‘A wish a’d been theere!  A just wish a had!  A’ve a score for t’ reckon up wi’ t’ press-gang!’

And the old man lifted up his right hand—­his hand on which the forefinger and thumb were maimed and useless—­partly in denunciation, and partly as a witness of what he had endured to escape from the service, abhorred because it was forced.  His face became a totally different countenance with the expression of settled and unrelenting indignation, which his words called out.

‘G’on, man, g’on,’ said Daniel, impatient with Donkin for the little delay occasioned by the necessity of arranging his work more fully.

‘Ay! ay! all in good time; for a’ve a long tale to tell yet; an’ a mun have some ’un to iron me out my seams, and look me out my bits, for there’s none here fit for my purpose.’

’Dang thy bits!  Here, Sylvie!  Sylvie! come and be tailor’s man, and let t’ chap get settled sharp, for a’m fain t’ hear his story.’

Sylvia took her directions, and placed her irons in the fire, and ran upstairs for the bundle which had been put aside by her careful mother for occasions like the present.  It consisted of small pieces of various coloured cloth, cut out of old coats and waistcoats, and similar garments, when the whole had become too much worn for use, yet when part had been good enough to be treasured by a thrifty housewife.  Daniel grew angry before Donkin had selected his patterns and settled the work to his own mind.

‘Well,’ said he at last; ‘a mought be a young man a-goin’ a wooin’, by t’ pains thou’st taken for t’ match my oud clothes.  I don’t care if they’re patched wi’ scarlet, a tell thee; so as thou’lt work away at thy tale wi’ thy tongue, same time as thou works at thy needle wi’ thy fingers.’

‘Then, as a were saying, all Monkshaven were like a nest o’ wasps, flyin’ hither and thither, and makin’ sich a buzzin’ and a talkin’ as niver were; and each wi’ his sting out, ready for t’ vent his venom o’ rage and revenge.  And women cryin’ and sobbin’ i’ t’ streets—­when, Lord help us! o’ Saturday came a worse time than iver! for all Friday there had been a kind o’ expectation an’ dismay about t’ Good Fortune, as t’ mariners had said was off St Abb’s Head o’ Thursday, when t’ Resolution came in; and there was wives and maids wi’ husbands an’ sweethearts aboard t’ Good Fortune ready to throw their eyes out on their heads wi’ gazin’, gazin’ nor’ards over t’sea, as were all one haze o’ blankness wi’ t’ rain; and when t’ afternoon tide comed in, an’ niver a line on her to be seen, folk were oncertain as t’ whether she were holding off for fear o’ t’ tender—­as were out o’ sight, too—­or what were her mak’ o’ goin’ on.  An’ t’ poor wet draggled women folk came up t’ town, some slowly cryin’, as if their hearts was sick, an’ others just bent their heads to t’ wind, and went straight to their homes, nother looking nor speaking to ony one; but barred their doors, and stiffened