"And yet," Gavin said, hesitatingly, "they told me in Glasgow that
I had received a call from the mouth of hell."

"Those were cruel words, but they only mean that people who are
seldom more than a day's work in advance of want sometimes rise in
arms for food. Our weavers are passionately religious, and so
independent that they dare any one to help them, but if their
wages were lessened they could not live. And so at talk of
reduction they catch fire. Change of any kind alarms them, and
though they call themselves Whigs, they rose a few years ago over
the paving of the streets and stoned the workmen, who were
strangers, out of the town."

"And though you may have thought the place quiet to-day, Mr.
Dishart, there was an ugly outbreak only two months ago, when the
weavers turned on the manufacturers for reducing the price of the
web, made a bonfire of some of their doors, and terrified one of
them into leaving Thrums. Under the command of some Chartists, the
people next paraded the streets to the music of fife and drum, and
six policemen who drove up from Tilliedrum in a light cart were
sent back tied to the seats."

"No one has been punished?"

"Not yet, but nearly two years ago there was a similar riot, and
the sheriff took no action for months. Then one night the square
suddenly filled with soldiers, and the ringleaders were seized in
their beds, Mr. Dishart, the people are determined not to be
caught in that way again, and ever since the rising a watch has