THE cottage had its full complement of occupants when Jagger entered, and the noise of his “bass” as he dropped it on the stone floor and pushed it noisily with his foot alongside an old-fashioned chest of drawers that stood against the wall, caused each of them to look up. Hannah, his sister and the family housekeeper, turned again at once to the grid-iron on which something was grilling for the evening meal; but the father’s eyes fixed themselves on the young man’s face.

“That’s right, lad,” he said, as he let the weekly paper he had been reading fall to his knees; “take it out of t’ bass! It’s as meek as Moses and’ll say naught. Who’s been treading on your corns this time?”

“T’ bass may lie there while I find another job,” said Jagger surlily, untying his apron as he spoke. “I’m paid off. Baldwin’s stalled, and so am I.”

Hannah said nothing, but an exclamation came from the other side of the hearth where Grannie Drake was busy with her darning needles—a wordless exclamation produced by the tip of the tongue and the roof of the mouth in conjunction; and the old woman rested her hands on her lap whilst she turned her spectacled eyes on her grandson.

“Stalled of each other, are you?” It was the father who spoke and there was humour in his voice and in the eyes that scrutinised the other’s face. “Well, bad news’ll keep. Get you washed and we’ll have our tea; and then if you think you’ve got to make all our coffins ’cause Baldwin’s sacked you I’ll help you to take t’ measures.”

Jagger’s face clouded more heavily and Hannah stole a glance at it as her brother opened the scullery door; but he avoided her gaze; and she wheeled round and looked into her father’s eyes with a smile on her lips that was both question and comment. Maniwel had picked up his paper again and was apparently engaged with its contents but the smile reached his consciousness and he glanced up and met his daughter’s eyes.

“You two ought to have changed places,” he said with grim pleasantry, “Jagger’d have made a good lass.”

“And me a fine lad!” she commented. “It can’t be helped; we’re as we are.”

She turned the kidneys on to a hot dish and the good smell filled the room. “I could almost wish it was Baldwin I had on t’ bars,” she remarked and her father laughed.

“According to t’ Book, lass, t’ best way would be to heap t’ fire on his head and try to melt his heart. Your grannie turns her nose up. You think they’re getting t’ grid-iron ready for him in t’ hot place, eh mother? Well, maybe they are; but that’s devil’s work, anyway.”

He tossed the newspaper into the window bottom as he spoke and drew his chair up to the table. The sleeve of his right arm was pinned to his coat, but if the defect were overlooked, he was a fine figure of a man—tall, erect, broad-shouldered and well-proportioned. His hair and beard were thick and only faintly streaked with grey, and the firm lips and deep chin and straight nose, together with the placidly-playful brown eyes, indexed a character that was at the same time virile and sympathetic. In some respects the son was like him; but the mouth was sulkier, the chin weaker, and the eyes lacked humour—you had to turn to the daughter to find the father’s features reproduced more successfully, though not his frame.

“It’ll blow over, softhead,” said Hannah, with sisterly candour as Jagger made slow headway, staring moodily at his plate instead of eating. “Get on with your tea before it goes cold. I wouldn’t miss a good meal for t’ best man living; much less for one o’ t’ worst.”

“It isn’t going to blow over,” the young man burst out hotly. “If it does there’ll be another storm before t’ week’s out and we shall have it all to go through again. I’ve got just about to t’ far end, father, and I may as well chuck it now as next week or next month.”

Maniwel raised his eyes for a moment and regarded his son steadily, but all he said was:

“Get on with your tea as Hannah tells you. If you’ve got to fight trouble never do it on an empty belly. Them kidneys are wasted on you.”

He himself was eating with evident enjoyment and making good progress in spite of his handicap; and it was grannie who continued the conversation.

“A bad lot is Baldwin Briggs, and the son and grandson of bad ’uns; black-hearted as t’ bog and hard as t’ rock on Gordel; all for theirselves, and ne’er troubling to put a fair face on i’ front o’ their neighbours; and that mean they’d let crows pick their bones to save a burying——”

They were strong words for such a thin, weak voice; and they conveyed the impression of a strong will. The deeply seamed shrivelled face, in which the sunken eyes were dim as unclean lanterns and the receding mouth gave away the secret of tenantless gums, was that of a woman who had ruled her household in her day, and with a firm hand. Her eyes were fixed on her grandson and the jaw continued to move long after her son interrupted her.

“Now come, mother,” said he, “let’s give Baldwin a rest. A bad ’un he may be, but if badness was passed on from his grandfather same as t’ twist of his mouth and them nose-whiskers of his, he’s more to be pitied than blamed. But trouble’s as you make it, and a poor seasoning for meat at any time. Jagger’ll none burst if he bottles his for a while, so we’ll just keep t’ cork in and enjoy what’s set before us, if you please.”

Jagger made an impatient gesture; but catching the warning look in Hannah’s eye restrained himself, and went on with his meal. Grannie, however, ate little and was not to be silenced; indeed she was apparently unconscious of the prohibition. The half-sightless eyes stared into space as if she saw there the ghosts of the dead whom memory had summoned.

“There was never but one son born to any Briggses. There mud be as many as half a dozen lasses, and Keturah’s great-aunt, I bethink me, had nine; but there was never more nor one lad in any o’ their families, and he was always a Baldwin and always a bad ’un, and came to a bad end.”

Maniwel’s fist came down upon the table with a force that set all the pots a-dancing.

“That’ll do, mother,” said he. “Give a dog a bad name and it’ll live up to it. Baldwin isn’t dead yet, and there’s room for him to mend. Pour your grannie out a cup more tea, Hannah, and keep her busy, or we shall be having all t’ Briggses’ corpses for generations back laid aside o’ t’ table before we’ve finished.”

He began roughly but ended on a note of humour and the meal was completed without further incident.

Then as grannie returned to her seat and Hannah cleared the table Maniwel bade his son draw up to the hearth.

“Now,” he said, “let’s hear what’s been amiss between you and Baldwin.”

The look of strain and annoyance had never left the young man’s face, and he scowled heavily, goaded by his father’s half bantering tone. His long legs were thrust out on to the hearth, his hands were buried in his trousers pockets, and his temper, like his limbs, was at full stretch.

“You think it’s same as it has been before,” he said sullenly—“we’ve fallen out and we shall fall in again; but if he comes on his bended knees I’ve finished with him. I’d sooner beg my bread or starve than I’d——”

“Aye, aye,” interrupted his father. “You can cut out all t’ high-and-mighty, lad, and get down to bed-rock. What’s he sacked you for?”

“For asking for a rise,” Jagger answered hotly. “I work hours and hours overtime as you know well without as much as a ‘Thank-ye’ for my labour; and t’ harder I work t’ less he thinks of me. I told him he was fond enough of putting his claim in when he was man instead of master, and he laughed in my face. He said he was for himself then and he’s for himself now, and for once in his life he spoke t’ truth. But it didn’t end there. He says I rob him because I won’t scamp my work and diddle his customers; and that filled t’ cup up, and I brought my bass home. You have it all there; he isn’t a man, he’s a devil.”

“Maybe he is,” the father replied coolly, “or if he isn’t he keeps a lodging-house in his inside for them o’ that breed, same as most of us; and they’re like as they’ve got t’ upper hand o’ t’ Briggses, as your grannie says. However, we’ll keep to bed-rock—Baldwin’ll none come on his bended knees; but if you were to bend your stiff neck and go to him——.”

“I’ll see him hanged first!”

“Well, he keeps inside o’ t’ law, does Baldwin, and I doubt if they’ve started making t’ rope ’at’ll hang him, so we’ll move on a step; what are you thinking of doing?”

The frown on Jagger’s brow beetled the deep caverns of his eyes; but the tone in which he replied that he supposed he must leave the village and seek a job in the town, where jobs were plentiful and wages were regulated by the unions, was not convincing.

“And what sort of a show would you make in a town?” Hannah’s voice broke in. “You that has t’ moor in your blood! You’d choke! Ling doesn’t grow on paved streets and it’s poor fishing you’ll get in a bath-room!”

“You can do without what you can’t get. Needs must when the devil drives, as I told Baldwin. I shan’t be t’ first who’s left t’ village and made his way in t’ town.”

“If you make your way in t’ town you’ll be t’ first i’ our family that ever managed it,” said his father. “Not that I’m again’ you trying it, mind you, if there isn’t a better way, though there is an old wife’s tale that no Drake comes to any good that turns his back on t’ moor.”

“It’s true, Maniwel; God’s truth it is,” the old woman across the hearth interposed sharply; “and no old wife’s tale, neither. Didn’t they bring your Uncle Ben back with a stroke on him and all his money ’at he’d piled up sunk like a rock i’ t’ Tarn; and him thankful for sup and bite out o’ them he’d looked down on. And there was your great-uncle, Rueben——”

“Aye, aye, mother,” her son broke in pleasantly; “and there was his father before him, that they buried at t’ cross roads with a stake in his inside and made a tale of. I know all t’ catalogue of shockers; but I’m t’ wrong man to be frightened o’ boggards, and I could wish our Jagger was. If t’ finger o’ duty pointed me to t’ town I’d follow it same as Luther talked about if it rained boggards and I’d to wade through ’em up to t’ waist, but I doubt if Jagger’s grit enough.”

“You’re over hard on him, father,” expostulated Hannah who was standing, dish-cloth in hand, at the scullery-door; and her brother forced a bitter laugh.

“What do I care how hard he is! I know he thinks I’m a milksop because I haven’t his spirit, and don’t laugh when things go all wrong. But where is there another thinks as he does ’at if you go straight all ’ll turn out for t’ best? What has he to show for his belief but an empty sleeve?”

A red flush surged over his neck and face as he completed the sentence; and half-ashamed of his outburst he looked into his father’s face.

“Nay, lad, you’ve no ’casion to run t’ red flag up,” Maniwel replied; but there was nothing bantering in his tone now, and his face had sobered. “If we’d windows to our hearts you’d happen be capped to see what there is inside o’ mine, both good and bad; but one thing you would find if you looked close—you’d find ’at my belief, as you call it, had brought me a deal more than an empty sleeve, and you’d see naught ’at I’m ashamed of in my thoughts of you.”

“You oughtn’t to have said that, Jagger,” said his sister reproachfully; but her father waved the rebuke aside.

“I’d sooner a blain showed on his lip than fester under t’ skin, and I’ve tried to learn you both to speak your minds. For twenty years I’ve done my best to walk t’ street called Straight, and I’ve got it rooted in my mind ’at there’s no better road. Baldwin favours t’ street called Crook’d, as long as it isn’t too crook’d, ’cause he thinks it’s a short cut to t’ Land o’ Plenty. I think he’s mista’en; but whether he is or no I should be sorry for any lad o’ mine to follow him; and that’s why I’m glad ’at Jagger goes by t’ straight road even if he grumbles at t’ ruts.”

There was just a hint of suspicion in the eyes Jagger turned on his father’s face but what he saw there reassured him and his brow cleared a little. His tone, however, was still gruff as he said:

“Crook’d ways seem to pay all right. They landed Baldwin’s feet in Mr. Clegg’s shoes and put money in his purse; and t’ street called Straight has done precious little for us. If it pays to do right, how is it that you happened your accident and how is it I get sacked? I suppose it’ll be made up to us i’ heaven!”

The suggestion was something less than a sneer, in that it conveyed a want of understanding as honest as Job’s in similar, if more tragic, circumstances, and the father read it as such.

“All I know about heaven,” he said, “and all I want to know, is ’at t’ street called Straight runs through it as well as to it, and if it doesn’t put money in your purse it keeps t’ fountain sweet in your soul, and that’s something. But walking straight doesn’t take t’ bite out o’ t’ teeth of a circ’lar saw when you run your thumb again’ it, and it doesn’t take trouble out o’ life. All t’ same if you’re frightened o’ trouble you’re as like to meet with it on t’ crook’d road as on t’ straight.”

“Now look you here, lad,” he continued as his son made no reply; “if you’ll get out o’ t’ cradle and give up supping dill-water, but stand on your feet like a man I’ll help you to plan something out. I’m none for you going back to Baldwin, though I don’t doubt he expects it; and I’m none for you leaving t’ village unless you’re forced. You’re a moorman, and t’ moor’s in your blood as Hannah says, same as it’s i’ mine. It’ll call you and rive at your heart strings if you put t’ sea between you and it. You’d hear t’ pipit ‘peep-peeping’ over t’ heather and t’ jackdaws cawing on Gordel; and you’d see t’ trout leaping i’ t’ beck and t’ dippers plunging their white breasts into t’ water below t’ Cove if you were in t’ thick o’ London streets——”

“And it’s a bad end you’d come to, Jagger. Some can do it and be no worse for’t, but there’s naught but ill follows them Drakes that leaves t’ moor; don’t ee do it, my lad!” Grannie’s voice was pleading, and her eyes were troubled.

“Let’s hear what father has in his mind,” said Hannah who had joined the group and drawn a chair up to the hearth. Then she turned to her father. “You oughtn’t to plague him with talking of ‘dill-water’ and such like. If it was me it ’ud get my back up.”

“Aye, right enough,” said Maniwel with a significance that the girl resented though it left Jagger unmoved; “but I’ll get to t’ point. There’s been a notion i’ my head for some time back ’at we happen couldn’t do better than start i’ business for ourselves. There’s room for two i’ t’ village, if one’s a small ’un, and small we should have to be ’cause all t’ brass we should have ’ud be that three hundred ’at’s lying out at interest wi’ John Clegg. But if Jagger’s willing I’ll call it in, and we’ll fix up a bit of a shop and get to work. It’ll be a poor do if between us we can’t make a living; for if I’ve got shut of an arm I’ve kept my head, and that’ll come in handy when Jagger loses his. T’ big jobs’ll have to go to Baldwin ’cause we shan’t have neither machines nor capital; but there’ll be enough little ’uns to keep some meal i’ t’ barrel, I’ll warrant. What think you, lad?”

A complete change had come over Jagger whilst his father was speaking and the face was now that of another man. The brow became unbent and the eyes mild and pleasant. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together slowly like one who anticipates a satisfaction near at hand.

“By gen, it’s a trump card! I’d give a dollar to see Baldwin’s face when he hears tell what we’re doing! Jobs? There’ll be no lack of ’em. I mayn’t have your headpiece for scheming out ways and means, but Baldwin hasn’t a man in his shop ’at can come near me at my job, and there’s more than him knows it. It’ll serve the old lickpenny right, and teach him not to rob widows. Where’ll we find a shop?”

Maniwel looked at him steadily for a moment or two, and Hannah watched her father’s face, knowing what he was thinking.

“When folks are in a hurry to swallow they have to have their meat minced for ’em. It ’ud suit me better, lad, if you’d get off spoon-food, and begin to chew for yourself. You’ve jumped at this plan o’ mine same as a bairn at a rattle. You’d better sleep on it, and then we’ll talk about t’ shop. But if we do start for ourselves it shall be in t’ street called Straight, anyway. Baldwin’s for himself all t’ way through; we’ll be for ourselves and company.”

Hannah turned to look at her brother; but it was evident he had only partly heard his father’s remarks, being engaged with his own thoughts; and her brow bent into an expression of impatience.