The Parson O' Dumford

“Here he comes! Here comes the downtrodden, ill-used paytriot, who has served the rotten family for thirty year, and then been robbed for his pains. He’s agoing to join my brotherhood now, lads – him and Tom Podmore.”

“Hooray!” cried the men.

“And he’ll be a captain and a leader among us as is going to beat down the oppressors and robbers of our flocks and herds. He’s agoing, lads, to pull down with us the bloated Aristorchus, as is living on his oil olive, and honey, while we heven’t bread to put in the mouths of our bairns.”

There was a groan here from the little crowd, some of whom readily accepted Sim Slee’s Aristorchus, as they would have taken in any loud-sounding word in their present humour.

“Come on, brave captain, as hev had your eye-lids opened to the malice and wickedness of your employer, and join them as is going to groan no more under the harrows and ploughshares of oppression. It is said as the ox or beast shan’t be muzzled as treadeth out the corn, and we aint agoing to let that oppressor, Dicky Glaire, muzzle us any more.”

“Hooray!” cried the growing crowd.

“Come on, then, brave captain. Lads, Joe Banks is a man as we’ll be proud to serve wi’; and wi’ Tom Podmore too, for they’ve cast off their slough” – Sim called this “sluff” – “of blindness, and hev awaked to the light and glory of liberty. Come on.”

“What do you mean?” said Joe Banks, firmly.

“Mean, brave captain and leader!” cried Sim, making his plaid waistcoat wrinkle with his exertions; “why, that we’re going to trample down him as robbed thee of thy bairn.”

“Who’s that?” said Joe Banks, sternly.

“Who’s that? Ask anybody here if it aint Dicky Glaire, the oppressor, as is going to sneak outer the town to-night to catch the mail train over yonder at the station, and then going to laugh and sneer and mock at the poor, grey old father as he’s deceived, and – ”

“It’s a lie,” roared Joe. “Who says Richard Glaire took away my poor murdered bairn?”

“Everybody,” said Sim, who was standing on a wall about five feet high, his plaistered face giving him rather a grotesque aspect. “Everybody says it.”

“No,” roared Joe, “it’s you as says it, you lying, chattering magpie. Howd thee tongue, or I’ll – ”

He seized the speaker by the legs, and had him down in an instant, clutched by the throat, and began shaking him violently.

“Go on,” said Sim, who this time preserved his presence of mind. “I aint the first paytriot as has been a martyr to his cause; kill me if you like.”

“Kill thee, thou noisy starnel of a man! Say as it’s a lie again your maister, or I’ll shake thee till thou dost.”

“I wean’t say it’s a lie,” cried Sim. “Ask anybody if it aint true.”

Joe Banks looked round furiously, and a chorus broke out of, “It’s true, lad; it’s true.”

“There,” cried Sim, triumphantly. “What hev you to say to that? Ask Tom Podmore what he thinks.”

“I will,” cried Joe Banks, who was somewhat staggered by the unanimity of opinion. “Tom Podmore, speak out like a true man and tell these all as it’s a lie.”

Tom remained silent.

“D’ye hear, Tom? Speak out,” cried Joe.

“I’d rather not speak,” said Tom, quietly.

“But thou must, lad, thou must,” cried Sim. “Are you going to see a man a martyr for a holy cause, when you can save him?”

“Speak! speak!” cried Joe, panting with rage and emotion; “tell ’em you know it’s a lie, Tom.”

“I can’t,” said Tom, who was driven to bay, “for I believe Richard Glaire has got her away.”

“Theer, I telled you,” said Sim. “He wanted me to help him, only you wean’t believe.”

“No, no, no,” roared Joe; “and I wean’t believe it now. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t do it. He told me he hadn’t; and he wouldn’t tell me a lie.”

The little crowd opened as the true-hearted old fellow strode away, without turning his head, and Tom Podmore followed him towards his home, and at last spoke to him.

Joe turned upon him savagely.

“Go away,” he cried. “I’ve done wi’ you. I thowt as Tom Podmore were a man, instead o’ one o’ them chattering maulkin-led fools; but thou’rt like the rest.”

Tom Podmore stopped short, with his brow knit, while Joe Banks passed on out of sight.

“He’ll find out, and believe different some day,” said Tom, slowly. “Poor old man, it’s enough to break his heart. But I wean’t break mine.”

As he stood, the noise of cheering came from where he had left Sim Slee talking, and he stood listening and thinking.

“They’ll be doing him a mischief ’fore they’ve done, and then they’ll end the old works. Damn him! I hate him,” he cried, grinding his teeth; “but I can’t stand still and let Sim Slee’s lot bruise and batter his face as they would till they’d ’most killed him. He’s soft, and smooth, and good-looking, and I’m – well, I’m a rough un,” he continued, smiling with contemptuous pity on himself. “It’s no wonder she should love him best, poor lass; but she’d better hev been a honest lad’s wife – missus to a man as wouldn’t hev said an unkind thing to her to save his life. But they say it’s womankind-like: they takes most to him as don’t keer for ’em.”

He stood thinking irresolutely, as the noise and cheering continued: and once he turned to go; but the next moment he was himself, and saying softly:

“Daisy, my poor little lass, it’s for thee – it’s for thee;” he strode hastily to the Big House, knocked, and was admitted.

“Tell Mr Richard I want to see him,” said Tom; and the servant-girl smiled pleasantly at the fine, sturdy young fellow.

“I don’t think he’ll see thee, Mr Podmore,” said the girl, “because he’s so cross about the foundry people. I’ll tell him a gentleman wants to see him.”

She tripped away, and in a few minutes Richard came down to stand scowling at him.

“What do you want?” he said, glaring at his rival.

Tom Podmore writhed mentally, and his nerves tingled with the desire to take Richard Glaire by the throat, and shake him till he could not breathe; but he controlled himself, and said sturdily:

“I come to tell thee some ill news.”

“What is it?” said Richard, thrusting his hand into his breast, for his visitor had taken a step forward.

Tom Podmore saw the motion and smiled, but he paid no further heed, and went on bluntly:

“Thou wast going away by train to-night.”

“Who says so?” cried Richard, turning pale.

“The lads out there – Sim Slee’s gang,” said Tom; “and I come to warn thee.”

“Warn me of what?” said Richard.