However, David's answer, after a bit, suggested an opening to him.
'Yo've a rare deal o' book-larnin for a farmin lad, Davy.

If yo wor at a trade now, or a mill-hand, or summat o' that soart, yo'd ha noan so mich time for readin as yo ha now.' The boy looked at him askance, with his keen black eyes.

His uncle puzzled him.
'Wal, I'm not a mill-hand, onyways,' he said, shortly, 'an I doan't mean to be.' 'Noa, yo're too lazy,' said Louie shrilly, from the top of the gate.

'Theer's heaps o' boys no bigger nor yo, arns their ten shillins a week.' 'They're welcome,' said David laconically, throwing another stone at the water to keep his hand in.

For some years now the boy had cherished a hatred of the mill-life on which Clough End and the other small towns and villages in the neighbourhood existed.