We were going up the valley, passing every now and then “a wheel” as it was called, that is a water-wheel, turning a number of grindstones, the places being remarkably like ours, only that as we got farther out the people who ground and forged did their work under the shade of trees, while the birds piped their songs, and air and water were wonderfully different from what they were about our place on the edge of the great town.
“Let’s get back, Cob,” said Uncle Jack despondently. “It makes me miserable to hear the birds, and see the beauty of the hills and vales, and the sparkling water, and know that men toiling together in towns can be such ruffians and so full of cruelty to their fellow creatures.”
“And so strong and true and brave and ready to help one another.”
“As who are, Cob?” said my uncle.
“Well, for want of thinking of anyone else just now,” I said, “there’s poor Pannell; he saved me, and he has just shown us that he is too faithful to his fellow-workmen to betray them.”
Uncle Jack laid his hand upon my shoulder and gave it a hearty grip.
“You’re right, my lad,” he said. “You’re the better philosopher after all. There’s good and bad, and like so many more I think of the bad and overlook the good. But all the same, Cob, I’m very uneasy. These men have a spiteful feeling against you, and we shall not be doing right if we trust you out of our sight again.”