eart av
a sthone, Kit Connelly?"

A roar of laughter succeeded this.

"Go away, it will be better for you," declared Ben Hay.

"Come out here, Hay, and fight like a man! Don't skulk behind a woman's
petticoats!"

There was a terrific onslaught at the door. It creaked and groaned, and
was succeeded by a volley of oaths and imprecations. Rose began to cry,
and the youngest girl came screaming down the stairs.

Darcy had sent a man out of the back way for policemen. Hay and the two
other men mounted guard. Again the door shivered and creaked: then it
flew open, bolts, locks, and hinges having given way in a mass of
splinters.

Like a flash the men were on their assailants. The mob had not expected
this. Right and left valorous blows were dealt, and two or three burly
fellows were laid low. Some nearer sober, and more cowardly, took to
their heels. Two men fought like tigers; and once Ben Hay came near
getting the worst; but, by the time the dilatory guards of peace
arrived, there was only a pile of bruised and battered bodies lying on
the door-step.

"A pretty tough scrimmage!" was the comment. "Weren't you a little hard
on these fellows?"

"A man has a right to defend his own life and his own nose," said Ben
Hay decisively. "His life _may_ be useful, his nose _is_ ornamental when
it is a handsome one like mine."

What with drunkenness and the drubbing, two of the ruffians were unable
to walk. Two others were marched off under the escort of the officers,
the disabled sent for, and a guard detached to protect Mrs. Connelly's
house. When everybody had been quieted, Jack took a tour down to the
mills. Some poor object was huddled up in the corner of the main stoop.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Darcy.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, don't strike me! I'm Bart Kane. I've had enough of this
night, and I crawled here"--

The boy began to sob and talk brokenly. He lifted his face in the
moonlight. It was ghastly; one eye swollen shut, and purple-black, and
streaks of blood and dirt over it; the clothing torn, the throat bare.

"Were you down there at Connelly's?"

"I warn't nowhere. It was along o' father: he comed home drunk."

Barton Kane was a mill-boy, about nineteen now. Darcy's first feeling
had been one of outrage and anger, but he cooled suddenly.

"Tell me, my lad," in a kindly tone, taking the shivering fingers in
his.

"You see, Mr. Darcy, father'd been out along of the hatters all day,
gettin' more and m