But now matters took an unexpected turn.  Little, to all appearance, was blind and deaf.  He hung there, moaning, and glaring, and his one sinewy arm supported his muscular but light frame almost incredibly.  He was out of his senses, or nearly.

“Let thyself come, lad,” cried a workman, “we are all right to catch thee.”

He made no answer, but hung there glaring and moaning.

“The man will drop noane, till he swouns,” said another, watching him keenly.

“Then get you closer to the wall, men,” cried Cheetham, in great anxiety.  “He’ll come like a stone, when he does come.”  This injunction was given none too soon; the men had hardly shifted their positions, when Little’s hand opened, and he came down like lead, with his hands all abroad, and his body straight; but his knees were slightly bent, and he caught the bands just below the knee, and bounded off them into the air, like a cricket-ball.  But many hands grabbed at him, and the grinder Reynolds caught him by the shoulder, and they rolled on the ground together, very little the worse for that tumble.  “Well done! well done!” cried Cheetham.  “Let him lie, lads, he is best there for a while; and run for a doctor, one of you.”

“Ay, run for Jack Doubleface,” cried several voices at once.

“Now, make a circle, and give him air, men.”  Then they all stood in a circle, and eyed the blackened and quivering figure with pity and sympathy, while the canopy of white smoke bellied overhead.  Nor were those humane sentiments silent; and the rough seemed to be even more overcome than the others:  no brains were required to pity this poor fellow now; and so strong an appeal to their hearts, through their senses, roused their good impulses and rare sensibilities.  Oh, it was strange to hear good and kindly sentiments come out in the Dash dialect.

“It’s a ——­ shame!”

“There lies a good workman done for by some ——­ thief, that wasn’t fit to blow his bellows, ——­ him!”

“Say he was a cockney, he was always ——­ civil.”

“And life’s as sweet to him as to any man in Hillsborough.”

“Hold your ——­ tongue, he’s coming to.”

Henry did recover his wits enough to speak; and what do you think was his first word?

He clasped his hands together, and said,—­“My mother!  Oh, don’t let her
know!”

This simple cry went through many a rough heart; a loud gulp or two were heard soon after, and more than one hard and coaly cheek was channeled by sudden tears.  But now a burly figure came rolling in; they drew back and silenced each other.—­“The Doctor!” This was the remarkable person they called Jack Doubleface.  Nature had stuck a philosophic head, with finely-cut features, and a mouth brimful of finesse, on to a corpulent and ungraceful body, that yawed from side to side as he walked.