There was a slip of a wench he picked up
as a child after the fight by Luck's mill, and bred up; a fair lass
she grew up to look on, but a light-headed one. She went to service
at Bristol, and poor Stead was troth plight to her, hoped to save and
build up the house again, never knowing, not he, poor rogue, of her
goings on with the sailors and all the roistering lads about her
master's house. 'Tis my belief she put those rascals on the track,
whether she meant it or not. Stead made what defence he could, stood
up like a man against the odds, three to one, and got a shot in the
side, so that he was like to die then. Better for him, mayhap, if he
had at once, for it has been nought but a lingering ever since, never
able to do a day's work, though that wench, Patience, and the young
lad, Ben, have fought it out wonderfully. That I will say."
Mr. Holworth had tears in his eyes, and trembled with emotion.
"The dear lad," he said. "Where is he? I must go and see him."
"He bides in the gulley, sir; he has been there ever since the farm-
house was burnt.
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