The Parson O' Dumford. Fenn George Manville

done by some cowardly sneak as had hid in the place.”

      “I know who it was,” said Richard, with his eyes sparkling with malicious glee.

      “Know who it was?” said Banks. “Tell me, Maister Richard, and I’ll ’bout break his neck.”

      “It was that scoundrel Tom Podmore.”

      “Who? Tom Podmore! Yah!” said the foreman, in a tone of disgust; and then with a chuckle. “I dessay he’d like to gi’e you one, Maister Dick; but go and steal the bands! It ain’t in him.”

      “But I tell you I saw him!” cried Richard.

      “Saw him? When?”

      “Hanging about the works here last night between nine and ten.”

      “You did!” cried the foreman, eagerly.

      “That I did, myself,” said Richard, while the vicar scanned his eager face so curiously that the young man winced.

      Joe Banks stood thinking with knitted brow for a few moments, and then, just as Mrs Glaire was going to interpose, he held up his hand.

      “Wait a moment, Missus,” he said. “Look here, Maister Richard, you said you saw Tom Podmore hanging about the works last night?”

      “I did.”

      “There’s nobbut one place wheer a chap could ha’ been likely to ha’ gotten in,” said Banks, thoughtfully. “Wheer might you ha’ sin him?”

      “In the lane by the side.”

      “That’s the place,” said the foreman, in a disappointed tone. “That theer window. Was he by hissen?”

      “Yes, he was quite alone,” said Richard, flinching under this cross-examination.

      “And what was you a-doing theer, Maister Richard, at that time?” said the foreman, curiously.

      “I – I – ” faltered Richard, thoroughly taken aback by the sudden question; “I was walking down to go into the counting-house, with a sort of idea that I should like to see if the works were all right.”

      “Ho!” said the foreman, shortly; and just then the eyes of the young men met, and it seemed to Richard that there was written in those of the vicar the one word, “Liar!”

      “Did you speak, sir?” said Richard, blanching, and then speaking hotly.

      “No, Mr Glaire, I did not speak, but I will, for I should like to say that from what I have seen of that young man Podmore, I do not think he is one who would be guilty of such a dastardly action.”

      “How can you know?” said Richard, flushing up. “You only came to the town yesterday.”

      “True,” said the vicar; “but this young man was my guide here, and I had some talk with him.”

      “I hope you did him good,” said Richard, with an angry sneer.

      “I hope I did, Mr Glaire,” said the vicar, meaningly, “and I think I did, for he told me something of his life, and I gave him some advice.”

      “Of course,” from Richard.

      “Richard, my son, pray remember,” exclaimed Mrs Glaire.

      “Oh yes, I remember, mother,” cried Richard, stung with rage by the doubting way in which his charge had been received; “but it is just as well that Mr Selwood here should learn at once that he’s not coming to Dumford to be master, and do what he likes with people.”

      “It is far from my wish, Mr Glaire,” said the vicar, with a bright spot burning on each cheek, for he was young and impulsive too, but the spots died out, and he spoke very calmly. “My desire here is to be the counsellor and friend of both master and man – the trusty counsellor and faithful friend. My acquaintance with this young workman Podmore was short, but I gave him a few friendly words on his future action, and the result was that he came and fought for his master like a man when he was in the midst of an angry mob.”

      “So he did, parson, so he did,” said Banks, bluntly.

      “And came in a malicious, cowardly way at night to destroy my property,” cried Richard.

      “Nay, nay, lad, nay,” said Banks, sturdily. “Parson’s raight. Tom Podmore ain’t the lad to do such a cowardly trick, and don’t you let it be known as you said it was him.”

      “Let it be known!” said Richard, grinding his teeth. “Why, I’ll set the police after him, and have him transported as an example.”

      “Nay, nay, lad,” said Banks, “wait a bit, and I’ll find out who did this. It wasn’t Tom Podmore – I’ll answer for that.”

      “Let him prove it, then – and he shall,” cried Richard, who hardly believed it himself; but it was so favourable an opportunity for having an enemy on the hip, that he was determined, come what might, not to let it pass.

      Five minutes later the parties separated, the works were shut up, and Richard Glaire did not reject the companionship of the vicar and the foreman to his own door, for there were plenty of lowering faces in the street – women’s as well as men’s; but the party were allowed to pass in sullen silence, for the strikers felt that “the maister” had something now of which to complain, and the better class of workmen were completely taken aback by the wanton destruction of the machinery bands.

      Volume One – Chapter Thirteen.

      The Foreman at Home

      There had been a few words at Joe Banks’s plainly-furnished home when he returned the previous night.

      Everything looked very snug – the plain, simple furniture shone in the lamplight, and a cosy meal was prepared, with Mrs Banks – a Daisy of a very ripened nature – sitting busily at work.

      “Well, moother,” said Banks, as he entered and threw himself into a chair.

      “Well, Joe,” said Mrs Banks, without looking up.

      “Phee-ew!” whistled Joe, softly, as he took up the pipe laid ready beside the old, grey, battered, leaden tobacco-box, filled the bowl, and lit up before speaking again, Mrs Banks meanwhile making a cup of tea for him to have with his supper.

      “Why didn’t you come home to tea, Joe – didn’t you know there was some pig cheer?”

      “Bit of a row up at the works. Didn’t you know?”

      “Bless us and save us, no!” cried Mrs Banks, nearly dropping the teapot, and hurrying to her husband’s side. “You’re not hurt, Joe?”

      “Not a bit, lass. Give us a buss.”

      Mrs Banks submitted ungraciously to a salute being placed upon her comely cheek, and then, satisfied that no one was hurt, she proceeded to fill up the pot, and resumed her taciturn behaviour.

      “Owd woman’s a bit popped,” said Joe to himself. Then aloud, “Wheer’s Daisy?”

      “That’s what I want to know,” said Mrs Banks, tartly. “Wheer’s Daisy? There’s no keeping the girl at home now-a-days, gadding about.”

      “Is she up at the House?” said Joe. “I suppose so,” said Mrs Banks; “and, mark my words, Joe, no good ’ll come of it. It’s your doing, mind.”

      “Nonsense, nonsense, old woman. What’s put you out? Come, let’s have some supper; I’m ’bout pined.”

      “Then begin,” said Mrs Banks. “Not wi’out you, my lass,” said Joe, winking at the great broad-faced clock, as much as to say, “That’ll bring her round.”

      “I don’t want any supper,” said Mrs Banks. “More don’t I, then,” said Joe, with a sigh; and he got up, took off his coat, and then began to unlace his stout boots.

      “Bless and save the man! wheer are you going?” exclaimed Mrs Banks.

      “Bed,” said Joe, shortly. “Tired out.”

      “What’s