And among the sheepcotes in the hills he felt that he was the son of the men who had defied Cromwell on the banks of the Kent and followed Prince Charlie to Preston.
But the stern discipline of a Cumberland states-man's family is not easily broken.

Long after David had made up his mind to be a soldier he continued to bear the cuffs and sneers and drudgery that fell to him, watching eagerly for some opportunity of securing his father's permission.

But of this there was little hope.

His knowledge of writing and accounts had become of service, and his wish to go into the world and desert the great cause of the Denton economies was an unheard-of piece of treason and ingratitude.
David ventured to say that he "had taught Jennie to write and count, and she was willing to do his work." The ignorant, loutish brothers scorned the idea of "women-folk meddling wi' their 'counts and wool," and, "besides," as Matt argued, "Davie's going would necessitate the hiring of two shepherds; no hired man would do more than half of what folk did for their ain." These disputes grew more frequent and more angry, and when Davie had added to all his other faults the unpardonable one of falling in love with the schoolmaster's niece, there was felt to be no hope for the lad.

The Dentons had no poor relations; they regarded them as the one thing _not_ needful, and they concluded it was better to give Davie a commission and send him away.
Poor Jennie did all the mourning for the lad; his father and brothers were in the midst of a new experiment for making wool water-proof, and pretty Mary Butterworth did not love David as David wished her to love him.