He came back with ill news. The lane leading to the tan-yard was
blocked up with a wild mob. Even the stolid, starved patience of our
Norton Bury poor had come to an end at last--they had followed the
example of many others. There was a bread-riot in the town.

God only knows how terrible those "riots" were; when the people rose
in desperation, not from some delusion of crazy, blood-thirsty
"patriotism," but to get food for themselves, their wives, and
children. God only knows what madness was in each individual heart
of that concourse of poor wretches, styled "the mob," when every man
took up arms, certain that there were before him but two
alternatives, starving or--hanging.

The riot here was scarcely universal. Norton Bury was not a large
place, and had always abundance of small-pox and fevers to keep the
poor down numerically. Jem said it was chiefly about our mill and
our tan-yard that the disturbance lay.

"And where is my father?"

Jem "didn't know," and looked very much as if he didn't care.

"Jael, somebody must go at once, and find my father."

"I am going," said Jael, who had already put on her cloak and hood.
Of course, despite all her opposition, I went too.

The tan-yard was deserted; the mob had divided, and gone, one half to
our mill, the rest to another that was lower down the river. I asked
of a poor frightened bark-cutter if she knew where my father was?