“——­ you both!” said the rough fellow.  “I wish you’d let me alone.  Here I’ve lost my morning’s work already.”  Then to Little, “Mind thyself, old lad.  Happen thou’s in more danger than I am.”

“What d’ye mean by that?” said Little, very sharply.

But Simmons saw he had gone too far, and now maintained a sullen silence.

Henry turned to Tucker.  “I don’t know who you are, but I call you witness that I have done all I can for this idiot.  Now, if he comes to harm, his blood be upon his own head.”

Then Henry went off in dudgeon, and, meeting Bayne in the yard, had a long discussion with him on the subject.

The tempter took advantage of Little’s angry departure, and steadily resumed his temptation.

But he was interrupted in his turn.

The defect in this grindstone was not so serious but that the stone might perhaps have been ground out with fair treatment:  but, by fixing a small pulley-wheel, Simmons had caused it to rotate at furious speed.  This tried it too hard, and it flew in two pieces, just as the grinder was pressing down a heavy saw on it with all his force.

One piece, weighing about five hundredweight, tore the horsing chains out of the floor, and went clean through the window (smashing the wood-work), out into the yard, and was descending on Little’s head; but he heard the crash and saw it coming; he ran yelling out of the way, and dragged Bayne with him.  The other fragment went straight up to the ceiling, and broke a heavy joist as if it had been a cane; then fell down again plump, and would have destroyed the grinder on the spot, had he been there; but the tremendous shock had sent him flying clean over the squatter board, and he fell on his stomach on the wheel-band of the next grindstone, and so close to the drum, that, before any one could recover the shock and seize him, the band drew him on to the drum, and the drum, which was drawing away from the window, pounded him against the wall with cruel thuds.

One ran and screamed to stop the power, another to cut the big wheel-bands.  All this took several seconds; and here seconds were torn flesh and broken bones.  Just as Little darted into the room, pale with his own narrow escape, and awe-stricken at the cries of horror within, the other grinders succeeded in dragging out, from between the wall and the drum, a bag of broken bones and blood and grease, which a minute before was Ned Simmons, and was talking over a deed of violence to be done.

The others carried him and laid him on a horsing; and there they still supported his head and his broken limbs, sick with horror.

The man’s face was white, and his eyes stared, and his body quivered.  They sprinkled him with water.

Then he muttered, “All right.  I am not much hurt.—­Ay, but I am though.  I’m done for.”

After the first terror of the scene had passed, the men were for taking him to the infirmary.  But Little interposed, eagerly, “No, no.  I’ll pay the doctor myself sooner.  He shall be nursed at home, and have all that skill can do to save him.  Oh, why, why would he not listen to me?”