“And put th’ sneck on the door,” said my mother. “I declare what wi’ folk fra Huthersfelt an’ what wi’ folk fra Low Moor, this house is getting waur nor Lee Gap, an’ yo’ never know who’ll come next, nor when to call your house your own.”
Now this was unlike my mother, who was not one to welcome people to their face and back–bite them when they were gone, like I have known some do.
I put down the sneck and sat me down on the settle and waited.
“Mr. Webster’s been talking, to us, Ben,” said my father very gravely.
“And blind as a bat I’ve been not to see it misen,” snapped my mother.
“Talking to us about yo’, Ben,” father went on, “and very kind and friendly of him we take it, and it explains a many things I’ve wondered at more nor a little. Only last market day I met Mr. Horsfall i’ th’ Cloth Hall, and I said ‘Any more news o’ th’ Luddites, Mr. Horsfall,’ and he snapped out summot about it not being his way to carry coals to Newcastle. Aw wondered what he meant, but it’s plain enough now what he were driving at.”
Plain enough. But I must make a show of some sort, so I said:
“Perhaps yo’ll make it plainer, father.”
“Well, Mr. Webster, and I’m sure we thank you kindly and know it’s well and neighbourly meant, and only what we should have looked for from you, Mr. Webster,—Mr. Webster says folk are talking about you, Ben, and that our house, this very house I were born an’ bred in, is known an’ watched for a meeting place of th’ Luddites. Mr. Webster says he’s had a hint or two from more nor one that’s like to know ’at would be sorry to see a decent family that always held its head up an’ paid its way, brought to trouble and maybe disgrace by carryings on that’s agen the law an’ cannot be justified. But there, Mr. Webster, aw’m a poor talker, tell him yersen, an’ let him answer yo’ if he can.”
“I’m’ not at liberty to say who my informant was, Ben,” said Mr. Webster. “But briefly the matter is this. One of my deacons”...