hat she had to
tell, she fell back into the kind of talk she had accustomed herself to
discard when with 'gentry.' 'He's gone!' and her sobs broke out again.

'What! good Mr Fairfield,' said Mrs Mildmay. 'No, I had not heard it.
What a loss he will be! Was it very sudden?'

And Jacinth standing by, listened eagerly to all Mrs Burton told.

He had been struck by paralysis--the kind friend of so many years--only
two days before, and had never rallied. And the grief was widespread and
deep. It would throw many into sorrow and anxiety too, the old woman
said; for though he left two sons to succeed him, it remained to be seen
if they would follow in his footsteps.

'They will be very rich; they may not care to carry on the business, of
course,' said Mrs Mildmay. 'No doubt Mr Fairfield has left a large
fortune.'

But Mrs Burton shook her head. It was far from the case. The business
was doing well, as it deserved to do, but beyond its good prospects he
left but little. And then she went on to explain why it was so; thus
entering into the circumstances which had so specially endeared the dead
man to his workpeople. A good many years ago, she related, when Mr
Fairfield had first inherited the 'works,' a terrible accident had
occurred, in which, with several others, Burton had suffered. The
accident, though in those days such inquiries were less searching, had
revealed a certain danger in a part of the machinery recently introduced
at great expense, as a wonderful improvement. The danger was remote; it
was perfectly possible no damage might ever again occur from the same
cause; no pressure of any kind was put upon the master, no suggestion
even, of change; his own workpeople would not have blamed him had he
'let things be.' But such was not Mr Fairfield's way of viewing a
master's responsibilities. He had almost all the machinery changed, for
the one alteration he deemed absolutely necessary involved others. And
the outlay had been something immense, especially as a run of bad years
had followed it. And even when times improved again, and he began to
feel his head above water, he never himself benefited by the profits as
most would have done.

''Twas always summat for his people, as he called 'em, bless him.
Reading-rooms, or clubs, or schools. Year in, year out, 'twas his first
thought and his last. What else was he there for? he'd say, mony's the
time. Ah, well; he's gone where _his_ Master'll have good thought for
_him_