The men were civil to him in the yard, and he had it all his own way, apparently. He was examined by a surgeon, and reported healthy. He paid the insurance premium, and obtained the policy. So now he felt secure, under the aegis of the Press, and the wing of the “Gosshawk.” By-and-by, that great fish I have mentioned gave a turn of its tail, and made his placid waters bubble a little. A woman came into the yard, with a can of tea for her husband, and a full apron. As she went out, she emptied a set of tools out of her apron on to an old grindstone, and slipped out. The news of this soon traveled into the office, and both Cheetham and Bayne came out to look at them. They were a set of carving-tools, well made, and highly polished; and there was a scrap of paper with this distich: “We are Hillsborough made, Both haft and blade.” Cheetham examined them, and said, “Well, they are clever fellows. I declare these come very near Little's: call him down and let us draw him.” Bayne called to Henry, and that brought him down, and several more, who winded something. “Just look at these,” said Cheetham. Little colored: he saw the finger of the Unions at once, and bristled all over with caution and hostility. “I see them, sir. They are very fair specimens of cutlery; and there are only about twenty tools wanting to make a complete set; but there is one defect in them as carving-tools.” “What is that?” “They are useless. You can't carve wood with them. None but a practical carver can design these tools, and then he must invent and make the steel molds first. Try and sell them in London or Paris, you'll soon find the difference. Mr. Bayne, I wonder you should call me from my forge to examine 'prentice-work.” And, with this, he walked off disdainfully, but not quite easy in his mind, for he had noticed a greedy twinkle in Cheetham's eye. The next day all the grinders in Mr. Cheetham's employ, except the scissors-grinders, rose, all of a sudden, like a flock of partridges, and went out into the road. “What is up now?” inquired Bayne. The answer was, their secretaries had sent for them. They buzzed in the road, for a few minutes, and then came back to work. At night there was a great meeting at the “Cutlers' Arms,” kept by Mr. Grotait. At noon the next day, all the grinders aforesaid in Mr. Cheetham's employ walked into the office, and left, each of them, a signed paper to this effect: “This is to give you notice that I will leave your service a week after the date thereof.” (Meaning “hereof,” I presume.) Cheetham asked several of them what was up. Some replied civilly, it was a trade matter. Others suggested Mr. Cheetham knew as much about it as they did. Not a single hot or uncivil word was spoken on either side. The game had been played too often for that, and with results too various.