“‘Nay, nay, squire, thou didn’t mean them words, and we’ll say nothing about them’; so we nodded to each other, and I wouldn’t be sure whether or not we wer’ not both nearer tears than we’d show. Anyway, he went on as if nothing had happened, telling me about the failing spirit of the workers and saying a deal to excuse them. ‘Ezra Dixon’s eldest and youngest child died yesterday and they are gathering a bit of money among the chapel folk to bury them.’ Then I said: ‘Wait a minute, Jonathan,’ and I took out of my purse a five pound note and made him go with it to the mother and so put her heart at ease on that score. You know our poor think a parish funeral a pitiful disgrace.”
“Well, Antony, if that was what kept thee, thou wert well kept. Faith Foster is right. I ought to be told of such sorrow.”
“To be sure we both ought to know, but tha sees, Annie, my dearie, we hev been so much better off than the rest of weaving villages that the workers hev not suffered as long and as much as others. But what’s the use of making excuses? I am going to a big meeting of weavers on Saturday night. It is to be held in t’ Methodist Chapel.”
“Antony! Whatever art thou saying? What will the curate say? What will all thy old friends say?”
“Annie, I hev got to a place where I don’t care a button what they say. I hev some privileges, I hope, and taking my awn way is one o’ them. The curate hes been asked to lend his sanction to the meeting, and the men are betting as to whether he’ll do so or not. If I was a betting man I would say ‘No’!”
“Why?”
“His bishop. The bishops to a man were against the Reform Bill. Only one is said to have signed for it. That is not sure.”
“Then do you blame him?”
“Nay, I’m sorry for any man, that hesn’t the gumption to please his awn conscience, and take his awn way. However, his career is in the bishop’s hand, and he’s varry much in love with Lucy Landborde.”
“Lucy Landborde! That handsome girl! How can he fashion himself to make up to Lucy?”