"Oh! th' warst kind o' slave's him," retorted Ben, "as doesn't know he is a slave. Look at Lucy theer, her 'at sud ha' bin, aye an' wod ha' bin', as strong as a young colt, on' what is 'oo nah, a lily brokken on its stalk--mi poor lass, mi poor lass"--and the father's voice broke and the mother's face was turned aside. "Dunno greet, father I'm very happy, for aw nivver knew till aw wer bed-ridden how sweet life can be wheer love is." "Wheer's yo'r een, Tom?" went on Ben very fiercely, to hide his softer feelings, "wheer's thi e'en? aw say. Isn't Sam Buckley th' spinner at Wilberlee yet?" Tom nodded. "Weel, aw know Sam. 'As to ivver seen him peilin' an' cuffin' th' young 'uns abaat th' yed, wi' them big fists o' his'n, little, wee, puny, ramshackle things o' scorn an' eight yer owd, all skin an' bone, so to speak, an' precious little bone at that. Hasn't ta seen 'im strappin' 'em an' layin' abaat 'im reet an' left wi' a roller as thick ay yo'r shackle, an' crack'd 'em abaat t' poll till th' blood's come, when he's getten 'is skin full o' four-ale? Things ha' altered strangely if tha hasn't, or else tha'rt stone-blind and past prayin' for." Now Tom had seen this and felt it too; but he had supposed it was all part of the day's work. He saw others put up with it, and he had put up with it--it might, for aught he knew, be involved in that all-controlling indenture of apprenticeship. "Aye, it's true enough," he said, "I've wondered about it, Ben. Isn't ther' a law against it? Mr. Black says there's one and the same law for the rich and the poor." "Then Mr. Black's nooan as knowin' as aw tak' 'im to be. Law! Law fiddlesticks! Tak' an' overseer afore th' magistrates--most on 'em manufacturers theirsen--for beeatin' a child, nivver name a 'prentice--why, yo' might as weel fall out wi' owd Harry an' go to hell for justice.--But it's time yo wor i' bed, lad, if tha meeans to gooa to-neet, an' nivver tha forget abaat Moses. Gooid neet to yo'."