on with our work," said Uncle Dick; "we must win in
the end."

To have seen the works during the next few days, anyone would have
supposed that there had never been the slightest trouble there. After
due consideration the little platform had been replaced and the bands
taken from the grindstone gear duly put in position, the men taking not
the slightest notice, but working away most industriously.

Pannell, however, did not come back, and his forge was cold, very much
to my uncles' annoyance. On inquiry being made we were told that his
mother was dying, and that he had been summoned to see her.

I felt a little suspicious, but could hardly believe that anything was
wrong, till one evening Uncle Jack proposed that we two should have a
walk out in the country for a change.

I was only too glad, for the thought of getting away from the smoke and
dirt and noise was delightful.

So as to get out sooner we took a short cut and were going down one of
the long desolate-looking streets of rows of houses all alike, and built
so as to be as ugly as possible, when we saw on the opposite side a man
seated upon a door-step in his shirt-sleeves, and with his head a good
deal strapped and bandaged.

"That's one of the evils of a manufacturing trade where machinery is
employed," said Uncle Jack. "I'm afraid that, generally speaking, the
accidents are occasioned by the men's carelessness or bravado; but even
then it is a painful thing to know that it is your machinery that has
mutilated a poor fellow. That poor fellow has been terribly knocked
about, seemingly."

"Yes," I said, looking curiously across the road.

"So far we have been wonderfully fortunate, but--here, this way! Where
are you going?"

"Over here," I said, already half across the road; for the brawny arms
and long doubled-up legs of the man seemed familiar.

"Why?" cried Uncle Jack; but he followed me directly.

"Pannell!" I exclaimed.

"What, Mester Jacob!" he cried, lifting up his head with his face in my
direction, but a broad bandage was over his eyes.

"Why, what's all this?" I cried; "have you had some accident?"

"Yes, met wi' acciden' done o' purpose."

"But they said your mother was dying," I cried as I held the great hard
hand, which was now quite clean.

"Ay, so I heard say," replied the great fellow.

"Is she better?"

"Better! Well, she ain't been badly."

"Not dying?" said Uncle Jack.

"What's that yow, Mester?" said Pannell.