vote to him or any other man. And div yo' think I want Seth Robson (
as is my own brother's son, and mate to a collier) to be cotched up
by a press-gang, and ten to one his wages all unpaid? Div yo' think
I'd send up Measter Cholmley to speak up for that piece o' work? Not
I.' He took up his pipe again, shook out the ashes, puffed it into a
spark, and shut his eyes, preparatory to listening.

'But, asking pardon, laws is made for the good of the nation, not
for your good or mine.'

Daniel could not stand this. He laid down his pipe, opened his eyes,
stared straight at Philip before speaking, in order to enforce his
words, and then said slowly--

'Nation here! nation theere! I'm a man and yo're another, but
nation's nowheere. If Measter Cholmley talked to me i' that fashion,
he'd look long for another vote frae me. I can make out King George,
and Measter Pitt, and yo' and me, but nation! nation, go hang!'

Philip, who sometimes pursued an argument longer than was politic
for himself, especially when he felt sure of being on the conquering
side, did not see that Daniel Robson was passing out of the
indifference of conscious wisdom into that state of anger which
ensues when a question becomes personal in some unspoken way. Robson
had contested this subject once or twice before, and had the
remembrance of former disputes to add to his present vehemence. So
it was well for the harmony of the evening that Bell and Sylvia
returned from the kitchen to sit in the house-place. They had been
to wash up the pans and basins used for supper; Sylvia had privately
shown off her cloak, and got over her mother's shake of the head at