 pp. 
 (161 pp. translation, 63 pp. notes, including 
 an Appendix on the Music of the Ancient 
 Hebrews). Eight full-page illustrations 
 (one in colours), and fifty-three illustra- 
 tions in the Notes and Appendix. Cloth, 
 gilt top, i^rice 10s. 6d. net. IReady. 
 
 " The most beautiful version of the Hebrew Psalms 
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 — Dr. Chetne in "The Expositor." 
 
 " nie ' Psalms ' are translated and edited by Professor 
 Wellhausen. The German translotimis ere rendered 
 iuto English by Mr. Furness. And the effect _ is, we 
 can only saij, magnificent. Here for the first time the
 
 12 
 
 FOETHCOMING BOOKS. 
 
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 places in the Psalms, and at the same time to catch 
 the roll of the rhythm and to fe«l that the Psalms are 
 poems." — Dailx Chkoniclb. 
 
 "The Psalms, which h<ivt> been translated ly the 
 greatest Biblical critic in Europe or the \DOTld, Pro- 
 fessor Wellhausen, are distinguished externally from 
 the other hooks by being ahsoluttly colourless, Thxs, 
 of course, does not mean that they are not of very 
 different epochs of Jewish history, and Professor VTell- 
 hausen's trsatment of these and analogous questions 
 is worthy of the scholar who has done more to throw 
 light upon the composition of the hooks of the Old 
 Testament than all of his predecessors." 
 
 — Dailt Telesbaph. 
 
 T. K. THE BOOK OF THE PROPHET ISAIAH. 
 
 Cheyne. Translated, with Notes, by T. K. 
 
 Cheyne, D.D., Oriel Professor of the 
 Interpretation of Holy Scripture at Ox- 
 ford, and Canon of Eochester. 216 pp., 
 printed in seven colours (128 pp. transla- 
 tion, 88 pp. notes). Nine full-page illus- 
 trations and twenty-eight illustrations in 
 Notes. Cloth, gilt top, price 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 l_Be<idy. 
 
 'If the reader of the Polychrome Isaiah feels that he 
 has before him a totally different book from the 
 familiar Isaiah of the English Bible, he wUl not feel 
 that he has lest, hut gained ; for while his neto Isaiah 
 is Jar easier to understand, it jiosfesses no less of the 
 inspired jiassioii and power and truth which have 
 always made the Booh of Isaiah the favourite hook of 
 the Old Testame7\t." — Daily Chronicle. 
 
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 and cautious of English scho'ars, and the uninitiated 
 reader, to whatever school of theology ?i« may belong, 
 can fully commit himself to his guidance," 
 
 — Daily Telegraph.
 
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 FOETHCOMrN'a BOOKS. 
 
 13 
 
 THE BOOK OF THE PROPHET EZEKIEL. 
 
 Translated, with Notes, by C. H. Toy, 
 D.D., Professor of Hebrew and Lecturer 
 on Biblical Literature in Harvard "Uni- 
 versity. {^December. 
 
 THE BIBLE; FOR HOME AND SCHOOL. 
 Arranged by Ed. T. Bartlett, M.A., 
 
 Dean of the Protestant Episcopal 
 Divinity School in Philadelphia, and 
 John P. Peters, Ph.D., Professor of 
 the Old Testament Languages and 
 Literature in the Protestant Episcopal 
 Divinity School in Philadelphia. With 
 Introduction by Rev. F. W. Farrar, 
 D.D., Dean of Canterbury. In ten 
 monthly parts, Is. each. In One Vol., 
 cloth, 8vo, lOs. 6d. 
 Dean Faerar says : — " An important contribution 
 io the training of the young in truths which God has 
 revealed to us by His Holy Booh, as it is read in the 
 light of that advancinq knowledge which is itself a 
 part of the Divine enlightenment which He vo^uhfafes 
 to all mankind, as ahvays, fragmentarily and multi- 
 fariously, yet prosjrcssirely 'in many parts and, mi 
 maTiy manners.' " 
 
 THE BIBLE STORY. 
 
 People. 
 
 Ee-told for Yotmg 
 
 The Old Testament Story, by W. H. 
 Bennett, M'A. (sometime Fellow of St. 
 John's College, Cambridge), Professor of 
 Hebrew and Old Testament Exegesis at 
 Hackney and New Colleges, London. The 
 New Testament Story by W. F. 
 Adeney, M.A., Professor of New Testa-
 
 14 FORTHCOMING BOOKS. 
 
 W. H. 
 
 Bennett, 
 W. F. 
 Adeney. 
 
 W. F. 
 
 Adeney. 
 
 ment Greek Exegesis, at New College, 
 London. With illustrations and 4 maps. 
 
 Tliis book is designed to supply the want of 
 such a presentation of the narratives con- 
 tained in the Bible as shall be suitable for 
 the reading of young people. The results 
 of recent Historical Research and Biblical 
 Criticism are brought to bear on the story, 
 to throw light on it and also to prevent 
 misapprehensions. The book is reduced to 
 reasonable dimensions, by the omission of 
 those portions of the narrative which are 
 less suitable for young people, and also 
 of incidents not essential to the story. In 
 this way the salient features are emphasized 
 and some sense of proportion observed, 
 while there is scope for those dramatic 
 elements which have always fascinated 
 young readers of the Bible. 
 
 Fourth Edition {completing 12,000 copies). 
 
 HOW TO READ THE BIBLE. Hints for 
 Sunday-school Teachers and other 
 Bible Students. 
 
 By Walter F. Adeney, M.A., Professor 
 of New Testament Exegesis, &c.. New 
 College, London, and Author of " The 
 Theology of the New Testament" (Theo- 
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 Esther" (Expositor's Bible), &c. Pott 8vo, 
 in paper. Is. ; in cloth. Is. 6d. 
 
 "This little book aims at being a most elementary 
 intrnduction to the study of the Bible. To many 
 readers much of it uill appear to he a perfectly super- 
 JliMUi reiteration of the most obvious truths. But it
 
 R. F. 
 Horton. 
 
 is (I singular fact that viarnings that never nee A to te 
 ■Jittered, and directions that never need to he laid 
 doien, in regard to the study of ariy other work in the 
 world's literature, are imperatively called fQV to 
 vrevent the student of Scripture from heing ensnared 
 01/ tS^ most outrageous devices o/misinterfiretotiori." 
 
 Dr. Horton on Romanism. 
 
 ENGLAND'S DANGER. Romanism and 
 National Decay— St. Peter and the 
 Rock — Truth — Protestantism — Holy 
 Scripture— Purgatory. 
 
 By Robert F. Horton, M.A., 
 
 FoTirtli Edition, Fcap. 8vo, 6d. 
 
 D.D. 
 
 Minnie 
 Elligott. 
 
 R. A. 
 Arm- 
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 HELPING HAND TO MOTHERS. 
 By Minnie Elligott. Fcap. 8vo, paper, 6d. 
 
 The Author says : " In submitting this little hook to 
 Mothers I hojic I am rendering a slight service to 
 those viho, while earnestly desirous of tringing up 
 their children on healthy principles, are frequently 
 at a lose how to act, simply from lack of experience. 
 The first bob?; is often the victim of divers experiments 
 which u-ould never he tried vcre its wants and 
 requirements properly understood. I have en- 
 deavoured to show what these are, and to point out 
 how the children of parents whose means are limited 
 may he as well trained and cared for as those of 
 mothers and fathers in affluent circumstances," 
 
 FAITH AND DOUBT IN THE CENTURY'S 
 POEtS. 
 
 By Richard A. Armstrong, B.A. Fcap, 
 8vo, 2s. Gd.
 
 Prose ard 
 Verse by 
 
 Mary E. 
 Man- 
 ners, 
 H. E. 
 Inman, 
 Kate 
 Lee, 
 
 A. Dixon, 
 S. D. 
 Con- 
 stance, 
 and 
 many 
 others. 
 
 Illustrated 
 by 
 
 Louis 
 Wain, 
 E. A. 
 Mason, 
 Felix 
 Leigh, 
 Harry 
 Dixon, 
 A. T. 
 Elwes, 
 T. Crom- 
 well 
 Law- 
 rence, 
 G. Stod- 
 dart, &c. 
 
 THE R05EBUD ANNUAL, 1899. With 
 about 200 Original Illustrations. In hand- 
 some cloth binding, 4s. 
 
 As a Reward Boole, Birthday or Chrittmas Present for 
 a child, " The Bosehud Annual " etill stands un- 
 rivalled. The ihort itories in prose and verse are full 
 of healthy humour, and while free from goody-goodi- 
 ness, convey many a lesson in a quiet way. Every 
 picture in the hoolc was specially drawn for it, and 
 nearly all the birds of the air, the heasts of the field 
 and the fish in the sea are represented in various 
 comical attitudes. There are also songs with music. 
 
 What the Papers say about The Eosebud : 
 
 The Times : " Few more lively." 
 
 Daily Graphic : " Fost resources in the way of amuse- 
 ment." 
 Daily News : "Loolfs particularly attractive." 
 Westminster Gazette : " One of the best." 
 Daily Telegraph : " Splendidly printed." 
 Stab: '' iStorehouse of innocent humour and gaiety." 
 Pall Mall Gazette : " No more chai-ming picture- 
 
 book." 
 Scotsman: "That pleasant and well-known nursery 
 
 monthly." 
 Liverpool Post: "A treasure of delight," 
 Leeds Mercury : " Fascinating." 
 Bradford Observer : "Full of fun and laughter," 
 Aberdefn Free Press : "Ideal," 
 Bristol Mercury : Delightful. , . admirable little 
 
 magazine." 
 Glasgow Herald : " Sure of a rapturous welcome," 
 Dundee Advertiser : " Crammed full of good things." 
 BiRMiNOHAM Post : " Well odapted for rery little 
 
 fon<s." 
 Newcastle Chronicle : " None more entertaining," 
 Newcastle Leader: " Well worth the money." 
 Derby Gazette : " Charmingly got up." 
 HuDDEEsriELD EXAMINER : " We Icnow of nothing 
 
 better." 
 OiroKD Chronicle : "Bound to be treasured." 
 Midland Free Press : *' An old and ever-welcome 
 
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