CHAPTER VIII.

IT WAS nigh ten o'clock of the Saturday night when I slipped on my clothes, went on tiptoe across the bedroom floor into the little room where 'Siah slept--how the rafters creaked!--and roused him from his deep sleep. 'Siah sat up with a yawn that would have awakened any but those who slept the heavy slumbers born of honest toil and pure air, rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, yawned again, thrust, a stockinged leg from under the blankets, muttered something that did not sound like a blessing, donned his trousers and his smock, and followed me, with a clumsy attempt at care, down the stairs. In the kitchen we shod our feet, 'Siah in clogs, over which he drew a pair of socks, myself with thick hob-nailed boots. The dog rose from the hearth, stretched himself with a yawn, arched his back, and then lay down again with his jaw upon his fore-paw and eyes watchful from under shaggy brows. My mother had not kept her threat to lock me in o' nights, in fact I am not sure she could have done, had her will been ever so good. 'Siah opened the door, motioned the dog back to its place, and we turned out into the yard, doubled the house side, and strode off down the hill. We met not a soul nor spoke a word till we came to Kitchen Fold, and here, by the Black Bull, we came upon Soldier Jack. He gave us a quiet greeting, almost in a whisper. He handed an axe to 'Siah, and a huge sledge-hammer to myself. He showed us a pistol that he himself was to handle, and a small canvass bag of powder and ball. He fondled the weapon lovingly, and as we walked briskly along towards Huddersfield, kept on cocking it at the startled birds that sprung twittering from the hedges. Of Watch and Ward we saw no sign. There was half a moon in the sky, which was o'ercast by scudding clouds behind which she sailed, diving down as into troughs of ink, then showing a horn and riding triumphantly to the clear again, like a ship of fire in the billows of the sea. There was no rain, but the wind moaned, and save for its moan and the fall of our feet and the bark of a cur as we passed the scattered houses, and now and then a word from Jack, all was very still. We did not dally in the town, for the order was that each man should make his own way to the Dumb Steeple, a sign well known to all of us, hard by the Three Nuns, on the road side, near the old Convent of Kirklees. As we neared the spot we saw other figures moving furtively and quickly in the same direction. Some were dressed in smocks, and all had their faces part concealed, either by a mask or by a 'kerchief drawn across the lower face. One gaunt being strode on before us dressed in woman's skirts; but a pair of men's trousers, that showed at every step, and a manly stride were in ill keeping with the skirt. When we got near the Steeple I put on my mask and 'Siah and Jack theirs. From all sides, across fields, down bye-ways, from Roberttown, from Hightown, men, singly and in small groups, were gathering. Some were even coming out of the Three Nuns, where lights were showing through the lower windows. But all were curiously still. So still I gave a start when a slim form moved by my side, sprung from I know not where, and John Booth's voice whispered:

"I knew you by your height, Ben, and the swing of your gait, and Soldier Jack is noan hard to tell by his limp. But here we are by th' Steeple, and here should be our leader."

We had not long to wait for George. He singled me out easily enough by my height, for I was a good three inches above any man there.

"Well in time, George. That's right, and 'Siah too. Give Martha a buzz fra me, 'Si, when tha' gets back to Holme. What! Soldier Jack! Ah! now we shall make a brave show, an' those Leeds lads will know what it means to have a soldier to smarten us up." And he was here and there and in and among and seemed to have just the right word for every one, and Soldier Jack began at once to busy himself in seeing how each one was armed. 'Siah slunk off towards the Three Nuns, muttering that if he had to die that night he should like to die with t' taste o' honest ale in his mouth.

"Come aside with me, Ben," said John, when none was bye to note him. "We've a good half-hour to wait here before we start. There are not above a hundred of us here all told; and we counted on five times that number. The Leeds men will meet us, or should meet us, nigher Rawfolds. But Bradford and Dewsbury have sent a mere handful of those that should have come. George is putting a brave face on, but he's sore vexed all the same."

"We've enough for th' job," I said. "If a hundred men cannot force Rawfolds a thousand cannot. We'd do well to start and know our luck."

"We must not start before I say my say, Ben. We shall see the ranks forming from here, and I may have no other chance."

"Well, John lad, what is it. Tha' looks as if tha'd seen a boggard." The pale light from the moon had fallen full on his face as we stood against the wall of Kirklees Park, a two or three hundred yards away from where the moving mass bulked large about the Steeple.

"Don't jest to-night, Ben. I cannot bear it. My heart is heavy with forebodings. I cannot, cannot shake them off, try as I will. This is my last venture, Ben."

"Aye and mine by moonlight, John Daylight or nowt, say I."

"It is my last, Ben. There will be sharp work at Rawfolds. The mill is well garrisoned, Cartwright is a bold, a resolute man. He will defend his machines at any hazard and at any cost. Still you need not despair. If you can but win your way in, you may overpower him and the men he has with him. But, Ben, have you thought of it? There will be bloodshed. There must be bloodshed. Cartwright will not ask quarter, nor will he give it. My father knows him well. If you break down gate and door, you will find him there, pistol in hand, and he will not scruple to shoot his assailant down."

"Tha'rt none feart, are ta, John. Tha can slip off, if tha likes. Aw'll ma'e some mak' o' a story to quieten George. Tha looks poorly enough for owt."

"Quit yo'r talking, Ben. I would not turn back if I could. But, Ben, this night's work will be my last. Something tells me my days are numbered I do not know I need greet for that. It's a weary world, and I'st be well out on it."

"Yo're just talking daft," I said, but I felt somehow that he was telling truth. I could not make light of what he said, though I tried.

"If I don't go back to Huddersfield with you, Ben, you'll find a paper at Mrs. Wight's, telling yo' what to do with my bits o' things. There's Hume's History of England. Yo've always said yo'd like to read it. Mi Bible's for Faith, and this ring for Mary, wi my love, an' give George th' silver buckles off my Sunday shoon. It'll be for you to tell my father and Faith. No one else must do it. Promise me that."

"Do ho'd thi talkin, John, an' dall thee, dunnot look so solemn. I'st be angered wi' thee in a bit." I wanted to feel angry, to work myself into wrath, for I knew if this talk went on, I should soon be fit for nowt myself.

"Nay, Ben, bear with me. Faith will be a lone lass, when I am gone. She loves me, Ben, with more than a sister's love. You see my mother died when I were born. I wish she were well wed, George. I should not fear leaving her if I knew she were plighted to a good man."

"There's yo'r father," I said; "but what child's talk we're talking. Tha'll noan fall, John; aw dunn't believe in forebodings an' such woman's fancies. It's thi liver, John. Let's go back; George 'll be missing us. Stick as close to me as tha can get, when we come to th' mill, an' aw'll see nobody touches thee, if I can help it."

"My father's an old man," pursued Booth, not heeding what I said. "An old man, wrapped in his books, and more helpless than Faith herself. Do you like Faith, Ben? I've fancied of late she turns to thee I know she trusts you and seems to lean on your strength. Women like power in a man, Ben, not wrecklings like me."

"Yo're noan a wreckling, lad. It's th' head folk measure men by, not legs an' arms."

"Ivy will cling to the oak, Ben, for all that, an' Faith's is a clinging nature. Yo'll stand by her, if th' worst comes to th' worst. Promise me, Ben. On thi word as a man, Ben, pledge me thi promise, an' I'll go to this night's work wi' a lighter heart."

A whistle sounded shrill and clear from by the Steeple. It was the signal to fall in. We turned to join our comrades. John held me by the hand, and his pale, thin face, with those large, soft, woman's eyes of his, was turned up to me, all entreaty.

"It needs no promise, John; but if it 'll lighten thee owt an' help thee to play the man this night, there's mi hand on it. An' now put this nonsense, out o' thi head. Stick close to me, all through. An' when it's ovver (end choose how it may) make straight for me or Soldier Jack, and we'll win home together. Come, the men wait, an' our work's before us."

George and Thorpe and Soldier Jack were forming the party into companies. There might be some two hundred of us, but I never counted them. Jack arranged us in the order deemed best. We were drawn up in a long line close by the Steeple. The men of the first company had pistols or muskets, firearms, of any sort. They were to march first. If soldiers were about I suppose Jack thought the men with firearms could drive them off if any of us could. But Lord bless you! Most of them couldn't have hit a hay stack at twenty yards. A few of them that had done a bit of poaching might give a better account of themselves. But, anyhow, they might fley the red-coats, and that would serve our ends just as well as shooting them. Behind the shooters were drawn tip, two abreast, the hatchet men, and behind them were to march my own lads, about a score of us, big men all, either in height or breadth, and each of us slung a hammer over his shoulder. I was captain of the hammer-men, and on my shoulder I bore a mighty weapon that few could sling. Behind my company was more or less of a rabble; men unarmed or with bludgeons only. What good they were, or expected to be, it would puzzle me to say. They were only in the way; but they were Luds, and that was enough.

Soldier Jack went down the line. Ben Walker moved by his side, carrying a lanthorn. I had not seen him till then. He looked sick and wretched. His hand trembled as he held aloft the light. Jack called the roll by its rays as he moved down the line.

"No. 1."

"Here."

"No. 2."

"Aw'm here."

"No. 3."

No answer.

"No. 4."

"That'll be me."

And so on down the line, while those who had made answer pulled their caps over their faces or fixed their masks more securely.

"And now, lads," cried George. "We'll waste no time in talking. We've three good miles to Rawfolds, and the night shortens. Before day break our work must be done. Show yourselves men but this night, and yo' bring the masters to their knees. Yo' fight; for home and hearth and the right to live. If there is one among you whose heart fails him, let him step out and leave us. William Hall, do you bring up the rear. If any turn tail, mark him. If yo' suspect treachery, shoot him. Sam Hartley, yo' know the way over Hartshead, walk by my side, and we will lead the way."

"And now, men, ready!"

"One, two, one, two, steady!" cried Soldier Jack, and we beat time as he had taught us in our drill, "one, two, left, right, left, right."

"Forward!" cried George, and he placed himself at the head of the column, and we moved steadily on in the dark, glad of the motion, for our blood was chilled with standing, and I, for one, thought less when I was moving, and the less I thought the better I was suited. 'Siah was in my company, and he, too, had a hammer, and well he knew how to use it. I took care he should not be far off me at all times. John Booth was in the rear, for he could use neither axe nor hammer, and pistols he would have nought to do with. As we marched along over the Moor, tramp, tramp, tramp, our feet falling pretty regular, and Soldier Jack sort of beating time for us by shouting "Left, right, left, right." There was a bit of breeze by this, and it was none too warm, but my spirits were rising spite of John's gloomy words and little as I liked the job. Every now and then George ran past me on his way down the ranks, and I could see his eye kindled and lit up with fire, for he had lost or thrown away his mask. Near the White Hart Inn, we halted; for here, if anywhere, we should be joined by the Leeds men; but there was neither sight nor sound of them.

"Shall aw go meet 'em an' hurry 'em up, General?" asked Ben Walker.

"Noa, tha winnot, tha'll stay here," said Soldier Jack, before George could reply.

I saw George was a bit huffed at Jack's putting his oar in so sharp, and he turned on him to say something Jack mightn't have liked, but thought better of it and checked himself.

"We cannot very well spare thee, Ben, we mun send some'dy whose legs are more use nor his arms."

"Send John Booth," I whispered.

"Why John Booth?"

"Nivver mind, George, I'll tell thee at after; send him."

"Well, if it'll pleasure thee."

But John Booth wouldn't go. When George ordered him he flatly refused, and would only say that he had come out to fight, and not to run errands. John was a favourite with the men, who liked his pluck, and wondered often to each other such a fiery spirit was to be found in so frail a body. So they bore him out in his refusal, and a young lad from Huddersfield, who had been, better at home with his mother, as indeed we should all have been, was packed off over the Moor, to hurry up the laggards. I heard afterwards he met them a mile away; but when they heard the sound of musketry and our hoarse cries as we dashed at the barriers that kept us from our prey, they fair turned tail and slunk off to bed again. Anyway we saw nought of them.

"Do yo' know where th' soldiers are billeted?" I asked George.

"Ay, mostly at Haigh House in Hightown, yonder way," he replied, pointing into the darkness.

"Hadn't we better send a party to engage them and cut them off?" asked Jack.

"There's more at Millbridge yonder," said Thorpe. "They're all around us. If yo' try to stop one lot coming up, why not another?"

"There's summot i' that," said Soldier Jack; "anyway we mustn't stop shivering here. Yo' mun keep 'em movin, General. There's nowt men hate worse nor waiting i' th' dark. They get fleyed at their own shadders, an' start at their own thowts. Push us forward, George, an' let us get to close quarters, for every minute wasted now means a deserter."

"Right yo' are, Soldier. Aw've noticed more nor one slinking off; but aw thowt it best to say nowt," said Thorpe.

"Then forward, men! Th' Leeds lot will be here in time for th' shouting. All the more glory will be ours. Now forward and no more lagging."

We moved on again, turning sharply down a lane that led from the Moor towards the mill. We could see the buildings now, the mill itself, four stories high, with smaller buildings, the dyehouse, drying stove and such like, clustering near it. A brook ran rippling over rounded pebbles to the dam and from the goit to the great water-wheel. We could hear the water of the beck babbling when we started, but its murmur was lost in the thud of our feet as we closed on the mill. Not a light was to be seen. The moon shone at moments on the windows, but no ray came from within. But smoke came in a thin stream from the long chimney, and showed that the boiler fire was banked up ready for Monday's work. Now we neared with quickened steps to the mill-yard, and out into the night came from within the fierce baying of the watch-dog. It hadn't bayed two minutes when a single light shone out from the counting house, and we could see it move from window to window, and other lights glowed now from other portions of the mill. The watchers within had heard the faithful hound, and were doubtless speeding to their post's and standing, to their arms.

"Rush for the gate, hatchets to the front!" shouted George.

A band of men with hatchets sprang forward, and began to ply their weapons at the gates.

"Musket men line up," came the sharp command. "Give them a volley at the windows. Now, lads, spread yourselves. Cover the windows. Bullets and stones, mi lads, let 'em have it."

I caught sight of Booth. I seized the arm as he was hurrying past me. "Stand by me, John; stand by me and 'Siah. Dunnot leave our side, as yo' love yo'r sister."

"My place is elsewhere, Ben."

"Stand by me, aw tell yo. 'Siah, be with me. See! the outer door gives. They're in, they're in! Now 'Siah! follow me. Come, John."

I sprang forward, 'Siah gave a shout like the bellowing of a mad bull. I rushed into the mill yard. The glass was falling from the frames with crash upon crash, sticks and stones were flying above our heads as we streamed forward. The volleys of musketry made their din, and now from loop holes and from windows came answering shots. We could see the streak of fire from the barrels and hear the sharp ping of the bullets as they whizzed about our heads. Our men roared and roared again and yelled with frenzied cries. There were men there who could do nought but roar and yell and curse. They had only sticks and hatchets, and till the doors were down sticks and hatchets were of no avail.

"Way for Enoch!" I cried. "'Siah it's thee and me now."

"Way for Enoch!" came a ringing cry from the roaring crowd, and the men fell aside as 'Siah and I bounded to the front. The door stood staunch and true. I rushed at it with a curse and a cry and smote as I never smote before. You could hear the din of my every stroke rolling away into the emptiness of the mill within, and from the great bolt heads that studded the panels the sparks flew fast and thick as I thundered at the door.

"Bang up, Ben!" cried the voices I knew so well. "Damn the door, will it never yield?"

'Siah was by my side. There was room only for us two, and above the roar of the mob, above the yells and curses and cries, above the thud of stones and the crash of falling lime and glass, above the clanging of the mill bell, above the din of gun and pistol, rang out the mighty sound of Enoch's echoing thunder. With every blow that fell quivering shocks ran up my arm as the hammer dithered in my grasp, and still I pounded at the door, and still the stout timbers yielded not a jot. I wielded my maul fast and furious, but now with feebler blows, for my wind began to fail me; but 'Siah pounded on calm and stolid as if he stood in the village smithy.

"It's no use, Ben," I heard his hoarse voice in my ear. "It's no use, aw'm feart, but we'll keep braying. Howd thi strength, tha'll want it."

"Let's try at th' back," shouted George. "To the back, Ben. There's a way in at th' back, they say."

"To the back be it," I heard a voice within; "We'll be there to greet you."

And that was near the last sound I heard. I fell back from the door that had stood so well our fury and looked up at the window front. I think I raised my hand to my head to wipe away the sweat that was blinding my eyes. Then I was aware of a sharp burning boring pain in the muscle of my upper arm, and Enoch fell with a clatter into the cobbles of the yard, and I turned sick and dizzy and faint. The crowd were rushing away from the mill front round to the back, and I tried to follow them. But my eyes had a film before them, and I reeled and swayed like a drunken man, and when I tried to lift my arm a hundred daggers seemed to dig deep into my shoulder, and my arm fell useless by my side.

"He's hit! They'n hit th' mester," cried 'Siah. "Here, Soldier, tha're wanted here. Bear up, Ben, tha' mustn't fall. Brace thi' legs, man. By God he's wounded." And everything swam around me and I knew no more.

When I came to my senses, I was, for a time, conscious only of my agony. I was stretched on a pile of straw in a lofty room with bare walls of undressed stone and great bowks and rafters crossing the arched roof. A mere slit, high up in one wall, let in a stream of light, but the corner in which I lay was almost wholly dark. Someone was kneeling by my side and when I moaned in my pain an arm was passed under my head and a mug was pressed to my lips.

"That's reight, Ben, tha'rt better now. Tak' a swig at this; it'll do thee good."

It was 'Siah's voice, and the brandy and water that he poured down my throat set me coughing and choking, and every cough gave me awful stabs of shooting pain.

"Where are we, 'Si?" I murmured as I sank back again all faint and sick.

"Hanged if aw know, lad. But we're safe for a bit. It's som'dy Soldier Jack knows. We're noan far fra' Fixby, that's all aw can tell thee, an' here we'st ha' to tarry till we can move thee."

"An' th' mill? Ha' we ta'en th' mill? Where are all the boys? What am I doing lying here? Oh! I mind me now. I was hit i' my arm. Where's George an' Thorpe, and--oh! tell me all, 'Si."

"Tak another sup o' this an' lig quiet. Tha'd best noan talk so mich. There's a caa or two i' th' mistal theer, an' if tha'll be still I'll see it I cannot squeeze a drop aat on 'em. There's been a lass milking noan so long sin'; aw expect 'oo's noan left 'em dry if 'oo's like th' rest on 'em. Naa thee be still, an dunnot go swounding off agen, if tha' can help it, Ben. Tha' fleys me. Aw thowt tha were done for. Lig thee still, aw'll be wi' thee in a jiffy." And 'Siah lumbered off in the gloom, and I heard him straining a thin, and coy stream of milk into a can, whilst a cow's hoof stamped as if in protest at this renewed demand upon her stores.

The warm rich milk revived me, but when I strove to rise to my feet my strength failed me and I fell back again.

"There's nowt for it, Ben, but patience. Th' farm man here's known to Soldier Jack, an' as good luck will have it, his mester's away. So we're right for th' day, an' as soon as neet comes we're off."

"Tell me what has happened--I shalln't settle till tha' does."

"There's nowt much to tell. After tha' were hit aw caught thee i' my arms just as tha were falling like a felled bullock. Gow! what a weight tha are, to be sure, Ben. Then aw dragged thee to one side. Tha' were bleeding like a pig, but Soldier Jack were wi' thee i' no time. See yo' where he cut away thi' vest an' shirt. Then he put his finger i' th' hole where th' bullet is, an' didn't ta' groan. But he could feel nowt, so he bun thi up wi' th' tail o' thi shirt an' a handkerchief. But theer tha' lay like a log, and what to do wi' thee wer' th' puzzle. Aw' looked under a shed i' th' mill yard to see if ther' wer' owt we could hug thee on; but there wer' nowt. T'others were runnin' off i' all directions. Some were crying out to 'em to run, some wer' orderin' 'em to stop. George wer' like one off his yed. Aw see'd him jump on to th' sill o' th' lower window an' grasp a frame wi jagged glass all around an' shake it an' gnash his teeth at those in th' mill. But someone dragged him dahn. An' all th' while that damned bell wer' clanging like all that. Then som'dy cried out at th' sojers wer' comin', an' aw thowt missen aw heerd th' gallopin' o' horses' hoofs; but aw winnot be sure. Aw grabbed hold o' Mellor an' telled him tha wer' hit."

'Cannot yo' see to him?' he said.

'Siah an' me'll see to Ben,' said Soldier Jack, who wer' knelt down bi thi side. 'Thee see to thissen, George.' So George just gave a look at thi an' gay' a groan an' threw up his hands, an' shook his fist as th' guns kept popping fra' th' mill in a way 'at made me duck mi head every half second, an' off he skeltered after t' others."

"And what of John Booth. I hope no harm's come to th' lad."

"Oh! nivver thee mind about Booth. He's noan o' kin to thee at aw know on."

"But did he get safe away, 'Si? Did he go with George?"

"Aw'm noan his keeper, am I? Hannot aw enuff to do wi' thee o' mi hands wi'out John Booth? Go to sleep wi' thee, th'rt talking too much."

"Yo're hiding summot, 'Si. Na tell me, an' then aw'll be quiet."

"Well, there's nowt much to tell. Booth wer' hit, that's all aw know. Aw seed him liggin' on th' ground, an' he' wer' bleeding i' th' leg. But Soldier 'll see to him."

"Soldier?"

"Aye, he said' tha wouldn't be easy if tha thowt John wer' left, so after we'd tugged an' tewed an' hustled thee here, an' sich a huggin' an' a tewin' an' a hustlin' aw nivver had i' mi life afore, what wi' thee keep on swounding every fifty yards o' so, Jack first o' all went back an' gate some brandy. Aw dunnot know wheer he sammed it up, but Jack knows his way about, an' no mistake. We should ha' been fair done but for Jack. Then he said he'd hark back an' see what could be done for Booth; but he shouldn't come back here till neet, an' then we'd see what could be done about movin' thee. An' we wer to ca'er here till he come back. Naa, that's all aw know, except aw wish aw wer' a caa."

I was feeling very drowsy now and just remember murmuring:

"A caa; what for, 'Si?"

"So's aw could chew th' cud o' mi last meat, for aw'm awmost famished, an' aw cannot mak' a meal o' milk like a caulf."

And then I must have dozed off, for I heard no more for a long time.

The weary day dragged its lingering length. I slept by fits and starts. 'Siah, worn out, slumbered heavily. A swallow darted through the slit high up in the wall, skimmed round the rafters, intent upon nest building in the thatch--a rat ran across my feet. I could hear the crowing of a cock and the clucking of hens in the yard outside, and the song of a lark soaring in the heavens made me long for light and freedom. After what seemed an eternity of time the kine were driven in from the pastures for milking. I heard a voice coaxing them in:

"Coop--coop--coop." Then there were two voices, a man's and a woman's, and some talk I strained my ears to catch. "Luds," "sojers," "dead," and "poor lad"--this from the woman; but I could not piece the fragments to make sense. Then I judged the man was foddering his beasts, and I knew the hour of my deliverance was at hand. The gloom deepened, and all was still save for 'Siah's heavy breathing. Then I heard the sound of wheels, the door was opened cautiously, and a limp fell upon the flags.

"Are ta theer, 'Siah?"

And 'Siah creeped upon his knees to the limit of the hay bowk.

"Ger up an' ma' as little noise as tha can."

"Can ta walk, Ben?"

'Siah held me by the left shoulder, and leaning heavily on him I gained the door. Outside was our good old Bess. I could have wept to see her: such a flood of sweet home memories swept over me. The bottom of the cart was covered with hay and in one corner of it was our new roan calf. Soldier Jack and 'Siah between them lifted me into the cart,--and I sank exhausted by the effort and the pain, down by the dumb wondering brute that slobbered upon my face and gave a slimy lick at my lips.

"Tha mun drive, 'Siah. Go slow, by Deanhead. Aw'll walk on i' front, and if aw start whistlin' tha'll know som'dy's comin'. The sojers are scourin' th' country. Th' Luds are hidin' for their lives. There's small hell to play ovver this neet's work. Tha munnot hurry, an' keep out o' th' ruts an' jolt him as little as tha can."

"What's th' cauf doin' here?" muttered 'Siah.

"Tha dunderhead. We' mun cover Ben up wi' t' straw. Leave him his nose aat an' nowt else; then if we meet a search party they'll happen think tha'rt fetchin' a cauf wom. Tha' mun act as gaumless as tha' can, an' na' drive on an' ma' as if aw'd nowt to do wi' thee."

"Come up, Bess, woa, steady!" and we lumbered off past the top of Lindley, keeping well on the crest of the hill, whence we could see the light of Longwood and Golcar in the valley, and so, bearing towards the left, made for Lower Holme. We passed a party of mounted soldiers about half-way on our journey and, fortunately, at the very moment of our encounter the calf staggered straddling to its feet, putting its hoof upon my right hand and sending shooting torments up my arm. It rocked and swayed in the cart and moo'd feebly at the soldiers as they drew rein.

"Have you seen any suspicious characters on the road, my good man, higher up the hill?" asked their leader.

"Nay, nowt out o' th' common," said 'Siah, "a tramp or two, an' a chap 'at looked as if he'd been feightin'."

"Ah! where was that?"

"T'other side o' Lindley; he wor makin' fra Grimscar."

"Forward, men!"

"Good luck," said 'Siah. "Ger on, Bess." And my heart began to beat again.

How my mother met us at the door, how my father stood aloof and would not speak one word, how 'Siah undressed me and put me into my own bed, what need to tell; nor yet set forth in detail how it came about that as I sank down into the cool, clean sheets, and laid my head upon the grateful feather pillow, stuffed with feathers plucked by Mary's own fingers, I heard the kitchen door open and a quick step ascend the stairs.

"Now Mrs. Bamforth, well Mary, where is he? let's have a look at him. Off with you now, all but 'Siah. 'Siah, you cut-throat rebel, shut the door and hold the candle for me."

It was Dr. Dean from Slaithwaite, hearty, hale and cheery, who had ushered me into the world and given me powders and pills in the little ailments of childhood. He took command of the whole house as by divine right. Even my mother recognised his prerogative and resigned her supremacy, and Mary was his willing and adoring slave. Before you could say "Jack Robinson" he had slit my sleeve with his scissors, lifted the rude bandages, now sodden and stiff with blood, and was handling my arm deftly and tenderly as a woman.

"H'm, bullet in biceps, hoemorrhage of the artery, acute inflammation, temperature equatorial, fever, ravings, pandemonium generally!" All the while probing for the bullet as if he were picking a periwinkle.

"Mrs. Bamforth," presently he said, "how do you feel?"

"Aw'm well enough i' body, doctor, but nowt to boast of i' mind."

"I don't think you are very well, Mrs. Bamforth. I detect in you symptoms, my dear lady, that give me grave alarm."

"Why, good gracious, doctor, whatever do yo' mean? Why my appetite's good . . . ."

"That aggravates the complaint."

"Aw sleep well, leastwise aw did till a neet or two sin, when aw started dreamin' o' washing clothes, an' aw knew it were a sign o' a burial i' th' family. 'William Bamforth,' aw said to th' mester, 'William Bamforth, as sure as yo're a living man there'll be a death i' th' family afore yo'r a month older, but little did aw think o' yar Ben bein' laid low. Aw put it down to my sister Matty. He did nowt but laugh, but he'll happen believe me now. It's a judgment on him for scoffing.'"

"Mrs. Bamforth, you must take to your bed at once; and you must not stir out of it till I give you leave. You must send Martha to the surgery at once and I'll make up a bottle, and three times a day you must take it."

"But I ail nowt, doctor."

"You may pour it down the sink."

Was the doctor off his head? But no, he went on:

"You must impress it on Martha, I'll tell her myself, that you are dangerously ill and every day I'll drive up myself to see you. You must tell Martha to mind she says nothing about it in the village, and then I suppose it'll be all over the Country in no time. And if anybody asks where Ben is, he's gone on his rounds. Now do you understand?"

I did anyway, and I pressed his hand gratefully.

"It may be a fortnight before Ben's fit to be moved, and then, mark you, he must be moved, and for my credit's sake, if for no other reason, not a soul out of this house must know Ben's within a hundred miles of this."

"God bless you, doctor. Aw've been wondering and wondering ever sin' 'Si' brought him home, whatever we should say to th' neighbours. An' yo've found a way all in a minnit. See what it is to be eddicated. Aw'll be i' bed afore yo're out o' th' house. An' mind yo' insense it into our William, for he's that stupid he'll spoil it all. An', for sure, aw don't feel very well; it's my heart, doctor."

And I think my mother came as near winking as ever she did since she made lovers' signals across the pews, when my father was courting her.