cer knew not of either
of these things, and when he lightly mounted the wall and leaped--before
he had looked--it was to find himself in the cart, or, to be more
precise, falling through the bottom of it. He rather lamed his leg, and
had to limp up to Merrall's mill, where I was waiting for him. Together,
we made for Keighley, and on arriving there we "put up" at the Lord
Rodney Inn, in Church Green, which was then kept by Mrs Fox. Safe in the
hostelry, we counted up our spoil, and, perhaps, congratulated ourselves
that we had got off so easily. Jack told me that before leaving the
entertainment he told the fiddler to play up "special," as he was going
to do a "fine trick."

THE AUDIENCE DISCOVER THE "SLOPE."

Next day we learned from a young man whom we came across at Wild's
theatre how affairs had developed at Haworth the previous night. He said
that for half-an-hour the fiddler went on playing his favourite tune,
"Rosin the bow." By-and-bye, the audience manifested signs of active
curiosity as to the position of affairs, and one man said he would go
behind the curtain and see for himself, adding, "There must be something
wrong." He went to the front, and pulled the screen on one side to
find--nothing! The audience generally bore up with good heart, but one
determined-looking individual said, "I've paid my two-pence, an' I'm bahn
ta hev a cannel for it, if nowt else." And with that he stalked up to the
front, and possessed himself of one of the candles which had been in use
as footlights. Others then made a rush for the remaining candles, and in
the disorder the poor fiddler fared rather badly, for he got his fiddle
broken. But Spencer and I afterwards visited him, and made good the loss
he sustained. I must say that we never intended the affair to be a
swindle, and, borrowing one of my friend Squire Leach's forcible
expressions, I may say we "started with good intentions, whatever came
out of 'em." Perhaps I may be excused for introducing the following
verses of my own, entitled "Haworth Sharpness," to close this chapter:--

Says a wag to a porter i' Haworth one day,
"Yer net ower sharp--ye drones o't' railway;
For fra Keighley to Howarth I've been oft enough,
But nivver a hawpenny I've paid yer, begoff."

The porter replied, "I varry mich daht it,
But I'll gie thee a quart ta tell all abaht it;
For it looks plain ta me tha cuddn't pass t'snicket,
Without tippin' ta t' porter thi pa