'It's no use, Higgins. Hoo cannot live long a' this'n. Hoo's just

sinking away--not for want o' meat hersel'--but because hoo

cannot stand th' sight o' the little ones clemming. Ay, clemming!

Five shilling a week may do well enough for thee, wi' but two

mouths to fill, and one on 'em a wench who can welly earn her own

meat. But it's clemming to us. An' I tell thee plain--if hoo dies

as I'm 'feard hoo will afore we've getten th' five per cent, I'll

fling th' money back i' th' master's face, and say, "Be domned to

yo'; be domned to th' whole cruel world o' yo'; that could na

leave me th' best wife that ever bore childer to a man!" An' look

thee, lad, I'll hate thee, and th' whole pack o' th' Union. Ay,

an' chase yo' through heaven wi' my hatred,--I will, lad! I

will,--if yo're leading me astray i' this matter. Thou saidst,

Nicholas, on Wednesday sennight--and it's now Tuesday i' th'

second week--that afore a fortnight we'd ha' the masters coming

a-begging to us to take back our' work, at our own wage--and

time's nearly up,--and there's our lile Jack lying a-bed, too

weak to cry, but just every now and then sobbing up his heart for

want o' food,--our lile Jack, I tell thee, lad! Hoo's never

looked up sin' he were born, and hoo loves him as if he were her

very life,--as he is,--for I reckon he'll ha' cost me that

precious price,--our lile Jack, who wakened me each morn wi'

putting his sweet little lips to my great rough fou' face,

a-seeking a smooth place to kiss,--an' he lies clemming.' Here

the deep sobs choked the poor man, and Nicholas looked up, with

eyes brimful of tears, to Margaret, before he could gain courage

to speak.

'Hou'd up, man. Thy lile Jack shall na' clem. I ha' getten brass,

and we'll go buy the chap a sup o' milk an' a good four-pounder

this very minute. What's mine's thine, sure enough, i' thou'st i'

want. Only, dunnot lose heart, man!' continued he, as he fumbled

in a tea-pot for what money he had. 'I lay yo' my heart and soul

we'll win for a' this: it's but bearing on one more week, and yo

just see th' way th' masters 'll come round, praying on us to

come back to our mills. An' th' Union,--that's to say, I--will

take care yo've enough for th' childer and th' missus. So dunnot

turn faint-heart, and go to th' tyrants a-seeking work.' The man turned round at these words,--turned round a face so

white, and gaunt, and tear-furrowed, and hopeless, that its very

calm forced Margaret to weep. 'Yo' know well, that a worser

tyrant than e'er th' masters were says "Clem to death, and see

'em a' clem to death, ere yo' dare go again th' Union." Yo' know

it well, Nicholas, for a' yo're one on 'em. Yo' may be kind

hearts, each separate; but once banded together, yo've no more

pity for a man than a wild hunger-maddened wolf.' Nicholas had his hand on the lock of the door--he stopped and

turned round on Boucher, close following: 'So help me God! man alive--if I think not I'm doing best for

thee, and for all on us. If I'm going wrong when I think I'm

going right, it's their sin, who ha' left me where I am, in my

ignorance. I ha' thought till my brains ached,--Beli' me, John, I

have. An' I say again, there's no help for us but having faith i'

th' Union. They'll win the day, see if they dunnot!' Not one word had Margaret or Bessy spoken. They had hardly

uttered the sighing, that the eyes of each called to the other to

bring up from the depths of her heart. At last Bessy said, 'I never thought to hear father call on God again. But yo' heard

him say, "So help me God!"' 'Yes!' said Margaret. 'Let me bring you what money I can

spare,--let me bring you a little food for that poor man's

children. Don't let them know it comes from any one but your

father. It will be but little.' Bessy lay back without taking any notice of what Margaret said.

She did not cry--she only quivered up her breath, 'My heart's drained dry o' tears,' she said. 'Boucher's been in

these days past, a telling me of his fears and his troubles. He's

but a weak kind o' chap, I know, but he's a man for a' that; and

tho' I've been angry, many a time afore now, wi' him an' his

wife, as knew no more nor him how to manage, yet, yo' see, all

folks isn't wise, yet God lets 'em live--ay, an' gives 'em some

one to love, and be loved by, just as good as Solomon. An', if

sorrow comes to them they love, it hurts 'em as sore as e'er it

did Solomon. I can't make it out. Perhaps it's as well such a one

as Boucher has th' Union to see after him. But I'd just like for

to see th' mean as make th' Union, and put 'em one by one face to

face wi' Boucher. I reckon, if they heard him, they'd tell him

(if I cotched 'em one by one), he might go back and get what he

could for his work, even if it weren't so much as they ordered.' Margaret sat utterly silent. How was she ever to go away into

comfort and forget that man's voice, with the tone of unutterable

agony, telling more by far than his words of what he had to

suffer? She took out her purse; she had not much in it of what

she could call her own, but what she had she put into Bessy's

hand without speaking.




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