id of work, whenever there was any kind
of skill to be shown, or bodily strength to be proved by it. But the
present task was hateful to him; for any big-armed yokel, or common
wood-hewer, might have done as much as he could do, and perhaps more,
at it, and could have taken the same wage over it. Mr. Coggs, of
Pebbleridge, the only wheelwright within ten miles of Springhaven, had
taken a Government contract to supply within a certain time five hundred
spoke-wheels for ammunition tumbrils, and as many block-wheels for small
artillery; and to hack out these latter for better men to finish was the
daily task of Dan Tugwell.

This job swelled his muscles and enlarged his calves, and fetched away
all the fat he had been enabled to form in loftier walks of art; but
these outward improvements were made at the expense of his inner and
nobler qualities. To hack and hew timber by the cubic foot, without any
growing pleasure of proportion or design, to knit the brows hard for a
struggle with knots, and smile the stern smile of destruction; and
then, after a long and rough walk in the dark--for the equinox now was
impending--to be joked at by his father (who had lounged about all
day), and have all his money told into the paternal pocket, with narrow
enquiries, each Saturday night. But worst of all to know that because he
was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had no heart--no heart
that he could offer where he laid it; but there it must lie, and
be trodden on in silence, while rakish-looking popinjays--But this
reflection stopped him, for it was too bitter to be thought out, and
fetched down his quivering hand upon his axe. Enough that these things
did not tend to a healthy condition of mind, or the proper worship of
the British Constitution. However, he was not quite a Radical yet.

CHAPTER XXVII

FAIR IN THEORY

One Saturday evening, when the dusk was just beginning to smoothe the
break of billow and to blunt the edge of rock, young Dan Tugwell swung
his axe upon his shoulder, with the flag basket hanging from it in which
his food had been, and in a rather crusty state of mind set forth upon
his long walk home to Springhaven. As Harry Shanks had said, and
almost everybody knew, an ancient foot-path, little used, but never yet
obstructed, cut off a large bend of the shore, and saved half a mile
of plodding over rock and shingle. This path was very lonesome, and
infested with dark places, as well as waylaid wi