Sybil West. A Lancashire Story ... Subscribers' edition

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$yM plest. Sybiii West. 6 » i» (T 3^ Lancashire $t<mt. BY Miss M. R. LA HEE. AUTHOR OF "Neddy Fitton's Visit to the Earl of Derby," "Acquitted Though Guilty," "Traits and Sketches o? Quaint Lancashire Folk," &c, &c. SUBSCRIBERS1 EDITION. All Rights Reserved. Oldham : W. E. Clegg, 30, Market Place. London : Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent, & Co. Limited Manchester : John Heywood. 1892. ro DR. AND MRS. ASPINALL, OF HASLINGDEN. This Production is Inscribed, With every sentiment of regard and respect, BY THEIR Deeply attached and sincere friend, M. R. LAHEE. preface* Dear Reader. Years ago, I wrote and published numerous Lancashire tales and sketches, under the initials " M.R.L." Avhich, I am pleased to say, met Avith a due share of success and approbation, many of them having passed through several editions; in fact, "Neddy Fitton's Visit to Lord Derby," has noAv, I understand, reached the 33rd edition.

Of later years, I have written several length}' serial stories Avhich have appeared from time to time in the local press. One of these, " Sybil West," appeared during the years 1S86 and 1887, when it was very widely read and highly appreciated. It is, therefore, great gratification to me that the work is now being issued in book form. The story is of every day Lancashire life, and of such people as ma}* be met with in all our towns and rural districts. Of course, there are many Lancashire tales written, but somehow we seldom find the inner nature of the industrial classes or their domestic life satisfactorily depicted, yet it is said by one of our great thinkers that it is in humble life, where the springs of feeling are not corrupted by dissimulation and evil knowledge, that the purest and tenderest and strongest virtues are to be found.

I remember, some years ago, reading a passage in a little volume which impressed me so forcibly that I am led to quote it : — " A picture of real life should be like a clear brook which, in its course, gives back every object mirrored in its Avaters in purity and truth ; through whose crystal stream we can see the bottom and all that rests upon it. All that can be granted to the painter or the author in the representations of his fancies is, that he may play the part of the sun's rays, which, without changing the individuality of an object, gives to all its colouring a more brilliant glow, makes the points of light to sparkle like diamonds, and with its clear brilliancy enlightens the sandy bottom of the brook itself."

Preface

. IV Those sentiments I thorougly endorse, and, in such light, have always endeavoured to portray in my writings the characters, incidents, and folk speech introduced therein. I am aware there are fastidious individuals who would dis parage and decry vernacular literature. But beyond other counties, Lancashire has preserved its native dialect, rough and rugged in harmony with the vigour of the race, and vehemently doric in its sound as the broadest Scotch. It is well worthy of study, not only from a philological point of view, but for its rich humour and pathos, racy of the soil. There is a proverbial saying that when a man has aught to say, he will say it best in his OAvn way. This I have frequently verified in my intercourse with genuine Lancashire people, for many eA'en of these Avho, through commercial enterprise, industry, or good luck, have attained affluence and superior social standing, when under pressure of strong feeling, be it grief, mirth, joy, or anger, invariably vent themselves in their "native tongue."

Therefore, in my opinion, no correct portraiture could be given of them if the Doric was omitted which gives such character to the in habitants of this County Palatine. I have laboured in the field of Lancashire literature for over half my lifetime, and have tried to bring forth the pure gold hidden beneath the surface of the people's nature. "Sybil West" is my largest and latest achievement issued in book form, therefore I may admit that I aAvait with anxiety its acceptance with the critic, the press, and the public generally Child of my heart and brain I send you forth ; Oh ! may you hold your own In strength and worth. THE AUTHOR.

December, (■Contents. chapter page I.— Cold was the Night: No Light, No Fire. —A Friend in Need. — Early Struggles i II. — James Gorton, the Factory Manager. — Mrs. West's Prayer. — A Supernatural Sight 8 III.— Sybil Gets the Promised Looms. — Mother and Children 14 IV. — Martha West's Quaint Speeches. — Sunshine and Cloud 19 V. —Flooded Out. —Sad Conseqences 24 VI. — Turn of Fortune. — Friends and Enemies. — A Villainous Overlooker and his Accomplice. 29 VII. — The Young Factory Masters, Messrs. James Collinge and Frank Harwood. — Sybil's Indignation against the Loom Jobber 36 VIII. — Mr. Harwood Scatters Seeds of Kindness 43 IX. — Rascality Meets its Reward 50 X. — A Fervent Love Declaration 54 XI. — Jack Whittaker Accepts his New Situation with Mr. Buckley, and becomes Ambitious. 60 XII. — Mr. Harwood's Accident. — Sybil's Instinct of Coming Evil >. 66 V XIII. — Jack's Jealousy of Harwood 70 XIV. — The Eccentric Doctor: Hoav He Cured Jim o' Dolly's Laziness 79 XV. — The Removal. — Severed at Last. — Sybil Stung to the Core 83 XVI.— James Collinge and the Little Factory Girl... 90 XVII. — Haravood's Overtures to Sybil : James Takes Him to Task 95 XVIII.— Frank's Visit to Mrs. West. — His Warm Reception 102 XIX. — Emma Fielding's Disappearance.— Scene between Harwood and his Jovial Companions m CONTENTS.

VI chapter page XX. — Mrs. Coi.linge's Protegf. "8 XXI.— Fleeing Temptation.— The Suicide.— Martha's Heroism l2& XXII.— Sybil and Jack Meet Unexpectedly. — His Explanation. — Sybil's Grief 138 XXIII. — A Startling Revelation 147 XXIV.— The Sick Room.— Harwood's Remorse 153 XXV.— Sympathy 163 XXVI. — Jack's Son and Heir. — Death Scenes 174 XXVII. — An Unexpected Visitor 1S0 XXVIII. — Martha's Good Fortune.— The Wedding 183 XXIX. — The Russian War. — Jack Whittaker Leaa'es England for the Continent 191 XXX. — Frank Harwood Returns, and Seeks an Interview with Sybil 201 XXXI. — Mrs. Collinge Conceives a Plot to Separate her Son and Anne West 210 XXXII. — James Seeks an Explanation from his Mother. 219 XXXIII. — A Novel Way of Popping the Question 228 XXXIV. — Mrs. Collinge's Indignation against the West Family. — Frank Harwood's Renewed Hope. — Sybil's Reflections on the Past 237 XXXV.— Old Memories 243 XXXVI.— Harwood's Soliloquy. — Tom Holt's Fate. — Mrs. West's Rebuke 250 XXXVII.— James Collinge gives Sybil his Opinion of Jack Whittaker 2$8 XXXVIII. — Frank Harwood Meets an Old Foe in a Foreign Land 266 XXXIX. — Life's Realities: Joy and Sorroav „ 273 XL.— How Martha takes the Death of her Husband.— Faithful Old Joel 2g2 XLI.— Frank Harwood Sees Things in Another Light 292 XLII.— Jack's Meditation on the Eve of his Marriage.— The Wedding ,02 XLIIL— Frank does not Propose, he only Implies 3I2 XLIV.— Jack and Sybil's Return.— The House-Warming. I

Chapter I

cold avas the night — no light, no fire. — A friend IN NEED. EARLY STRUGGLES. Kfe e#H X a small, meanly furnished but cleanly cottage, eV*3 US situated in one ot the most thriving and populous 13 t°Avns in Lancashire, sat a woman apparently B= about forty years of age, Her aspect was one of misery, yet, despite the poverty and dejection which now manifested itself in her bearing and surroundings, she was eA'idently one AA'ho had seen better days. Beside her, in an easy chair, reclined a girl, whose age did not exceed sixteen ; but want and sickness seemed to have done their work upon that fair young creature, giving to her face that clammy death like aspect which famine never fails to give. An expression of suffering passed over the girl's countenance, and a low moan escaped her, as, turning her eyes to the further end of the room, her glance settled upon a meagre looking bed, under the scanty covering of which lay her three little sisters — those loved ones for whom she had toiled while she was able, and could get work to do ; but the factory at which she was employed had been running half-time for months, and then it was closed altogether, thereby rendering Sybil West unable to assist in the support of her widowed mother and sisters.

We now find her reduced by want and suffering, and her heart Avell-nigh broken at seeing the utter desolation around her. They had been compelled to part Avith their furniture — one neighbour had bought the mahogany eight-days' clock, and another the dresser ; tables and chairs had been sold one by one, so that nothing remained save two old stools, one bed, a three-legged table, and the above-mentioned easy chair in which Sybil Avas seated. The day on which our story opens had been an exceed ingly wild and wintry one ; night had set in, and there sat poor Mrs. West and her suffering child, without light, food, or fire. A low sob broke from the mother as she said, " Go to bed, Sybil, my wench, wi' t'other childer, for I've no meyt to gi'e thee, not a mouthful. Oh, if thi feyther had nobbut lived, or if he could only see heaw ill off we are !

There's my four childer bin beawt a bite o' meyt for welly two days. Whatever, whatever mun I do, or wheer con I turn misel to get 'em aught ? Wheer, wheer, wheer ?" said she wringing her hands. " Hush, mother, do hush ; dunnot goo on so." " Heaw con I help it, my lass, when I see thee an' thaem tuther bits o' things clemmin'* of a rook, an me beaAvt aught to gi'e yo' till yo'll happen dee ?" " Nay, nay mother, I hope and trust the Lord will think moor on us than lettin' us perish wi' hunger. Ha' not yo' towd me mony a toime abeawt Him sendin' th' ravens to feed Elijah i'th wilderness, an' surely yo' con trust Him to feed us, mother. Come o'er here an' let's kneel deawn an' pray to Him, axin' in faith for eawr daily bread, wi' grace an' patience to bear eaur sufferin's." The mother advanced to her child, and both kneeling, the girl's feeble voice grew strong in supplicating the Almighty Father to look doAvn upon them with pity, and to vouchsafe to them that promise of a temporal as Avell as spiritual sustenance, of which they then stood so much in need.

When the prayer was finished the mother rose from her knees, and, kissing the now flushed and excited cheek of her child, she took her shawl, and without speaking, hurried into the street amid the storm and down-pouring rain. On she went, weak, faint, and trembling ; " God help me," she exclaimed, " It's hard to beg th' bread o' charity ; beside, it looks bad to be troublin' th' doctor so oft ; he may not loike me gooin' to him ogen ; still, it mun be done. I connot let my childer dee o' want ; naw, I mun do it, I mun do it." She paused frequently as she journeyed onwards, her slight form shivering with cold, and scarcely covered by the Avorn out scanty shawl in which she Avas wrapped. At length she stopped before a neat-looking dwelling, the little garden of which was enclosed with iron railings.

Opening the gate she advanced timidly to the hall door, where she stood as if irresolute. " Oh, Lord, do gi'e me strength. Yo'r OAvn word sez, ' Ask an' yo' shall receive,' an' I neaw ask yo' to send me an' my childer bread ?"' Accordingly, she lifted the knocker and rapped a little frightened rap, and then, as if alarmed at the act, she drew back and groaned aloud. * Starving for want of food. The. door opened and the servant called out, "Well, misses, what do you want ?" " If yo' plez'n I want to see th' doctor, hissel." "Oh, Mrs. West, is that you? Come in, the doctor's away though, and has been for the last three days." " The Lord help me then. Wheer mun I turn ?" " Why, Mrs. West, is your daughter worse ?" " Naw, but hoo soon will be if I connot get her summat to eh, dear, what am I sayin' ?

I feel omost crazed, I do. Oppen th' dur an' let me eawt agen if yo' plez'n." The servant, compassionating her evident distress, told her that she had better wait a little while. " I daresay," said she " the doctor will be here shortly ; in fact we expect him every minute now, but unless the case is an urgent one he dosen't like being immediately disturbed on his return ; he likes to be quiet an hour or two at least." At this juncture the door was assailed by a thundering knock that resounded through the house, the summons being instantly answered by the servant, who flung open the door, giving admittance to an elderly gentleman of a most benevolent countenance, apparently betAveen fifty and sixty years of age. He Avas tall of stature and Avell proportioned, though rather stooped in the shoulders.

His iron-grey hair fell in thick masses over his brow as he lifted off his hat and placed it on the hall table. " Here, Jim," said he, in a cheery, pleasant voice, "help me off with this coat, its most infernally Avet. There, man, don't take my arm with it. I suppose you will have been pretty well beset with patients during my absence. Who is that woman ? What does she want? Oh, it's you, is it, Mrs. West?" said he, in a softened tone. " What's amiss?" " Oh, doctor," said the poor woman, stepping forward, " I beg an' pray on yo' to excuse mi troublin' yo' ogen. I dunnot know Avhat to say to yo', nor heaw to tell yo' what has brought me ; but I do hope an' trust yo' winnot be grieved wi' me, for I'm forced to come, or else see mi childer dee afore mi seet." "To be sure they'll die, every soul of them.

Haven't I told you before that if you did not get out of that nasty damp house you would be all dead in no time ? I suppose your daughter has got a relapse ? Has she been taken poorly again ?" " Naw, doctor, but I'm freeten'd hoo will be if I connot manage to get summat to nourish her. Oh, dear ! I dunnot care for undergoin' Avant an' hardship misel, but it breyks mi heart to see mi childer clemmin'." And here her voice fairly broke down. "Eh! What! Clemming! say you? I might have known it though. But come, cheer up, don't cry, something must be done. It will never do to have you in this state of destitution. Here, take this half-croAvn, and get something to eat for yourself and them." " Oh, doctor, yo' munnot think bad o' me bein' sich a trouble to yo', for, if yo' believen me, Ave ha' not bitten meyt these two Avhol' days.

Nobody'll trust me aught, not likely, cose they known I've noAvt to pay wi' ; an' th' Avorst is, nobody likes comin' near th' house nor lettin' us inside theirs upo' 'ceawnt o' th' saver bein' thoAvt latchin'*. So Avhat con I do?" " Look you here, little woman, something must be done. However, go home noAv, and get youf poor little ones something to eat, but mind that you do not give them too much food to-night, it might injure them. I will call to see Sybil to-morroAv." " Eh, doctor, heawever con I thank yo' ? I'm sure yo're one o' th' best felleys 'at ever wur born." " Humph, it's Avell you think so, nobody else does," was his reply. With deep heart-felt gratitude the widoAV again thanked the doctor, and leaving, proceeded at once to buy a feAV little necessaries for her family. Oh, what a change a short time had produced.

But three years previous Mrs. West was a happy wife and mother, surrounded Avith the comforts, if not the luxuries, of life. Her husband, a strong, healthy young man, rented a small farm, besides occasionally carting goods to and from Manchester, and it was while in this occupation that he met with his death, having, unfortunately, in lifting a bale of cotton, broken a blood vessel. When he returned home a doctor was sent for, but to no purpose, as John West, after suffering extreme agony, expired, leaving his wife and family to buffet with the stern realities of life. Need it be surprising that his untimely death so afflicted his Avife that for months she was rendered incapable of attending to her * Latching, infecting, catching. affairs. The consequence was that the relative upon whom the responsibility devolved of managing her business, managed so cleverly for his own advantage that at the end of twelve months the young widoAV and her four children were driven from their homestead poor and friendless, their only effects being the household furniture, every article of which was dear to her woman's heart, as each had its memory of more prosperous and happy days.

When compelled to leave her home, the object of Mrs. West Avas to take a cottage in a respectable locality at a moderate rent, which she succeeded in doing, and having arranged her household effects in becoming order, her next view was to get her eldest girl, Sybil, into the factory, Avhile she herself would look out for washing and charring to enable her to provide for her three younger children, who were as yet below the average age of short-timers. Sybil was at that period only twelve years old, yet she possessed self-reliance, perseverance, and tact of no common order. Hitherto she had been kept at home to look after the other youngsters, and, therefore, knew nothing of factory life ; but she persevered in her search for work till at length she was employed in a factory or weaving-shed in Oldham-road, where she was engaged to learn Aveaving.

For the first month Sybil had no wages, but after that lapse of time Martha Brierley, the woman with whom she learned, gave her four shillings per week for assisting her to mind four looms. " Smo' wages that, Sybil, to keep thee i' meyt an' clooas," said the mother, " but happen thae'll get moor in a while, so thae mun do thi' best to larn, mi wench, as I've nobbut* thee to help me till these tuther childer gett'n a bit owder." " Ne'er mind, mother," said Sybil, hopefully, " we'st do first-rate in a while, yo'll see, as no deawt I'st get looms o' mi own soon, an' then I'll tak' eawr Martha an' teych her. Sha'not we do stunnin' then, mother?" " I hope so, mi lass, but we'st o' want keepin' till that time, an' I con get nowt to do as I see on ; heawever, the Lord's a rich provider, an' eaur best way is to trust in Him."

Thus the widow and her children lived on hopefully from day to day, till the little stock of money which she had was Nobbut, only, nothing-but. expended in defraying household expenses and procuring the necessaries of life. At length their last sixpence was spent, and for the first time in her life Sybil had to go to her work fasting. Breakfast and dinner time came, but, knowing there was not a scrap of food in the house, and wishing to save her mother the pain of seeing her without, she did not go out with the other ' hands,' but, waiting till they had all left the room, she went in between her looms, and kneeling doAvn she lifted up her hands and voice to heaven, praying that the Great Father might support her, or to use her own simple words, " that He met tak' th' hunger away fro' her till hoo'd draw her wage on Friday.

Hood nobbut another day to wait, an' then hoo'd ha' four shillin' to draw. It wurn't mich, but wouldn't He help her to earn moor, so 'at hoo could keep her dear mother an' th' bits o' childer fro' want." During that whole day the little factory girl worked on fasting and almost fainting, without a murmur. Other girls came and went to and from their meals, returning with smiling faces and happy hearts, whilst she, the orphan child of want, breathed no complaint, but proudly and bravely stood the test of poverty in its bitterest form, without letting others know her necessities. When her day's labour was finished, and she returned home, it Avas only to find it more cheerless than even she had expected. The mother had gone out early in the morning to look for work, telling the little ones when she left to put the " porridge pon on th' fire, as happen hoo'd bring some meal when hoo coom back ;" but hour after hour passed away and yet she came not.

Still believing in their mother's promise the children tried to amuse themselves by making little rag dolls and dressing them with bits of faded ribbons and gaudy bits of silk, which a dressmaker had given to Martha, the second eldest girl, on whom now devolved the task of taking care of the two younger. Poor child ! although not quite ten years old herself, she seemed fully to understand the responsibility of the charge, as forgetful of her own wants, she put forth her best efforts to cheer and comfort her little sisters, who, after hours of hope deferred, at length became clamorous for food. This Avas the state of affairs when Sybil returned from her work. Sick at heart, and weary, the poor girl sank down on a chair, while Janie, the youngest, and darling pet, came softly to her side, and putting her head upon her lap, whispered — " Sybil, thy 'ittle pet is beddy hungry, an' muddy ha'not com'd Avhoam yet ; conno' de find summat for Janie to eyt — just one 'ittle bit ?"

This appeal was too much for Sybil, as lifting the child she strained it Avildly to her breast, and burst into a passionate flood of tears, which so alarmed the other children that they gathered around her, calling Janie a " naughty young powse " for making their Sybil cry. "Didn't I tell thee,"' said Martha, "that mi mother would bring summat whoam when hoo coom ?" But alas! disappointment had met their mother at every step, and against she got home the little ones had cried them selves to sleep. She felt a sort of relief at finding it was so, as she had sought for work high and low, but to no purpose. She was a stranger; people preferred employing those whom they kneAv, and thus she returned, as she went forth, without the means of getting food for her hungry children. No wonder that she, too, cried herself to sleep.

Chapter II. James Gorton, The Factory Manager

— MRS. AVEST S PRAYER. A SUPERNATURAL SIGHT. |!Tf5ff§]EXT morning Sybil arose at five o'clock, and HjVvj ! creeping noiselessly about the house for fear of gSQv^ ' Avaking the sleepers, she proceeded to Avash herself, ega|nal ancj arrange her hair, Avhich was very pretty, with characteristic neatness. Her toilet being completed she stole to the bed, and pressing a light kiss on her mother's brow, she left the house for the factory. On her way thither she was joined by several girls working at the same mill, some of Avhom noticed that she was looking very pale, but OAving to her clean, tidy appearance, and cheerful reply, none could think that hunger was gnawing at her vitals. For six hours more Sybil worked on, remaining in the factory during the breakfast half-hour, as on the previous day.

At length dinner-time came, and with it an enquiry from the Avoman for Avhom she worked. " Sybil, my wench, artunt thae gooin' to thi dinner, for I deawt thae's had no breykfast?" " Naw, I con do beawt aught to eyt till I draw mi wage." " Nay, nay, lass, seetho here's some potato pie. I've brought mi dinner to-day. Come, get it into thee, mon. I'm sure thae'rt hungry." Sybil looked at the tempting food with longing eyes, but seeing tAvo of the other girls watching her she turned aside. " What ! Winnot thae have it ?" " Naw, I thank yo' o' th' same, but I'd leifer Avait till I goo whoam." " Thae little comical powse ! Tak' it this minnit or I'st be settin' thee one on in neaw. Tak' it, I tell thee, an' no moor meause-neezes* abeawt it. So saying, kind-hearted Martha Brierley pushed the dish into Sybil's hand, and beckoned the girls away.

Thus left to herself, Sybil sat down and attacked the pie in good earnest, but she had not eaten many mouthfuls of it before her stomach sickened, her head grew giddy, and a * Mouse neits, diffidence; also, sly or knavish actions. cold death-like sansation stole over her; so placing the pie dish on the floor she attempted to rise, but the effort was beyond her strength, and she fell fainting to the floor. Several ran to her assistance, and the manager, James Gorton, who happend to be in an adjoining room, was sent for, and to his credit be it spoken, a kinder or worthier man in his capacity never existed. When he arrived at the scene of commotion many of the women had gathered around Sybil, some of whom were bathing her brow, whilst others were chafing her hands and using the kindest efforts to restore her to consciousness.

Some time, however, elapsed before she shoAved any symptoms of recovery, and when she did recover her first words were — " Tak' me to mi mother, oh, do tak' me to mi mother." "Yes, my lass, you shall be taken to your mother. Where does she live ?" enquired the manager. " Hoo lives at back o' George Street. Hoo's a widow woman wi' four childer to keep, an' this lass is th' owd'st o'th' lot; an' I raily do believe hoo hasn't brok'n her fast this day," replied one of the girls. " Not broken her fast, say you ! How do you know that, my girl ?" enquired the manager. " Becose hoo's never last th' factory o' th' day, an' hoo'd nowt to tak' to till Martha Brella theer gav' her some potato pie a bit sin', an' see, hoo's throw'd it o' up ogen." " That's bad, very bad. What does she do ?" " Hoo's tentin' looms for Martha Brella."

" Indeed. Can she Aveave any bit like, Martha ?" "Aye, hoo's a pratty tidy hond at th' job, James." " Humph, well I must look to her, as it will never do to let the poor thing suffer thus. Do you feel any better, my lass ?" " Yes, sir ; but mi yed wartches very ill." " I daresay it does, child ; but you must try to come over to our house, and my wife will make you a cup of tea, then perhaps you'll feel better. Will you try and come with me, it's only across the road yonder ?" " I will, sir." " That's right. Here, take hold of my hand, for I see you're almost too weak to stand. And cheer up, for I'll see if I cannot find you two looms for yourself next Monday ; I will so." " Oh, if yo' nobbut done that," said she, lifting her liquid eyes to his face, "the Lord will bless yo', for if summat isn't shapt soon, mi mother and eaur little Janie, an' t'other two childer will be o' clem'd." " Was it you that was praying yesterday morning when the factory stopped for breakfast ?

I was going through the room at the time. Was it you I heard asking the Lord to take the hunger from you ?" " Yes, sir." " I thought so. I meant then to come and give you something, but the master hurried me off to Leeds about business, and I only got back afeAV minutes since. HoAvever, here we are at my house. Ellen," said he, addressing his wife, " get this lass a cup of tea ready, and make her a bit of toast. Poor child, she has been taken very ill in the factory." " Aye, she looks ill for sure," said Mrs. Gorton, eyeing her with interest. " Whose lass art thae ?" " Mrs. West's, ma'am," said Sybil. " Have you no father, then ?" " Naw, he kilt hissel worchin' two year sin." Here Sybil entered into a detail of her troubles, Avhich she told with such child-like simplicity that both the manager and his good-natured Avife gave her their fullest sympathy.

By this time the tea and toast were set before Sybil, and while she was partaking of the meal Mr. Gorton Avent out and bought her a pair of new clogs ; his wife, not less generous, cut off check sufficient for two pinafores, as she kept a general provision shop, and sold checks and prints for the accommodation of her weekly customers. " Now then, my lass," said Mr. Gorton, "put these clogs on and see how they fit — oh, first-rate. And see, here's the making of two bishops for thee ; my misses gives thee them. Hello ! what have you put inside, eh, Ellen ?" " Only a loaf and a bit of tea and sugar, James, and a tiny bit of bacon." " That's right, Avife, I'm fain to see thou'rt as kind as thou'rt pretty, wench. And now, Sybil, get home as soon as you can. I shall not look for you to come to work again until Monday morning, when I will try and let you have two looms for yourself.