"That cursed Dicky Glaire set upon me," moaned Sim, one of whose eyes was swollen up, while there was a cut across the bridge of his nose. "He's mad wi' me because I wouldn't help him to carry off Daisy Banks to London, and he's leathered me this how. But I'll hev it out of him yet." "Did Dicky Glaire want yow to get her away?" said Mrs Slee. "Yes, a coward, and I wouldn't," said Sim, "so he's done it his sen." "Be careful what you are saying, Mr Slee," said the vicar, snipping a strip of sticking-plaister off a piece in his pocket-book with his nail-scissors, and breathing upon it to make it warm. "Keerful," said Sim; "he deserves to be hung for it." "Do you mean to assert that Mr Glaire has done this? Because if so, you will have to substantiate your statement before a magistrate." "I don't say for certain as he has," said Sim; "but he wanted me to, and I wouldn't. Oh! oh! oh!" "Stand still, man, and don't be such a cur," cried the vicar, sharply, for he had been applying the plaister to Sim's slight cut, and the hero had begun to howl dismally. "It's half killing me," cried Sim, again. "Take hold of his head, Mrs Slee; the cut is nothing at all." Mrs Slee seized Sim pretty roughly, and held him by his ears, while the plaister was affixed, the great orator moaning and flinching and writhing till he was set at liberty. "Is it bad, sir?" said Mrs Slee, then. "So bad," said the vicar, "that if a schoolboy of nine or ten received such a drubbing from a playmate, he would have washed his face and said nothing about it." "Said nowt about it!" cried Sim. "Aye, it's easy for them as aint hurt to talk. Thou'lt come home wi' me, lovey?" "No. Go thee gate," said Mrs Slee. "Do 'ee come, lovey," said Sim. "I wean't," said Mrs Slee, shortly; and without more ado, she took her lord by the shoulders, and guided him to the door, which she closed upon him, leaving him to make his way up the street, vowing vengeance against Richard Glaire, the parson, and all the world. In fact, mischief was brewing, and would have come to a head sooner but for the episode of Daisy's disappearance. A deputation of the men had waited upon Richard Glaire, and offered terms for coming back to work; but he had obstinately held out for the reparation to be made, increasing the value he had previously set upon the destroyed bands, and declaring that if he were not paid a hundred and fifty pounds damages, he would keep the works closed. "Thou'lt be sorry for this, Maister," said the man who acted as spokesman. "Sorry!" said Richard, defiantly. "I'm sorry I ever had such a set of curs to work for me." "But we've telled you as it was none o' us." "I don't care who it was," retorted Richard; "I want a hundred and fifty pounds for the damage done; and I ought to have payment for my losses by the foundry standing still." "Our wives and bairns 'll soon be pined to dead," said another man.