"I shan't take on about it," he said, roughly, as he turned round with a sharp, defiant air of recklessness. "I ain't the first fool that's been jilted by a woman, ay, parson--hundred and sixty pound 'll buy a sight o' gills o' ale. Don't you take no heed o' what I said." He was turning away, but a strong hand was upon his shoulder. "Look here, Podmore," said the vicar, firmly, "you said something about fools just now. You are not a fool, and you know it. You leave the ale alone--to the fools--and go back and get to work as hard, or harder, than you ever worked before. I shall see you again soon, perhaps bowl to you in the cricket field. As for your affairs, you leave them to me. Do you know why Englishmen make the best soldiers?" "Do I know why Englishmen make the best soldiers, parson?" said Podmore, staring. "No: can't say I do." "Because, my lad, they never know when they are beaten. Now, you are not beaten yet. Good-bye." He held out his hand, and the great grimy, horny palm of the workman came down into it with a loud clap, and the grip that ensued from each side would have been unpleasant to any walnut between their palms. Then they parted, taking different routes, and ten minutes later the Reverend Murray Selwood was walking quietly through the empty town street, quite conscious though that head after head was being thrust out to have a look at the stranger. There was the usual sprinkling of shops and private houses, great blank red-brick dwellings, which told their own tale of being the houses of the lawyer, the doctor, and their newer opponents. Then there was the factory-looking place, with great gates to the yard, and a time-keeper's lodge inside, surmounted by a bell in its little wooden hutch. The throb of machinery could be heard, and the shriek of metal being tortured into civilised form came painfully to the ear from time to time. Smoke hung heavily in the air--smoke tinged with lurid flame; and above all came the roar of the reverberating furnaces, where steel or some alloy was being fused for the castings which had made out-of-the-way, half-savage Dumford, with its uncouth, independent people, famous throughout the length and breadth of the land. There were very few people visible, for the works had not yet begun to pour forth their masses of working bees, but there were plenty of big rough lads hanging about the corners of the streets. "I wonder what sort of order the schools are in," said the new vicar to himself, as he neared the church, towards which he was bending his steps, meaning to glance round before entering the vicarage. "Yes, I wonder what sort of a condition they are in. Bad, I fear. Very bad, I'm sure," he added. For at that moment a great lump of furnace refuse, or glass, there known as slag, struck him a heavy blow in the back. He turned sharply, but not a soul was visible, and he stooped and picked up the lump, which was nearly equal in size to his fist.