"It is far from my wish, Mr Glaire," said the vicar, with a bright spot burning on each cheek, for he was young and impulsive too, but the spots died out, and he spoke very calmly. "My desire here is to be the counsellor and friend of both master and man--the trusty counsellor and faithful friend. My acquaintance with this young workman Podmore was short, but I gave him a few friendly words on his future action, and the result was that he came and fought for his master like a man when he was in the midst of an angry mob." "So he did, parson, so he did," said Banks, bluntly. "And came in a malicious, cowardly way at night to destroy my property," cried Richard. "Nay, nay, lad, nay," said Banks, sturdily. "Parson's raight. Tom Podmore ain't the lad to do such a cowardly trick, and don't you let it be known as you said it was him." "Let it be known!" said Richard, grinding his teeth. "Why, I'll set the police after him, and have him transported as an example." "Nay, nay, lad," said Banks, "wait a bit, and I'll find out who did this. It wasn't Tom Podmore--I'll answer for that." "Let him prove it, then--and he shall," cried Richard, who hardly believed it himself; but it was so favourable an opportunity for having an enemy on the hip, that he was determined, come what might, not to let it pass. Five minutes later the parties separated, the works were shut up, and Richard Glaire did not reject the companionship of the vicar and the foreman to his own door, for there were plenty of lowering faces in the street--women's as well as men's; but the party were allowed to pass in sullen silence, for the strikers felt that "the maister" had something now of which to complain, and the better class of workmen were completely taken aback by the wanton destruction of the machinery bands. Volume 1, Chapter XIII. THE FOREMAN AT HOME. There had been a few words at Joe Banks's plainly-furnished home when he returned the previous night. Everything looked very snug--the plain, simple furniture shone in the lamplight, and a cosy meal was prepared, with Mrs Banks--a Daisy of a very ripened nature--sitting busily at work. "Well, moother," said Banks, as he entered and threw himself into a chair. "Well, Joe," said Mrs Banks, without looking up. "Phee-ew!" whistled Joe, softly, as he took up the pipe laid ready beside the old, grey, battered, leaden tobacco-box, filled the bowl, and lit up before speaking again, Mrs Banks meanwhile making a cup of tea for him to have with his supper. "Why didn't you come home to tea, Joe--didn't you know there was some pig cheer?" "Bit of a row up at the works. Didn't you know?" "Bless us and save us, no!" cried Mrs Banks, nearly dropping the teapot, and hurrying to her husband's side. "You're not hurt, Joe?" "Not a bit, lass. Give us a buss."