"That's all very well," cried a shrill voice; and Sim Slee and his red waistcoat were once more seen above the heads of the crowd, for, put out of the gates, he had managed to mount the wall; "but what we want to know, as an independent body of sittizens, is--" "Will some on yo' get shoot of that chap, an' let Missus speak," cried Tom Podmore. There was a bit of a rush, and Sim Slee disappeared suddenly, as if he had been pulled down by the legs. "I don't think I need say any more," said Mrs Glaire, "only to ask you all to come quietly back to work, and I promise you, in my son's name--" "No, no, in yours," cried a dozen. "Well," said Mrs Glaire, "in my own and your dead master's name--that you shall all have justice." "That's all raight, Missus," cried Harry. "Three more cheers for the Missus, lads!" "Stop!" cried Mrs Glaire, waving her hands for silence. "Before we go, I think we should one and all thank our new friend here--our new clergyman, for putting a stop to a scene that you as well as I would have regretted to the end of our days." Mrs Glaire had got to the end of her powers here, for the mother stepped in as she conjured up the trampled, bleeding form of her only son; her face began to work, the tears streamed down her cheeks, and, trembling and sobbing, she laid both her hands in those of Mr Selwood, and turned away. "Raight, Missus," roared Harry, who had certainly partaken of more gills of ale than was good for him. "Raight, Missus. Parson hits harder nor any man I ever knowed. Look here, lads, here wur a blob. Three cheers for new parson!" He pointed laughingly to his bruised forehead with one hand, while he waved the other in the air, with the result that a perfect thunder of cheers arose, during which the self-instituted, irrepressible advocate of workmen's rights made another attempt to be heard; but his time had passed, the men were in another temper, and he was met with a cry raised by Tom Podmore. "Put him oonder the poomp." Simeon Slee turned and fled, the majority of the crowd after him, and the others slowly filtered away till the yard was empty. Volume 1, Chapter VIII. DEAR RICHARD. "Take my arm, Mrs Glaire," said the vicar, gently; and, the excitement past, the overstrung nerves slackened, and the woman reasserted itself, for the doting mother now realised all that had gone, and the risks encountered. Trembling and speechless, she suffered herself to be led into the counting-house, and placed in a chair. "I--I shall be--better directly," she panted. "Better!" shrieked her son, who was pacing up and down the room; "better! Mother, it's disgraceful; but I won't give way a bit--not an inch. I'll bring the scoundrels to reason. I'll--" "Dick, dear Dick, don't. See how ill poor aunt is," whispered Eve. "I don't care," said the young man, furiously. "I won't have it. I'll--"