The boy began to sob and talk brokenly. He lifted his face in the moonlight. It was ghastly; one eye swollen shut, and purple-black, and streaks of blood and dirt over it; the clothing torn, the throat bare.
"Were you down there at Connelly's?"
"I warn't nowhere. It was along o' father: he comed home drunk."
Barton Kane was a mill-boy, about nineteen now. Darcy's first feeling had been one of outrage and anger, but he cooled suddenly.
"Tell me, my lad," in a kindly tone, taking the shivering fingers in his.
"You see, Mr. Darcy, father'd been out along of the hatters all day, gettin' more and more rum in him. He said on Sunday, as how't I should strike; but they went to work here, and I worked with 'em. When I went home, mother, she gev me my supper, and ses she, 'Keep out o' sight, lad, happen thy dad's powerful mad wi' thee!' So I went to bed. But about nine he comed home, and tore up the house wi' his tantrums, and then lathered me. He called me a rat, and a sneak, and a turn-coat, and kicked me out o' the house, and threw my traps to me. Then afore I was fairly dressed he at me again, and said if ever I darkened the door, he'd murder me! I strayed round, afeared of everybody, and crawled up here. 'Pears like every bone in my body is broke, and my eye, he do hurt so!"
With that Barton Kane broke out sobbing again, and clung to Jack Darcy's knees.
"My poor lad!" the tone was infinitely tender. "Can you walk a little way, to Kit Connelly's? You can be nursed up there, and go to bed peaceably. Come, Barton, my boy, you are the hero of Hope Mills. When this is over, we shall have to give you a medal."
He put his strong arm around the shivering body, and led him back to a kindly shelter.
"Hay, Mrs. Connelly, and all of you: here's a lad that has been half-killed for standing by his colors to-day. Look here, Armstrong, would you mind going for Dr. Maverick? this poor chap needs some patching-up. And, Kit, give me some water and a napkin: we'll get his face a little cool and clean."