"But any way,' says she, 'my uncle's in the ministry and good friends with th' Secretary of State. So cheer up, Mary; th' men may manage th' State; but we know who manages th' men, an' my name's not Fanny Legge if yo'r lover shan't go free.'" "Did she say Fanny?" said my mother. "She did," replied Mary, "just plain Fan an' never a countess to it, and what's more she gave me this locket wi' her picture in it, an' told me to wear it o' mi weddin' day, an' wear it aw shall an' will, an' mebbe those 'at come after me." And Mary drew from her bosom the portrait you, my children, know so well of that young countess who so untimely died. "Aw think that settles it," said my father, smiting his thigh. "Of course it does," said my mother. "An' aw hope, William Bamforth, 'at after this yo'll vote blue an' side wi' th' quality. T'other lot's good enuff for shoutin', but gi' me th' owd fam'lies when it comes to th' stick an' lift." And this profound political aphorism may close a chapter too long drawn out. CHAPTER XIII. I NEVER in my life passed so gloomy a Christmas as that of 1812. We killed a goose as usual, and there was the usual seasoned pudding and plum pudding, and Faith and Mary made a bit of a show with the holly and the mistletoe. But it was no use. We couldn't brighten up our hearts nor take our thoughts from the Special Commission which was to sit at York in the fore-end of January to try the Luds. Even our neighbours felt we could be in no mood for rejoicing, and neither the Church singers nor the Powle Moor lot came near us, and as for wishing each other a merry Christmas the farce would have been too ghastly. It was arranged that my father, Mr. Webster and I should go to York for the trial, and at the last moment Faith pleaded for leave to accompany us. I wanted Mary to go too, but she was very decided in her refusal. She wasn't going to leave her aunt alone these long wintry nights, she said, tho' I don't think that was the real reason, for was there not Martha? I wonder if women ever give the real reasons for their actions. Why should Faith make a point of going, I asked myself, and Mary demand to be left at home. On the first point Mary herself enlightened me, being more ready to speak of Faith's actions than her own. "It's plain enough why she wants to show George a kindness now," said Mary. "Aye?" "Can't ta see her heart's reproaching itself? She were more nor hauf i' love wi' George, an' no doubt thowt she could never fancy another." "Well?" "An' if there's one thing more nor another a woman sets store by, it's her own constancy." "Indeed!" "Yes, and indeed. And now Faith feels herself slipping, an' she's going to try to make it up to George for a treachery he'll never know of by sitting through the trial. It's noan so much to please him as to satisfy hersen."