Free The Adventures of Tom Leigh by Phyllis Bentley Page A

before the loom can slide the shuttle, which is pointed at both ends, through the threads with his right hand, and then slide it back the other way with his left hand. But a broadcloth is too wide for one man to reach both sides, so an apprentice sits at one side of the loom and throws the shuttle at that side, to help the weaver.
    â€œWe’ll try it. Set a broadcloth up soon’s this kersey’s finished, Jeremy,” said Mr. Firth.
    It was promotion for me to be allowed to have anything to do with the weaving, and in a way I felt glad, but somehow the pleased gleam in Jeremy’s eyes made me uneasy.
    It was in the night before the broadcloth was to be begun—Jeremy had done the warping and looming-up very neatly and skilfully, that day—when I suddenly started awake with a pang of terror. It seemed to me that all of a sudden I saw the true reason for Jeremy’s insistence on the broadcloth. I told myself my thought was a coward’s thought and I should feel shame for it, but I could not get it out of my head. I could hear voices from the housebody below, so Mr. and Mrs. Firth were still downstairs, and after some tossing and turning I suddenly took my resolution and rose up and drew on my shirt and breeches and went downstairs.
    Mrs. Firth was rolling up her knitting, Mr. Firth stood in the open doorway, looking out at the night, which was moonlight and very fine.
    â€œWhy, Tom!” said he. “What’s up, lad?”
    â€œMr. Firth,” I said in a rush. “I am afraid to weave at the broadcloth with Jeremy.”
    â€œAfraid? Nay, Tom!”
    â€œI knew a lad in Lavenham, an apprentice, that was blinded by a shuttle, weaving so; he was not quite quick enough, he did not catch the shuttle, it flew into his eyes. Mr. Firth, Jeremy does not like me. I am ashamed to say it, but I am afraid.”
    â€œWell,” said Mr. Firth. His face hardened; he stood very still. Mrs. Firth had come up behind us and was leaning against the door jamb. They exchanged a glance. “Tha did right to speak to me, Tom,” said Mr. Firth. “Tha’s no need to fear.”
    Next morning, when Jeremy had put a spindle of yarn into a shuttle and was just “kissing the shuttle”, as weavers say, to draw the thread through the hole, ready to begin weaving the broadcloth, Mr. Firth came into the workshop.
    â€œNow, Jeremy,” he said. “Just beginning broadcloth, eh?”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Jeremy smugly.
    â€œSithee, Jeremy,” said Mr. Firth—this is a Yorkshire expression meaning
see thee
, that is,
look
—“sithee, if any harm comes to this lad Tom through t’broadcloth, or in any other way, i’ my house, I shall hold thee guilty.”
    Jeremy started and his sallow face flushed.
    â€œThat’s not fair, master!” he cried.
    â€œHappen not,” said Mr. Firth. “But I mean it, Jeremy. I’ll take thee to th’assizes if any harm happens Tom. So think on and watch out.”
    I came to no harm over the broadcloth.

5
Mr. Daniel Defoe
    It was now summer. The heather on the moors came into bloom, so that when I went out one Sunday afternoon with Harry, as had become our habit, I was amazed by the great stretches of purple which rolled away on every hand. The cotton grass was out too, clustering in the moorland hollows, the white silky heads dancing in the wind on their slender stems; the green bracken on the middle slopes was almost head-high.
    For there was plenty of wind and rain; it was a poor, cold summer. This vexed Mr. Firth, for the season had so far been good and the oats and hay were both well advanced and ready for harvest. However, he and Josiah at length mowed the hay and carried it into the barn, with Mrs. Firth and me and even little Gracie helping to turn and fork it. Jeremy would not lift a hand to help; he said he was a journeyman weaver and had naught (“nowt”, as he said) to do