"It's an awful shame," cried a civil, quiet woman, Sarah Grind, one of a very numerous family, commonly called "Grind's lot," "that we should be beat down to have our victuals and other things at such a place as Peckaby's! Sometimes, sir, I'm almost inclined to ask, is it Christians as rules over us?" Lionel felt the shaft levelled at his family, though not personally at himself. "You are not beaten down to it," he said. "Why do you deal at Peckaby's? Stay a bit! I know what you would urge: that by going elsewhere you would displease Roy. It seems to me that if you would all go elsewhere, Roy _could_ not prevent it. Should one of you attempt to go, he might; but he could not prevent it if you all go with one accord. If Peckaby's things are bad--as I believe they are--why do you buy them?" "There ain't a single thing as is good in his place," spoke up a woman, half-crying. "Sir, it's truth. His flour is half bone-dust, and his 'taturs is watery. His sugar is sand, and his tea is leaves dried over again, while his eggs is rotten, and his coals is flint." "Allowing that, it is no good reason for your smashing his windows," said Lionel. "It is utterly impossible that that can be tolerated." "Why do he palm his bad things off upon us, then?" retorted the crowd. "He makes us pay half as much again as we do in the other shops; and when we gets them home, we can't eat 'em. Sir, you be Mr. Verner now; you ought to see as we be protected." "I am Mr. Verner; but I have no power. My power has been taken from me, as you know. Mrs. Verner is--" "A murrain light upon her!" scowled a man from the outskirts of the crowd. "Why do she call _herself_ Mrs. Verner, and stick herself up for missis at Verner's Pride, if she is to take no notice on us? Why do she leave us in the hands of Roy, to be--" Lionel had turned upon the man like lightning. "Davies, how dare you presume so to speak of Mrs. Verner in my presence? Mrs. Verner is not the source of your ills; you must look nearer to you, for that. Mrs. Verner is aged and ailing; she cannot get out of doors to see into your grievances." At the moment of Lionel's turning to the man, he, Davies, had commenced to push his way towards Lionel. This caused the crowd to sway, and Lionel's hat, which he held carelessly in his hand, having taken it off to wipe his heated brow, got knocked down. Before he could stoop for its rescue, it was trampled out of shape; not intentionally--they would have protected Lionel and his things with their lives--but inadvertently. A woman picked it up with a comical look of despair. To put on _that_ again was impossible. "Never mind," said Lionel good-naturedly. "It was my own fault; I should have held it better." "Put your handkercher over your head, sir," was the woman's advice. "It'll keep the sun off." Lionel smiled, but did not take it. Davies was claiming his attention; while some of the women seemed inclined to go in for a fight, which should secure the hat.