He thought, however, that it was now a fit time-for him to withdraw, and he was going to say the few words he had so well considered, when a very old man rose, and leaning on his staff, called out, “Squire Annis, my friend, I want thee to let me speak five minutes. It will varry likely be t’ last time I’ll hev the chance to say a word to so many lads altogether in this life.” And the squire smiled pleasantly as he replied, “Speak, Matthew, we shall all be glad to listen to you.”
“Ill be ninety-five years old next month, Squire, and I hev been busy wi’ spinning and weaving eighty-eight o’ them. I was winding bobbins when I was seven years old, and I was carding, or combing, or working among wool until I was twenty. Then I got married, and bought from t’ squire, on easy terms, my cottage and garden plot, and I kept a pig and some chickens, and a hutch full o’ rabbits, which I fed on the waste vegetables from my garden. I also had three or four bee skeps, that gave us honey for our bread, with a few pounds over to sell; t’ squire allays bought the overbit, and so I was well paid for a pretty bed of flowers round about the house. I was early at my loom, but when I was tired I went into my garden, and I smoked a pipe and talked to the bees, who knew me well enough, ivery one o’ them. If it was raining, I went into t’ kitchen, and smoked and hed a chat wi’ Polly about our awn concerns. I hev had four handsome lassies, and four good, steady lads. Two o’ the lads went to America, to a place called Lowell, but they are now well-to-do men, wi’ big families. My daughters live near me, and they keep my cottage as bright as their mother kept it for over fifty years. I worked more or less till I was ninety years old, and then Squire Annis persuaded me to stop my loom, and just potter about among my bees and flowers. Now then, lads, thousands hev done for years and years as much, even more than I hev done and I hev never met but varry few Home-loom weavers who were dissatisfied. They all o’ them made their awn hours and if there was a good race anywhere near-by they shut off and went to it. Then they did extra work the next day to put their ‘piece’ straight for Saturday. If their ‘piece’ was right, the rest was nobody’s business.”
“Well, Matthew,” said the squire, “for many a year you seldom missed a race.”
“Not if t’ horses were good, and well matched. I knew the names then of a’ the racers that wer’ worth going to see. I love a fine horse yet. I do that! And the Yorkshire roar when the victor came to mark! You could hear it a mile away! O squire, I can hear it yet!
“Well, lads, I hev hed a happy, busy life, and I hev been a good Methodist iver sin’ I was converted, when I was twelve years old. And I bear testimony this day to the goodness and the faithfulness of God. He hes niver broken a promise He made me. Niver one!
“Thousands of Home-loom spinners can live, and have lived, as I did and they know all about t’ life. I know nothing about power-loom weaving. I dare say a man can make good or bad o’ it, just as he feels inclined; but I will say, it brings men down to a level God Almighty niver intended. It is like this—when a man works in his awn home, and makes his awn hours, all the world, if he be good and honest, calls him A Man; when he works in a factory he’s nobbut ‘one o’ the hands.’”
At these words Matthew sat down amid a little subdued inexpressible mixture of tense feeling and the squire said—“In three weeks or less, men, I am going to London, and I give you my word, that I shall always be found on the side of Reform and Free Trade. When I return you will surely have made up your minds and formed some sort of decision; then I will try and forward your plans to my last shilling.” With these words he bowed to the gentlemen on the platform, and the audience before him, and went rapidly away. His servant was at the Chapel door with his horse; he sprang into the saddle, and before anyone could interrupt his exit, he was beyond detention.
A great disturbance was in his soul. He could not define it. The condition of his people, the changing character of his workers and weavers, the very village seemed altered, and then the presence of Bradley! He had found it impossible to satisfy both his offense with the man and his still vital affection for him. He had often told himself that “Bradley was dead and buried as far as he was concerned”; but some affections are buried alive, and have a distressing habit of being restless in their coffins. It was with the feeling of a fugitive flying for a place of rest that he went home. But, oh, how refreshing was his wife’s welcome! What comfort in her happy smile! What music in her tender words! He leaped to the ground like a young man and, clasping her hand, went gratefully with her to his own fireside.