eave thee to th'
owd lass here. Hoo's a rare un fur gab when hoo' taks th' notion, an'
I'm noan so mich i' th' humor t' argufy mysen today." And he took his
pipe from the mantelpiece and strolled out with an imperturbable air.
But this was not the last of the matter. The Rector went again and
again, cheerfully persisting in bringing the old sinner to a proper
sense of his iniquities. There would be some triumph in converting such
a veteran as Sammy Craddock, and he was confident of winning this laurel
for himself. But the result was scarcely what he expected. 'Owd Sammy'
stood his ground like an old soldier. The fear of man was not before his
eyes, and 'parsens' were his favorite game. He was as contumacious and
profane as such men are apt to be, and he delighted in scattering his
clerical antagonists as a task worthy of his mettle. He encountered the
Reverend Harold with positive glee. He jeered at him in public, and
sneered at him in private, and held him up to the mockery of the collier
men and lads, with the dramatic mimicry which made him so popular a
character. As Derrick had said, Sammy Craddock was a Riggan institution.
In his youth, his fellows had feared his strength; in his old age they
feared his wit. "Let Owd Sammy tackle him," they said, when a new-comer
was disputatious, and hard to manage; "Owd Sammy's th' one to gi' him
one fur his nob. Owd Sammy'll fettle him--graidely." And the fact was
that Craddock's cantankerous sharpness of brain and tongue were usually
efficacious. So he "tackled" Barholm, and so he "tackled" the curate.
But, for some reason, he was never actually bitter against Grace. He
spoke of him lightly, and rather sneered at his physical insignificance;
but he did not hold him up to public ridicule.

"I hav' not quite settled i' my moind about th' little chap," he would
say sententiously to his admirers. "He's noan siccan a foo' as th' owd
un, for he's a graidely foo', _he_ is, and no mistake. At any rate a
little foo' is better nor a big un."

And there the matter stood. Against these tremendous odds Grace
fought--against coarse and perverted natures,--worse than all, against
the power that should have been ranged upon his side. And added to these
discouragements, were the obstacles of physical delicacy, and an almost
morbid conscientiousness. A man of coarser fibre might have borne the
burden better--or at least with less pain to himself.

"A drop or so of Barholm's blood in Grace's ve