And, now, when th' Union would ha' thanked him for following up th' chase after Boucher, and them chaps as went right again our commands, it's Thornton who steps forrard and coolly says that, as th' strike's at an end, he, as party injured, doesn't want to press the charge again the rioters.
I thought he'd had more pluck.
I thought he'd ha' carried his point, and had his revenge in an open way; but says he (one in court telled me his very words) "they are well known; they will find the natural punishment of their conduct, in the difficulty they will meet wi' in getting employment.
That will be severe enough."
I only wish they'd cotched Boucher, and had him up before Hamper.
I see th' oud tiger setting on him! would he ha' let him off?
Not he!'
'Mr. Thornton was right,' said Margaret.
You are angry against Boucher, Nicholas; or else you would be the first to see, that where the natural punishment would be severe enough for the offence, any farther punishment would be something like revenge.
'My daughter is no great friend of Mr. Thornton's,' said Mr. Hale, smiling at Margaret; while she, as red as any carnation, began to work with double diligence, 'but I believe what she says is the truth.
I like him for it.'
'Well, sir, this strike has been a weary piece o' business to me; and yo'll not wonder if I'm a bit put out wi' seeing it fail, just for a few men who would na suffer in silence, and hou'd out, brave and firm.'
'You forget!' said Margaret.
'I don't know much of Boucher; but the only time I saw him it was not his own sufferings he spoke of, but those of his sick wife—his little children.'
'True! but he were not made of iron himsel'.
He'd ha' cried out for his own sorrows, next.
He were not one to bear.'
'How came he into the Union?' asked Margaret innocently.
'You don't seem to have much respect for him; nor gained much good from having him in.'
Higgins's brow clouded.
He was silent for a minute or two.
Then he said, shortly enough:
'It's not for me to speak o' th' Union.
What they does, they does.
Them that is of a trade mun hang together; and if they're not willing to take their chance along wi' th' rest, th' Union has ways and means.'
Mr. Hale saw that Higgins was vexed at the turn the conversation had taken, and was silent.
Not so Margaret, though she saw Higgins's feeling as clearly as he did.
By instinct she felt, that if he could but be brought to express himself in plain words, something clear would be gained on which to argue for the right and the just.
'And what are the Union's ways and means?'
He looked up at her, as if on' the point of dogged resistance to her wish for information.
But her calm face, fixed on his, patient and trustful, compelled him to answer.
'Well!
If a man doesn't belong to th' Union, them as works next looms has orders not to speak to him—if he's sorry or ill it's a' the same; he's out o' bounds; he's none o' us; he comes among us, he works among us, but he's none o' us.
I' some places them's fined who speaks to him.
Yo' try that, miss; try living a year or two among them as looks away if yo' look at 'em; try working within two yards o' crowds o' men, who, yo' know, have a grinding grudge at yo' in their hearts—to whom if yo' say yo'r glad, not an eye brightens, nor a lip moves,—to whom if your heart's heavy, yo' can never say nought, because they'll ne'er take notice on your sighs or sad looks (and a man 's no man who'll groan out loud 'bout folk asking him what 's the matter?)—just yo' try that, miss—ten hours for three hundred days, and yo'll know a bit what th' Union is.'
'Why!' said Margaret, 'what tyranny this is!
Nay, Higgins, I don't care one straw for your anger.
I know you can't be angry with me if you would, and I must tell you the truth: that I never read, in all the history I have read, of a more slow, lingering torture than this.
And you belong to the Union!
And you talk of the tyranny of the masters!'
'Nay,' said Higgins, 'yo' may say what yo' like!
The dead stand between yo and every angry word o' mine.
D' ye think I forget who's lying there, and how hoo loved yo'?
And it's th' masters as has made us sin, if th' Union is a sin.
Not this generation maybe, but their fathers.
Their fathers ground our fathers to the very dust; ground us to powder!
Parson!
I reckon, I've heerd my mother read out a text,
"The fathers have eaten sour grapes and th' children's teeth are set on edge."
It's so wi' them.