e either didn't like
his wooden leg or she'd some notion about his being a hypocrite. Happen
(for women is queer hands; we may say that amang werseln when there's
none of 'em nigh) she'd have encouraged him, in spite of his leg and his
deceit, just to pass time like. I've known some on 'em do as mich, and
some o' t' bonniest and mimmest-looking, too--ay, I've seen clean, trim
young things, that looked as denty and pure as daisies, and wi' time a
body fun' 'em out to be nowt but stinging, venomed nettles."

"Joe's a sensible fellow," interjected Helstone.

"Howsiver, Sarah had another string to her bow. Fred Murgatroyd, one of
our lads, is for her; and as women judge men by their faces--and Fred
has a middling face, while Moses is none so handsome, as we all
knaw--the lass took on wi' Fred. A two-three months sin', Murgatroyd and
Moses chanced to meet one Sunday night; they'd both come lurking about
these premises wi' the notion of counselling Sarah to tak a bit of a
walk wi' them. They fell out, had a tussle, and Fred was worsted, for
he's young and small, and Barraclough, for all he has only one leg, is
almost as strong as Sugden there--indeed, anybody that hears him roaring
at a revival or a love-feast may be sure he's no weakling."

"Joe, you're insupportable," here broke in Mr. Moore. "You spin out your
explanation as Moses spins out his sermons. The long and short of it is,
Murgatroyd was jealous of Barraclough; and last night, as he and a
friend took shelter in a barn from a shower, they heard and saw Moses
conferring with some associates within. From their discourse it was
plain he had been the leader, not only at Stilbro' Moor, but in the
attack on Sykes's property. Moreover they planned a deputation to wait
on me this morning, which the tailor is to head, and which, in the most
religious and peaceful spirit, is to entreat me to put the accursed
thing out of my tent. I rode over to Whinbury this morning, got a
constable and a warrant, and I am now waiting to give my friend the
reception he deserves. Here, meantime, comes Sykes. Mr. Helstone, you
must spirit him up. He feels timid at the thoughts of prosecuting."

A gig was heard to roll into the yard. Mr. Sykes entered--a tall stout
man of about fifty, comely of feature, but feeble of physiognomy. He
looked anxious.

"Have they been? Are they gone? Have you got him? Is it over?" he asked.

"Not yet," returned Moore with phlegm. "We are waiting for them."