"Betwixt us we did lift him, an' carry him into th' Works an' laid him down nigh one o' the furnaces, an' th' fellys coom crowdin' round to look at him. He wur a lad about nine year' owd, an' strong built; but he looked more than half clemmed, an' arter we'st rubbed him a good bit an' getten him warmed enow to coom round 'i a manner, th' way he set up an' stared round were summat queer. "'Mesters,' he sez, hoarse an' shaky, 'ha' ony on yo' getten a bit o' bread?' "Bob Latham's missus had put him up summat to eat, an' he browt it an' gie it to him. Well, th' little chap a'most snatched it, an' crammed it into his mouth i' great mouthfuls. His honds trembled so he could scarce howd th' meat an' bread, an' in a bit us as wur standin' lookin' on seed him soart o' choke, as if he wur goin' to cry; but he swallyed it down, and did na. "'I havn't had nowt to eat i' a long time,' sez he. "'How long?' sez I. "Seemt like he thowt it ower a bit afore he answered, and then he sez: "'I think it mun ha' been four days.' "'Wheer are yo' fro'?' one chap axed. "'I coom a long way,' he sez. 'I've bin on th' road three week'.' An' then he looks up sharp. 'I run away fro' th' Union,' he sez. "That wur th' long an' short on it--he had th' pluck to run away fro' th' Union, an' he'd had th' pluck to stond out agen clemmin' an' freezin' until flesh an' blood ud howd out no longer, an' he'd fell down at the foundry-door. "'I seed th' loight o' th' furnaces,' he sez, 'an' I tried to run; but I went blind an' fell down. I thowt,' he sez, as cool as a cucumber, 'as I wur deein'.' "Well, we kep' him aw neet an' took him to th' mester i' th' mornin', an' th' mester gie him a place, an' he stayed. An' he's bin i' th' foundry fro' that day to this, an' how he's worked an' getten on yo' see for yoresens--fro' beein' at ivvery one's beck an' call to buyin' out Flixton an' settin' up for hissen. It's the 'Haworth Iron Works' fro' to-day on, an' he will na mak' a bad mester, eyther." "Nay, he will na," commented another of the old ones. "He's a pretty rough chap, but he'll do--will Jem Haworth." There was a slight confused movement in the group. "Here he cooms," exclaimed an outsider. The man who entered the door-way--a strongly built fellow, whose handsome clothes sat rather ill on his somewhat uncouth body--made his way through the crowd with small ceremony. He met the glances of the workmen with a rough nod, and went straight to the managerial desk. But he did not sit down; he stood up, facing those who waited as if he meant to dispose of the business in hand as directly as possible. "Well, chaps," he said, "here we are." A slight murmur, as of assent, ran through the room. "Aye, mester," they said; "here we are."