“Ay; but in the day-time I shall appear as a carver of wood, and also an inspector of factories for Dr. Amboyne. Who will suspect me of a night trade, as well as two day trades?” Cheetham slapped the table triumphantly: but, recovering his caution, he whispered, “It's planned first-rate.” “And now, sir, there is one difficulty you must help me in, if you please. It is to set up the forge unobserved.” “What, am I to find the forge?” “There's a question, sir! Of course you are. One of these new portable forges.” Cheetham reflected for some little time. He then said it was a ticklish thing, and he saw but one way. “The forge must come here, after closing hours, and you and I must fetch it away in the dead of night, and take it down to the old church, and set it up.” “Well, but, sir, we shall want assistance.” “Nay, nay. I've got the last suit of moleskin I ever worked in laid away. I'll air 'em, and put 'em on again; and, when I've got em on once more, I shall feel a man again. I'll have neither fool nor spy in it: the thing is too serious. I might bring some country fellow, that can't read or write; but no, these portables are small things, and I'm one of the strongest men in Hillsborough. Best keep it to ourselves. When is it to be?” “Say next Wednesday, two hours after midnight.” “Then that is settled. And now I'll square the old account agreed.” He drew his check-book toward him again. But Henry slopped him. “Fair play's a jewel,” said he smiling. “The moment you sacked me--” “Say the Trades, not me.” “Dr. Amboyne hired me, at six guineas a week, to inspect the works. So you owe me nothing; but to be true to me.” This trait, though it was one of simple probity, astonished and gratified Mr. Cheetham. He looked on the young man with marked respect. “You are hard; but you are very square. I'll be true as steel to you, and we'll outwit our tyrants together, till I get a chance to put my foot on them. Yes, I'll be open with you; there are plenty of orders from London and the Continent, and one for six sets from swells in Hillsborough.” “Might I see that order?” “Why not? There, run your eye over it. I want to go into the packing-room for a minute.” He then tossed Henry the order, as if it was nothing more than an order. But it was a great deal more than that to Henry. It was Grace Carden's handwriting, the first specimen he had ever seen. He took the paper in his hand, and a slight perfume came from it that went to his heart. He devoured the delicately formed letters, and they went to his heart too: he thrilled all over. And the words were as like her as the perfume. She gave the order, and the addresses of her friends, with a pretty little attempt at the businesslike; but, this done, she burst out, “and we all entreat you to be good to poor Mr. Little, and protect him against the wicked, cruel, abominable Unions.”