Tom looked at Lucy for further explication.
“Father allus picks th’ fightin’ bits i’ th’ Scriptures,” she said.—“I like th’ stories o’ Jesus best, myssen—but as long as it’s i’ th’ Bible it must be good, so best humour him. It’s wheer Moses felled th’ taskmaster.”
And Tom read:
“‘And it came to pass in those days, when Moses was grown, that he went out unto his brethren and looked on their burdens: and he spied an Egyptian smiting an Hebrew, one of his brethren.
‘And he looked this way and that way and when he saw that there was no man, he slew the Egyptian and hid him in the sand.’”
“Aye, aye, blood’s thicker nor watter, all th’ warld ovver,” commented Hannah, who sat rocking herself softly before the dying embers of the fire, her nervous fingers playing with the corners of her apron, lacking the knitting needles that are to a woman what a pipe is to a man.
“Eh! That Moses wer’ a man after mi own heart,” burst in Ben. “Just think on it; theer he wer’, browt up o’ th’ fat o’ th’ land, wi’ th’ best o’ ivverything to eit an’ drink, an’ brass for owt; an’ nowt to do but scrape his leg to th’ powers ’at be an’ he wer’ a made man for life. There isn’t one man in a thaasand, pampered an’ fed an’ thrussen up as he wer’, but thrussen up as he thrussen up as he ’ud a left th’ poor bondslaves to shift for theirsens, yo’ needn’t go aat o’ Holmfirth to see that e’ry day o’ yo’r life. Gi’ a workin’ man a bit o’ power an’ a bit more wage an’ set ’im ovver t’ others an’ he’ll what-do-you-ca’ it?—‘out-Herod Herod,’” and Ben paused in evident gratification at this rounding of his period, but added on reflection, “or mebbe, aw sud say, out-Pharaoh Pharaoh. But Moses nah” ...
“Yes but, father,” said the gentle voice of Lucy, as she laid her thin white hand caressingly on her father’s knee—“Yar Lucy can leead th’ father wi’ a threed o’ silk,” thought the mother.—“Yes but, father, Moses had a direct order from God; ‘I will send thee unto Pharaoh, that thou mayest bring forth my people out of Egypt.’”
“True enough, lass, true enough: but yo’ll obsarve ’at th’ angel o’ the Lord didn’t appear to Moses till he’d shown th’ stuff he wer’ made on. Aw tak’ it God likes to know summat abaat folk afore He sets ’em on to gaffer a job. Us workin’ folk didn’t go to Oastler i’ that gret haase o’ his at Fixby, aboon Huddersfilt yonder, till he’d written to th’ pappers an’ spokken aat like a man abaat th’ ill-usage o’th’ little childer. It’s a long day sin’ but we’st win yet, as sure as God’s i’ heaven, for He has surely heard the cry of the little uns, an’ He has seen the oppression wherewith the Egyptians oppress them.”
“But, Ben,” said Tom, “we aren’t living in Egypt, an’ Queen Victoria isn’t Pharaoh, and we aren’t bond slaves.”