"It was in this way," she answered, dropping her voice to a lower key, and giving a pull at the door to make sure it had not opened. "Dicky, poor fellow, is half starved; he's not used to it, and feels it keenly: resents it, I dare say. This morning, when out in the lane, he saw a tray of halfpenny buns, hot from the oven, put on old Ford's counter. The sight was too much for him, the temptation too great. Dicky Hoar is naturally honest; has been, up to now, at all events: but I suppose hunger was stronger than honesty to-day. He crept into the shop on all fours, abstracted a bun with his fingers, and was creeping out again, when Ford pounced upon him, bun in hand. There was a fine outcry. Ford was harsh, roared out for the policeman, and threatened him with jail, and in the midst of the commotion Hoar came up. In his mortification at hearing that a boy of his had been caught pilfering, he seized upon a thick stick that a bystander happened to have, and laid it unmercifully upon poor Dick." "And broke his arm?" "And broke his arm. And covered him with weals beside. He'll be all manner of colours to-morrow." "What a brutal fellow Hoar must be!" "To beat him like that?--well, yes," assented Miss Timmens, in accents that bore rather a dubious sound. "Passion must have blinded him and urged him further than he intended. The man has always been upright; prided himself on being so, as one may say; and there's no doubt that to find his child could be a thief shook him cruelly. This strike is ruining the tempers of the men; it makes them feel at war with everything and everybody." When I got home I found them in the thick of the news also, for Cole the doctor was there telling it all. Mrs. Todhetley, sitting on the sofa with her bonnet untied and her shawl unpinned, was listening in a kind of horror. "But surely the arm cannot be _broken_, Mr. Cole!" she urged. "Broken just above the wrist, ma'am. I ought to know, for I set it. Wicked little rascal, to steal the bun! As to Hoar, he is as fierce as a tiger when really enraged." "Well, it sounds very shocking." "So it does," said Cole. "I think perhaps it may be productive of one good--keep the boy from picking and stealing to the end of his life." "He was hungry, you say." "Famished, ma'am. Most of the young ones in Crabb Lane are so just now." The Squire was walking up and down the room, his hands in his pockets. He halted, and faced the Doctor. "Look here, Cole--what has brought this state of things about? A strike!--and prolonged! Why, I should as soon have expected to hear the men had thrown up their work to become Merry Andrews! Who is in fault?--the masters or the men?" Cole lifted his eyebrows. "The masters lay the blame on the men, the men lay it on the masters." "What is it the men are holding out for?" "To get more wages, and to do less work."