“Do you know what Mr. Henry paid for them, Jonathan?”

“Not I, sir.  But I do know Fred Naylor; he never did a honest day’s work.  He is nothing but a betting book in breeches.  He bets on everything, from his wife to the weather.  I often heard your father say that betting is the argument of a fool—­and Jonathan Greenwood is of the same opinion.”

“Have you any particular dislike to the Naylors?”

“I dislike to see Mr. Henry evening himself with such a bad lot; every one of them is as worthless as a canceled postage stamp.”

“They are rich, I hear.”

“To be sure they are.  I think no better of them for that.  All they hev has come over the devil’s back.  I hev taken the measure of them three lads, and I know them to be three poor creatures.  Mr. Henry Hatton ought not to be counted with such a crowd.”

“You are right, Jonathan.  In this case, I am obliged to you for your interference.  I think this is all we need to discuss at this time.”

“Nay, but it isn’t.  I’m sorry to say, there is that little lass o’ Lugur’s.  You must interfere there, and you can’t do it too soon.”

“Lugur?  Who is Lugur?  I never heard of the man.  He is not in the Hatton factory, that I know.”

“He isn’t in anybody’s factory.  He is head teacher in the Methodist school here.”

“Well, what of that?”

“He has a daughter, a little lass about eighteen years old.”

“And she is pretty, I suppose?”

“There’s none to equal her in this part of England.  She’s as sweet as a flower.”

“And her father is——­”

“Hard as Pharaoh.  She’s the light o’ his eyes, and the breath o’ his nostrils.  So she ought to be.  Her mother died when she was two years old, and Ralph Lugur hes been mother and father both to her.  He took her with him wherever he went except into the pulpit.”

“The pulpit?  What do you mean?”

“He was a Methodist preacher, but he left the pulpit and went into the schoolroom.  The Conference was glad he did so, for he was little in the way of preaching but he’s a great scholar, and I should say he hesn’t his equal as a teacher in all England.  He has the boys and girls of Hatton at a word.  Sir, you’ll allow that I am no coward, but I wouldn’t touch the hem of Lucy Lugur’s skirt, if it wasn’t in respect and honor, for a goodish bit o’ brass.  No, I wouldn’t!”

“What would you fear?”

“Why-a! I don’t think he’d stop at anything decent.  It is only ten days since he halted Lord Thirsk in t’ High Street of Hatton, and then told him flat if he sent any more notes and flowers to Miss Lugur, ‘Miss,’ mind you, he would thrash him to within an inch of his life.”

“What did Lord Thirsk say?”