ing his head. "I'm a downright bad un."

"Not you."

"Ay, but I am--reg'lar down bad un."

"What have you been doing?"

"Nowt," he said; and he brought down his hammer with a tremendous bang
as if he meant to make a full stop at the end of his sentence.

"Then why are you a bad one?"

He looked at me, then out of the window, then front the door, and then
back at me.

"I'm going to Lunnon to get work," he said.

"No, don't; we like you--you're such a good steady workman. Why are you
going?"

"Don't like it," he said. "Man can't do as he pleases."

"Uncle John says he can't anywhere, and the masters are the men's
servants here."

"Nay, lad," he whispered as he hammered away. "Men's worse off than the
masters. Wuckman here hev to do what the trade tells him, or he'd soon
find out what was what. Man daren't speak."

"For fear of getting into trouble with his mates?"

"Nay, his mates wouldn't speak. It's the trade; hish!"

He hammered away for some time, and his skill with his hammer fascinated
me so that I stopped on watching him. A hammer to me had always seemed
to be a tool to strike straightforward blows; but Pannell's hammer
moulded and shaped, and always seemed to fall exactly right, so that a
piece of steel grew into form. And I believe he could have turned out
of the glowing metal anything of which a model had been put before his
eyes.

"Well," I said, "I must go to my writing."

"Nay, stop a bit. We two ain't said much lately. They all gone to
Kedham?"

"Yes; how did you know?"

"Oh, we knows a deal. There aren't much goes on as we don't know. Look
ye here; I want to say summat, lad, and I can't--yes, I can."

"Well, say it, then," I said, smiling at his eagerness.

"Going to--look here, there was a rat once as got his leg caught in a
trap."

"Yes, I know there was," I replied with a laugh.

"Nay, it's nowt to laugh at, lad. Rats has sharp teeth; and that there
rat--a fat smooth rat he were--he said he'd bite him as set that trap."

"Pannell!" I cried, as a curious feeling of dread came over me for a
moment and then passed away.

"Ay, lad."

"You don't mean to say that?"

"Me!--I mean to say! Nay, lad, not me. I never said nothing. 'Tain't
likely!"

I looked at him searchingly, but his face seemed to turn as hard as the
steel he hammered; and finding that he would not say any more, I left
him, to go thoughtfully back to my desk and try to write.

But who could