A/N: squirrel0072 - I had contemplated going into detail about the fascinating process of cotton spinning, etc. but decided that since North and South is more about the social narrative, I would skip it and focus on Margaret's interactions with both the Thornton and the Higgins families.

One more thing - The entire sum total of my personal experience (seeing as I am American) with dialectic English spoken by a native of England is limited to my former neighbor who was a professor at Oxford but was in the US for an university exchange program and a couple of friends who are from London. Any dialogue with Northern dialect is wholly Mrs. Gaskell's, as she lived with her minister husband in those regions for many years.

'Margaret,' said her father the next day, 'We are to call upon Mrs. Thornton this afternoon. Your mother is not very well and thinks she cannot walk so far so we two are to go. Should we consult a doctor, do you suppose?'

'If I knew of some good doctor, I would go this afternoon and ask him to come, for I am sure mamma is seriously indisposed.'

Mr. Hale answered in a despondent tone: 'Do you think she has any hidden complaint? Do you think she is really very ill? Has Dixon said anything? Oh, Margaret! I am haunted by the fear that our coming to Milton has killed her. My poor Maria! We will ask Mrs. Thornton if she can tell us of a good doctor. We won't throw away our money on any but someone first-rate.'

Knowing that she was to visit Mrs. Thornton in the afternoon, Margaret had planned to visit Bessy Higgins in the morning. She saw unusual loiterers in the streets: men with their hands in their pockets sauntering along; loud-laughing and loud-spoken girls clustered together, apparently excited to high spirits, and a boisterous independence of temper and behavior. The more ill-looking of the men-the discreditable minority-hung about on the steps of the beer-houses and gin-shops, smoking, and commenting pretty freely on every passer-by.

Nicholas Higgins was sitting by the fire smoking, as she went in. Bessy was rocking herself on the other side. Nicholas took the pipe out of his mouth, and standing up, pushed his chair towards Margaret; he leant against the chimney piece in a lounging attitude, while she asked Bessy how she was.

'Hoo's rather down i' th' mouth in regard to spirits, but hoo's better in health. Hoo doesn't like this strike. Hoo's a deal too much set on peace and quietness at any price.'

'This is th' third strike I've seen,' said she, sighing, as if that was answer and explanation enough.

'Well, third time pays for all. See if we don't dang th' masters this time. See if they don't come, and beg us to come back at our own price. That's all. We've missed it afore time, I grant yo'; but this time we'n laid our plans desperate deep.'

'Why do you strike?' asked Margaret. 'Striking is leaving off work till you get your own rate of wages, is it not? You must not wonder at my ignorance; where I come from I never heard of a strike. If the people struck, as you call it, where I come from, as they are mostly all field laborers, the seed would not be sown, the hay got in, the corn reaped.'

'Well?' said he. He had resumed his pipe, and put his 'well' in the form of an interrogation.

'Why,' she went on, 'what would become of the farmers.'

He puffed away. 'I reckon they'd have either to give up their farms, or to give fair rate of wage.'

'Suppose they could not, or would not do the last; they could not give up their farms all in a minute, however much they might wish to do so; but they would have no hay, nor corn to sell that year; and where would the money come from to pay the laborers' wages the next?'

Still puffing away, at last he said, 'I know nought of your ways down South. I have heerd they're a pack of spiritless, down-trodden men; welly starved to death; too much dazed wi' begging to know when they're put upon. Now, it's not so here. We known when we're put upon; and we'en too much blood in us to stand it. We just take our hands fro' our looms, and say, "Yo' may starve us, but yo'll not put upon us, my masters!" And be danged to 'em, they shan't this time!'

'I wish I lived down South,' said Bessy.

'There's a deal to bear there,' said Margaret. 'There are sorrows to bear everywhere. There is very hard bodily labor to be gone through, with very little food to give strength.'

'But it's out of doors,' said Bessy. 'And away from the endless, endless noise, and sickening heat.'

'It's sometimes in heavy rain, and sometimes in bitter cold. A young person can stand it; but an old man gets racked with rheumatism, and bent and withered before his time; yet he must just work on the same, or else go to the workhouse.'

'I thought yo' were so taken wi' the ways of the South country.'

'And yo' say they never strike down there?' asked Nicholas, abruptly.

'No!' said Margaret; 'I think they have too much sense.'

'An' I think,' replied he, dashing the ashes out of his pipe with so much vehemence that it broke, 'it's not that they've too much sense, but that they've too little spirit.'

'O, father!' said Bessy, 'what have ye gained by striking? Think of that first strike when mother died-how we all had to starve-you the worst of all; and yet many a one went in every week at the same wage, till all were gone in that there was work for; and some went beggars all their lives at after.'

'Ay,' said he. 'That there strike was badly managed. Folk got into th' management of it, as were either fools or not true men. Yo'll see, it'll be different this time.'

'But all this time you've not told me what you're striking for,' said Margaret, again.

'Why, yo' see, there's five or six masters who have set themselves again't paying the wages they've been paying these two years past, and flourishing upon, and getting richer upon. And now they come to us, and say we're to take less. And we won't. We'll just starve them to death first; and see who'll work for 'em then. They'll have killed the goose that laid 'em the golden eggs, I reckon.'

'And so you plan dying, in order to be revenged upon them!'

'No,' said he, 'I dunnot. I just look forward to the chance of dying at my post sooner than yield. That's what folk call fine and honorable in a soldier, and why not in a poor weaver-chap?'

'But,' said Margaret, 'a soldier dies in the cause of the nation-in the cause of others.'

He laughed grimly. 'My lass,' said he, 'yo're but a young wench, but don't yo' think I can keep three people-that's Bessy, and Mary, and me-on sixteen shilling a week? Dun yo' think it's for mysel' I'm striking work at this time? It's just as much in the cause of others as yon soldier – only yon soldier, the cause he dies for is just that of somebody he never clapt eyes on, nor heerd on all his born days, while I take up John Boucher's cause, as lives next door but one, wi' a sickly wife, and eight childer, none on 'em factory age; and I don't take up his cause only, though he's a poor good-for-nought, as can only manage two looms at a time, but I take up th' cause o' justice. Why are we to have less wage now, I ask, than two year ago?'

'Don't ask me,' said Margaret; 'I am very ignorant. Ask some of your masters. Surely they will give you a reason for it. It is not merely an arbitrary decision of theirs, come to without reason.'

'Yo're just a foreigner, and nothing more,' said he, contemptuously. 'Much yo' know about it. Ask th' masters! They'd tell us to mind our own business, and they'd mind theirs. Our business being, yo' understand, to take the wage, and be thankful, and their business to bate us down to starving point, to swell their profits. That's what it is.'

'But,' said Margaret, 'the state of trade may be such as not to enable them to give you the same remuneration as formerly.'

'State o' trade! That's just a piece o' masters' humbug. It's rate o' wages I was talking of. Th' masters keep th' state o' trade in their own hands; and just walk it forward like a black bug-a-boo, to frighten naughty children with into being good. I'll tell yo' it's their part,-their cue, as some folks call it,-to beat us down, to swell their fortunes; and it's ours to stand up and fight hard,-not for ourselves alone, but for them round about us—for justice and fair play. We help to make their profits, and we ought to help spend 'em. It's not that we want their brass so much this time, as we've done many a time afore. We'n getten money laid by; and we're resolved to stand and fall together; not a man on us will go in for less wage than th' Union says is our due. So I say, "Hooray for the strike," and let Thornton, and Slickson, and Hamper, and their set look to it!'

'Thornton!' said Margaret. 'Mr. Thornton of Marlborough Street?'

'Aye! Thornton o' Marlborough Mill, as we call him.'

'He is one of the masters you are striving with, is he not? What sort of a master is he?'

'Did yo' ever see a bulldog on hind legs, and dress him up in coat and breeches, and yo'n just getten John Thornton.'

'Nay,' said Margaret, laughing, 'I deny that. Mr. Thornton is plain enough, but he's not like a bulldog, with its short broad nose, and snarling upper lip.'

'No! Not in look, I grant yo'. But let John Thornton get hold on a notion, and he'll stick to it like a bulldog; yo' might pull him away wi' a pitch-fork ere he'd leave go. He's worth fighting wi', is John Thornton. As for Slickson, I take it, some o' these days he'll wheedle his men back wi' fair promises; that they'll just get cheated out of as soon as they're in his power again. He'll work his fines well out on 'em, I'll warrant. He's as slippery as an eel, he is. He's like a cat,-as sleek, and cunning, and fierce. It'll never be an honest up and down fight wi' him, as it will be wi' Thornton. Thornton's as dour as a door-nail; an obstinate chap, every inch on him,-th' oud bulldog!'

'Poor Bessy!' said Margaret, turning round to her. 'You sigh over it all. You don't like struggling and fighting as your father does, do you?'

'No!' said she, heavily. 'I'm sick on it. Bless yo'r sweet pitiful face! But yo' dunnot know what a strike is yet.'

'Come, Bessy,' said Margaret, 'I won't say you're exaggerating, because I don't know enough about it: but, perhaps, as you're not well, you're only looking on one side, and there is another and a brighter to be looked to.'

'It's all well enough for yo' to say so, who have lived in pleasant green places all your life long, and never known want or care, or wickedness either, for that matter.'

Margaret suddenly recollected her visit to Mrs. Thornton and put on her bonnet. 'Bessy, I shall call another time but must take my leave now. My father has scheduled an appointment for us today.'

Bessy reached out and grabbed Margaret's hand 'Yo're like a breath of country air, somehow. Yo' freshens me up above a bit.'

Margaret hurried to the house in Crampton – she did not wish to be unpunctual, particularly for Mrs. Thornton. Her father was waiting, pacing, on the street directly before the door. His face brightened when Margaret came into view. 'Ah, Margaret, you are come! I was so worried that I would have to present just myself at Marlborough Street.'

'No, Papa,' Margaret gently replied whilst taking his arm and beginning their walk, 'I would not have let you to make the call yourself. I was off speaking with Bessy Higgins. She spoke of a strike coming but perhaps we should not mention such a subject to Mrs. Thornton.'

'I would agree. She has pride enough in her son – justifiably I believe, so she would not look favorably upon striking or the Union.'

Father and daughter fell silent at this and continued their walk thus until they reached the mill gate. Just as she had done the day previous, Mrs. Thornton was waiting their presence. She looked her usual self – at once dignified and grave – but there seemed to be an air of being gratified about her, as well. Greetings were exchanged and the trio mounted the old-fashioned, curved stairs. Margaret and Mr. Hale were ushered into the drawing-room by their hostess. The room as a whole gave the impression of ornamentation but not comfort. The chandelier and most of the furniture were bagged in either netting or linen covers, which impressed Margaret with the peculiar cleanliness required to keep everything so white and pure in such a smoky atmosphere, and of the trouble that must be willingly expended to secure that effect of icy, snowy discomfort. Mrs. Thornton bade them take a seat as she rang for tea. Margaret explained that her mother was too unwell to come and tried, while not wanting her father to become anxious, to convey that Mrs. Hale would certainly not have ignored her neighborly duty else.

'You might have deferred the call until she was able,' Mrs. Thornton stated, wondering if Mrs. Hale's was some temporary or fanciful fine-ladyish indisposition.

'I am sorry but it is rather a consistent trouble which grows better or worse on any individual day.' Margaret glanced at her father to ensure that he was not overly fretting and continued, 'We wanted to see if you knew the name of a first rate doctor, since we have no connections here and you have the advantage of long acquaintance.'

Mr. Hale decidedly did not like his daughter's speech but merely hung his head and looked distraught. He lifted his face to their contemplative hostess – for Margaret had given her much to think upon – and asked after Mr. Thornton's health. 'I was afraid he was not well, from his hurried note yesterday.'

Mrs. Thornton replied, 'My son told me he could not get leisure to read with you last night, sir. He regretted it, I am sure; he values the hours spent with you.'

'I am sure they are equally agreeable to me,' said Mr. Hale. 'It makes me feel young again to see his enjoyment and appreciation of all that is fine in classical literature. His opinions are much enjoyed during our discussions and he has taught me quite a lot of manufacturing and the like.'

'I have no doubt the classics are very desirable for people who have leisure. But, I confess, it was against my judgment that my son renewed his study of them. The time and place in which he lives, seem to me to require all his energy and attention. Having many interests does not suit the life of a Milton manufacturer. It is, or ought to be, enough for him to have one great desire, and to bring all the purposes of his life to bear on the fulfilment of that: To hold and maintain a high, honorable place among the merchants of his country-the men of his town. Such a place my son has earned for himself. Go where you will-I don't say in England only, but in Europe-the name of John Thornton of Milton is known and respected amongst all men of business.'

Margaret and her father sat, uneasy with the consciousness that neither had heard of John Thornton's name prior to Mr. Bell mentioning him. The proud mother's world was not their world of Harley Street gentilities on the one hand, or country clergymen and Hampshire squires on the other. Margaret's face, in spite of all her endeavors to keep it simply listening in its expression told the sensitive Mrs. Thornton this feeling of hers.

'You think you never heard of this wonderful son of mine, Miss Hale. You think I'm an old woman whose ideas are bounded by Milton, and whose own crow is the whitest ever seen.'

'No,' said Margaret, with some spirit. 'It may be true, that I was thinking I had hardly heard Mr. Thornton's name before I came to Milton. But since I have come here, I have heard enough to make me respect and admire him, and to feel how much justice and truth there is in what you have said of him.'

'Who spoke to you of him?' asked Mrs. Thornton, a little mollified, yet jealous lest anyone else's words should not have done him full justice.

Margaret replied, 'It was as much from what Mr. Thornton withheld of that which we had been told of his previous life by Mr. Bell,-it was more that than what he said, that made us all feel what reason you have to be proud of him.'

'Mr. Bell! What can he know of John? But I'm obliged to you, Miss Hale. Many a missy young lady would have shrunk from giving an old woman the pleasure of hearing that her son was well spoken of.'

'Why?' asked Margaret, looking straight at Mrs. Thornton, in bewilderment.

'Why! Because I suppose they might have consciences that told them how surely they were making the old mother into an advocate for them, in case they had any plans on the son's heart.' She smiled a slight smile, for she had been pleased by Margaret's frankness; and perhaps she felt that she had been asking questions too much as if she had a right to interrogate.

'I hope Miss Thornton is well,' put in Mr. Hale, desirous of changing the current of the conversation.

'She is as well as she ever is. She is not strong,' replied Mrs. Thornton, shortly.

'And Mr. Thornton? I suppose I may hope to see him on Thursday?' queried Mr. Hale.

'I cannot answer for my son's engagements. There is some uncomfortable work going on in the town; a threatening of a strike. If so, his experience and judgment will make him much consulted by his friends. But I should think he could come on Thursday. At any rate, I am sure he will let you know if he cannot.'

'What are they going to strike for?' asked Margaret.

'For the mastership and ownership of other people's property,' said Mrs. Thornton, with a fierce snort. 'That is what they always strike for. If my son's work-people strike, I will only say they are a pack of ungrateful hounds. But I have no doubt they will.'

'They are wanting higher wages, I suppose?' asked Mr. Hale.

'That is the face of the thing. But the truth is, they want to be masters, and make the masters into slaves on their own ground. They are always trying at it; they always have it in their minds and every five or six years, there comes a struggle between masters and men. They'll find themselves mistaken this time, I fancy,-a little out of their reckoning. If they turn out, they mayn't find it so easy to go in again. I believe, the masters have a thing or two in their heads which will teach the men not to strike again in a hurry, if they try it this time.'

The Hales took their leave shortly after this and Mrs. Thornton returned to her mending of household articles. She sat without movement, unseeing of the tablecloth in her hands, deep in thought. 'A fine proud miss, she is too,' Mr. Thornton's mother reflected quietly after a time.