"Ay, Matthew, it's a union we need up here badly. I'm telt that that
chap Smillie has managed to start one down in the West Country, an' it's
daein' weel. He's got some o' their wages up a hale shillin' a day since
he took it in hand."

"Is that a fact, Peter? The sooner we ha'e him up here the better then.
Black Jock needs a chap back onyway," and Matthew looked like a man who
had suddenly discovered a great truth.

Andrew Marshall had never been allowed to forget his action in defying
Walker; everywhere he went it was the same story--no work for him. The
"Block" system among the managers was in good working order, and could
easily starve a man into docility. Andrew became more desperate as time
passed, and he knew that he and his wife were nearing the end of their
small savings. He returned home one evening from his usual fruitless
search for employment, and threw himself into the arm-chair by the
fireside.

"No work yet, Andra?" asked Katie.

"Nane," was the gloomy response.

"We have no' very mony shillin's left noo, Andra. I dinna ken what we'll
do."

Savage, revengeful feelings surged through Andrew, and found vent in a
volley of oaths which terrified his wife.

"Dinna talk like that, Andra," she pleaded. "It's no' canny, an' forby,
the Lord disna like ye to do it."