Patience Wins Part 24

"Yes; he said that with the water-wheel going it was easy to contrive a way to blow the fires."

"Humph! Can he forge a bill-hook or a scythe blade?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Who's 'venting the noo steel?"

"Oh, they are all helping! It was Uncle Richard who first started it."

"Oh, Uncle Richard, was it?" he said thoughtfully. "Well, it won't niver do."

"Why?"

"Snap a two, and never bear no edge."

"Who says so?"

"Traade," he cried. "Steel was good enough as it weer."

Just then, as luck had it, Uncle Jack came into the smithy, and stood and watched the man as he scowled heavily and flourished out the hot steel as if he resented being watched.

"You are not forging those hand-bills according to pattern, my man,"

said Uncle Jack, as he saw one finished, Pannell beating the steel with savage vehemence, and seeming as if he wished it were Uncle Jack's head.

"That's way to forge a hand-bill," said the man sourly.

"Your way," said Uncle Jack quietly. "Not mine. I gave you a pattern.

These are being made of a new steel."

"Good for nought," said the man; but Uncle Jack paid no heed, a.s.suming not to have heard the remark.

"And I want them to look different to other people's."

"Do it yoursen then," said the great fellow savagely; and he threw down the hammer and pincers.

"Yes, perhaps I had better," said Uncle Jack, rolling up his white s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, after taking off his coat and throwing it to me.

I saw Pannell glower at the pure white skin that covered great muscles as big and hard as his own, while, after unhooking a leather ap.r.o.n from where it hung, the lever was touched, the fire roared, and at last Uncle Jack brought out a piece of white-hot steel, banged it on the anvil, and rapidly beat it into shape.

Every stroke had its object, and not one unnecessary blow fell, while in a short time he held in the water, which hissed angrily, a hand-bill that was beautifully made, and possessed a graceful curve and hook that the others wanted.

"There," said Uncle Jack. "That's how I want them made."

The man's face was set in a savage vindictive look, full of jealous annoyance, at seeing a well-dressed gentleman strip and use the smith's hammer and pincers better than he could have used them himself.

"Make me one now after that pattern," said Uncle Jack.

It seemed to me that the giant was going to tear off his leather ap.r.o.n furiously and stride out of the place; but just then Uncle Jack stretched out his great strong hand and lifted up Pannell's kitten, which had sprung upon the forge and was about to set its little paws on the hot cinders.

"Poor p.u.s.s.y!" he said, standing it in one hand and stroking it with the other. "You mustn't burn those little paws and singe that coat. Is this the one that had the mouse, Cob?"

Just as I answered, "Yes," I saw the great smith change his aspect, pick up the still hot hand-bill that Uncle Jack had forged, stare hard at it on both sides, and then, throwing it down, he seized the pincers in one hand, the forge shovel in the other, turned on the blast and made the fire glow, and at last whisked out a piece of white-hot steel.

This he in turn banged down on the anvil--_st.i.thy_ he called it--and beat into shape.

It was not done so skilfully as Uncle Jack had forged his, but the work was good and quick, and when he had done, the man cooled it and held it out with all the rough independence of the north-countryman.

"Suppose that may do, mester," he said, and he stared at where Uncle Jack still stroked the kitten, which made a platform of his broad palm, and purred and rubbed itself against his chest.

"Capitally!" said Uncle Jack, setting down the kitten gently. "Yes; I wouldn't wish to see better work."

"Aw raight!" said Pannell; and he went on with his work, while Uncle Jack and I walked across the yard to the office.

"We shall get all right with the men by degrees, Cob," he said. "That fellow was going to be nasty, but he smoothed himself down. You see now the use of a master being able to show his men how to handle their tools."

"Yes," I said, laughing; "but that was not all. Pannell would have gone if it had not been for one thing."

"What was that?" he said.

"You began petting his kitten, and that made him friends."

I often used to go into the smithy when Pannell was at work after that, and now and then handled his tools, and he showed me how to use them more skilfully, so that we were pretty good friends, and he never treated me as if I were a spy.

The greater part of the other men did, and no matter how civil I was they showed their dislike by having accidents as they called them, and these accidents always happened when I was standing by and at no other time.

For instance a lot of water would be splashed, so that some fell upon me; a jet of sparks from a grindstone would flash out in my face as I went past; the band of a stone would be loosened, so that it flapped against me and knocked off my cap. Then pieces of iron fell, or were thrown, no one knew which, though they knew where, for the place was generally on or close by my unfortunate body.

I was in the habit of frequently going to look down in the wheel chamber or pit, and one day, as I stepped on to the threshold, my feet glided from under me, and, but for my activity in catching at and hanging by the iron bar that crossed the way I should have plunged headlong in.

There seemed to be no reason for such a slip, but the men laughed brutally, and when I looked I found that the sill had been well smeared with fat.

There was the one man in the grinders' shop, though, whom I have mentioned, and who never seemed to side with his fellow workers, but looked half pityingly at me whenever I seemed to be in trouble.

I went into the grinding-shop one morning, where all was noise and din, the wheels spinning and the steel shrieking as it was being ground, when all at once a quant.i.ty of water such as might have been thrown from a pint pot came all over me.

I turned round sharply, but every one was at work except the stout grinder, who, with a look of disgust on his face, stood wiping his neck with a blue cotton handkerchief, and then one cheek.

"Any on it come on you, mester?" he said.

"Any come on me!" I cried indignantly--"look."

"It be a shaam--a reg'lar shaam," he said slowly; "and I'd like to know who throwed that watter. Here, let me."

He came from his bench, or horse as the grinders call their seat, and kindly enough brushed the water away from my jacket with his handkerchief.

"Don't tak' no notice of it," he said. "They're n.o.bbut a set o' fullish boys as plays they tricks, and if you tell on 'em they'll give it to you worse."

I took his advice, and said nothing then, but naturally enough, spoke to my uncles about it when we were alone at night.