the bare and dreary village would have imagined that it had ever
seen good days, for the greater proportion of the earnings had gone
in drink, and the Varley men had a bad name even in a country and
at a time when heavy drinking was the rule rather than the exception.
But whatever good times it may have had they were gone now. Wages
had fallen greatly and the prices of food risen enormously, and
the wolf was at the door of every cottage. No wonder the men became
desperate, and believing that all their sufferings arose from the
introduction of the new machinery, had bound themselves to destroy
it whatever happened.

A woman of whom he inquired for John Swinton's cottage told him
that it was the last on the left. Although he told himself that he
had nothing to be afraid of, it needed all Ned's determination to
nerve himself to tap at the door of the low thatched cottage. A
young woman opened it.

"If you please," Ned said, "I have come to see Bill; the doctor
said he would see me. It was I who hurt him, but indeed I didn't
mean to do it."

"A noice bizness yoi've made of it atween ee," the woman said, but
in a not unkind voice. "Who'd ha' thought as Bill would ha' got
hurted by such a little un as thou be'st; but coom in, he will be
main glad to see ee, and thy feyther ha' been very good in sending
up all sorts o' things for him. He's been very nigh agooing whoam,
but I believe them things kept un from it."

The cottage contained but two rooms. In a corner of the living
room, into which Ned followed the woman, Bill Swinton lay upon a