IT was the first morning of the eagerly awaited Saddleworth Wakes in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty-nine, a year so full of great doings in the country, and followed by a year of still greater doings, that there is little marvel that I call it easily to mind. I had been out of bed by cock-crow to steal across the bare, worm-eaten boards of the chamber floor as prattily as my six feet of height and fourteen stone of weight would permit, to peer through the long diamond-paned window of bottle-green glass up the valley towards Greenfield, the quarter whence we folk of Biggie got our weather. It was a glorious sun-rising and promised a glorious day, and so I stole bac…
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