"Oh, yes, I know! I know you, too, better than you know yourself. You belong to his set. You side with the money. Make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness, as you'd say, with that with which he grinds down all these poor, shivering wretches--money, money, money! Piling up his money-bags, and making us slaves!" "Drinkwater, I cannot stand and listen to this without raising my voice in protest." "Because it gives you a chance to preach," said the man, with a bitter sneer. Will's father stepped forward, but the Vicar raised his hand. "One moment, Mr Willows," he said, quietly. "No, James Drinkwater," he went on, gravely, "I raise my voice in protest, because everyone who hears you knows that what you say is utterly false. They are the angry words of an over-excited man. You are not yourself. You have let your temper get the better of you through brooding over some imaginary grievance, and to-morrow when you are calm I know from old experience that you will bitterly regret the insults you have heaped upon the head of as good and true-hearted a man as ever stepped this earth." Drinkwater was about to reply, but he was checked by a fresh speaker, for Will suddenly threw up his cap high in the air with as loud a hurrah as he could utter, acting as fugleman to the group around, who joined in heartily, helped by Josh, in a cheer, strangely mingled, the gruff with the shrill of the women's voices. "Well done!" whispered Will, half-bashfully shrinking back, and gripping his comrade's arm. "Oh, Josh, I never knew your father could preach like that!" "Cowards! Pitiful, contemptible worms! That's right; put your necks lower under his heel. I'll have no more of it. From this day, after the words he's said to me this morning, never another stroke of work I will do here." "Stop, James Drinkwater," cried Will's father, firmly; "as the Vicar says, you are not yourself. Don't say more of the words of which you will bitterly repent, when you grow calm--when this fit has passed--and can see that the fault I found this morning was perfectly justified by your neglect, in a fit of temper, of a special duty--a neglect that might have resulted in a serious accident to the machinery, perhaps loss of life or limb to some of the people here." "It's a falsehood," shouted the man. "If I left out those screws it was because I was dazed--suffering from overwork--work forced upon me that I was not fit to do, but heaped upon me to save your pocket and the blacksmith's bill." "No," said John Willows, gravely; "I asked you to repair that engine because I knew it was a mechanical task in which you delighted to display your skill--because you would do it better than the rough smith of the town." "Nay, it was to save your own pocket."