There, you go home the other way. I'll follow Master Sim Slee. I know the way to seal up his lips."

He caught Daisy in his arms, and kissed her twice before she could evade his grasp, and then ran off after Slee, who was steadily walking on, smiling, as he caressed his tender, bruised lip with his damp handkerchief.

Once he pressed his thumb down on his palm in a meaning way, and gave an ugly wink. Then he chuckled, but checked his smiles, for they hurt his swollen face.

"Not bad for one day, eh! That's ointment for Mester Joe Banks's sore place, and a bit o' revenge at the same time. This wean't have nowt to do wi' the strike; this is all private. Here he comes," he muttered, twitching his ears. "I thowt he would. Well, I mean to hev five pun'

to howd my tongue, and more when I want it. And mebbe," he continued, with an ugly leer, "I can be a bit useful to him now and then."

A minute later Richard Glaire had overtaken Sim Slee, and a short conversation ensued, in the course of which something was thrust into the schemer's hand. Then they parted, and that night, in spite of his swollen lip, Sim Slee delivered a wonderful oration on the rights of the British workman at the meeting at the Bull, at which were present several of the men after Sim's own heart; but the shrewd, sensible workmen were conspicuous by their absence, as they were having a quiet meeting of their own.

Volume 1, Chapter XV.

DAISY IS OBSTINATE.

"A lungeing villain," muttered Joe Banks to himself, "he knows nowt but nastiness. Strange thing that a man can't make up to a pretty girl wi'out people putting all sorts o' bad constructions on it. Why they're all alike--Missis Glaire, the wife and all. My Daisy, too. To say such a word of her."

He hastened home, filled his pipe, lit it, and went out and sat down in the garden, in front of his bees, to smoke and watch them, while he calmed himself down and went over what had gone by, before thinking over the future.

This was a favourite place with Joe Banks on a Sunday, and he would sit in contemplative study here for hours. For he said it was like having a holiday and looking at somebody else work, especially when the bees were busy in the gla.s.s bells turned over the flat-topped hives.

"I'd no business to hit a crippled man like that," mused Joe; "but he'd no business to anger me. Be a lesson to him."

He filled a fresh pipe, lit it by holding the match sheltered in his hands, and then went on--

"Be a lesson to him--a hard one, for my hand ain't light. Pity he hadn't coot away, for he put me out."

"Now, what'll I do?" mused Joe. "Shall I speak to the maister?"

"No, I wean't. He'll speak to me when it's all raight, and Daisy and him has made it up. I'll troost him, that I will; for though he's a bit wild, he's a gentleman at heart, like his father before him. Why of course I'll troost him. He's a bit shamefaced about it o' course; but he'll speak, all in good time. Both of 'em will, and think they're going to surprise me. Ha--ha--ha! I've gotten 'em though. Lord, what fools young people is--blind as bats--blind as bats. Here's Daisy."

"It's so nice to see you sitting here, father," said the girl, coming behind him, and resting her chin on his bald crown, while her plump arms went round his neck.

"Is it, my gal? That's raight. Why, Daisy la.s.s, what soft little arms thine are. Give us a kiss."

Daisy leaned down and kissed him, and then stopped with her arms resting on his shoulders, keeping her face from confronting him; and so they remained for a few minutes, when a smile twinkled about the corners of the foreman's lips and eyes as he said--

"Daisy, my gal, I've been watching the bees a bit."

"Yes, father," she said, smiling, though it was plain to see that the smile was forced. "Yes, father, you always like to watch the bees."

"I do, my bairn, I do. They're just like so many workmen in a factory; but they don't strike, my gal, they don't strike."

"But they swarm, father," said Daisy, making an effort to keep up the conversation.

"Yes," chuckled Joe, taking hold of the hand that rested on his left shoulder. "Yes, my bairn, I was just coming to that. They swarm, don't they?"

"Yes, father."

"And do you know why they swarm, Daisy?"

"Yes, father; because the hive is not big enough for them."

"Yes, yes," chuckled Joe, patting the hand, and holding it to his rough cheek. "You're raight, but it's something more, Daisy: it's the young ones going away from home and setting up for theirselves--all the young ones 'most do that some day."

The tears rose to Daisy's eyes, and she tried to withdraw her hand, for Joe had touched on a tenderer point than he imagined; but he held it tightly and gave it a kiss.

"There, there, my pet," he said, tenderly, "I won't tease you. I knew it would come some day all right enough, and I don't mind. I only want my little la.s.s to be happy."

"Oh, father--father--father," sobbed Daisy, letting her face droop till it rested on his head, while her tears fell fast.

"Come, come, come, little woman," he said, laughing; "thou mustn't cry.

Why, it's all raight." There was a huskiness in his voice though, as he spoke, and he had to fight hard to make the dew disappear from his eyes.

"Here, I say, Daisy, my la.s.s, that wean't do no good: you may rain watter for ever on my owd bald head, and the hair won't come again.

There--tut--tut--tut--you'll have moother here directly, and she'll be asking what's wrong."

Daisy made a strong effort over self, and succeeded at last in drying her eyes.

"Then, you are not cross with me, father?" faltered Daisy.

"Cross, my darling? not a bit," said Joe, patting her hand again. "You shan't disgrace the man as has you, my dear; that you shan't. Why, you're fit to be a little queen, you are."

Daisy gave him a hasty kiss, and ran off, while Joe proceeded to refill his pipe.

"Cross indeed! I should just think I hadn't," he exclaimed--"only with the women. Well, they'll come round."

But if Joe Banks had stood on the hill-side a couple of hours earlier, just by the spot where Tom Podmore had sat on the day of the vicar's arrival, he would perhaps have viewed the matter in a different light, for--of course by accident--Daisy had there encountered Richard Glaire, evidently not for the first time since the night when they were interrupted by Tom in the lane.

It was plain that any offence Richard had given on the night in question had long been condoned, and that at every meeting he was gaining a stronger mastery over the girl's heart.

"Then you will, Daisy, won't you?" he whispered to her.

"No, no, d.i.c.k dear. Don't ask me. Let me tell father all about it."

"What?" he cried.

"Let me tell father all about it, and I'm sure he'll be pleased."

"My dear little Daisy, how well you are named," he cried, playfully; and as he looked lovingly down upon her, the foolish girl began to compare him with the lover of her mother's choice--a man who was nearly always blackened with his labours, and heavy and rough spoken, while here was Richard Glaire professing that he worshipped her, and looking, in her eyes, so handsome in his fashionably-cut blue coat with the rosebud in the b.u.t.ton-hole, and wearing patent leather boots as tight as the lemon gloves upon his well-formed hands.

"I can't help my name," she said, coquettishly.

"I wouldn't have it changed for the world, my little pet," he whispered, playing with her dimpled chin; "only you are as fresh as a daisy."

"What do you mean, d.i.c.k?" she said, nestling to him.

"Why you are so young and innocent. Look here, my darling: don't you see how I'm placed? My mother wants me to marry Eve."

"But you don't really, really, really, care the least little bit for her, do you, Mr Richard?"