"But it isn't that, Ben. Speak low. No one must hear us. I know John has a warm heart, and one that feels for the poor. And he is always reading and talking and thinking of politics and the doings of the Parliament men, and sometimes the things he says take my breath away. And Mrs. Wright says--oh! Ben, how can I tell it you?--that she sadly fears our John has taken up with th' Luddites an' is going about the country with th' constables on his track, an' maybe th' soldiers watching him, an' some night he'll never come back and my father's grey hairs will be brought with sorrow to the grave." "Mrs. Wright's a cackling old fool," I said; but Faith went on. "And, oh, Ben, she says that it's all George Mellor's doing. She says George will lead him to the gallows, and many a mother's son beside. It's awful to hear the things she says about George. I'm sure they aren't true. I'm sure George would never do anything that wasn't noble and good and true. I've always comforted myself with that. Whatever it is, I've said to myself, if George has ought to do with it, it must be right. If it's right for George, it's right for John. I told Mrs. Wright so, though I don't like talking of these things, but she angered me so." "Well, and what did the old beldame say to that?" "Oh, shocking things. Th' best she could find to say for him was that he wer' a conceited puppy that thowt he could set th' world to rights by talking big. But she thinks the world o' thee, Ben--a steady, proper, young man, she called yo', wi' his head screwed on right, and not stuck full o' stuff an' nonsense, like George. She said she'd warrant yo'd sense enough to mind your own business, and those that had more had no sense. So, Ben, I want yo' to promise me to say a word to John. He'll mind yo' if he won't me. He's all th' brother I have, Ben, and oh! my heart mistrusts me, there's trouble coming, and I know not whence nor how." I had put the lanthorn on the bin and Faith had both her hands in mine, and her pale, sweet face was turned up to mine, and she looked at me with eyes that were wet with tears, and her low sweet voice trembled and caught in a sob. I never was in such a fix in my life, and I found no way out of it by cursing Mrs. Wright in my mind for a meddlesome old harridan, though as decent a woman as ever lived. "And now, Ben," pleaded Faith, "you see what trust we all have in you. Not but what I have trust in George, too, and I can't think what has set Mrs. Wright against him so. But perhaps he has overmuch spirit and pride, and it's no great fault in a man, is it? But you will speak to John, won't you, Ben, and warn him not to break his father's heart, and to mind what he does and says." And just then, the mistal door flung open and Mary came in, and I still had Faith's hand in mine. "Oh! I'm sure, I'm sorry if I intrude," said Mary, "but I thought you'd come to show Faith th' new calf." "And so I did."