And a right proper man George Mellor was. Six feet by the stick, and with shoulders well back, and strong, firm, warm hands that gripped you to make you tingle. His eyes were brown and full of fire, and dark auburn hair curled close upon a rounded head. He had a temper, if you like, but he never bore malice, and I never knew him do or say a mean thing, and if he was at times unjust he was quick to make amends. He was a prime favourite of my mother. Her own sister was George Mellor's mother. His father was dead, and my Aunt Mellor, to my mother's surprise and indignation, had married John Wood, of Longroyd Bridge, a cloth finisher, in middle life, somewhat younger than my aunt, and a man it was hard to like. Whatever could have possessed my aunt capped us all. She had a bit of money of her own, and could have pulled along in a middling way without a second marriage. But my father said, "You mun wait till yo're a widow yoursen, if yo want to know what makes a widdow get wed again." Anyhow Aunt Matty had a hard time of it, for John Wood was a hard man, cold-blooded and spiteful. He soon found out that he could hurt his wife through George, and he always seemed to rub George the wrong way. The lad ran away once, and none of us knew what became of him till long afterwards, not even his own mother, who nigh fretted herself into her grave over him. But he turned up again as suddenly as he had vanished, taller, stouter, firmer set, quieter. John Wood thought his spirit was broken, made him so quiet. But he found out his mistake when he began to slur at him. "See here, John Wood," George had said, for he would never call him father, "I have come back home for my mother's sake, because it was made clear to me my place was by her side. I will work for you, and do my duty by you, and I will pay you fair for my board and ask no favour of you as man or lodger. But you must speak me fair, and treat my mother kindly, or you'll rue the day you ever crossed George Mellor." He had a quiet way with him when he was most roused, a sort of cold heat, had George; though over what you would have thought concerned him least, he would flare up and flush, and his eye would blaze and out his words would come like a pent-up torrent. I never feared George when he was in a temper, but it was dangerous to cross him when his cheek and lips paled and his words came soft and slow. "Aw walked up th' cut side," he explained. "It seemed an age since aw saw yo' all; an' our house's none too cheerful just now. Trade's fearful bad, an' John Wood's as sore as a boil--an' I bowt this sprig o' mistletoe of a hawker for yo' to hang on th' bowk, an' who' should let you Christmas in if not your own nevvy, Aunt Bamforth."