Mr. Henry Hatton
ought not to be counted with such a crowd."
"You are right, Jonathan. In this case, I am obliged to you for your
interference. I think this is all we need to discuss at this time."
"Nay, but it isn't. I'm sorry to say, there is that little lass o'
Lugur's. You must interfere there, and you can't do it too soon."
"Lugur? Who is Lugur? I never heard of the man. He is not in the Hatton
factory, that I know."
"He isn't in anybody's factory. He is head teacher in the Methodist
school here."
"Well, what of that?"
"He has a daughter, a little lass about eighteen years old."
"And she is pretty, I suppose?"
"There's none to equal her in this part of England. She's as sweet as a
flower."
"And her father is----"
"Hard as Pharaoh. She's the light o' his eyes, and the breath o' his
nostrils. So she ought to be. Her mother died when she was two years
old, and Ralph Lugur hes been mother and father both to her. He took her
with him wherever he went except into the pulpit."
"The pulpit? What do you mean?"
"He was a Methodist preacher, but he left the pulpit and went into the
schoolroom.
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