, don't you have anything to do with it, Bill. You know I have told
you over and over again that no good can come of such bad doings, and
that the men will only make matters much worse for themselves. My father
used to say that no good ever came of mob violence. They may do some
harm for a time, but it is sure to recoil on their own heads."

"Oi doan't ha' nowt to do wi' it," Bill replied, "cause oi told yer oi
wouldn't; but oi've some trouble to keep oot o't. Ye see oi am nointeen
now, and most o' t' chaps of moi age they be in 't; they meet at the
'Dog' nigh every noight, and they drills regular out on t' moor here,
and it doan't seem natural for oi not to be in it, especial as moi
brothers be in it. They makes it rough for me in t' village, and says as
how I ain't got no spirit, and even t' girls laughs at me."

"Not Polly Powlett, I am sure, Bill."

"No, not Polly," Bill replied. "She be a different sort. A' together it
be a bit hard, and it be well for me as oi 'm main strong and tough,
for oi ha' to fight pretty nigh every Saturday. However, oi ha thrashed
pretty nigh every young chap in Varley, and they be beginning now to
leave oi alone."

"That's right, Bill; I am sure I have no right to preach to you when I
am always doing wrong myself; still I am quite sure you will be glad in
the long run that you had nothing to do with King Lud. I know the times
are very hard, but burning mills and murdering masters are not the way
to make them better; you take my word for that. And now how are things
going on in Varley?"

"No great change here," Bill replied. "Polly Powlett bain't made up her
moind yet atween t' chaps as is arter her. They say as she sent John
Stukeley, the smith, to the roight about last Sunday; he ha' been arter
her vor the last year. Some thowt she would have him, some didn't. He
ha' larning, you see, can read and wroite foine, and ha' got a smooth
tongue, and knows how to talk to gals, so some thought she would take
him; oi knew well enough she wouldn't do nowt of the koind, for oi ha'
heard her say he were a mischievous chap, and a cuss to Varley. Thou
know'st, Maister Ned, they do say, but in course oi knows nowt about it,
as he be the head of the Luddites in this part of Yorkshire.

"Luke Marner he be dead against King Lud, he be, and so be many of
the older men here; it's most the young uns as takes to them ways; and
nateral, Polly she thinks as Luke does, or perhaps," and Bill laughed,
"it's