"Yes; he said that with the water-wheel going it was easy to contrive a
way to blow the fires."
"Humph! Can he forge a bill-hook or a scythe blade?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Who's 'venting the noo steel?"
"Oh, they are all helping! It was Uncle Richard who first started it."
"Oh, Uncle Richard, was it?" he said thoughtfully. "Well, it won't
niver do."
"Why?"
"Snap a two, and never bear no edge."
"Who says so?"
"Traade," he cried. "Steel was good enough as it weer."
Just then, as luck had it, Uncle Jack came into the smithy, and stood
and watched the man as he scowled heavily and flourished out the hot
steel as if he resented being watched.
"You are not forging those hand-bills according to pattern, my man,"
said Uncle Jack, as he saw one finished, Pannell beating the steel with
savage vehemence, and seeming as if he wished it were Uncle Jack's head.
"That's way to forge a hand-bill," said the man sourly.
"Your way," said Uncle Jack quietly. "Not mine. I gave you a pattern.
These are being made of a new steel."
"Good for nought," said the man; but Uncle Jack paid no heed, assuming
not to have heard the remark.
"And I want them to look different to other people's."
"Do it yoursen then," said the great fellow savagely; and he threw down
the hammer and pincers.
"Yes, perhaps I had better," said Uncle Jack, rolling up his white
shirt-sleeves, after taking off his coat and throwing it to me.
I saw Pannell glower at the pure white skin that covered great muscles
as big and hard as his own, while, after unhooking a leather apron from
where it hung, the lever was touched, the fire roared, and at last Uncle
Jack brought out a piece of white-hot steel, banged it on the anvil, and
rapidly beat it into shape.
Every stroke had its object, and not one unnecessary blow fell, while in
a short time he held in the water, which hissed angrily, a hand-bill
that was beautifully made, and possessed a graceful curve and hook that
the others wanted.
"There," said Uncle Jack. "That's how I want them made."
The man's face was set in a savage vindictive look, full of jealous
annoyance, at seeing a well-dressed gentleman strip and use the smith's
hammer and pincers better than he could have used them himself.
"Make me one now after that pattern," said Uncle Jack.
It seemed to me that the giant was going to tear off his leather apron
furiously and stride out of the place; but just then Uncle Jack
stretched out his great strong hand and lifted up Pannell's kitten,
which had sprung upon the forge and was about to set its little paws on
the hot cinders.
"Poor pussy!" he said, standing it in one hand and stroking it with the
other. "You mustn't burn those little paws and singe that coat. Is
this the one that had the mouse, Cob?"
Just as I answered, "Yes," I saw the great smith change his aspect, pick
up the still hot hand-bill that Uncle Jack had forged, stare hard at it
on both sides, and then, throwing it down, he seized the pincers in one
hand, the forge shovel in the other, turned on the blast and made the
fire glow, and at last whisked out a piece of white-hot steel.
This he in turn banged down on the anvil--_stithy_ he called it--and
beat into shape.
It was not done so skilfully as Uncle Jack had forged his, but the work
was good and quick, and when he had done, the man cooled it and held it
out with all the rough independence of the north-countryman.
"Suppose that may do, mester," he said, and he stared at where Uncle
Jack still stroked the kitten, which made a platform of his broad palm,
and purred and rubbed itself against his chest.
"Capitally!" said Uncle Jack, setting down the kitten gently. "Yes; I
wouldn't wish to see better work."
"Aw raight!" said Pannell; and he went on with his work, while Uncle
Jack and I walked across the yard to the office.
"We shall get all right with the men by degrees, Cob," he said. "That
fellow was going to be nasty, but he smoothed himself down. You see now
the use of a master being able to show his men how to handle their
tools."
"Yes," I said, laughing; "but that was not all. Pannell would have gone
if it had not been for one thing."
"What was that?" he said.
"You began petting his kitten, and that made him friends."
I often used to go into the smithy when Pannell was at work after that,
and now and then handled his tools, and he showed me how to use them
more skilfully, so that we were pretty good friends, and he never
treated me as if I were a spy.
The greater part of the other men did, and no matter how civil I was
they showed their dislike by having accidents as they called them, and
these accidents always happened when I was standing by and at no other
time.
For instance a lot of water would be splashed, so that some fell upon
me; a jet of sparks from a grindstone would flash out in my face as I
went past; the band of a stone would be loosened, so that it flapped
against me and knocked off my cap. Then pieces of iron fell, or were
thrown, no one knew which, though they knew where, for the place was
generally on or close by my unfortunate body.
I was in the habit of frequently going to look down in the wheel chamber
or pit, and one day, as I stepped on to the threshold, my feet glided
from under me, and, but for my activity in catching at and hanging by
the iron bar that crossed the way I should have plunged headlong in.
There seemed to be no reason for such a slip, but the men laughed
brutally, and when I looked I found that the sill had been well smeared
with fat.
There was the one man in the grinders' shop, though, whom I have
mentioned, and who never seemed to side with his fellow workers, but
looked half pityingly at me whenever I seemed to be in trouble.
I went into the grinding-shop one morning, where all was noise and din,
the wheels spinning and the steel shrieking as it was being ground, when
all at once a quantity of water such as might have been thrown from a
pint pot came all over me.
I turned round sharply, but every one was at work except the stout
grinder, who, with a look of disgust on his face, stood wiping his neck
with a blue cotton handkerchief, and then one cheek.
"Any on it come on you, mester?" he said.
"Any come on me!" I cried indignantly--"look."
"It be a shaam--a reg'lar shaam," he said slowly; "and I'd like to know
who throwed that watter. Here, let me."
He came from his bench, or horse as the grinders call their seat, and
kindly enough brushed the water away from my jacket with his
handkerchief.
"Don't tak' no notice of it," he said. "They're nobbut a set o' fullish
boys as plays they tricks, and if you tell on 'em they'll give it to you
worse."
I took his advice, and said nothing then, but naturally enough, spoke to
my uncles about it when we were alone at night.
"Never mind," said Uncle Dick. "I daresay we shall get the fellows to
understand in time that we are their friends and not their enemies."
"Yes," said Uncle Jack; "they are better. I dare say it will all come
right in time."
It was soon after this that I went into the grinding-shop one day while
the men were at dinner, and going to the door that opened into the wheel
chamber, which always had a fascination for me, I stood gazing down into
its depths and listening to the splashing water.
"Iver try to ketch any o' them long eels, Mester Jacob?" said a familiar
voice; and, starting and looking back, I saw that Gentles, the fat
little grinder, was sitting down close to his wet grindstone eating his
dinner, and cutting it with a newly ground knife blade forged out of our
new steel.
"Eels, Gentles!" I said. "I didn't know there were any there."
"Oh, but there are," he said; "straange big 'uns. You set a line with a
big bait on, and you'll soon hev one."
"What, down there by the wheel?"
"Ay, or oop i' the dam. Plenty o' eels, lad, theer."
"I'll have a try," I said eagerly, for the idea of catching one or two
of the creatures was attractive.
From that I got talking to the man about his work, and he promised to
let me have a few turns at grinding.
"On'y, what am I to say if thee coots theesen?" he cried with a chuckle.
"Oh, but you'll show me how to do it without!" I said laughing.
"Nay, but what's good o' thee wanting to grind? Want to tak' work out
o' poor men's hands?"
"Nonsense!" I cried angrily. "Why, Gentles, you know better than that.
All I want is to understand thoroughly how it is done, so that I can
talk to the men about their work, and show them if it isn't right."
"Oh!" he said in a curious tone of voice. "Well, you coom any time when
watter-wheel's going, and I'll show thee all that I know. 'Tain't much.
Keeps men fro' starving."
"Why, Gentles," I cried; "you drew three pounds five last week, and I
saw you paid."
"Three pun' five! Did I?" he said. "Ah, but that was a partic'lar good
week. I've got a missus and a lot o' bairns to keep, and times is very
bad, mester."
"I'm sorry for it," I said; and I went away and had a look in the books
as soon as I reached the office, to find that Master Gentles never drew
less than three pounds a-week; but I did not remind him of it, and
during the next few days he very civilly showed me how his work was
done--that is, the knack of holding and turning the blades, so that I
rapidly acquired the way, and was too busy to notice the peculiar looks
I received from the other men.
Of course I know how that I was a mere bungler, and clumsy, and slow in
the extreme; but at the time I felt as if I must be very clever, and
there was something very satisfactory in seeing a blackened hammered
blade fresh from the forge turn bright and clean in my hands, while the
edge grew sharp and even.
It was playing with edged tools with a vengeance, but I did not
understand it then.