are dead, and one of them in such a way as
will break his mother's heart."

"And another has lost a leg, you are
thinking. Out with it, Sir, and don't be
afraid of my feelings about it. Well, it is
certain that Bleaburn has suffered more than
is the fair share of one place; but we must be
loyal."

"And so," said Mr. Finch, " you are going to
prepare more of your neighbours to enlist, the
next time a recruiting party comes this way.
Oh, I don't say that men are not to be
encouraged to serve their king and country:
but it seems to me that our place has done its
duty well enough for the present. I wonder
that you, as a farmer, do not consider the
rates, and dread the consequences of having
the women and children on our hands, if our
able men get killed and maimed in the wars.
I should have thought that the price of
bread — "

"There, now, don't let us talk about that!"
said Neale; "You know that is a subject that
we never agree about. We will let alone the
price of bread for to-day."

Neale might easily forget this sore subject,
and every other that was disagreeable to
other people, in the jollity at the Plough and
Harrow, where there was an uproar of tipsy
mirth for the greater part of the night. But
Mr. Finch found little mirth among the
people left at home in the cottages. The poor
women, who lived hardly, knitting for eighteen
hours out of the twenty-four, and finding
themselves less and less able to overtake the
advancing prices of the necessaries of life, had
no great store of spirits to spend in rejoicing
over victories, or anything else; and among
them there was one who loved Jack Neale,
and was beloved by him; and others, who
respected Widow Slaney, and could not                                                                             countenance noisy mirth while she was sunk in
horror and grief. They were hungry enough,
too, to look upon young Slaney's death as
something of an outrage. If hunger and
nakedness had driven him into the shelter of
a town, to avoid dying by the roadside, it
seemed to them that being shot was a hard
punishment for the offence. Mr. Finch                                                                                  endeavoured to show, in hackneyed language,
what the dereliction of duty really was, and
how intolerable during warfare; but the end
of it was that the neighbours pitied the poor
young man the more, the more they dwelt
upon his fate.

As it turned out, Bleaburn made more                                                                               sacrifices to the war than those of the Battle of
Albuera, even before drum or fife was again
heard coming over the moor. The place had
not been healthy before; and illness set in
somewhat seriously after the excitements of
the bonfire night. The cold and wet spring
had discouraged the whole kingdom about the
harvest; and in Bleaburn it had done                                                                               something more. Where there are stone houses,                                                               high winds aggravate the damage of wet weather.
The driven rain had been sucked in by the stone;                                                                and more wet was absorbed from the
foundations, when the swollen stream had
rushed down the hollow, and overflowed into
the houses, and the pigstyes, and every empty
place into which it could run. Where there
were glass windows and fires in the rooms,
the panes were dewy, and the walls shiny
with trickling drops; and in the cottages
where there were no fires, the inhabitants
were so chilly, that they stuffed up every
broken window-pane, and closed all chinks by
which air might enter, in hopes of keeping
themselves warm; but the floors were never
really dry that summer, and even the beds
had a chilly feel. The best shoes showed
mould between one Sunday and another; and
the meal in the bin (of those who were so
fortunate as to have a meal-bin) did not keep
well. Mr. Finch had talked a great deal
about what was to be expected from summer
weather and the harvest; but as the weeks
went on, there were graver doubts about the
harvest than there had been even while
people were complaining at Easter, and
shaking their heads at Whitsuntide; and
when a few days of hot weather came at last,
the people of Bleaburn did not know how to
bear them at all. The dead rats and decaying
matter which had been deposited by the
spring overflow, made such a stench that
people shut their windows closer than ever.
Their choice now was between being broiled
in the heat which was reflected from the sides
of the cleft in which they lived, and being
shut into houses where the walls, floors, and
windows were reeking with steam. The
women, who sat still all day, knitting, had
little chance for health in such abodes; and
still less had such of the men as, already
weakened by low diet, had surfeited                                                                                 themselves with beer on the night of the rejoicing,
and broiled themselves in the heat of the
bonfire, and fevered mind and body with
shouting, and singing, and brawling, and been
brought home to be laid upon musty straw,
under a somewhat damp blanket. This
excess was hardly more pernicious to some
than depression was to others. Those of the
people at Bleaburn that had received                                                                          heartwounds from the Battle of Albuera, thought
they could never care again for any personal
troubles or privations; but they were not
long in learning that they now suffered more
than before from low diet and every sort
of discomfort. They blamed themselves for
being selfish; but this self-blame again made
the matter worse. They had lost a hope
which had kept them up. They were not
only in grief, but thoroughly discouraged.
Their gloom was increased by seeing that a
change had come over Mr. Finch. On
Sundays he looked so anxious, that it was
enough to lower people's spirits to go to
church. His very voice was dismal, as he
read the service; his sermon grew shorter
almost every Sunday: and it was about
everything that the people cared least about