Patience Wins Part 25

"Never mind," said Uncle d.i.c.k. "I daresay we shall get the fellows to understand in time that we are their friends and not their enemies."

"Yes," said Uncle Jack; "they are better. I dare say it will all come right in time."

It was soon after this that I went into the grinding-shop one day while the men were at dinner, and going to the door that opened into the wheel chamber, which always had a fascination for me, I stood gazing down into its depths and listening to the splashing water.

"Iver try to ketch any o' them long eels, Mester Jacob?" said a familiar voice; and, starting and looking back, I saw that Gentles, the fat little grinder, was sitting down close to his wet grindstone eating his dinner, and cutting it with a newly ground knife blade forged out of our new steel.

"Eels, Gentles!" I said. "I didn't know there were any there."

"Oh, but there are," he said; "straange big 'uns. You set a line with a big bait on, and you'll soon hev one."

"What, down there by the wheel?"

"Ay, or oop i' the dam. Plenty o' eels, lad, theer."

"I'll have a try," I said eagerly, for the idea of catching one or two of the creatures was attractive.

From that I got talking to the man about his work, and he promised to let me have a few turns at grinding.

"On'y, what am I to say if thee coots theesen?" he cried with a chuckle.

"Oh, but you'll show me how to do it without!" I said laughing.

"Nay, but what's good o' thee wanting to grind? Want to tak' work out o' poor men's hands?"

"Nonsense!" I cried angrily. "Why, Gentles, you know better than that.

All I want is to understand thoroughly how it is done, so that I can talk to the men about their work, and show them if it isn't right."

"Oh!" he said in a curious tone of voice. "Well, you coom any time when watter-wheel's going, and I'll show thee all that I know. 'Tain't much.

Keeps men fro' starving."

"Why, Gentles," I cried; "you drew three pounds five last week, and I saw you paid."

"Three pun' five! Did I?" he said. "Ah, but that was a partic'lar good week. I've got a missus and a lot o' bairns to keep, and times is very bad, mester."

"I'm sorry for it," I said; and I went away and had a look in the books as soon as I reached the office, to find that Master Gentles never drew less than three pounds a-week; but I did not remind him of it, and during the next few days he very civilly showed me how his work was done--that is, the knack of holding and turning the blades, so that I rapidly acquired the way, and was too busy to notice the peculiar looks I received from the other men.

Of course I know how that I was a mere bungler, and clumsy, and slow in the extreme; but at the time I felt as if I must be very clever, and there was something very satisfactory in seeing a blackened hammered blade fresh from the forge turn bright and clean in my hands, while the edge grew sharp and even.

It was playing with edged tools with a vengeance, but I did not understand it then.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

PANNELL'S SECRET.

Every day the works grew more busy, and prosperity seemed to be coming upon us like sunshine. The men worked steadily and well, and the old opposition had apparently died out; but all the same the watching was kept up as regularly as if it was during war time, though, saving an occasional burst of barking from Piter, who used to have these fits apparently without cause, there was nothing to alarm the watchers.

It was my turn at home, and I was up early the next morning, wondering how Uncle Jack and Uncle Bob had got on during the night, when I came down and found Mrs Stephenson and Martha the maid enjoying themselves.

Their way of enjoying themselves was peculiar, but that it afforded them pleasure there could be no doubt. It might have been considered a religious ceremony, but though there was a kind of worship or adoration about it, there was nothing religious in the matter at all.

What they did was this:--To mix up a certain quant.i.ty of black-lead in a little pie-dish, and then kneel down before a stove, and work and slave at it till there was a tremendous gloss all over the iron.

In effecting this Mrs Stephenson used to get a little smudgy, but Martha seemed to have an itching nose which always itched most on these occasions, and as you watched her you saw her give six scrubs at the grate with the front of the brush, and then one rub with the back on her face or nose.

This act must have been pleasant, for as she bent down and scrubbed she frowned, as she sat up and rubbed her nose with the back of the brush she smiled.

Now if Martha had confined her rubs to her nose it would not have much mattered, but in rubbing her nose she also rubbed her cheeks, her chin, her forehead, and the consequence was a great waste of black-lead, and her personal appearance was not improved.

I was standing watching the black-leading business, an affection from which most north-country people suffer very badly, when Uncle Jack came hurrying in, looking hot and excited. "Where's d.i.c.k?" he cried.

"In his room drawing plans," I cried. "What's the matter? Is Uncle Bob hurt?"

"No, not a bit!"

"Then Piter is?"

"No, no, no. Here, d.i.c.k!" he shouted up the stairs. There was a sound on the upper floor as if some one had just woke an elephant, and Uncle d.i.c.k came lumbering down.

"What's wrong?" he cried.

Uncle Jack glanced round and saw that Mrs Stephenson was looking up from where she knelt in the front room, with her eyes and mouth wide open as the door, and Martha was slowly rubbing her nose with the black-lead brush and waiting for him to speak.

"Put on your hat and come down to the works," he said.

We moved by one impulse into the pa.s.sage, and as we reached the door Mrs Stephenson cried:

"Brackfa.s.s won't be long;" and then the sound of black-leading went on.

"Now, then," said Uncle d.i.c.k as we reached the street, "what is it?

Anything very wrong?"

"Terribly," said Uncle Jack.

"Well, what is it? Why don't you speak?"

"Come and see for yourself," said Uncle Jack bitterly. "I thought matters were smoothing down, but they are getting worse, and I feel sometimes that we might as well give up as carry on this unequal war."

"No: don't give up, Uncle Jack," I cried. "Let's fight the cowards."

"Bring them into the yard then so that we can fight them," he cried angrily. "The cowardly back-stabbers; sneaks in the dark. I couldn't have believed that such things could go on in England."

"Well, but we had heard something about what the Arrowfield men could do, and we knew about how in the Lancashire district the work-people used to smash new machinery."

"There, wait till you've seen what has happened," cried Uncle Jack angrily. "You've just risen after a night's rest. I've come to you after a night's watching, and you and I feel differently about the same thing."

Very little more was said before we reached the works, where the first thing I saw was a group of men round the gate, talking together with their hands in their pockets.