were well at work I went into one of the sheds, where
there were two or three holes under the benches where the rats came up
from the dam, and where it was the custom to set a trap or two, which
very rarely snared one of the busy little animals, though now and then
we did have that luck, and Piter had the pleasure of killing the
mischievous creature if the trap had not thoroughly done its work.

I soon found what I wanted--an old rusty spring trap with its sharp
teeth, and, shaking off the dust, I tucked it under my jacket and
strolled off to the smith's shops, where I found Pannell hammering away
as hard as ever he could.

He was making reaping-hooks of my uncles' patent steel, and as I stood
at the door and watched him I counted the blows he gave, and it was
astonishing how regular he was, every implement taking nearly the same
number of blows before he threw it down.

"Well, Pannell," I said, "arn't you sorry to have to work so hard
again?"

He whisked a piece of hot steel from his forge and just glanced at me as
he went on with his work, laying the glowing sparkling steel upon the
anvil.

"Sorry!"--_bang_--"no"--_bang_--"not a"--_bing, bang_, _bang_--"not
a"--_bang, bang, bing, bang, bang_--"bit of it."

That was how it sounded to me as he worked away.

"Wife"--_bang_--"bairns"--_bing, bang, bang, bing, chinger, chinger,
bing, bang_--"eight"--_bang_--"of 'em. I hate"--_bang_--"to
do"--_bang_--"nowt"--_bang_--"but"--_bang_--"smoke all"--_bang_--"day."

"I say, Pannell," I said, after glancing round and seeing that we were
quite alone, "how came you to throw our bands in the wheel-pit?"

"What!" he cried, pincers in one hand, hammer in the other; and he
looked as if he were going to seize me with one tool and beat me with
the other. "Yah! Get out, you young joker! You know it warn't me."

"But you know who did it."

Pannell looked about him, through the window, out of the door, up the
forge chimney, and then he gave me a solemn wink.

"Then why don't you speak?"

The big smith took a blade of steel from the fire as if it were a
flaming sword, and beat it into the reaping-hook of peace before he said
in a hoarse whisper:

"Men's o' one side, lad--unions. Mesters is t'other side. It's a
feight."

"But it's so cowardly, Pannell," I said.

"Ay, lad, it is," he cried, banging away. "But I can't help it. Union
says strike, and you hev to strike whether you like it or whether you
don't like it, a