"Crushed again," said Jim meekly. "If aw were nobbut a bit less or thee a bit bigger, Ruth, aw'd teich thee th' respec' due to a man. Tha' sud read what Saint Paul says. If ivver aw live to ha' a house o' mi own aw'll ha' that tex' hung up conspicuous. But ger on, mother. Tha's none run thissen dahn yetten, aw know." "Weel, now, about Mitchell Mill." Mary took up her parable again. "Yo'll noan be killed wi' rent, that's one gooid thing. An' there's a gooid run o' watter, an' there's nob'dy aboon th' stream to run yo'r wheel dry nor yet to foul th' watter for th' dye-house an' scourin' hoil. Then yo' know yo'll be near th' cut an' th' tunnel under Stanedge, an' that'll come in gain for gettin' yo'r stuff in an' for sendin' yo'r pieces out. But it's abaat th' hands aw'm most moithered. Yo' see there's nother on yo' bin used to havin' other fo'k under yo', and as for yar Jim he's that soft a gooid-lookin' weiver or piecener or hurler could lake all day afore his varry e'en an' mak' believe oo were workin' hersen to skin an' bone an' he'd nivver know. That's th' weak spot." Jim sighed heavily. Ruth regarded Mrs. Haigh with some disfavour. "But aw'n bin thinkin'," resumed Mary, "'at aw could see to that. If aw can addle a livin' at whom burlin' for Mr. Wrigley, aw can soor-lee do as mich i' a mill-chamber workin' for mi own son an' pardner. Yo' see aw'm thinkin' aw'st na ha' Jim to do for long"--and here Mary shot a sly glance at Ruth, which instantly smoothed that maiden's ruffled feathers--"an' time 'll lig heavy o' mi hands. Aw'st noan kill yo' for wage. It's little aw want, an' if aw cannot shape for mi own lad it's a bonny come-off." And here Mary audibly sniffed and passed a trembling hand across her eyes. Jim got up and crossed the little room and patted his mother on the back with his big hand. "That's all reight, mother. Owt tha says goes, doesn't it, Abe?" "Mary knows that," I said promptly. "Then there's th' spinnin'," continued Mary, recovering her composure and smiling at Jim bravely. "There's these young lasses, axin' yo'r pardon if aw mak' too free, what's to hinder them fro' doin' a seet on it at whom, leastwise till th' babbies come, aye, an' at after that, if they've hauf th' sperrit aw think they han. Aw'll teich 'em, an aw'n a spindle put by at whom awmost as gooid as new. Yo' see if yo'n to ha' a chance to get on to yo'r feet yo' mun cut dahn th' expenses at ivvery turn." "Oh! I'll spin fast enough," cried Ruth. "It'll be nothing to turning a man round my little finger." "And wheer do aw come in?" asked Enoch, who had, doubtless with difficulty, kept silence for quite an unwonted while. "Aye, aye, Brother Hoyle, and what do you say?" asked his pastor.