‘I’ll not deny but what th’ Union finds it necessary to force a man into his own good.  I’ll speak truth.  A man leads a dree life who’s not i’ th’ Union.  But once i’ the’ Union, his interests are taken care on better nor he could do it for himsel’, or by himsel’, for that matter.  It’s the only way working men can get their rights, by all joining together.  More the members, more chance for each one separate man having justice done him.  Government takes care o’ fools and madmen; and if any man is inclined to do himsel’ or his neighbour a hurt, it puts a bit of a check on him, whether he likes it or no.  That’s all we do i’ th’ Union.  We can’t clap folk into prison; but we can make a man’s life so heavy to be borne, that he’s obliged to come in, and be wise and helpful in spite of himself.  Boucher were a fool all along, and ne’er a worse fool than at th’ last.’

‘He did you harm?’ asked Margaret.

’Ay, that did he.  We had public opinion on our side, till he and his sort began rioting and breaking laws.  It were all o’er wi’ the strike then.’

’Then would it not have been far better to have left him alone, and not forced him to join the Union?  He did you no good; and you drove him mad.’

‘Margaret,’ said her father, in a low and warning tone, for he saw the cloud gathering on Higgins’s face.

‘I like her,’ said Higgins, suddenly.  ’Hoo speaks plain out what’s in her mind.  Hoo doesn’t comprehend th’ Union for all that.  It’s a great power:  it’s our only power.  I ha’ read a bit o’ poetry about a plough going o’er a daisy, as made tears come into my eyes, afore I’d other cause for crying.  But the chap ne’er stopped driving the plough, I’se warrant, for all he were pitiful about the daisy.  He’d too much mother-wit for that.  Th’ Union’s the plough, making ready the land for harvest-time.  Such as Boucher—­’twould be settin’ him up too much to liken him to a daisy; he’s liker a weed lounging over the ground—­mun just make up their mind to be put out o’ the way.  I’m sore vexed wi’ him just now.  So, mappen, I dunnot speak him fair.  I could go o’er him wi’ a plough mysel’, wi’ a’ the pleasure in life.’

‘Why?  What has he been doing?  Anything fresh?’

‘Ay, to be sure.  He’s ne’er out o’ mischief, that man.  First of a’ he must go raging like a mad fool, and kick up yon riot.  Then he’d to go into hiding, where he’d a been yet, if Thornton had followed him out as I’d hoped he would ha’ done.  But Thornton, having got his own purpose, didn’t care to go on wi’ the prosecution for the riot.  So Boucher slunk back again to his house.  He ne’er showed himsel’ abroad for a day or two.  He had that grace.  And then, where think ye that he went?  Why, to Hamper’s.  Damn him!  He went wi’ his mealy-mouthed face, that turns me sick to look at, a-asking for work, though he knowed well enough the new rule, o’ pledging themselves to give nought to th’ Unions; nought to help the starving turn-out!  Why he’d