"Aye, aye, if all's weel aw'st be poorly th' day after, sha'not aw? But wi' one thing an' another aw just feel as if aw cud turn cart wheels slap daan th' sides o' Pots an' Pans till aw poo'd up at th' _Hanging Gate_. It is na th' eitin', lad, nor th' drinkin', though them's nooan things to be sneezed at, let me tell yo'. It's thowts at' mi Tom's so well thowt on bi all at's knowd him sin' he wer' a suckin' babe. Aw tell thee, lad, mi heart's so full aw could blubber like a cawf, if aw didn't howd missen in." And then Tom knew it was time for him to look intently in any direction but that of honest Ben's face. Sunday came, and with Sunday came Workh'us Jack, such a beaming radiant Jack as never village saw before: Jack, with a great white rosette on his breast and a white ribbon on the end of the whip with which he flicked the mare with many a soothing "so-ho, so-ho," and hortatory "come up;" an older Jack by many a biting Winter's lapse since first we met him; a stouter, plumper, rosier Jack, but with the same smiling face and unfailing cheerfulness. How, with infinite tenderness, Lucy was lifted into the trap, how Tom smothered her with wraps and shawls, how Hannah declared she would rather walk through the village because everybody was, she knew, stopping from chapel on purpose to gaup at her, and how she was hoisted bodily in under protest; how, as a matter of fact the neighbours and the neighbour's children turned out into the street braving the whipping of the gusty snow or peered from chamber window; how it was all over Holmfirth in no time that Gentleman Tom and Lucy Garside were "off over th' Isle of Skye to be wed at St. Chad's," how every gossip in the village insisted that she had expected nothing else these months back, and called upon her neighbour to testify that she had often been heard to say so; how the demure young maidens declared that Lucy for all her quiet ways was a deep one and a sly one, and that it was a shame a fine strapping young fellow should be trapped into wedding a pale faced useless thing, little better than a cripple; how Ben and Tom walked far ahead of the trap all the way up the ascent of road to the Isle of Skye, but were overtaken just as they reached the inn there: how Ben insisted on Jack taking "summat short" to keep the cold out, and Tom would have Hannah drink some hot port-wine negus to keep Jack company, and how Jack had another drink for the good of the house; how the exhilarating influence of the liquor passed by some mysterious process from the driver to the driven so that the old mare rattled down from Bill's o' Jack's to Greenfield, and from Greenfield to the _Church Inn_, at Saddleworth; how it stopped there of its own accord and positively refused to budge till Jack descended from his seat and had another drink; how Hannah made sure that Ben and Tom would be foolish enough to try a short cut over the moors and untimely perish like Tom's mother