d obtain a hearing. "You are Norton Bury folk, I
know you. I could get every one of you hanged, even though Abel
Fletcher is a Quaker. Mind, you'll be peaceable?"

"Ay--ay! Some'at to eat; give us some'at to eat."

John Halifax called out to Jael; bade her bring all the food of every
kind that there was in the house, and give it to him out of the
parlour-window. She obeyed--I marvel now to think of it--but she
implicitly obeyed. Only I heard her fix the bar to the closed front
door, and go back, with a strange, sharp sob, to her station at the
hall-window.

"Now, my lads, come in!" and he unlocked the gate.

They came thronging up the steps, not more than two score, I imagined,
in spite of the noise they had made. But two score of such famished,
desperate men, God grant I may never again see!

John divided the food as well as he could among them; they fell to it
like wild beasts. Meat, cooked or raw, loaves, vegetables, meal; all
came alike, and were clutched, gnawed, and scrambled for, in the fierce
selfishness of hunger. Afterwards there was a call for drink.

"Water, Jael; bring them water."

"Beer!" shouted some.

"Water," repeated John. "Nothing but water. I'll have no drunkards
rioting at my master's door."

And, either by chance or design, he let them hear the click of his
pistol. But it was hardly needed. They were all cowed by a mightier
weapon still--the best weapon a man can use--his own firm indomitable
will.

At length all the food we had in the house was consumed. John told
them so; and they believed him. Little enough, indeed, was sufficient
for some of them; wasted with long famine, they turned sick and faint,
and dropped down even with bread in their mouths, unable to swallow it.
Others gorged themselves to the full, and then lay along the steps,
supine as satisfied brutes. Only a few sat and ate like rational human
beings; and there was but one, the little, shrill-voiced man, who asked
me if he might "tak a bit o' bread to the old wench at home?"

John, hearing, turned, and for the first time noticed me.

"Phineas, it was very wrong of you; but there is no danger now."

No, there was none--not even for Abel Fletcher's son. I stood safe by
John's side, very happy, very proud.

"Well, my men," he said, looking round with a smile, "have you had
enough to eat?"

"Oh, ay!" they all cried.

And one man added--"Thank the Lord!"

"That's right, Jacob Baines: and, another