Thou art quite right, was the reply, for she thought she divined his purpose and the shadow of a smile passed between them. Then he looked at his watch, mounted his horse and rode swiftly away. His wife watched him out of sight and, as she turned into the house, she told herself with a proud and happy smile, He is the best and the handsomest man in the West Riding, and the horse suits him! He rides to perfection! God bless him!
It was a point with the squire to be rigidly punctual. He was never either too soon, or too late. He knew that one fault was as bad as the other, though he considered the early mistake as the worst. It began to strike two as he reached the door of the Methodist Chapel, and saw Jonathan Hartley waiting there for him; and they walked at once to a rude platform that had been prepared for the speakers. There were several gentlemen standing there in a group, and the Chapel was crowded with anxious hungry-looking men.
It was the first time that Squire Annis had ever stepped inside a Methodist Chapel. The thought was like the crack of a whip in his conscience but at that moment he would not listen to any claim or reproof; for either through liking or disliking, he was sensitive at once to Bradleys tall, burly predominance; and could not have said, whether it was pleasant or unpleasant to him. However, the moment he appeared, there was loud handclapping, and cries of Squire Annis! Squire Annis! Put him in the chair! Hes our man!
Then into the squires heart his good angel put a good thought, and he walked to the front of the platform and said, My men, and my friends, Ill do something better for you. Ill put the Reverend Samuel Foster in the chair. Gods servant stands above all others, and Mr. Foster knows all about your poverty and affliction. I am a bit ashamed to say, I do not. This personal accusation was cut short by cries of No! No! No! Thou hes done a great deal, and then a cheer, that had in it all the Yorkshire spirit, though not its strength. The men were actually weak with hunger.
Mr. Foster took the chair to which the squire led him without any affectations of demur, and he was gladly welcomed. Indeed there were few things that would have pleased the audience more. They were nearly all Methodists, and their preacher alone had searched out their misery, and helped them to bear it with patience and with hope. He now stretched out his hands to them and said Friends, just give us four lines, and we will go at once to business; and in a sweet, ringing voice, he began Newmans exquisite hymn
Leave God to order all thy ways,
And hope in Him whateer betide,
Thoult find Him in the evil days,
An all sufficient Strength and Guide.
The words came fresh and wet with tears from every heart, and it was a five minutes interlude of that complete surrender, which God loves and accepts.
After a moment of intense silence, the preacher said, We are met to-day to try and find out if hand-loom weaving must go, or if both hand-loom weaving and power-loom weaving have a chance for the weaver in them. There are many hand-loom weavers here present. They know all its good points and all points wherein it fails but they do not know either the good or bad points of power-loom weaving, and Mr. John Thomas Bradley has come to tell you something about this tremendous rival of your household loom. I will now introduce Mr. John. He got no further in his introduction, for Bradley stepped forward, and with a buoyant good-nature said, No need, sir, of any fine mastering or mistering between the Annis lads and mysen. We hev thrashed each ither at football, and chated each ither in all kinds of swapping odds too often, to hev forgotten what names were given us at our christening. Theres Israel Swale, he hes a bigger mill than I hev now-a-days, but hes owing me three pence half-penny and eleven marbles, yet whenever I ask him for my brass and my marbles he says Ill pay thee, John Thomas, when we play our next game. Now listen, lads, next Whitsunday holidays Ill ask him to come and see me, and Ill propose before a house full of company and all ready for a bit of fun that we hev our game of marbles in the bowling alley, and Ill get Jonathan Hartley to give you all an invitation to come and see fair play between us. Will you come?
Noisy laughing acceptances followed and one big Guisely weaver said, Hed come too, and see that Israel played a straight game for once in his life.
Im obliged to thee, Guisely, answered Bradley, I hope thoult come. Now then, lads, I hev to speak to you about business, and if you think what I say is right, go and do what I say, do it boldly; and if you arent sure, then let it alone: till you are driven to it. I am told that varry few of the men here present iver saw a power loom. And yet you mostly think ill o it. That isnt a bit Yorkshire. You treat a man as you find him, you ought to do the same to a machine, that is almost a man in intelligence that is the most perfect bit of beauty and contrivance that man iver made since man himsen was fitted wi fingers and thumbs by the Great Machinist of heaven and earth.
What is it fashioned like, Bradley?
It is an exceedingly compact machine and takes up little room. It is easily worked and it performs every weaving operation with neatness and perfection. It makes one hundred and seventy picks a minute or six pieces of goods in a week you know it was full work and hard work to make one piece a week with the home loom, even for a strong man. It is made mostly of shining metal, and it is a perfect darling. Why-a! the lads and lassies in Bradley mill call their looms after their sweethearts, or husbands, or wives, and I wouldnt wonder if they said many a sweet or snappy word to the looms that would niver be ventured on with the real Bessie or the real Joe.
Think of your old cumbersome wooden looms, so hard and heavy and dreary to work, that it wasnt fit or right to put a woman down to one. Then go and try a power loom, and when you hev done a days work on it, praise God and be thankful! I tell you God saw the millions coming whom Yorkshire and Lancashire would hev to clothe, and He gave His servant the grave, gentle, middle-aged preacher Edmund Cartwright, the model of a loom fit for Gods working men and women to use. I tell you men the power loom is one of Gods latest Gospels. We are spelling yet, with some difficulty, its first good news, but the whole world will yet thank God for the power loom!
Here the preacher on the platform said a fervent Thank God! But the audience was not yet sure enough for what they were to thank God, and the few echoes to the preachers invitation were strangely uncertain for a Yorkshire congregation. A few of the Annis weavers compromised on a solemn Amen! All, however, noticed that the squire remained silent, and they were not going as Lot Clarke said afterwards to push themsens before t squire.
Then Jonathan Hartley stepped into the interval, and addressing Bradley said, Tha calls this wonderful loom a power-loom. Ill warrant the power comes from a steam engine.
Thou art right, Jonathan. I wish tha could see the wonderful engine at Dalbys Mill in Pine Hollow. The marvelous creature stands in its big stone stable like a huge image of Destiny. It is never still, but never restless, nothing rough; calm and steady like the waves of the full sea at Scarboro. It is the nervous center, the life, I might say, of all going on in that big building above it. It moves all the machinery, it gives life to the devil,1 and speeds every shuttle in every loom.