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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15503-8.txt b/15503-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3dfcff0 --- /dev/null +++ b/15503-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10090 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Underworld, by James C. Welsh + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Underworld + The Story of Robert Sinclair, Miner + + +Author: James C. Welsh + +Release Date: March 30, 2005 [eBook #15503] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNDERWORLD*** + + +E-text prepared by David Garcia, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +THE UNDERWORLD + +The Story of Robert Sinclair, Miner + +by + +JAMES C. WELSH + +New York +Frederick A. Stokes Company +Publishers + +1920 + + + + + + + +PREFACE + + +I have tried to write of the life I know, the life I have lived, and of +the lives of the people whom, above all others, I love, and of whom I am +so proud. + +My people have been miners for generations, and I myself became a miner +at the age of twelve. I have worked since then in the mine at every +phase of coal getting until about five years ago, when my fellow workers +made me their checkweigher. + +I say this that those who read my book may know that the things of which +I write are the things of which I have firsthand knowledge. + + JAMES C. WELSH. + DOUGLAS WATER, + LANARK. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER + + I. THE THONG OF POVERTY + + II. A TURN OF THE SCREW + + III. THE BLOCK + + IV. A YOUNG REBEL + + V. BLACK JOCK'S THREAT + + VI. THE COMING OF A PROPHET + + VII. ON THE PIT-HEAD + + VIII. THE MANTLE OF MANHOOD + + IX. THE ACCIDENT + + X. HEROES OF THE UNDERWORLD + + XI. THE STRIKE + + XII. THE RIVALS + + XIII. THE RED HOSE RACE + + XIV. THE AWAKENING + + XV. PETER MAKES A DECISION + + XVI. A STIR IN LOWWOOD + + XVII. MYSIE RUNS AWAY + + XVIII. MAG ROBERTSON'S FRENZY + + XIX. BLACK JOCK'S END + + XX. THE CONFERENCE + + XXI. THE MEETING WITH MYSIE + + XXII. MYSIE'S RETURN + + XXIII. HOME + + XXIV. A CALL FOR HELP + + XXV. A FIGHT WITH DEATH + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE THONG OF POVERTY + + +"Is it not about time you came to your bed, lassie?" + +"Ay, I'll no' be very long now, Geordie. If I had this heel turned, I'll +soon finish the sock, and that will be a pair the day. Is the pain in +your back worse the nicht, that you are so restless?" and the clicking +of the needles ceased as the woman asked the question. + +"Oh, I'm no' so bad at all," came the answer. "My back's maybe a wee bit +sore; but a body gets tired lying always in the yin position. Forby, the +day aye seems long when you are out, and I dinna like to think of you +out working all day, and then sitting down to knit at nicht. It must be +very tiring for you, Nellie." + +"Oh, I'm no' that tired," she replied with a show of cheerfulness, as +she turned another wire in the sock, and set the balls of wool dancing +on the floor with the speed at which she worked. "I've had a real good +day to-day, and I'm feeling that I could just sit for a lang while the +nicht, if only the paraffin oil wadna' go down so quick. But the longer +I sit, it burns the more, and it's getting gey dear to buy now-a-days." + +"Ay," said the weary voice of the man. "If it's no' clegs it's midges. +Folk have always something to contend against. But don't be long till +you stop. It's almost twelve o'clock, and you ought to be in your bed." + +"Oh, I'll no' be very long, Geordie," was the bravely cheerful answer. +"Just you try and gang to sleep and I'll soon finish up. I'll have to +try and get up early in the morning, for I have to go to Mrs. Rundell +and wash. She always gi'es me twa shillings, and that's a good day's +pay. The only thing I grudge is being away all day, leaving you and the +bairns, for I ken they're no' very easy to put up with. They're steerin' +weans, and are no' easy on a body who is ill." + +"Ay, they're a steerin' lot, lassie," he answered tenderly. "But, poor +things, they must hae some freedom, Nellie. I wish I was ready for my +work." + +"Hoot, man," she said with the same show of cheerfulness. "We might have +been worse, and you will be better some day, and able to work as well as +ever you did." + +For a time there was silence, broken only by the loud ticking of the +clock, the clicking of the needles, and occasionally a low moan from the +bed, as the injured miner sank into a restless sleep. + +There had been an accident some six weeks before, and Geordie Sinclair, +badly wounded by a fall of stone, had been brought home from the pit in +a cart. + +It was during the time known to old miners as the "two-and-sixpenny +winter," that being the sum of the daily wage then earned by the miners. +A financial crisis had come upon the country and the Glasgow City Bank +had failed, trade was dull, and the whole industrial system was in +chaos. It had been a hard time for Geordie Sinclair's wife, for there +were four children to provide for besides her injured husband. Work +which was well paid for was not over plentiful, and she had to toil from +early morning till far into the night to earn the bare necessities of +life. There were times like to-night, when she felt rebellious and +bitter at her plight, but her tired eyes and fingers had to get to the +end of the task, for that meant bread for the children in the morning. + +The silence deepened in the little kitchen. No sound came now from the +bed, and the lamp threw eerie shadows on the walls, and the chimney +smoked incessantly. + +Her eyes grew watery and smarted with the smoke. She dropped stitches +occasionally, as she hurried with her work, which had to be lifted again +when she discovered that the pattern was wrong, and sometimes quite a +considerable part had to be "ripped out," so that she could correct the +mistake. + +The dismal calling of a cat outside irritated her, and the loud +complacent ticking of the clock seemed to mock her misery; but still she +worked on, the busy fingers turning the needles, as the wool unwound +itself from the balls which danced upon the floor. There was life in +those balls of wool as they spun to the tune of the woman's misery. They +advanced and retired, like dancers, touching hands when they met, then +whirling away in opposite directions again; they side-stepped and +wheeled in a mad riot of joyous color, just as they were about to meet: +they stood for a little facing each other, feinting from side to side, +then were off again, as the music of her misery quickened, in an +embracing whirl, as if married in an ecstasy of colored flame, +many-shaded, yet one; then, at last, just as the tune seemed to have +reached a crescendo of spirit, she dashed her work upon the floor, as +she discovered another blunder, and burst into a fit of passionate +weeping. + +Suddenly there was a faint tap at the window, and she raised her head, +staying her breath to listen. Soon she heard it again, just a faint but +very deliberate tap, which convinced her that someone was outside in the +darkness. Softly she stole on tiptoe across the room, so as not to +disturb her sleeping husband, and opening the door quietly, craned +forward and peered into the darkness to discover the cause of the tap. + +"It's just me," said a deep voice, in uneasy accents, from the darkness +by the window, and she saw then the form of a man edging nearer the +door. + +"And who are you?" she asked a little nervously, but trying to master +the alarm in her voice. + +"Do you not ken me?" replied the voice with an attempt to speak as +naturally as possible; yet there was something in the tone that made her +more uneasy. + +Then the figure of the man drew nearer, and he whispered "Are they all +sleeping?" alluding to the inmates of the house. + +"Ay," she answered, drawing back into the shelter of the doorway. "Why +do you ask? And what is it you want?" + +"Oh, I just came along to see how you were all getting on," was the +reply. "I ken you must be in very straitened circumstances by this time, +and thought I might be able to help you a bit," and there was an +ingratiating tone in the words now as he sidled nearer. "You must have a +very hard battle just now, and I would like to do something to help +you." + +"Come away in," said the woman, with still an uneasy tremor in her +voice, yet feeling more assured. "Geordie is sleeping, but he'll not be +hard to waken up. Come away in, and let us see who you are, and tell us +what you really want." + +"No, I'm no' coming in," he whispered hoarsely. "Do you no' ken me? Shut +the door and not let any of them hear. I'm wanting you!" and he stepped +into the light and reached forward his hand, as if to draw her to him. + +Mrs. Sinclair gasped and recoiled in horror, as she recognized who it +was that stood before her. + +"No," she cried decisively, stepping further back into the shelter of +the house, her voice low and intense with indignation. "No, I have not +come to that yet, thank God. Gang home, you dirty brute, that you are! +I'll be very ill off when I ask anything, or take anything, from you, +Jock Walker!" For it was well known in Lowwood that Jock Walker's +errands to people in distress had always in them an ulterior motive. + +He was the under manager at the pits, and his reputation was of the +blackest. There were men in the village of Lowwood who were well aware +of this man's relations with their wives, and they openly agreed to the +sale of the honor of their women folk in return for what he gave them in +the shape of contracts, at which they could make more money than their +neighbors, or good "places," where the coal was easier won. In fact, to +be a contractor was a synonym for this sort of dealing, for no one ever +got a contract from Walker unless his wife, or his daughter, was a woman +of easy virtue, and at the service of this man. + +"Very well," replied Walker with chagrined anger. "Please yourself. But +let me tell you that you'll maybe no' ay be so high and mighty; you'll +maybe be dam'd glad yet of the chance that I have given you." + +"No, no," protested Mrs. Sinclair. "Go away--" + +"Look here, Nellie," he said, his voice changing to a low pleading tone, +"you're in a hole. You must be. Be a sensible woman, and you'll never +need to be so ill-grippet again. I can put Geordie in a position that +he'll make any amount of money as soon as he is able to start. You are +not a bit better than anyone else, and for the sake of your bairns you +should be sensible. And forby," he went on, as if now more sure of his +ground, "what the hell's wrang in it? It's no' what folk do that is +wrong. It's in being found out. Now come away and be sensible. You ken +what is wanted, and you ken that I can make you well off for it." + +"No, by heavens," she cried, now tingling with anger at the insult. +"Never! Get out of this, you brute! If Geordie Sinclair had been able +this nicht, I'd have got him to deal with you. Get out of here, or I'll +cleave your rotten body, and let out your rotten heart." And she turned +in, and closed and bolted the door, leaving Walker fuming with anger at +the repulse of his advances. Nellie Sinclair had never felt so outraged +in all her life before. She was trembling with anger at the insult of +his proposals. She paced the floor in her stockinged feet, as if a wild +spirit were raging within her demanding release; then finally she flung +herself into the "big chair," disgust and anger in her heart, and for +the second time that night burst into a passionate fit of weeping, which +seemed to shake her body almost asunder. For a long time she sat thus, +sobbing, her whole being burning with indignation, and her mind in a +fury of disgust and rebellion. + +Then there was a faint stirring in the bed where the children slept, and +a little boy's form began to crawl from amongst the rough bedclothes, +his eyes gazing in amazement at the bowed figure of his mother. She was +crying, he concluded, for her shoulders were heaving and it must be +something very bad that made his beautiful mother cry like this. He +crept across the bare wooden floor, his bare sturdy legs showing beneath +the short and meager shirt, and was soon at her side. + +"What's wrang wi' you, mother?" he asked, as he put his soft little +hand upon her head. "What's wrang wi' you? Will I kiss you held and make +it better?" But his mother did not look up--only the big sobs continued +to shake her, and the boy becoming alarmed at this, also began to cry, +as he placed his little head against hers. "Oh, mother, dinna greet," he +sobbed, "and I'll kiss your heid till it's better." + +At last she lifted her head, and seeing the naked boy, she caught him in +her arms and crushed him to her breast, as if she would smother him. +This was strange conduct for his usually undemonstrative mother; but it +was nice to be hugged like that, even though she did cry. + +"What made you greet, mother?" he queried, for he had never before, in +all his four years, seen his mother cry. For answer she merely caught +him closer to her breast, her hair falling soft and warm all over him as +she did so. + +"Was you hungry, mither?" he tried again. + +"No' very," she answered, choking back her sobs. + +"Are you often hungry, too, mither?" he persisted, feeling encouraged at +getting an answer at last. + +"Sometimes," she replied. "But dinna bother me, Rob," she continued. +"Gang away to your bed like a man." + +He was silent for a time at this repulse, and lay upon her knee puzzling +over the matter. + +"Do you greet when you are hungry?" he enquired, with: wide-eyed +earnestness and surprise. + +"There noo," she answered, "don't ask so many questions, Daddy'll not be +long till he is better again, and when he is at work there'll be plenty +of pieces to keep us all from being hungry." + +"And will there be jeely for the pieces?" pursued the boy, for it seemed +to him that there had never been a time when there was plenty to eat. + +"Yes, we'll get plenty o' jeely too," she replied, drying the remaining +tears from her eyes, and hugging him again to her breast. + +"Oh, my," he said, with a deep sigh. "I wish my father was better!" and +the little lips were moistened by his tongue, as if in anticipation of +the coming feast. + +Another silence; and then came the query--"What way do we not get plenty +o' pieces when my daddy's no' working? Does folk no' get them then?" + +"No, Robin," she answered, "but dinna fash your wee noddle with that. +You'll find out all about it when you get big. Shut your eyes and +mother'll sing, an' you'll go to sleep." And he snuggled in and shut his +eyes, while Mrs. Sinclair gathered him softly to her breast and began to +croon an old ballad. + +As she sang it seemed to the boy that there were no such things as +"jelly-pieces" to bother about. He liked his mother to sing to him, for +he seemed to get rolled up in her soft, warm voice, and become restful +and happy. Gradually the low crooning song grew fainter in his ears, the +flicker of the fire danced further and further away, until long streaks +of golden thready light seemed to reach out, straight from his eyes to +the fireplace, and all the comfort that it was possible to have flowed +through his soul, and at last he slept. Mrs. Sinclair placed him beside +his brothers and sisters in the bed and went back to finish her +knitting. The night was far gone before she accomplished her task, and +she stood and surveyed her humble home with weariness in her heart. + +Through the dim smoke which hung like a blue cloud along the roof, and +made more seemingly thick by the small lamp upon the table, she looked +at her husband lying asleep, and so far free from pain. Then her eyes +traveled to the children in the other bed, and they filled with tears as +she thought that she had had to put them supperless to bed that night, +and again rebellion surged through her blood as she thought of all the +misery of her life. Was it worth living and going on in this way? Was it +worth while to continue? What had she done to reap all this suffering? + +She was hungry and weak and exhausted. Perhaps if she could sleep she +would forget it, and in the morning the socks she had finished would +bring her a few pence, and that would mean food. + +She decided to go to bed, and in passing by the shelf at the window, +her eye caught sight of a plateful of potato skins, the remains of the +meager dinner of boiled potatoes which the children had had; and +clutching them, she began greedily to devour them, filling her mouth and +cramming them in in handfuls, until it seemed as if she would choke +herself. Then, licking the plate clean of every crumb, she undressed and +slipped quietly into bed, to lie and fret and toss, as she thought of +the insult which Black Jock had offered her, and pondered over the +unhappy lot of her children and their injured father. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A TURN OF THE SCREW + + +On the Friday following Jock Walker's visit to Mrs. Sinclair, a notice +was put up at the pit by Peter Pegg and Andrew Marshall, to the effect +that a collection would be taken next day on behalf of Geordie Sinclair. +The notice was posted up before Andrew and Peter descended the pit for +the day. + +"Black Jock," as Walker was called by the miners, saw the notice before +it had been ten minutes posted, and deliberately tore it down. He then +visited Peter Pegg and Andrew Marshall at the coal face. + +"I suppose you an' Andrew are goin' to gather for Geordie Sinclair the +morn?" he said, addressing Peter. + +"Ay," Peter answered, "we were thinkin' it was aboot time somethin' was +done. There's four bairns an' their two selves, an' though times are no' +very guid for ony of us now, it maun be a lot worse for them. Geordie +has been a guid while off." + +"Do ye think, Peter, they are in such need?" asked Walker, with a hint +in his voice that was meant to convey he knew better. + +"Lord, they canna be aught else!" decisively returned Peter. "How can +they be? I ken for mysel'," he went on, "that if it was me, I wad hae +been in starvation lang syne." + +"Weel, wad ye believe me when I tell ye--an' it's a fact--they're about +the best-off family in this place, if ye only kent it." + +"What!" cried Peter in surprise, "the best-off family in the place! +Lord, I canna take that in!" + +"Maybe no'," said Walker, "but I ken, an' ye're no' the first that's +been taken in by Nellie Sinclair. If ye notice, she never tells any +thin' to anybody; but she lets ye carry the notion in your mind that +she's in great straits. She's a cute one, Nellie." + +"Weel, Nellie does keep hersel' to hersel'," admitted Peter. "She's no' +given to clashin' and claverin' about the doors like some o' the rest o' +the women; but I canna' for the life o' me see where she can be onythin' +but ill aff at this time." + +"Weel, I ken when folk are bein' imposed on," said Walker, in a knowing +tone, "an' I tore down your notice this mornin'. I didna want to see you +mak' a fool o' yersels. I ha'e been considerin' for a while," he went +on, speaking quickly, "about puttin' a stop to this collectin' business +at the office on pay Saturdays, for it just encourages some men to lie +off work when there's no' very muckle wrong wi' them; after they get the +collection they soon start work again. Ye had better no' stand the morn, +for I might as well begin at once and put a stop to it." + +Up till now Andrew Marshall had not spoken; he was a silent man, given +more to thought than speech, but this was a way of doing things he did +not like. + +"But ye might let us tak' the collection first, and then put up a notice +yersel sayin' that a' collections have to be stopped. It wad be best to +gi'e the men notice." + +"No," said Walker, "there's to be nae mair collections taken. I might as +well stop it this time as wait. So ye'll no' stand the morn." + +"Will I no'?" returned Andrew challengingly. "How the hell do ye ken +whether I will or no'?" + +"I ken ye'll no'," replied Walker, with quiet menacing tones; "the +ground at the office belongs to the company, and is private. So ye can +do it if ye like, but ye'll be weel advised no' to bother." + +"I don't gi'e a damn," cried Andrew explosively, "whether the ground is +private or no'. I'll take that 'gathering' for Geordie Sinclair the +morn, though ye ha'e a regiment o' sodgers at the office." + +"Very well," said Walker, as he departed, "if ye do, ye can look out." + +Peter took his pipe out of his mouth and spat savagely on the ground; +he then replaced it with great deliberation and looked gloomily at the +stoop-side. He was a man about thirty-five, tall, bony and angular; his +neck was long and thin, and his head seemed always on the point of +turning to allow him to look over his shoulder. His right eye was half +closed, while his left eye looked big and saucer-like, and never seemed +to wink; one eye was ready to laugh and the other to "greet," as his +comrades described it. He had been badly disfigured in a burning +accident in the pit when he was a young man, and a broken nose added +still more to the strangeness of his appearance. Andrew, on the other +hand, was stout and broadly built, with a bushy whisker on each cheek, +and a clump of tufty hair on his head. + +"What do ye mak' o' that, Andrew?" enquired Peter, after a few minutes, +as he again spat savagely at the stoop-side. + +"What do I mak' o't?" echoed Andrew, as he glowered across the little +bing of dross at his mate, "it's just in keepin' wi' the rest o' his +dirty doin's, the dirty black brute that he is!" + +"I wonder what's wrong wi' him?" mused Peter as he sucked quietly at his +snoring pipe. But there was no answer from Andrew, who was sitting +silent and glum, gazing at his little lamp. + +"What are ye goin' to do about it, then?" broke in Peter again. + +"Just what I said," returned Andrew with quiet firmness. "I'll take that +collection the morn, some way or another, if I should be damned for it. +Does he mean to say that we can let folk starve?" He lifted his pick and +began to hew the coal with an energy that told of the passion raging +within him. + +"Does he mean to think I'm goin' to see decent folk starve afore my +e'en?" he asked after a while, pausing to wipe the sweat from his eyes. +"No' damned likely! Things ha'e come to a fine pass when folk are +compelled to look at other folk starvin' an' no' gi'e them a crust." + +"Do ye think there's onything in what he said about them bein' +weel-aff?" asked Peter cautiously, while his big eye tried to wink. +"Nellie is a wee bit inclined to be prood an' independent, ye ken, an' +disna say muckle about her affairs. An forby we don't ken very muckle +about her; she's an incomer to the place, and she might ha'e been +weel-aff afore she married Geordie, for aught we ken." + +"It disna matter," replied Andrew, "I dinna care though +they had thousan's. What I don't like is this +'ye'll-no'-do-this-an'-ye'll-no'-do-that' sort o' thing. What the hell +right has ony gaffer wi' what a man does? It's a' one to him what I do. +I'm nae slave, an' forby, I dinna believe they are weel-aff. They maun +be hard up." + +"But he'll maybe sack ye," suggested Peter, "if ye take the collection." + +"Well, let him," cried Andrew, now thoroughly roused, "the bastard! I +would see the greyhounds o' hell huntin' him roun' the rocks o' blazes +afore I'd give in to him!" + +Nothing further was said of the matter until well on in the day, when it +suddenly occurred to Andrew that Peter, who had a large family, might +not care to incur the displeasure of Walker by taking the collection the +next day. + +"Of course, Peter," he said, after he had thought the matter over, "if +ye don't care to take the collection wi' me, I won't press ye. I'll no' +think ony worse o' ye if ye don't. Ye ha'e a big family, while I ha'e +only the wife to look after. Sometimes I think it's lucky we ha'e nae +weans; I can flit, and ye might no' be able to rise an' run. But I mean +to take the collection onyway, for I don't like a man to order me what I +ha'e to do." + +"Oh, I wasna mindin' that, Andra," replied Peter, trying to make Andrew +believe that he had not guessed the truth. "I'll take the collectin wi' +ye, an' Black Jock can gang to hell if he likes." + +"No, Peter, ye'll do naethin' o' the kind. I'll take it mysel'." And +Andrew would not move from that decision. + +Next day everybody was curiously expectant; it had got noised abroad +that Walker had defied Andrew Marshall to take a collection at the +office, and had threatened him with arrest. There were wild rumors of +other penalties, and when pay-day came everybody was surprised to see +Andrew draw his pay and walk home. They concluded that Andrew had +thought better of it, and had been cowed into submission. When darkness +began to fall, however, Andrew sauntered out and visited every home in +the village, soliciting aid on behalf of Geordie Sinclair. There were +few houses from which he did not get a donation, though the will to give +was often greater than the means. In each house Andrew had to give in +detail the interview between Black Jock and himself in the pit. + +"The muckle big, black, dirty brute that he is!" the good-wife would cry +in indignation. "It's a pity but he could ken what starvation is +himsel'. It might make him a bit mair like a human bein'." + +"That's true," Andrew would agree. + +In one or two houses he met with a blank refusal, but in these he was +not disappointed, for he knew that the men would not risk Walker's +disapproval by contributing. Again, some were wholly hostile. They were +the "belly-crawlers," as Geordie Sinclair had once dubbed them at a +meeting, those who "kept in" with the management by carrying tales, and +generally acting as traitors to the other men. + +"No, I'll no' gi'e ye onythin'," would be the reply; "he can just be +like me an' gang an' work for his bairns. Forby, look at yon stuck-up +baggage o' a wife o' his. She can hardly pass the time o' day wi' +ye--she thinks hersel' somethin'." + +"Very well," Andrew would reply, "maybe ye ha'e mair need o't for other +things." And he would pass on to the next house. + +He had gathered between three and four pounds, contributed sometimes +even in pennies, and going to Geordie's house, he knocked at the door. +This was the most uncomfortable part of his work, and he stood shifting +from one foot to the other, wondering what he would say when he entered. +Mrs. Sinclair was busy washing the floor and cleaning up, after having +been at work all day washing for someone in the village. She wiped her +hands and opened the door. + +"How are ye a' keepin' the night?" inquired Andrew, as he stepped inside +at Mrs. Sinclair's invitation, feeling more and more uncomfortable. It +was a hard enough matter to go and ask others whom he knew had little +to spare, but now, having got the money, he did not know how he was +going to hand it over to Nellie. He ruminated for a time as to how he +would break into the subject. He knew that Nellie Sinclair must have +heard of the collection, and guessed his errand, for he saw that she, +too, was uneasy and agitated. + +"How are ye a' the night?" he again enquired, to break the silence. + +"Oh, I'm no' so bad at a', Andra," replied Geordie. "I'm feelin' a wee +bit easier the night. How's yersel'?" + +"No' so bad," answered Andrew, putting his hand in his pocket for his +pipe. + +"Dash it! I'm away without my pipe," he said with a show of annoyance. +"Can ye len' me yours, Geordie, to get a smoke? I ha'e my tobacco and +matches. Ye see," he went on, speaking more rapidly, "I thought I would +just slip round to see how ye was keepin'." + +Andrew knew that Geordie would not have had a smoke for a long time, and +this was his way of leaving him with a pipeful of tobacco. + +"I think my pipe's on the mantelshelf," returned Geordie, "but I doot +it's empty." + +Andrew took down the pipe, filled it generously, set it alight, and sat +for a few minutes trying vainly to keep up a connected conversation. +After he had puffed a few minutes at Geordie's pipe he laid it down, +dived his hand into his trousers pocket as he made for the door. He +pulled forth the money, which was in a little bag, and laid it down on +the table, saying: "I'm no' guid at this kind of thing, Geordie. There's +something for ye from the men. Guid nicht!" and he was off, leaving +Nellie in tears and Geordie in glum silence. + +Mrs. Sinclair's tears were tears of rebellion as well as of gratitude. +She was touched by Andrew's delicacy, but her independent spirit was +wounded at having to take help from anyone. She thought of the children +and of her husband, who needed nourishment, and taking up the little bag +she poured its contents into her lap, while her hot tears fell upon the +money. Little Robert, who was sitting watching, and who had never in +all his life seen so much money, ran to his mother with a cry of +delight. + +"Oh, mammy, will I get sweeties noo?" and the boy danced with glee, as +he shouted, "I'll get jeely-pieces noo, hurray!" + +That night there was happiness in Geordie Sinclair's house, for there +was food in plenty, and it seemed as if the children would never be able +to appease their hunger. + +The "jeely-pieces," or slices of bread with jam on them, disappeared +with amazing rapidity, and Geordie had some beef-tea, which seemed to +improve him almost as soon as he had taken it. For the first time for +many months Mrs. Sinclair and the children went to bed with satisfied +appetites; and the children's dreams were as the incidents in the life +of a god, exalted and happy, and their mother's rest was unbroken and +full of comfort. + +But on Monday morning Andrew Marshall had to pay the price of the +happiness he had been instrumental in giving them, for he was informed +by one of Walker's henchmen that his place was stopped. The excuse given +was that it was too far in advance of the others. Andrew knew what that +meant, and as he went home, fierce rebellious feelings stirred within +him. Peter Pegg, he was glad to know, had got started on "oncost" work, +and Andrew felt he had done right in not allowing Peter to take the +collection with him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE BLOCK + + +"I see Andra Marshall's back again," observed Sanny Robertson to Peter +Pegg one evening three months later. + +"Ay," said Peter, "he was at Glampy, but his place was stopped, an' +there wasna anither for him." + +"Got the sack again, I suppose," said Sanny. "Weel, he maun learn, +Peter, that gaffers are no' gaun to put up wi' his nonsense. If a man +will no' do what he's telt, he maun just take the consequences." + +"Ay," said Peter, very dryly, and as Peter knew his man, no more was +said. + +Later the same night Matthew Maitland observed to Peter, as they sat on +their "hunkers" at the corner: + +"Andra's back again, I suppose." + +"Ay," was the answer, "he was telt his place was stopped." + +"Imphm," said Matthew, "it's a damn fine excuse. It's a pity but +somethin' could be done." + +"It's the Block," said Peter. "I'm telt that a' the managers roun' aboot +ha'e an understandin' with one another no' to gi'e work to onybody they +take a dislike to." + +"Ay," agreed Matthew, "I ha'e heard aboot it, but I would soon put a +stop to it." + +"Ay, Matthew, it's a union we need up here badly. I'm telt that that +chap Smillie has managed to start one down in the West Country, an' it's +daein' weel. He's got some o' their wages up a hale shillin' a day since +he took it in hand." + +"Is that a fact, Peter? The sooner we ha'e him up here the better then. +Black Jock needs a chap back onyway," and Matthew looked like a man who +had suddenly discovered a great truth. + +Andrew Marshall had never been allowed to forget his action in defying +Walker; everywhere he went it was the same story--no work for him. The +"Block" system among the managers was in good working order, and could +easily starve a man into docility. Andrew became more desperate as time +passed, and he knew that he and his wife were nearing the end of their +small savings. He returned home one evening from his usual fruitless +search for employment, and threw himself into the arm-chair by the +fireside. + +"No work yet, Andra?" asked Katie. + +"Nane," was the gloomy response. + +"We have no' very mony shillin's left noo, Andra. I dinna ken what we'll +do." + +Savage, revengeful feelings surged through Andrew, and found vent in a +volley of oaths which terrified his wife. + +"Dinna talk like that, Andra," she pleaded. "It's no' canny, an' forby, +the Lord disna like ye to do it." + +"If the Lord cared He could take Black Jock by the scruff o' the neck +an' fling him into hell oot o' the road. It's Black Jock that's at the +bottom o' this, an' I could twist his dirty neck for him." + +"Weel, Andra, it's the Lord's doin', an' maybe things'll soon men'." + +"If it's the Lord's doin', I dinna think muckle o' His conduct then," +and Andrew lapsed into sullen silence. + +On Monday morning he was up at five o'clock, desperately resolved to lay +his case before the men. He walked to the end of the village, knowing +the colliery would be idle, for Tam Donaldson was to be "creeled." This +was a custom at one time very prevalent in mining villages. When a young +man got married, the first day he appeared at his work afterwards he was +taken home by his comrades, and was expected to stand them a drink. It +generally ended in a collection being made, after they had tasted the +newly-married man's whiskey, and a common fund thus being established, a +large quantity of beer and whiskey was procured, and all drank to their +heart's content. + +Andrew heard the men calling to each other as they made their way to the +pit, the lights from their lamps twinkling in the darkness of the winter +morning. + +"Is Tam away yet, Jamie?" he heard wee Allan ask, as he overtook old +Jamie Lauder on his way to the pit. + +"Ay, I saw to that," replied Lauder, "I chappit him up at five o'clock, +so that he wadna sleep in. I hinna missed a creelin' for thirty-five +years, an' I wasna' gaun to miss Tam Donaldson's. I heard him goin' oot +two or three minutes afore me. We're in for a guid day, for he telt me +he had in two bottles for the spree." + +"That's a' right, then; I was afraid he wad maybe sleep in," and the two +trudged on together towards the pit. + +A group of dark figures stood on the pithead, waiting their turn to go +below. The cage rattled up from the depths of the shaft, the men stepped +in, and almost immediately disappeared down into the blackness. Arrived +at the bottom, they walked along towards the different passages, +chaffing and jesting with Tam Donaldson, the newly-married one. + +"Ye'll be gaun to do something decent the day, Tam, when we take ye +hame?" said Jamie Allan. "I hear ye ha'e two bottles ready for the +occasion." + +"Ay, but I'm damned shair there's no a lick gaun unless ye take me +hame," answered Donaldson. "If I ha'e to be creeled, I'll be creeled +right, an' every one o' ye'll gang hame wi' me afore ye get a taste." + +"Oh, but we'll see to that, chaps," said old Lauder. "Here's a hutch, +get him in an' aff wi' him." + +The victim pretended to resist, and stoutly maintained that they should +not creel him. He was seized by half a dozen pairs of arms, and with +much expenditure of energy and breath, deposited in the hutch. Some +considerate person had put some straw and old bags in the "carriage" to +make it more comfortable, and a few of the wags had chalked +inscriptions, the reverse of complimentary, all over it. + +"There, noo', boys," said old Lauder, who had been busy hanging lighted +pit lamps round Tam's cap, "gi'e him a guid run to the bottom, and see +that he gets a guid bump in the lye." + +The men ran the hutch to the "bottom" straight against the full tubs +ready to be sent to the surface. + +"Come on, Sourocks, let us up," called Allan to the old man who acted as +"bottomer." + +"Hell to the up will ye get!" replied the old fellow, "I'm gaun to put +on these hutches first." + +"No, ye'll no', an' if ye do, you'll gang into the 'sump,' an' we'll +chap the bell oorsels"--the sump being the lodgment into which the water +gathered before pumping operations could start. + +"Sourocks" thought discretion the better part of valor in this case, and +swearing quietly to himself, he signaled to the engineman at the top to +draw them up. + +"He's no gaun to walk hame," said Allan, as they all gathered again on +the pit head. "We'll take the hutch hame wi' Tam in it. Put a rope on +it, and we'll draw the damned thing through the moor, an' maybe Tam'll +mind the day he was creeled as lang as he lives." + +This proposal was jumped at, especially by the younger men, to whom an +idle day did not mean so much worry on pay-day as to their married +elders. + +Andrew Marshall had waited at the end of the village, knowing that the +creeling was to take place, and that he would get the men on their way +from the pit. Presently old Lauder, who had taken a short cut across the +moor, came up, and Andrew accosted him. + +"Will ye wait here, Jamie, so that I can try an' get a meetin' held wi' +the rest o' the men when they come alang?" + +"I will that, Andra," replied Jamie, taking the lighted lamp from his +head, and sitting down at the corner on his "hunkers." "They're a' +comin' hame anyway, for we're creelin' Tam Donaldson." + +Soon the procession appeared, the hutch jolting along the rough street, +the men shouting and singing as they came. The village had turned out to +see the fun. Andrew and Jamie found themselves in the midst of a crowd +of women and children, as the foremost of the men came to a halt at the +corner. + +Andrew quietly stepped out and addressed the men, asking them if they +would wait a few minutes--as they were idle in any case--to have a +meeting. All were agreed. + +"Here's Sanny Robertson," said Tam Tate, peering into the breaking +light, "he'll no' likely wait, but we'll see what he says aboot it," and +all waited in silence until Robertson approached. He seemed to guess +what was in the air, and hurriedly tried to pass on, but Andrew stepped +out with the usual question. + +"No," he replied uneasily, "I'll ha'e no part in ony mair strife. Folk +just get into bother for nothing. Men'll ha'e to keep mind that gaffers +now-a-days'll no' put up wi' disobedience." + +"Ay, but ye maun mind," said Tam Tate hastily, "that men maun be treated +as human bein's, even by a gaffer." + +"I can aye get on with the gaffer," replied Robertson, "an' I dinna see +what way ither folk canna do the same." + +"That's a' richt," put in old Jamie Lauder, "but a' men are no' just +prepared to do as ye do," and there was a hint of something in his voice +which the others seemed to understand. + +"I ha'e no quarrel," sulkily replied Robertson, "an' I dinna see what +way I should get into this one. I can get plenty o' work, an' ither folk +can get it too, if they like to behave themselves." + +"Ye're a liar," roared Tam Tate angrily, his usual hasty temper getting +the mastery. "It's no' you that gets the work, it's Mag!" + +The others laughed uproariously, for it was common knowledge that Sanny +got his good jobs because of Walker's intimacy with his wife. + +"Ye leave the best man in the house every mornin' when ye gang oot!" +roared another amid coarse laughter, whilst Andrew turned to tackle the +next comer. + +A few refused to wait, but it was generally known that these were the +men whose houses were always open to Walker by day or night. When they +were all gathered, Andrew Marshall stood up, and for the first time in +his life spoke at a meeting. + +"Weel, men," he began, "ye a' ken the position o' things. Ye ken as weel +as me that I got the sack for gatherin' for Geordie Sinclair. Weel, I +ha'e been oot o' work three months; the Block is on against me, an' it +seems I ha'e to starve. I canna get work onywhere, an' I stopped ye a' +the day to ask ye to make my quarrel yours, an' try and put an end to +this business." + +That was the whole speech, but its simple sincerity appealed to all, and +many expressed approval and determination to stand by Andrew in his +fight. + +"I think it's a damn'd shame," said old Lauder. + +"I'll tell ye what it is," said Matthew Maitland, "it's a downricht +barefaced murder, an' I would smash this damn'd cantrip o' Black Jock's. +I ken that he'll get a' that is said at this meetin', an' maybe I'll get +the same dose; but I think it's aboot time somethin' was done to put an +end to his capers," and so Matthew floundered on. + +"Ay, an' let us see what can be done for Geordie, too," put in Peter +Pegg, and his long neck seemed to get longer at every syllable, while +his big eye made a great attempt to wink and to look backward, as if he +expected to see someone coming from behind. "We a' ken," continued +Peter, "that Geordie is ready for work noo', this fower week syne, but +Black Jock says he has no places, an' forby two strangers got jobs just +yesterday." + +"I ken for yae thing that there's fower places staunin' in Millar's +Level," said Jamie Lauder, "an' I'm telt there's five or six staunin' in +the Black Horse Dook. It's a' a bit of humbug, an' I think we should try +an' put an end to it." + +"Weel, I think we're a' agreed on that," said Tam Tate. "Has ony o' you +onything to suggest?" + +For a few minutes there was silence, while they sat or stood deep in +thought, trying to find a solution. It was an eerie gathering, with the +gray dawn just beginning to break, while on every head the +indispensable lamp burned and flickered. Men expectorated savagely upon +the ground, staring hard at the stones at their feet, thinking and +wondering how they might serve their comrades. + +"It's about time we had a union," said one. + +"Ay," replied another, "so that some bigmouthed idiot can pocket the +money an' get a guid saft job oot o' it." + +"We've had plenty of unions," put in another. "The last yin we started +here--ye mind Bob Ritchie gaed aff to America wi' a' the money. It was a +fine go for him!" + +"Oh, ay, but let us see what can be done wi' this case," said Jamie +Lauder. "Hoo' wad it do if we appointed a deputation to gang an' lay the +hale thing afore Mr. Rundell?" + +Jamie was always listened to with the respect due to his proved good +sense, for everyone knew that he was a man who would not intentionally +hurt a fellow creature by word or deed. + +"I believe it wad be a guid plan," agreed Tam Tate. "He maybe disna ken +the hauf that gangs on. What do ye a' think o' it, men?" + +This was before the days of limited companies and coal syndicates, and +the proprietor of the pits in Lowwood, Mr. Rundell, lived about two +miles out of the village. He was not a bad man, as men go; he was fiery +and quick-tempered, but had a not ungenerous nature withal, and was +usually susceptible to a reasoned statement. Just as they were about to +decide on a course of action, Andrew spoke: "I dinna want ony mair o' ye +than can be helped to get into bother, so, if ye like, Jamie Lauder--if +he's agreeable--could gang wi' me and Geordie Sinclair, and we'll put +the hale case afore him an' see what he mak's o't." + +This was received with approval, and it was agreed that Andrew, Jamie +and Geordie should form the deputation. + +But Black Jock soon heard of the decision, and, as usual, acted with +alacrity; for, had the men only known it, they had decided on a course +which he did not want them to adopt. He visited Jamie Lauder, and told +him that the day before Rundell and he had agreed that the places in the +Black Horse Dook should be started at once, and that he was angry at +the course taken by the men. He believed that Mr. Rundell would also be +very angry, and if only Andrew and Geordie had come to him the night +before, they could have been working that day. He represented Rundell as +being in an explosive mood, and that he was furious at the men taking +the idle day, and that he had threatened that if they were not at work +next day, he would lock them out. So plausibly did he speak, and so +sincere did his concern appear, that Jamie, who was withal a simple man, +and aware that the circumstances of his comrades would not admit of a +very long fight, began to think it might be as Black Jock had said. + +"I think ye'd better ca' a meetin' o' the men, Jamie, and put the hale +case afore them. Let them ken that Rundell decided just yesterday to +start the places, and that Andra and Geordie can start the morn. I ha'e +no ill wull at ony o' the twa o' them, and I'm vexed that things ha'e +been as bad as they've been, but I couldna get the boss to start the +places, and what could I do? They can a' be back at their work the morn +if they like to look at it reasonably. Of course, ye can please +yersel'," he went on, "it's a' yin to me; but if Rundell tak's it into +his head to ha'e a fight, well--ye ken what it means, an' I wouldna like +to ha'e ony strife the noo', for times are very hard for us a'." + +Simple and honest as Jamie was, Black Jock's plausibility appealed to +him, and he began to think that Walker perhaps was not so bad as he was +made to appear. Again, Jamie knew that Rundell was a man of hasty temper +and impulsive judgments, and could not brook trouble, and he began to +think that perhaps it might be better to hold the meeting as suggested +and tell the men what he had heard, and appeal to them to go back to +work. + +"All right," he said to Walker, "I'll call a meeting to-night and put +the case as you have said, and ask them to go back. But mind, you've not +to go back on your promise. You'll have to start Andrew and Geordie +within twa days, or the men will no' continue to work. Mind, I'm taking +a lot on myself to do this, and you'll have to carry out your part and +start them." + +"I'll fill my part, never fear," was the answer, and there was relief in +Walker's voice. "See, there's my hand," he said, extending a big black +limb as he spoke, first spitting on his palm to ensure due solemnity. +"There's no dryness about that, Jamie. I mean it. I'll start Geordie and +Andrew all right. You get the men to go back to work to-morrow, for I'm +afraid Rundell will make trouble if you remain idle anither day. Noo' I +promise." And Jamie took the extended hand in token of the bargain and +returned to summon the meeting, which was duly held, and, as Walker had +anticipated, the men were appeased, and returned to work the next day. + +Sure enough, within two days Andrew Marshall and Geordie Sinclair were +both started to work, and matters went smoothly for a time. + +But though they had had a lesson, it did not stop their activities as +agitators for the establishment of a union, for they knew that there was +no protection for any of them if they remained unorganized. + +"Men never were meant to work and live as colliers do," said Geordie, +thoughtfully. "Life should be good, and free, and happy, with comfort +and enjoyment for all. Look at the birds--they are happy! So are the +flowers, or they wouldn't look so pleased. God meant a' men and weemin +to be glad, even though they have to work. But hoo' the hell can folk be +happy and worship God on two and sixpence a day? It's all wrong, Andrew, +an' I'll never believe that men were meant to live as we live." + +"That's true, Geordie," agreed Andrew soberly. "I only wish we could get +everybody to see it as we see it. There's plenty for a' God's +creatures--enough to make everybody happy, an' there need be no ill-will +in the world, if only common-sense was applied to things; but I'm damn'd +if I can see where even the men can be happy who are making their money +oot o' our lives. They're bound to ken surely that what comes from +misery can not make happiness for them." + +"True, Andrew, true, and we maun just go on working for it. Sometimes I +have the feeling that we are on the point of big changes: just as if the +folk would awaken up oot o' their ignorance, with love in their hearts, +an' make all things right for everybody. A world o' happiness for +everybody is worth workin' for. So we maun gang on." + +And so they talked of their dreams and felt the better for it. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A YOUNG REBEL + + +About two years after these events little Robert Sinclair went to +school. It was a fine morning in late spring, and Robert trudged the +seemingly long road, clasping an elder brother's hand, for the school +lay about a mile to the north-west of the village, and that seemed to +the boy a very long way. + +It was a great experience. Robert's clothes had been well patched, his +face had been washed and toweled till it shone, his eyes sparkled with +excitement, and his heart beat high; yet he was nervous and awed, +wondering what he would find there. + +"By crikey," said wee Alec Johnstone to him, "wait till auld Clapper +gie's ye a biff or twa wi' his muckle tawse. Do ye ken what he does to +mak' them nippy? He burns them a wee bit in the fire, an' then st'eeps +them in whusky. An' they're awful sair." + +"Oh, but I ken what to do, Rab, if ye want to diddle him," put in +another boy. "Just get a horse's hair--a lang yin oot o' its tail--and +put it across yer haun', an' it'll cut his tawse in twa, whenever he +gie's ye a pammy." + +"That's what I'm gaun to do, Jamie," replied another. "I'll get some +hairs frae Willie Rogerson. He's gettin' me some frae his father's when +he's in the stable the morn, an' ye'll see auld Cabbage-heid's tawse +gaun in twa, whenever he gie's me yin." And they all looked admiringly +at this little hero who was going to do this wonderful thing so simply. + +"I got four yesterday," said another, "an' I wasna' doin' onything. By +criffens! it was sair, an' gin I had only had a horse's hair, I'd soon +ha'e putten his tawse oot the road." + +"I got four yesterday too," said another, "an' a' because I was looking +at yon new laddie wha cam to the schule yesterday. By! they were sair. I +never heard auld Cabbage-heid till he cam up an' telt me to put oot my +haun." + +"It's Peter Rundell's his name," chimed in another. "He's the Boss's +laddie. My! if you just saw what fine claes he has on. A new suit, an' +lang stockings, an' a pair o' fine new buits." + +"Ay, an' a white collar too," said another, "an' hundreds o' pooches in +his jacket." + +"He has a waistcoat wi' three pooches in it--yin for a watch--an' a +braw, black, shiny bonnet." + +"He had a white hankey too, an' sweeties in yin o' his pooches." + +Robert felt a certain amount of resentment as he listened to the +description, and he grudged Peter Rundell his new suit for he himself +had never known anything of that kind, but had always worn "make-downs" +created by his mother's clever fingers out of the discarded clothes of +grown-ups. + +"Auld Cabbage-heid didna' like me looking at Peter Rundell an' that's +the way he gied me four, but I'll get a horse's hair too, an' his tawse +'ll soon get wheegh. He's awful cruel, Rab," he said, turning to Robert, +"an' ye'd better look oot." + +Each and all had some fearful story to tell of the cruelty of the +headmaster, and all swore they'd get even with him. These stories filled +Robert with a certain fear, for he was an imaginative and sensitive boy. +Still he knew there was no escape. He must go to school and go through +with it whatever the future might hold for him. + +So far he had grown wild and free, and loved the broad wide moor which +began even at the end of the row where he lived. It seemed to him that +there never had been a time when he did not know that there was a moor +there. Nothing in it surprised him, even as a child. Its varied moods +were already understood by him, and its silences and its many voices +appealed to and were balm to his soul. The great blue hills which +fringed it away in the far distance were for him the ends of the world, +and if he could go there some day, he would surely look over and +find--what? The thought staggered him, and his imagination would not, or +could not, construct for him what was at the other side. All day, often, +he had lain stretched full length upon the moor, watching the great +white clouds sailing past, seeing himself sometimes sitting astride +them, proudly surveying, like God, the whole world. At times it was so +real that he bounded to his feet when by some misadventure he slipped +from the back of the cloud. He listened to the songs of larks, the cries +of curlews and lapwings and all the other moorland birds, and became as +familiar with each of them as they were with one another. + +But this going to school was a break in his freedom, and it stirred him +strangely. He felt already that he would rather not go to school. He had +always been happy before, and he did not know what lay ahead. + +In the schoolroom that morning, Robert was called out by the +headmistress to her desk, and while she was jotting down in her register +particulars as to his age, etc., it happened that Peter Rundell was also +on the floor. Robert looked so wonderingly at the white collar and the +shining boots, that Rundell, to fill in the blanks and keep himself +cheerful, promptly put out his tongue. Robert, not to be behind in +respectfulness, just as promptly put out his, at the same time making a +grimace, and immediately they were at it, pummeling each other in hearty +glee before the teacher could do anything to prevent them. It was their +first fight. The whole class was in immediate uproar and cries of--"Go +on, Rob!" and "Good Peter!" were ringing out, as the supporters on +either side shouted encouragement. Both went at it and for a couple of +minutes defied the efforts of the teacher to separate them; but in +response to calls for help, Mr. Clapper, the headmaster, came in, and +taking hold of Robert soon had him across his knee, and was giving him a +taste of the "tawse" he had heard so much about that morning, and Robert +went back to his seat very sore, both physically and mentally, and +crying in pain and anger. Thus his first day began at school, and the +succeeding months were full of many such incidents. + +Life ran along in the ordinary ruts for three or four years, but always +Peter and Robert were antagonists. If Rundell happened to get to the top +of the class, Robert never rested till he had excelled and displaced +him; and then it was Peter's turn to do likewise till he too succeeded. + +Robert, when in the mood, was eager and brilliant, and nothing seemed +able to stay him. At times, however, he was given to dreaming, and lived +through whole days in the classroom quite unconscious of what was going +on around him. He worked mechanically, living in a strange world of his +own creation, usually waking up to find himself at the foot of the class +with Peter smiling at the top. + +Often he went hungry, for times were still hard, and the family had +increased to six. It was a bitter struggle in which Mrs. Sinclair was +engaged to try and feed--let alone clothe--her hungry children. Patient, +plodding, and terrible self-sacrifices alone enabled her to accomplish +what she did. It was always a question of getting sufficient food rather +than aiming at any particular kind. It was quantity rather than quality +that was her biggest problem, for the children had sharp appetites and +could make a feast of the simplest material. A pot of potatoes, boiled +with their "jackets" on, tumbled on to the center of the bare, uncovered +table and a little salt placed in small heaps at the exact position +where each person sat, a large bowl of butter-milk when it could be got, +with a tablespoon for each with which to lift a spoonful of the milk, +and thus was set the banquet of the miner's family. + +"Mither, Rob's taken twa sups of milk to yae bite o' tattie," little +Mary would say. + +"Ay, an' what did you do?" Robert would reply. "When you thought naebody +was lookin', you took three spoonfu' to yae wee tattie. I was watchin' +you." + +"Now that'll do," the mother would admonish them. "Try and make it gang +as far as ye can. Here you!" she would raise her voice to another, +"dinna be so greedy on it. The rest maun get some too." At this the +guilty child would frown and look ashamed at being caught taking more +than his share. + +Robert's dreams, however, were always satisfying, and even the sordid +surroundings of the home were gilded by the warmth and glow of his +imagination. Some day, somewhere he seemed to feel, there was a place +for him to fill in the hearts of men. Vague stirrings told him of great +future events which no one could dominate, save the soul that filled his +body. + +One day, during the dinner hour, when the school children were all at +play, Robert and Peter again came into conflict. Some girls were playing +at a ring game, and Robert and a few other boys were shamefacedly +looking on. He was by this time at the bashful age of ten, and already +the sweet, shy face of Mysie Maitland had become familiar in every +dream. Mysie's modesty and grace appealed to him and the strange +magnetic power of soul for soul was continually drawing them together, +even at this early age. No voice was like Mysie's voice, no name like +her name to him. If only she chanced shyly to ask if he had a spare +piece of pencil Robert was happy; he'd gladly give her his only piece +and forthwith proceed to borrow another for himself. He saw that Mysie +did certain things, used, for instance, to clean her slate with a bit of +rag, and he instantly procured one, and this kept his jacket sleeve +clean and whole. + + "Choose, choose wha' ye'll tak', + Wha' ye'll tak', wha' ye'll tak', + Choose, choose wha' ye'll tak', + A laddie or a lassie." + +So sang the girls, as with hands joined they walked round in a ring, +with Mysie, blushing and sweet, standing in the center--a sweet, shy, +little rosebud--a joy in a cheap cotton frock. + +"Come on, Mysie," urged the girls, who had now come to a standstill with +the finish of the song. "Choose an' dinna keep us waiting." But Mysie +stood still, her little heart beating at a terrible rate, her breath +coming in short, quick gasps, and a soft, glowing light of nervous +intensity in her eyes. + +"Oh, come on, Mysie Maitland," cried one girl in hurt tones, "choose an' +dinna spoil the game." + +"Come on," urged another, "the whistle will be blawn the noo." + +"She's feart," said one, "an' she disna need, for we a' ken that she +wants to choose Bob Sinclair." + +Something sang uproariously in Bob's ears at this blunt way of stating +what they all felt; a hot wave surged over him, and his whole being +seemed to fill with the energy of a giant. He shifted uneasily, his +senses all acutely alert to pick up even Mysie's faint gasp of shame, as +the hot blood suffused her face. Would she choose him before all these +others? He hoped she wouldn't, and he tried to summon a smile to hide +his uneasiness. Still Mysie hesitated. She wanted to choose Robert, but +if she did, perhaps the other boys and girls would tease them +afterwards. + +"Oh, come on, Mysie. It's no' fair," cried one of the girls, getting +more and more impatient. "Choose an' be done wi' it. It's only a game." + +Thus urged Mysie stepped forward, and, excited out of all judgment, her +face covered with shame, her heart thumping and galloping, she grabbed +the first hand she saw, which happened to be Peter Rundell's, and +something seemed to darken the day for all. Robert, now that he had not +been chosen, felt murder in his heart. His body felt charged with +energy, a flood of passion poured over him and he lost all discretion. +He saw only Peter's shining collar, his fine boots and good clothes, and +above all the smile, half of shame, half of triumph, upon his face. In +passing Peter staggered against Robert, who let drive with his fist, and +there was a fight before anyone really knew what had happened. + +"What are ye shovin' at? Can ye no' watch folk's toes?" And he was on +Peter like a whirlwind. There was the hatred of years between them, and +they pummeled each other heartily. + +"A fight, boys!" yelled the others. "Here's a fight!" and a crowd +rapidly gathered to watch operations, while little Mysie, who had been +the cause of it all, shrank back into a quiet corner, the tears running +from her eyes and a sore pain at her heart. + +"Go on, Bob! Gi'e him a jelly yin," cried Bob's supporters. + +"Watch for his nose, Peter," cried those who pinned their faith to the +coal-owner's son. Amid a chorus of such encouragement, both boys +belabored each other and fought like barbarians. + +"Let up, Peter," cried Bob's admirers, "an' gi'e him fair doo," as the +two rolled upon the ground, with Peter, who was much the bigger boy, on +top. "Come on now, he let you up when you was doon," and so they kept +the balance of fair play. But the fight raged on in a terrible fury of +battle, sometimes one boy on top, sometimes the other. Bob was the more +active of the two, and hardier, and what he lacked in weight he made up +in speed. One of Peter's eyes was bruised, while Robert's lip was +swelling, and each strained to plant the decisive blow that would end +the fight. + +"Nae kickin', Peter! Ye're bate," yelled one watchful supporter of Bob, +as he noticed the former's booted foot come into violent contact with +Bobbie's bare leg. + +"Big cowardie!" cried another, as Peter, crying now with rage and +vexation, hit out with his foot. "Fight fair an' nae kickin'!" + +Bob managed to dodge the kick, and flinging himself in before Peter +recovered his balance, planted a heavy blow upon his opponent's nose. + +"Ho! a jelly yin! a jelly yin!" roared the crowd in admiration. "Gi'e +him anither yin," and even Peter's supporters began to desert him. Bob, +thus encouraged, laid about him with all the strengthened "morale" of a +conscious victor, finding it comparatively easy now to hit hard--and +often. Peter, blinded by tears and choking with passion, could not see, +but struck aimlessly, till one resounding smack upon his already injured +nose brought the eagerly looked for crimson blood from it, and that of +course, in schoolboy etiquette, meant the end of the fight. Peter was +now lying upon the ground, his handkerchief at his nose, and roaring +like a bull, not so much because of his injured nose, as because of the +hurt to his pride and vanity. + +"Haud back yer held," advised one boy, "an' put something cauld doon +yer back." + +Suddenly there was silence, and everyone looked awed and shamefaced as +Mr. Clapper, the headmaster, strode into the midst of them. He had heard +the noise of the fight, and had stolen up unobserved just in time to see +Peter get the knockout blow. + +"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded sternly, his eyes traveling +all over the children, till they rested finally on Robert. No one +answered, and so he proceeded to question Peter, who had struggled to +his feet. Peter, like many other boys in similar circumstances, poured +forth a great indictment of his adversary, and Mr. Clapper then turned +to Robert. + +"What have you to say, Sinclair?" he asked. "Speak out, and give me your +side." + +But Robert said nothing. His rebellious spirit was roused, and he +resented the tone of the headmaster's voice. Again Mr. Clapper tried, +but Robert remained silent. + +"Come now, tell me what led to the fight? Why were you fighting with +Peter?" + +Robert would not speak, and Mr. Clapper, being of an explosive +temperament, with little tact, was fast losing his temper. He turned to +question some of the other boys, finally calling them all into the +school, and putting Robert into the teacher's room, so that he might +"get to the bottom of it." + +Mr. Clapper, whatever good points he may have possessed, was not at all +fitted for the teaching profession, for he lacked the sympathy necessary +in dealing with children, and he was a rigid believer in the doctrine of +punishment. + +After a time he came into the room where Robert sat, and began once more +to question him. But Robert was still obdurate, and stolidly kept +silent. Mr. Clapper recognized at once that this was a clear case of a +dour nature in the wrong. It needed correction, and that of a severe +kind. That spirit he felt must be broken, or there would be trouble +ahead in after years for Robert Sinclair. Mr. Clapper was determined to +do his duty, and he believed that Robert in later life would probably +feel grateful for this thrashing. He thrashed the boy soundly and +severely upon the most sensitive parts of his body, so that the pain +would help to break his spirit. He saw no indignity heaped upon a +high-spirited, sensitive soul. It was all for the boy's own good, and so +the blows fell thick and heavy upon the little back and hips. + +Robert bit his lip to repress the roar of pain that wanted to escape. He +would not cry, and this was another spur to the efforts of Mr. Clapper. +The boy's flesh twitched and quivered at every blow, yet never a cry +came from him. It but served to feed his rebellion, and he struggled and +fought with fury until completely exhausted. + +"There now," declared Mr. Clapper, flinging down the "tawse" upon the +table, panting from his exertions and wiping his brow, "I shall leave +you for a time until you decide to speak. If you will not speak when I +return, I shall thrash you again," and he went out, locking the door, +leaving the boy, still proud and unsubdued, but aching in every muscle +and bone of his little body. + +Left to himself, Robert very nearly cried, but he dashed the gathering +tears from his eyes, angry at the weakness, and resolved, as he adjusted +his garments, that he would die rather than speak now. He looked round, +and seeing the window raised a little from the bottom, sprang to it, a +sudden resolve in his heart to run away. Just as he got astride the sill +he spied a piece of chalk and the "tawse" on the table, so turning back +he put the "tawse" in his pocket, and with the chalk wrote on the +table:-- + +"You are an ould pig and I'll not speak, and you'll never put your hands +on your tawse again." + +Then he was out of the window, dropped easily to the ground, and was +away to the moors. He ran a long way, until finding that he had not been +detected, he skirted a small wood, dug a hole in the soft moss, put in +the "tawse," and covered them up. There they may be lying to this day, +for no one ever learned from him where they were buried. + +The spell of the moor took possession of him, and his wounded soul was +soon wrapped in the soft folds of its silence. The balm of its peace +comforted him, and brought ease and calmed the rebellion in his blood. +He was happy, forgetting that there ever had existed a schoolmaster, or +anything else unpleasant. Here he was free, and no one ever +misunderstood him. He gave pain to no one, and nothing ever hurt him +here. + +He flung himself down among the rank gray grass and heather, while the +moor cock called to his mate in an agony of pleading passion, the +lapwing crooned upon a tuft of grass as she prepared a place for her +eggs, the whaup wheepled and twirled and cried in eerie alarm, the +plover sighed to a low white cloud wandering past; while the snipe and +the lark, the "mossie," the heather lintie, and the wandering, sighing +winds among the reeds and rushes of the swampy moss, all added their +notes to soothe and satisfy the little wounded spirit lying there on the +soft moorland. Already he was away upon the wings of fancy in a world of +his own--a world full of dreams and joys unspeakable; a world of calm +comfort, where there was no pain, no hunger, no unpleasantness; a world +of smiles and warm delights and love. + +Thus he dreamed as he watched the white clouds trailing their draperies +along the sky, till the shadows creeping over the hills, and the cries +of the heron returning to his haunts in the moor, woke him to a +realization of the fact that the school was long since out, and probably +another thrashing awaited him when he got home. Sadly and regretfully he +dragged his little aching body from its soft mossy bed, felt that his +limbs were still sore, and that he was very, very hungry. Rebellion +again surging within him as he remembered all, he trudged home, fearful +yet proud, resolved to go through with the inevitable. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +BLACK JOCK'S THREAT + + +That same day Walker intimated to Geordie, when he was at work +underground, that a reduction was to be imposed on his ton rate, which +meant for Sinclair that it would be more difficult to earn a decent +wage. Geordie had always had it in his head to confront Walker about his +very unfair treatment of him, and on this occasion he decided to do so. + +"What way are you breakin' my rate?" he asked, when Walker told him of +the reduction. + +"Oh, it's no' me," replied Walker. "It's Rundell. He thinks it can be +worked for less than it's takin', and, of course, I've just to do as I +am tell'd." + +"Weel, I don't ken," said Geordie. "But I've thocht for a lang while +back that you had a hand in it. Have I done anything to ye, for I don't +ken o' it?" + +"Ye've never done me any harm, Geordie," replied Walker with a show of +sincerity. "What mak's ye think that?" + +"Weel, for a lang time noo', I've ay been kept in hard places, or places +wi' nae air, or where there was water to contend wi'. There's ay been +something, an' I ha'e come to the conclusion that there's mair design +than accident in it." + +"I dinna think so," was the reply. "But maybe it's because you're ay +agitatin' to have a union started." + +"An' what about it," enquired Geordie, getting a bit heated. "If I ha'e +been advocatin' the startin' o' a union? It seems to me to be muckle +needed." + +"Oh, I've nothing to say aboot it," replied Walker. "It's the boss, an' +I was merely givin' ye a hint for yer ain guid." + +"It's a' richt," exclaimed Geordie, getting still more heated. "I can +see as far through a brick wall as you can see through a whin dyke. The +boss has naething to do wi' it. It's you, an' I'm quite pleased to get +the chance to tell ye to yer face. Ye could, many a time, ha'e given me +a better place, if you had cared. But let me tell you, if there was a +union here, it would soon put an end to you an' yer damn'd cantraips." + +"Very weel. Gang on an' start yin. Man, though ye were a' in a union the +morn, I could buy an' sell the majority of them for the promise of a +guid place, or a bottle of whisky--Ay, if they jist thocht they were in +wi' the gaffer, I'd get all I wanted frae the maist o' them. A clap on +the shoulder, a smile, or even a word would do it. The one hauf o' the +men can ay be got to sell the ither. Ye daurna' cheep, man, but I hear +of it." + +"Damn'd fine I ken that," replied Geordie, "an' it's mair the peety. But +that's no' to say that men'll ay be like that. If they'd be true an' +stick to yin anither, they'd damn'd soon put an end to sic gaffers as +you." + +"Maybe ye'll be the first to be put an end to," said Walker, rising to +leave. "I might ha'e something to say to--" + +"You rotten pestilence o' hell," cried Geordie, now fairly roused, and +jumping over the coals on the "roadhead" after him. "I'll cleave the +rotten heart o' ye if I get my fingers on ye, you an' yer fancy women, +yer gamblin' an' yer shebeens!" + +But Walker was off; he did not like to hear these matters of his private +life mentioned, and so Geordie, left to himself, lit his pipe, and sat +down to cool his temper. + +A few minutes later Matthew Maitland came round to borrow a shot of +powder, and Geordie unburdened his mind to him. + +"He's a dirty brute," said Matthew, "an' it's time we had a union +started. I hear great stories aboot how Bob Smillie's gettin' on wi' the +union that he started doon the west country." + +"I ken Bob fine," said Geordie. "He's a fine fellow. I worked next wall +to him doon there a while, an' a better chap ye couldna' get." + +"I hear that he's gotten as muckle as tippence on the ton to some o' +the miners who ha'e joined. I'm gaun to join whenever it can be +started." + +Geordie agreed that it would be good to have a union, but he knew that +whoever led in the matter would very likely have to pay for his courage. +There was the "Block" to consider, and he could not see how they might +start a union just then in such hard times. + +He sat and thought after Matthew had gone away, and was still sitting +when Matthew's shot went off. His lot, he knew, was hard. He could not +afford to "flit," even though he did find work somewhere else. His six +children depended upon his readiness to swallow insult and injustice, +and he could see no way but to submit. If only his first boy were ready +for work, it would soon make a difference in the house. It was only a +few months now till that time would come, and perhaps things might +change. + +All day he was sullen and angry, and he tore at his work like some +imprisoned fiend, a great rebellion in his heart, and a fury of anger +consuming him. Everything seemed to go wrong that day, and at last when +"knock-off" time came, he felt a little easier, though still silent and +angry. His last shot, however, missed fire, just as he was coming away +home; and that, added to all the other things that day, made him feel +that his whole life was clouded, and was one long trial. + +On the way home from the pit he heard the story of Robert's rebellious +outburst at school, and when he came into the house his wife saw by his +face that something had upset him. She proceeded to get him water to +wash himself, and brought in the tub, while he divested himself of his +clothes, flinging each garment savagely into the corner, until he stood +naked save for his trousers. Most miners are sensitive to the presence +of strangers during this operation, and it so happened at that +particular time the minister chose to pay one of his rare visits among +his flock in the village. + +"Wha the hell's this noo?" asked Geordie, when he heard the tap at the +door, as he looked up through soapy eyes, his head all lathered with the +black suds. "Dammit, they micht let folk get washed," he said angrily. + +When he heard the voice of the minister, he plunged his head into the +tub, and began splashing and rubbing, and lifting the water over his +head. + +"Oh, you are busy washing, I see, Mr. Sinclair," observed the minister, +looking at the naked collier. + +"Ay," said Geordie shortly, "an' I dinna think you'd ha'e thankit me for +comin' in on the tap o' you, when you were washin' yerself," he said +bluntly--a remark which his wife felt to be a bit ill-natured, though +she said nothing. + +"Oh, I am sorry," replied the minister. "I did not mean to intrude. I'll +not stay, but will call back some other time," and his voice was +apologetic and ill at ease. + +"I think sae," retorted Geordie, splashing away and spitting the soap +from his mouth. "Yer room's mair to my taste than yer company the noo." + +"My! that was an awfu' way to talk to the meenister," said Mrs. Sinclair +when the door was again closed. "You micht aye try to be civil to folk," +and there was resentment in her voice. + +"Ach, dammit, wha can be bothered wi' thae kind o' folk yapping roun' +about when yer washin' yerself. He micht ken no' to come at this time, +when men are comin' hame frae their work," and he went on with his +splashing. "Here, gi'e my back a rub," and he lay over the tub while she +washed his back from the shoulders downward, making it clean and free +from the coal dust and grime. Then she proceeded to dry him all over +with a rough towel, after which he put on a clean shirt, and taking off +his pit trousers, stepped into the tub and began to wash his lower limbs +and make them as clean as the upper part of the body. + +"Ach, folk should ha'e a place to wash in anyway," he grumbled, as if to +justify his outburst, for secretly he was beginning to feel ashamed of +it. "The folk that ha'e the maist need o' a bath are the folk wha never +get the chance o' yin," he went on. "Look at that chap wha was in the +noo. He never needs to dirty a finger, an' look at the hoose he has to +bide in, wi' its fine bathroom an' a' things that he needs. Och, but we +are a silly lot o' blockheads!" And so he raved on till he sat down to +his frugal dinner of potatoes and buttermilk, after which he relapsed +into silence again, and sat reading a newspaper. + +It was in this mood that Robert found him when he returned from the +moors. Nellie had noticed that something was worrying her husband, and +she suspected some fresh trouble at the pit, though she asked no +questions. + +"Where hae ye been?" asked Geordie very calmly, as Robert entered +furtively, and sat down on a chair near to the door. The boy did not +answer. He dreaded that calmness. He seemed to feel there was something +strong, cruel and relentless behind it. But he had something of his +father's nature in him, so he sat in silence. + +"What kind o' conduct's this I hear ye've been up to?" was the next +question, with the same studied calm, seemingly passionless and pliable. +Still no answer from the boy, though when he looked at his father he +felt afraid. He turned his eyes appealingly to his mother, but her face +betrayed nothing, and a feeling of hopelessness entered Robert's heart. +There was nothing else but to go through with it. + +"Tak' aff yer claes," quietly commanded the father, and the boy +reluctantly began to peel off his scanty garments one by one, till he +stood naked on the bare floor. He was glad that no one except the baby +was in to see his humiliation, his brothers and sisters being all out at +play. + +The father rose and went to the corner where his working clothes lay in +a heap. Selecting the belt he wore round his waist at his work, he +grasped it firmly, and with the other hand took the boy by one arm, +saying:-- + +"Are ye going to answer my question noo', and tell me where ye ha'e +been?" + +But Robert did not answer, so down came the hard leather belt with a +horrible crack across the naked little hips, and a thick red mark +appeared where the blow had fallen. A roar of pain broke from the boy's +lips, in spite of his resolution not to cry, as lash after lash fell +upon his limbs and across the little white back. Horribly, cruelly, +relentlessly the belt fell with sickening regularity, while the tender +flesh quivered at every blow, and an ugly series of red stripes +appeared along the back and down across the sturdy legs. + +"Oh, dinna' hit me ony mair, faither," he pleaded at last, the firm +resolution breaking because of the pain of the blows. "Oh, dinna hit +me!" and he jumped as the blows fell without slackening. "Oh, oh, oh! +Mother, dinna' let him hit me ony mair!" roared the boy, while the grim, +set face of the parent never relaxed, and the belt continued to lash the +quivering flesh. + +Mrs. Sinclair, who by this time was crying too, feeling every blow in +her mother-heart, began to fear this grim, cruel look on her husband's +face. He was mad, she felt, and there was murder in his eyes; and at +last, spurred to desperation, she jumped forward, tore at the belt with +desperate strength, and flung it into the corner, crying, as she gripped +the boy in her arms. + +"In the name of Heaven, Geordie, are ye gaun to kill my bairn afore my +een?" + +She tore the boy fiercely from his father's grasp and shielded him from +her husband, exclaiming at the same time with indignation, "Ha'e ye nae +humanity aboot ye at a'? Hit me if ye are goin' to hit any more. It's +murder, an' I'll no' stand ony longer an' let ye do it." + +Geordie, surprised and amazed at her action, and the fierceness in her +voice, looked up, and immediately reason seemed to steal back into his +mind. A flush of shame overspread his face, and he sat down, burying his +face in his hands. + +"Wheesht, sonny. Wheesht, my wee man," crooned the mother soothingly, as +she began to help Robert to get on his clothes, the tears falling still +from her own eyes, as she saw the ugly stripes and bruises upon his back +beginning to discolor. "Wheesht, sonny! Dinna' greet ony mair. There +noo', my wee son. Daddy's no' weel the nicht," she excused, "an' didna' +ken what he was doin'." Then breaking into a louder tone: "I wonder what +in Heaven's name puir folk are born for at a'. There noo'. There noo'. +Dinna greet, my wee man, an' mither'll gi'e ye yer denner." + +Sinclair could stand it no longer, so slipping on his boots and +reaching for his cap, he went out, never in all his life feeling more +ashamed of himself. + +Left to themselves--for all the other children were still out at +play--Nellie soon had Robert quietened and sitting at his dinner of cold +potatoes and buttermilk. Bit by bit she drew from him the story of the +fight at school; divining for herself the reason for Robert's attack +upon Peter Rundell, she soon was in possession of the whole story with +its termination of revolt against the headmaster and even the confession +of what he had written on the table. + +"An' what did ye do wi' the tawse, son?" she enquired, her dark eyes +showing pride in the revolt of her laddie. She was proud to know that he +had sufficient character to stand up to a bully, even though he were a +headmaster. + +"I buried them in the muir," he replied simply, "but I dinna' want to +tell naebody where they are. I'll never gi'e them back." + +"Oh, weel, if ye dinna' want to tell me, dinna' do it," she said. "I'll +gang with ye to the school the morn, an' I'll see that ye're no' meddled +wi'. But, Robin, while I like to see ye staunin' up against what is +wrong, I dinna want ye to dae wrang yerself. An' I think ye was in the +wrang to strike Peter. He staggered against ye, an' I dinna think he wad +try to tramp on yer taes. An' always when ye're in the wrang, own up to +it, an' make what amends ye can." + +Robin did not reply to this, but she could see that he knew she was +right. Before he could say anything she added, "Come awa' noo', if ye +ha'e gotten yer denner, son, I think ye should gang awa' to yer bed. +Ye'll be the better o' a lang sleep. Dinna' think hard o' yer faither; +he's feelin' ashamed o' hittin' ye. There must be something botherin' +him, for I dinna' mind o' him ever leatherin' one o' ye like that." + +This was true, for Geordie Sinclair was rather a "cannie" man, and had +never been given to beating his children before. She felt that something +had happened in the pit, and whatever it was it had made her husband +angry. + +Robert again stripped off his clothes and crept into bed, while his +mother seemed to feel every pain once more as she looked upon the soft +little body with the ugly black stripes upon it. She placed him under +the rough blankets as snugly as possible, telling him to lie well over +near to the wall, for there were five of them now who lay abreast, and +there was never too much room. He was soon asleep, and Mrs. Sinclair put +fresh coals on the fire, and began to tidy up, so as to have everything +as cheerful as possible when her husband should return. It was no easy +matter to keep a house clean, with only a single apartment, and eight +individuals living in it. + +The housing conditions in most mining villages of Scotland are an +outrage on decency. In Lowwood there were no sanitary conveniences of +any kind, and it was a difficult matter for the women folk to keep a +tidy house under these circumstances. But it was wonderful, the +homeliness and comfort found in those single apartment houses. It was +home, and that made it tolerable. In such homes fine men and women were +bred and reared, but the credit was due entirely to our womenfolk; for +they had the fashioning of the spirit of the homes, and the spirit of +the homes is always the spirit of the people. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE COMING OF A PROPHET + + +Another year passed, and Robert was now eleven years of age. Though full +of hardship, hunger and poverty, yet they were not altogether unhappy +years for him. There were joys which he would not have liked to have +missed, and in later life he looked back upon them always through a mist +of memory that sometimes bordered on tears. + +He had grown "in wisdom and stature," and gave promise of being a fine +sturdy boy; but lately it had been borne in upon him that no one seemed +just to look at things from his point of view. He was alluded to as "a +strange laddie," and the gulf of misunderstanding seemed to grow wider +every day. Old Granny Frame, the "howdie-wife" of the village, always +declared that he would be a great man, but others just took it for +granted that he would never see things as they saw them. + +He was already too serious for a boy, and his joys were not the joys of +other children. Sensitive, and in a measure proudly reserved, he took +more and more to the moors and the hills. All day sometimes he roved +over them, and at other times he would lie motionless but happy, for the +moor always understood. If he were hurt at anything which happened, the +moor brought him solace; if he grieved, it gave him relief; and if he +were happy, it too rejoiced. He loved it in all moods, and he could not +understand how its loving silence was dreaded by others. + +His parents now found that their battle, though not much easier, +certainly was no worse, and hope shone bright for them in the future. +The oldest boy was already at work and one girl was away "in service." +Robert, too, would soon be ready, and in quick succession behind him +there were three other boys. Geordie Sinclair was often told by his +workmates that he would "soon ha'e naethin' to do but put in wicks in +the pit lamps." But Geordie merely smiled. How often before had he heard +that said of others who had families like his own and he knew that he +would never see them all working. Fifty years was a long time to live +for a collier in those days of badly ventilated and poorly inspected +pits and many men were in their graves at forty. + +Walker still indulged in petty persecution, whilst Geordie agitated for +the starting of a union, and many a battle the two had, until the enmity +between them developed into keen hatred. + +"I wonder what Black Jock really has against me," he had said over and +over again, unable to understand his persistent hostility, but his wife +had never dared tell him. + +One night, however, after he had been out of work a week, because, as +Black Jock had said, "there was nae places," she decided to tell him the +real reason of Walker's antipathy. + +"Man, it's no' you, Geordie, that Black Jock has the ill will at," she +ventured to say, "it's me, an' he hits me an' the bairns through you." + +"You," said Geordie in some surprise, "hoo' can that be?" + +Bit by bit, though with great reluctance, she told her husband how and +when Black Jock had attempted to degrade her. When she had ended, he sat +in grim silence, while the ticking of the clock seemed to have gained in +loudness, and so, too, the purring of the cat, as it rubbed itself +against his leg, first on one side and then the other, drawing its +sleek, furry side along his ankle, turning back again, and occasionally +looking up into his face for the recognition which it vainly tried to +win. + +The fire burned low in the grate as Nellie busied herself with washing +the dishes; while outside the loud cries of the children, playing on the +green, mingled occasionally with a clink, as the steel quoits fell upon +each other, telling of some enthusiastic players, who were practicing +for the local games. Loud cries of encouragement broke from the +supporters, and Geordie and Nellie heard all these--even the plaintive +wail of a child crying in a house a few doors farther up the "row," and +the mother's attempts to soothe it into forgetfulness of its temporary +pain or disappointment. + +The little apartment seemed to have become suddenly cheerless. Nellie +felt the silence most oppressive, for she was wondering how he was +taking it all. Soon, however, he rose and reached for his cap. Looking +at his wife with eyes that set all her fears at rest--for she saw pride +in them, pride in her and the way she had acted--he said:-- + +"Thank ye, Nellie; ye are a' the woman I always thocht ye was, an' I'll +see that nae dirty brute ever again gets the chance to insult ye," and +he was out of the door before she could question him further. + +Geordie went straight to where Walker lived and knocked at the door. A +girl of fourteen came in answer to his knock, for Walker was a widower, +his wife having died shortly after the birth of their only child. + +"Is yer faither in?" enquired Geordie quietly, hardly able to control +the raging anger in his heart. + +"No, he's no' in," replied the girl. "Oh, is that you, Geordie?" she +asked, recognizing him in the darkness. "My father said when he went oot +that if ye cam' to the door, I was to tell ye he had nae places yet." + +"That's a' richt," said Geordie, still very quietly. "Do ye ken onything +aboot where he is this nicht?" + +"No, unless he's up in Sanny Robertson's, or maybe in Peter Fleming's." + +"Thank ye," said Geordie, turning away, "I'll go up an' see if he is +there." + +He knew that Peter Fleming was working that night, and had stopped on an +extra shift to repair a road, by special instructions from Walker; so +Geordie went direct to Fleming's house and knocked at the door. After an +interval a woman's voice enquired, "Wha's that?" and Geordie thought +there was anxiety in it. + +"Open the door," said Geordie quietly. "What the hell are ye afert for?" +and the woman, thinking it was her husband returned from work, +immediately opened the door. + +"You're shairly early," she said; then suddenly recognizing who the +intruder was, she tried to shut the door. + +"Na, na," said Geordie, now well in the doorway, "I want to see Black +Jock." + +"He's no' here," she lied readily enough, but with some agitation in her +voice. + +"You're a liar, Jean," replied Geordie, "that's him gaun oot at the room +door," and Geordie withdrew hurriedly, determined that Black Jock should +not escape him. He hurried to the end of the "row," and waited with all +the passion of long years raging through his whole being. He stepped out +as Walker advanced, and said: "Is that you, Walker?" + +"Ay," came the answer, "what do ye want?" as he came to a halt. + +"Just a meenit," said Geordie, placing himself in front of Walker, +barring his way. "I want to warm yer dirty hide. It ought to have been +done years ago, but I never kent till the nicht, and I'm gaun to dae it +the noo," and the tones of his voice indicated that he meant what he +said. + +"Oh! What's wrang?" asked Walker in affected surprise. "I'll get ye a +place," he went on hurriedly, "just as soon as I can--in fac' there's +yin that'll be ready by the morn." + +"I'm no gi'ein' a damn for yer place. It's you I'm efter the nicht. Come +on, face up," and Sinclair squared himself for battle. + +Thus challenged, Walker, who was like all bullies a coward at heart, +tried to temporize, but Sinclair was in no mood for delay. + +"Come on, pit them up, or I'll break yer jaw for you," he said +threateningly. + +"Man, Geordie, what ails ye the nicht?" asked Walker in hurried alarm, +wondering wildly how he could stave off the chastisement which he knew +from Geordie's voice he might expect. "Talk sensibly, man. Try an' ha'e +some sense. What's the matter wi' ye?" + +"Matter," echoed Geordie, "jist this. The wife has jist telt me a' aboot +the nicht ye cam' chappin' to the door when I was lyin' hurt. She kent +I'd break yer neck for it, and she was feart to tell me. So put up yer +fists, ye black-hearted brute that ye are. I'm gaun to gi'e ye what we +should hae gotten seven years syne, an' it'll maybe put ye frae preyin' +on decent women. Come on." + +"Awa', man, Geordie, an' behave yersel'," began Walker, trying to evade +him. + +"Tak' that, then, ye dirty brute!" and Geordie smashed his fist straight +between Walker's eyes. + +Roused at last, Walker showed fight and swung at Sinclair. He was the +younger man by about two years, and had not had the hard work and bad +conditions of the other, but Sinclair was a strong man, and was now +roused to a great pitch, so he struck out with terrific force. Then the +two closed and swayed about, struggling, cursing and punching each other +with brutal might. Sinclair's extra weight and more powerful build soon +began to tell, and he was able to send home one or two heavy blows on +Black Jock's face and body. Panting and blowing, they separated, and as +they did so, Sinclair caught his opponent a straight hard crash on the +jaw that sent him rolling to the muddy road, and feeling as if a +thousand fists had struck him all at once. + +Walker lay for a short time, then gathering himself together, he rose to +his feet and set off at a quick pace in the direction of his house, +whilst Geordie, too, turned homewards, feeling that it was useless to +follow him. + +Mrs. Sinclair did not hear what had happened till a week later, when +Geordie, being in a communicative mood, told her of the affair in +simple, unaffected terms. + +Shortly afterwards a great event happened in Lowwood, which made the +deepest impression on Robert's mind. His father still being out of work, +had sent a letter to Robert Smillie, who was then beginning to be heard +of more and more in mining circles. In the letter Geordie explained, to +the best of his ability, the local circumstances, and he mentioned his +own case of persecution, and his agitation for the starting of a union. +Smillie sent word in reply that he would come in two days, and Geordie +enthusiastically set to work to organize a meeting, going round every +house in the district, telling the folks that Smillie was coming, and +exhorting them to turn out and hear him. + +"I dinna think it'll do any guid," said old Tam Smith, when Geordie +called upon him. "It's a' richt talkin' about a union, but the mair ye +fecht the mair ye're oppressed. The bosses ha'e the siller, an' they can +ay buy the brains to serve them." + +Geordie made no reply, for he knew from experience that it was only too +true. + +"Just look at young Jamie Soutar," continued Tam. "He is yin o' the +cleverest men i' the country. He wrocht wi' me as a laddie when he went +into the pit, an' noo' he's travelin' manager for that big company doon +the west country, an' I'm telt he's organizin' an' advocatin' the +formin' o' what he calls a Coal Combine." + +"That's a' richt, Tam. I admit it a', though I dinna jist ken what a +Coal Combine means; but I ken that Bob Smillie is makin' great wark wi' +the union he has formed. I ken he has gotten rises in wages for a' the +men who ha'e joined, an' that he is advocatin' an eight hours day. If +that can be done doon there, it can be done here; for there's naebody +has ony mair need o' a eight hours day than miners." + +"Oh, I'll turn oot a' richt at the meetin'," said Tam, who was always +credited with seeing farther than most of his workmates, "an' I'll join +the union, too, if it's formed; but ye'll see if ye live lang enough +that the union'll no' be a' ye think it. The ither side will organize to +bate ye every time." And with this encouraging prophecy, Geordie went on +to the next house. + +"No, I'm no' comin' to nae meetin'. I want naethin' to dae wi' yer +unions. I can get on weel enough without them," curtly said Dan Sellars, +the inmate. He was what Geordie somewhat expressively called a +"belly-crawler," a talebearer, and one who drank and gambled along with +Walker, Fleming, Robertson and a few others. + +"Man, it'll no' do muckle guid," said another, "ye mind hoo' big Geordie +Ritchie ran awa' wi' the money o' the last union we started? It'll gi'e +a wheen bigmouths a guid job and an easy time. That's a' it will do." + +"Oh, ay," answered Sinclair, "but that's no' to say that the union'll +ay fail. Folks are no' a' Geordie Ritchies, an' they're no' a' bigmouths +either. We're bound to succeed if we care to be solid thegither." + +"I'll come to the meetin', Geordie, although I was sayin' that, but I'll +no' promise to join yer union," was the answer, and Sinclair had to be +content with that. + +Thus went Geordie from house to house, meeting with much discouragement, +and even downright opposition, but he was always good-humored, and so he +seldom failed to extract a promise to attend the meeting. + +The night of the meeting arrived, and the hall--an old, badly lit and +ill-ventilated wooden erection--was packed to its utmost. There were +eager faces, and dull, listless ones among the audience; there were eyes +glad with expectancy, and eyes dulled with long years of privations and +brutal labor; limbs young and supple and full of energy, and limbs stiff +and sore, crooked and maimed. + +Geordie Sinclair was chairman, and when he rose to open the meeting and +introduce Smillie, he felt as if the whole world were looking on and +listening. + +"Weel, men," he began, halting and hesitating in his utterance, "for a +lang time now there has been much cryin' for a union here. There has +been a lot of persecution gaun' on, an' it has been lang felt that +something should be done. We ha'e heard of how other men in other places +ha'e managed to start a union, and how it has been a guid thing in +risin' wages. Mr. Smillie has come here the nicht to tell us how the +other districts ha'e made a start, and what thae other districts has +gotten. If it can be done there, it can be done here. I ha'e wrocht +aside Bob Smillie, an' I ken what kind of man he is. He has done great +wark doon in the west country, an' he is weel fitted and able to be the +spokesman for the miners o' Scotlan'. I'm no gaun' to say ony mair, but +I can say that it gie's me great pleasure to ask Mr. Smillie to address +ye." + +A round of applause greeted Smillie as he rose to address them. Tall and +manly, he dominated his audience from the very first sentence, rousing +them to a great pitch of enthusiasm, as he proceeded to tell of all the +many hardships which miners had to endure, of the "Block" system of +persecution, and to point to the only means of successfully curing them +by organizing into one solid body, so that they might become powerful +enough to enforce their demands for a fuller, freer, and a happier life. +Never in all his life did he speak with more passion than he did that +night in Lowwood. + +Little Robert was present in the hall--the only child there; and as +Smillie spoke in passionate denunciation of the tyrannies and +persecutions of the mine-owners and their officials, his little heart +leapt in generous indignation. Many things which he had but dimly +understood before, began to be plain to him, as he sat with eyes riveted +upon Smillie's face, drinking in every word as the speaker plead with +the men to unite and defend themselves. Then, as his father's wrongs +were poured forth from the platform, and as Smillie appealed to them in +powerful sentences to stand loyally by their comrade, the boy felt he +could have followed Smillie anywhere, and that he could have slain every +man who refused to answer that call. Away beyond the speaker the boy had +already glimpsed something of the ideal which Smillie sketched, and his +soul throbbed and ached to see how simple and how easy it was for life +to be made comfortable and good and pleasant for all. Bob Smillie never +won a truer heart than he did that night in winning this barefooted, +ragged boy's. + +Round after round of applause greeted the speaker when he had finished, +and in response to his appeal to them to organize, a branch of the union +was formed, with Geordie Sinclair as its first president. At the request +of the meeting Smillie interviewed Black Jock next morning, and as a +result Sinclair got started on the following day. + +Smillie stayed overnight with Geordie. They were certainly somewhat +cramped for room, though Geordie had just lately got another apartment +"broken through," which gave them a room and kitchen. + +The two men sat late into the night, discussing their hopes and plans, +and the trade union movement generally. + +"It's a great work, Bob, you ha'e set yersel', an' it'll mean +thenklessness an' opposition frae the very men you want maist to help," +said Sinclair as they talked. + +"Ay, it will," was the reply, spoken in a half dreamy tone, as if the +speaker saw into the future. "I ken what it'll mean, but it must be +done. I have long had it in me to set myself this work, for no +opposition ought to stand in the way of the uplifting of the workers. I +... It's the system, Geordie!" he cried, as if bringing his mind back to +the present. "It is the system that is wrong. It is immoral and evil in +its foundations, and it forces the employers to do the things they do. +Competition compels them to do things they would not have to do if there +were a cooperative system of industry. Our people have to suffer for it +all--they pay the price in hunger, misery and suffering." + +"Ay," said Geordie, "that's true, Bob. But what a lang time it'll tak' +afore the workers will realize what you are oot for. They'll look on +your work wi' suspicion, and a wheen o' them'll even oppose you." + +"Ay," was the reply, "I know that. It will mean the slow building up of +our own county first, bit by bit, organizing, now here, now there, and +fighting the other class interests all the time. It will divide our +energies and retard our work, and the greatest fight will be to get our +own people to recognize what is wanted and how to get it. Then through +the county we'll have to work to consolidate the whole of Scotland; from +that to work in the English and Welsh miners, while at the same time +seeking to permeate other branches of industrial workers with our ideas. +And then, when we have got that length, and raised the mental vision of +our people, and strengthened their moral outlook, we can appeal to the +workers of other lands to join us in bringing about the time when we'll +be able to regard each other, not as enemies, but as members of one +great Humanity, working for each other's welfare as we work for our +own." + +"That's it, Bob," agreed Geordie, completely carried away with Smillie's +enthusiasm. "That's it, Bob. If we can only get them to see hoo' simple +and easy it a' is ... Oh, they maun be made to see it that way!" he +burst out. "We'll work nicht an' day but in the end we'll get them to +see it that way yet." + +"Yes, but it won't be easy, Geordie," he replied. "Our people's lives +have been stunted and warped so long, they've been held in bondage and +poverty to such an extent, that it will take years--generations, +maybe--before they come to realize it. But we must go on, undeterred by +opposition, rousing them from their apathy, and continually holding +before them the vision of the time we are working to establish. Ay, +Geordie,"--and a quieter note came into his voice, "I hope I shall be +strong enough to go on, and never to give heed to the discouragements I +shall undoubtedly meet with in the work; but I've made up my mind, and +I'll see it through or dee." + +The talk of the two men worked like magic upon the impressionable mind +of young Robert, who sat listening. Long after all had retired for the +night he lay awake, his little mind away in the future, living in the +earthly paradise which had been conjured up before him by the warm, +inspiring sentences of this miners' leader, and joyful in the +contemplation of this paradise of happy humanity, he fell asleep. Could +he have foreseen the terrible, heartbreaking ordeals through which +Smillie often had to pass, still clinging with tenacity to the gleam +that led him on, praying sometimes that strength would be given to keep +him from turning back; of the strenuous battle he had, not only with +those he fought against, but of the greater and more bitter fights he +too often had with those of his own class whom he was trying to save; +and of the fights even with himself, it would have raised Smillie still +more in the estimation of this sensitive-hearted collier laddie. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +ON THE PIT-HEAD + + +"Hooray, mither, I've passed the examination, an' I can leave the school +noo!" cried Robert one day, breaking in upon his mother, as she was +busily preparing the dinner. She stopped peeling the potatoes to look up +and smile, as she replied: "Passed the fifth standard, Robin?" she said, +lovingly. + +"Ay," said the boy proudly, his face beaming with smiles. "It was quite +easy. Oh, if you had just seen the sums we got; they were easy as +winking. I clinked them like onything." + +"My, ye maun hae been real clever," said Mrs. Sinclair encouragingly. + +"Sammy Grierson failed," broke in Robert again, too full of his success +to contain himself. "He couldna' tell what was the capital of +Switzerland! Then the inspector asked him what was the largest river in +Europe, an' he said the Thames. He forgot that the Thames was just the +biggest in England. I was sittin' next him an' had to answer baith +times, an' the inspector said I was a credit to the school. My, it was +great fun!" and he rattled on, full of importance at his success. + +"Ay, but maybe Sammy was just nervous," said his mother, continuing her +operations upon the potatoes, and trying to let him see that there might +have been a cause for the failure of the other boy to answer correctly. + +"Ach, but he's a dunce onyway," said the boy. "He canna spell an easy +word like 'examination,' an' he had twenty-two mistakes in his dictation +test," he went on, and she was quick to note the air of priggish +importance in his utterance. + +"Ay, an' you're left the school now," said Mrs. Sinclair, after a +pause, during which her busy fingers handled the potatoes with great +skill. "Your faither will be gey pleased when he comes hame the day," +she said, giving the conversation a new turn. + +"Ay, I'll get leavin' the school when I like, an' gaun to the pit when I +like." + +"Would ye no' raither gang to the school a while langer?" observed the +mother after a pause, and looking at him with searching eyes. + +"No," was the decisive reply. "I'd raither gang to work. I'm ready for +leaving the school and forby, all the other laddies are gaun to the pit +to work." + +"But look at the things ye micht be if ye gaed to the school a while +langer, Robin," she went on. "The life of a miner's no' a very great +thing. There's naething but hard work, an' dangerous work at that, an' +no' very muckle for it." And there was an anxious desire in her voice, +as if trying to convince him. + +"Ay, but I'd raither leave the school," he answered, though with less +decision this time. "Besides, it'll mean more money for you," he +concluded. + +"Then, look how quick a miner turns auld, Rob. He's done at forty years +auld," she said, as if she did not wish to heed what he said, "but +meenisters an' schoolmaisters, an' folk o' that kin', leeve a gey lang +while. Look at the easy time they hae to what a collier has. They dinna +get up at five o'clock in the mornin' like your faither. They rise aboot +eight, an' start work at nine. Meenisters only work yae day a week, an' +only aboot two hoors at that. They hae clean claes to wear, a fine white +collar every day, an' sae mony claes that they can put on a different +rig-oot every day. Their work is no' hard, an' look at the pay they get; +no' like your faither wi' his two or three shillin's a day. They hae the +best o' it," she concluded, as she rested her elbows on her knees and +again searched his face keenly to see if her arguments had had any +effect upon him. + +"Ay, but I'd raither work," reiterated the boy stubbornly. + +"Then they hae plenty o' books," continued the temptress, loth to give +up and keen to draw as rosy a picture as possible, "and a braw hoose, +an' a piano in it. They get a lang holiday every year, and occasional +days besides, an' their pay for it. But a collier gets nae pay when he's +idle. It's the same auld grind awa' at hard work, among damp, an' gas, +an' bad air, an' aye the chance o' being killed wi' falls of stone or +something else. It's no' a nice life. It's gey ill paid, an' forby +naebody ever respects them." + +"Ay, mither; but do you no' mind what Bob Smillie said?" chipped in the +boy readily, glad that he could quote such an authority to back his +view. "It's because they dinna respect themselves. They just need to do +things richt, an' things wadna' be sae bad as they are," and he felt as +if he clinched his argument by quoting Smillie against her. + +"Ay, Robin," she replied, "that's true; but for it a', you maun admit +that the schoolmaister an' the meenister hae the best o' it." But she +felt that her counter was not very effective. + +"My faither says meenisters are nae guid to the world, but +schoolmaisters are," said the boy, with a grudging admission for the +teaching profession. "But I dinna care. I'd raither gang to work. I +dinna want to gang ony langer to the school. I'm tired o' it, an' I want +to leave it," and there was more decision in his voice this time than +ever. + +"A' richt, Robin," said Mrs. Sinclair resignedly, as she emptied the +peeled potatoes into a pot and put them on the fire. + +There were now seven of a family, and she knew that Robert was needed to +increase the earnings, and that meant there was nothing but the pit for +him. + +"You maun hae been real clever, though, to pass," she said again, after +a pause. "How many failed?" + +"Four, mither," he cried, again waxing enthusiastic over the +examination. "Mysie Maitland passed, too. She was first among the +lasses, and I was first in the laddies." + +"Eh, man, Bob, learnin' is a gran' thing to hae," she said wistfully, +looking at him very tenderly. + +"Ay, but I'm gaun to the pit," he said decisively, fearing that she was +again going to enlarge upon the schoolmaster's life. + +"Very weel," she said after a bit, "I suppose ye'll be lookin' for a +job. Your faither was saying last nicht that ye're too young to gang +into the pit. Ye maun be twelve years auld afore ye get doon the pit +noo, ye ken. So I suppose it'll be the pithead for ye for a while." + +She had often dreamed her dream, even though she knew it was an +impossible one, that she would like to see her laddie go right on +through the Secondary School in the county town to the University. She +knew he had talents above the ordinary, and, besides, her soul rebelled +at the thought of her boy having to endure the things that his father +had to go through with. She was an intelligent woman, and though she had +had little education, she saw things differently from most of the women +of her class. She had character, and her influence was easily traced in +her children, but more especially in Robert, who was always her favorite +bairn. She was wise, too, and had fathomed some secrets of psychology +which many women with a university training had never even glimpsed. + +She often maintained that her children's minds were molded before she +gave them birth, and that it depended upon the state of mind she was in +herself during those nine months, as to what kind of soul her child +would be born possessing. It may have been merely a whim on her part, +but she held tenaciously to her belief, acted in accordance with it, and +no one could dissuade her from it. Robert was her child of song, her +sunny offspring, stung into revolt against tyranny of all kinds. His +soul, strong and true as steel, she knew would stand whatever test was +put upon it. Incorruptible and sincere, nothing could break him. +Generous and forgiving, he could never be bought. + +"I'll gang the nicht, mither, an' see if I can get a job. I micht get +started the morn," he said breaking in upon her thought. + +"A' richt, Robin," she replied with a sigh of resignation. "I suppose +it'll hae to be done. It'll be yer first start in life, an' I hope +ye'll aye be found doin' what's richt; for guid never comes o' ill +thinkin' or ill doin." + +"If I get a job, mither, maybe I'll get one-an'-tippence a day like Dick +Tamson. If I do it'll be a big help to you, mither. My! I'll soon mak' a +poun' at that rate," and he laughed enthusiastically at the thought of +it. A pound seemed to represent riches to his boyish mind. What might +his mother not do with a pound? Ever so many things could be bought. And +that was merely a start. His wages would soon increase with experience, +and when he went down the pit, which would be soon, he'd earn more, and +his mother would maybe be able to buy new clothes for all the family. + +He wondered what it would be like to have a new suit of clothes--real +new ones out of a shop. Hitherto he had only enjoyed "make downs," as +they were called--new ones made out of some one's cast-off clothing. But +a real new suit, such as he had seen the schoolmaster's boy sometimes +wearing! That would be a great experience! And so, lost in contemplation +of the things big wages might do, the day wore on, and he was happy in +his dreams. + +That same night Robert went to call on the "gaffer," Black Jock, and as +he neared the door he met Mysie Maitland. + +"Where are ye goin', Rab?" she enquired shyly. + +"To look for a job," he replied proudly, feeling that now he was left +school, and about to start work, he could be patronizing to a girl. +"Where are you gaun?" he asked, as Mysie joined him in the direction of +Walker's house. + +"I'm gaun to look for a job, too," she replied. "I'm no' gaun back to +the school, an' my mither thinks I'll be as weel on the pit-head as at +service. An' forby, I'll be able to help my mither at nichts when I come +hame, an' I couldna' do that if I gaed to service," she finished by way +of explanation. As Mysie was the oldest of a family of six, her parents +would be glad to have even her small earnings, and so she, too, was +looking for a job. + +When Walker came to the door, Robert took the matter in hand, and became +spokesman for both himself and Mysie. + +"We've left the school the day, Mr. Walker, an' Mysie an' me want to +ken if ye can gie us a job on the pitheid?" and Walker noted with +amusement the manly swagger in the boy's voice and bearing. + +"We dinna' usually start lasses as wee as Mysie," replied Walker, eyeing +the children with an amused smile, "but we need twa or three laddies to +the tables to help the women to pick stones." + +Mysie's face showed her keen disappointment. She knew that it was not +customary for girls to be employed as young as she was; and Robert noted +her disappointed look as well. + +"Could ye no' try Mysie, too?" he asked, breaking in anxiously. "She's a +guid worker, an' she'll be able to pick as many stanes as the weemen. +Willn't ye, Mysie?" And he turned to the girl for corroboration with +assurance. + +As Mysie nodded, Walker saw a hint of tears in the girl's eyes, and the +quivering of the tiny mouth; and as there is a soft spot in all men's +hearts, even he had sympathy, for he understood what refusal meant. + +"Weel, I micht gie her a trial," he said, "but she'll hae to work awfu' +hard," and he spoke as one conferring an especial concession upon the +girl. + +"Oh, she'll work hard enough," said Robert. "Mysie's a guid worker, an' +you'll see ..." + +"Oh, then," said Walker hurriedly breaking in upon Robert's outburst of +agreement, "ye can both come oot the morn, and I'll try and put ye both +up." + +"How muckle pay will we get?" asked Robert, who was now feeling his +importance, and felt that this was after all the main point to be +considered. + +"Well, we gie laddies one an' a penny," replied Walker, still smiling +amusedly at the boy's eagerness, "an' lasses are aye paid less than +callants. But it's all big lasses we hae, an' they get one an' tippence. +I'll gie Mysie a shillin' to begin wi'," and he turned away as if that +settled the matter, and was about to close the door. + +"But if she picks as many stanes as a laddie, will ye gie her the same +pay as me?" interrupted Robert, not wishing the interview to end without +a definite promise of payment. + +"She's gey wee," replied Walker, "an' she canna' expect as much as a +laddie," and he looked at Mysie, as if measuring her with a critical eye +to assess her value. + +"But if she does as muckle work, would ye gie her the same money?" +eagerly questioned the boy, and Mysie felt that there was no one surely +so brave as Robert, nor so good, and she looked at him with gratitude in +her eyes. + +"Very weel," said Walker, not desiring to prolong the interview. "Come +oot the morn, an' I'll gie ye both one an' a penny." + +"Six an' sixpence a week," said Mysie, as they tramped home. "My, that's +a lot o' money, Rab, isn't it?" + +"Ay, it's a guid lot, Mysie," he replied, "but we'll hae to work awfu' +hard, or we'll no' get it. Guid nicht!" And so the children parted, +feeling that the world was about to be good to them, and all their +thought of care was bounded by six and sixpence a week. + +Mysie was glad to tell the result of the whole interview to her parents. +She was full of it, and could talk of nothing else as she worked about +the house that night. Her mother had been in delicate health for a long +time, and so Mysie had most of the housework to do. Matthew Maitland and +his wife, Jenny, were pleased at the result, and gave Robert due credit +for his part--a credit that Mysie was delighted to hear from them. + +The next morning the two children went to work, when children of their +years ought to have been still in bed dreaming their little dreams. + +The great wheels at the pithead seemed terrible in their never-ending +revolutions, as they flew round to bring up the loads of coal. The big +yawning chasm, with the swinging steel rope, running away down into the +great black hole, was awesome to look at, as the rope wriggled and +swayed with its sinister movements; and the roar and whir of wheels, +when the tables started, bewildered them. These crashed and roared and +crunched and groaned; they would squeal and shriek as if in pain, then +they would moan a little, as if gathering strength to break out in +indignant protest; and finally, roar out in rebellious anger, giving +Robert the idea of an imprisoned monster of gigantic strength which had +been harnessed whilst it slept, but had wakened at last to find itself +impotent against its Lilliputian captor--man. + +An old man instructed them in their duties. + +"You'll staun here," he panted, indicating a little platform about two +feet broad, and running along the full length of the "scree." "You'll +watch for every bit stane that comes doon, an' dinna' let any past. Pick +them oot as soon as you see them, an' fling them owre there, an' Dickie +Tamson'll fill them into the hutch, an' get them taken to the dirt +bing." + +"A' richt," said Robert, as he looked at the narrow platform, with its +weak, inadequate railing, which could hardly prevent anyone from falling +down on to the wagon track, some fifteen or twenty feet below on one +side, or on to the moving "scree" on the other. + +"Weel, mind an' no' let any stanes gang past, for there are aye +complaints comin' in aboot dirty coals. If ye dinna work an' keep oot +the stanes, you'll get the sack," and he said this as if he meant to +convey to them that he was the sole authority on the matter. + +He was an old man, and Robert, as he looked at him, wondered if he had +ever laughed. "Auld Girnie" they called him, because of his habit of +always finding fault with everything and everybody, for no one could +please him. His mouth seemed to be one long slit extending across his +face, showing one or two stumps sticking in the otherwise toothless +gums, and giving him the appearance of always "grinning." + +The women workers' appearance jarred upon Robert. So far women to him +had always been beings of a higher order, because he had always thought +of them as being like his mother. But here they were rough and untidy, +dressed like goblins in dirty torn clothes, with an old dirty sack +hanging from the waist for an overall. Instinctively Robert felt that +this was no place for women. One of them, who worked on the opposite +side of the scree from Robert--a big, strong, heavily-built young woman +of perhaps twenty-five--in moving forward tore her petticoat, which +caught in the machinery, and made a rent right up above her knee. + +"Ach, to hell wi' it," she cried in exasperation, as she turned up the +torn petticoat, displaying a leg all covered with coal grime, which +seemed never to have been washed. + +"Is that no' awfu'? Damn my soul, I'll hae to gang hame the nicht in my +sark tail," and she laughed loudly at her sally. + +"I'll put a pin in it, it'll do till I gang hame," she added, and she +started to pin the torn edges together. But all day the bare leg shone +through the torn petticoat, and rough jokes were made by the men who +worked near by--jokes which she seemed to enjoy, for she would hold up +the torn garment and laugh with the others. + +The women and boys never seemed to heed the things that filled Robert +and Mysie with so much amazement. The two children bent over the +swinging tables as the coal passed before them. They eagerly grabbed at +the stones, flinging them to the side with a zeal that greatly amused +the older hands. + +"Ye'll no' keep up that pace lang," said one woman. "Ye'll soon tire, so +ye'd better take it easy." + +"Let them alone," broke in the old man, who had a penny a day more for +acting as a sort of gaffer. "Get on wi' yer own work, an' never mind +them." + +"Gang you to hell, auld wheezie bellows," replied one woman coarsely, +adding a rough jest at his breathlessness, whilst the others laughed +loudly, adding, each one, another sally to torment the old man. + +But after a time Robert felt his back begin to ache, and a strange dizzy +feeling came into his head, as a result of his bent position and the +swinging and crashing of the tables. He straightened himself and felt as +if he were going to break in two. He glanced at Mysie, wondering how she +felt, and he thought she looked white and ill. + +"Take a wee rest, Mysie," he said. "Are ye no' awfu' dizzy?" + +Mysie heard, but "six and sixpence a week" was still ringing in her +head. Indeed, the monotonous swing of the tables ground out the refrain +in their harsh clamor, as they swung backwards and forwards. "Six and +sixpence a week," with every leap forwards; "six and sixpence a week" as +they receded. "Six and sixpence" with every shake and roar, and with +each pulsing throb of the engine; and "six and sixpence a week" her +little hands, already cut and bleeding, kept time with regular beat, as +she lifted the stones and flung them aside. She was part of the +refrain--a note in the fortissimo of industry. The engines roared and +crashed and hissed to it. They beat the air regularly as the pistons +rose and fell back and forth, thump, thud, hiss, groan, up and down, out +and in: "Six and sixpence a week!" + +Mysie tried to straighten herself, as Robert had advised, and +immediately a pain shot through her back which seemed to snap it in two. +The whole place seemed to be rushing round in a mad whirl, the roof of +the shed coming down, and the floor rushing up, when with a stagger +Mysie fell full length upon a "bing" of stones, bruising her cheek, and +cutting her little hands worse than ever. This was what usually happened +to all beginners at "pickin' sklits." + +One of the women raised Mysie up, gave her a drink from a flask +containing cold tea, and sat her aside to rest a short time. + +"Just sit there a wee, my dochter," she said with rough kindness, "an' +you'll soon be a' richt. They mostly a' feel that way when they first +start on the scree." + +Mysie was feeling sick, and already the thought was shaping in her mind +that she would never be able to continue. She had only worked an hour as +yet, but it seemed to her a whole day. + +"Six and sixpence a week" sang the tables as they swung; "six and +sixpence a week" whirred the engines; "six and sixpence a week" crashed +the screes; and her head began to throb with the roar of it all. "Six +and sixpence a week" as the coal tumbled down the chutes into the +wagons; "six and sixpence" crunched the wheels, until it seemed as if +everything about a pit were done to the tune of "six and sixpence a +week." + +It was thundered about her from one corner, it squealed at her from +another, roared at her from behind, groaned at her in front; it wheezed +from the roof, and the very shed in which they stood swayed and shivered +to its monotonous song. "Six and sixpence a week" was working into every +fiber of her being. She had been born to it, was living it, and it +seemed that the very wheels of eternity were grinding out her destiny to +its roar and its crash, and its terrible regular throb and swing. + +She grew still more sick, and vomited; so one of the women took her by +the hand and led her down the narrow rickety wooden stair out across the +dirt "bing" into the pure air. In a quarter of an hour she brought her +back almost well, except for the pain in her head. + +"Where the hell hae ye been, Mag?" wheezed the old gaffer, addressing +the woman with irritated authority. + +"Awa' an' boil yer can, auld belly-crawler," was the elegant response, +as she bent to her work, taking as little notice of him as if he were a +piece of coal. + +"Ye're awa' faur owre much," he returned. This was an allusion to +clandestine meetings which were sometimes arranged between some of the +men in authority--"penny gaffers," as they were called--and some of the +girls who took their fancy. + +After all, gaffers had certain powers of advancement, and could increase +wages to those who found favor in their eyes, to the extent of a penny +or twopence per day, and justified it by representing that these girls +were value for it, because they were better workers. Again, matters were +always easier to these girls of easy virtue, for they got better jobs, +and could even flout the authority of lesser gaffers, if their relations +with the higher ones were as indicated. + +Mag replied with a coarse jest, and the others laughed roughly, and +Mysie and Robert, not understanding, wondered why the old man got angry. + +Thus the day wore on, men and women cursed while familiarities took +place which were barely hidden from the children. Talk was coarse and +obscenely suggestive, and the whole atmosphere was brutalizing. Long, +however, before the day was ended, Robert and Mysie were feeling as if +every bone in their little bodies would break. + +"Just take anither wee rest, Mysie," said Robert. "I'll keep pickin' as +hard as I can, an' ye'll no' be sae muckle missed." + +"Oh, I'll hae to keep on, too," she replied, almost despairingly, with a +hint of tears in her voice. "Ye mind I promised to work hard, an' ye +said I was a guid worker, too. If I dinna' keep on I micht only get a +shillin' a day." + +"But I'll pick as much as the twa o' us can do," pursued Robert, with +persuasive voice. "I'll gang harder, until ye can get a wee rest." + +So Mysie, in sheer exhaustion, stopped for a little, and the dizzy +feeling was soon gone again. Yet the horrible pain in the back troubled +them all day, and the dizziness returned frequently, but the others +assured them that they'd soon get used to it. Their hands were cut, +bruised and dirty, and poor little Mysie felt often that she would like +to cry, but "six and sixpence a week" kept time in her heart to all her +troubles, and seemed to drive her onward with relentless force. + +With rough kindness the women encouraged the two children, and did much +to make their lot easier. But it was a trying day--a hard, heartbreaking +day, a day of tears and pains and discouragement, a horrible Gethsemane +of sweat and agony, whose memory not even "six and sixpence a week" +would ever eradicate from their minds, though it made the day bearable. + +The great wheels groaned and swished like the imprisoned monster of +Robert's imaginings, and at last came to a halt at the end of the shift; +but in the pattern which they had that day woven into the web of +industry, there were two bright threads--threads of great beauty and +high worth--threads which the very gods seemed proud of seeing there, +twisted and twined, and lending color of richest hue to the whole +design--threads of glorious fiber and rare quality, which sparkled and +shone like the neck of a pigeon in the sunshine. These threads in the +web of industry, which had shone that day for the first time, were the +lives of two little children. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE MANTLE OF MANHOOD + + +Months passed, and Robert still worked on the pithead. Much of the +novelty had passed, and he was accustomed to the noise and clamor, +though he never lost the feeling that he was working with, or, indeed, +was part of, some giant monster, imprisoned and harnessed, it is true, +but capable of titanic labors and fall of unexpectedness. It was +ever-present, implacable and sinister, yet so long as its fetters held, +easily controlled. + +The warm weather had come, and the lure of the moors called to him at +his work. Away out over there--somewhere--there were strange wonders +awaiting him. He watched the trains, long, fast, and so +inevitable-looking, rushing across the moor about a mile and a half from +where he worked, and often, he thought that perhaps some day one of +those flying monsters would bear him away from Lowwood across the moors +into the Big City. What was a city like? And the sea? How big would it +be? It was a staggering thought to imagine a stretch of water that ended +on the sky-line--no land to be seen on the other side! What a wonderful +world it must be! + +But a touch of bitterness was creeping into his character, and for this +his mother's teaching was responsible. Nellie was always jealous of the +welfare of the working class, and was ever vigilant as to its interests. +She did not know how matters could be rectified, but she did know that +she and her like suffered unnecessarily. + +"There's no reason," she would say, "for decent folk bein' in poverty. +Look at the conditions that puir folk live in!" + +"Hoot ay! Nellie, but we canna' help it," a neighbor would reply. "It's +no' for us to be better." + +"What way is it no'?" she would demand indignantly. "Do you think we +couldna' be better folk if we had no poverty?" + +"Ay, but the like o' us ken no better, an' it wadna' do if we had mair. +We micht waste it," and the tone of resignation always maddened her to +greater wrath. + +"There's mair wasted on fancy fal-lals among the gentry than wad keep +many a braw family goin'. Look at the hooses we live in; the gentry +wadna' keep their dogs in them. The auld Earl has better stables for his +horses than the hooses puir folk live in!" + +"That's maybe a' richt, Nellie, but you maun mind that we're no' gentry. +We havena' been brocht up to anything else. Somebody has got to work, +an' we canna' help it," and the fatalistic resignation but added fuel to +her anger. + +"Ay, we could help it fine, if we'd only try it. It's no' richt that +folk should hae to slave a' their days, an' be always in hardships, +while ither folk who work nane hae the best o' everything. I want a +decent hoose to live in; I want to see my man hae some leisure, an' my +weans hae a chance in life for something better than just work and +trouble," and her voice quivering with anger at the wrongs inflicted +upon her, she would rattle away on her favorite topic. + +"There you go again. You are aye herp, herpin' at the big folk, or aboot +the union. I wonder you never turn tired, woman," the reply would come, +for sometimes these women were unable to understand her at all. + +"I'll never turn tired o' that," she would reply. "If only the men wad +keep thegither an' no' be divided, they'd soon let the big folk see wha' +was the maist importance to the country. Do you think onybody ever made +a lot o' money by their ain work? My man an' your man hae wrocht hard a' +their days. They've never wasted ony o' their hard-earned money, an' yet +they hae naething." + +"No, because it takes it a' to keep us," would be the reply, as if that +were a conclusive answer, difficult to counter. + +"Well, how do ye think other folk mak' a fortune? Do ye think they work +harder than your man does? No! It's because our men work so hard that +other folk get it aff their labor. Do they live a better life than your +man or mine? They waste mair in yae day, whiles, than wad keep your +family or mine for a whole year. Is it because they are honester than +us? No. You ken fine your man or yoursel' wadna' hae the name o' +stealin'. But they steal every day o' their lives, only they ca' it +business. That's the difference. It's business wi' them, but it wad be +dishonest on oor pairt. Awa', woman! It's disgraceful to think aboot. +Naebody should eat wha disna work, an' I dinna care wha hears me say +it," and the flashing eyes and the indignant voice gave token of her +righteous wrath. + +"That's a' richt, Nellie, but it has aye been, an' I doot it'll aye be. +We just canna help it," would come the reply. + +"I tell you it's everybody's duty to work for better times. We've no +richt to allow the things that gang on. There's nae guid in poverty and +disease an' ill-health, an' we should a' try to change it; and we could +if only you'd get some sense into your held, an' no' stand and speak as +if you felt that God meant it." + +"Ay, Nellie, that's a' richt, but it's the Lord's will, an' we maun put +up wi' it." + +At this juncture Mrs. Sinclair's patience would become exhausted, and +she would flare up, while the neighbor would suddenly break off the +discussion and go off home. + +Her children were taught that it was a disgrace not to resent a wrong, +and Robert, though only a boy, was always sturdily standing up against +the things he considered wrong at the pit-head. + +Robert dreamed and built his future castles. There was great work ahead +to do. He never mentioned his longings and visions to anyone, yet +Mysie's sweet, shy face was creeping into them always, and already he +was conscious of something in her that thrilled him. He was awkward, and +his speech did not come readily, in her presence. Whole days he dreamed, +only waking up to find it was "knocking-off" time. There was an hour's +break in the middle of the day, and then he wandered out on the moor. +Its silence soothed him, and he would lie and dream among the rough +yellow grass and the hard tough heather, bathing his soul in the +brooding quietness of it all. + +He was now twelve years of age, and longing to get at work down the pit. +It was for him the advent of manhood, and represented the beginning of +his real work. + +One night in the late summer, after the pit had knocked off and the +"day-shift" was returning home, he and Mysie were walking as usual +behind the women. He had meant to tell her the great news all day, but +somehow she was so different now, and besides a man should always keep +something to himself as long as possible. It showed strength, he +thought. + +"I'm goin' doon the pit the morn, Mysie," he said, now that he had come +to the point of telling her, and speaking as casually as he could. + +"Oh, are you?" said Mysie, and stopped, disappointingly, and remained +silent. + +"Ay. I'm twelve now, you ken, an' I can get into the pit," feeling a bit +nettled that she was silent in the face of such a happening. + +"Oh!" and again Mysie stopped. + +"My faither has got a place a week syne that'll fit John an' him an' me. +The three o' us are a' goin' to work thegither. If he could have gotten +yin sooner, I'd hae been doon a month syne. But he's aye been waitin' to +get a place that wad suit us a'," he said, volunteering this information +to see if it would loosen her tongue to express the regret he wanted her +to speak. + +But again Mysie did not answer. She only hung her head and did not look +up with any interest in his news. + +"It's aboot time I was in the pit now, ye ken. You used to get doon the +pit at ten. My faither was in it when he was nine, but you're no' +allowed to gang doon now till you are twelve year auld. I'm going to +draw aff my faither and John," and he was feeling more and more +exasperated at her continued silence. + +Yet still Mysie did not speak, and merely nodded to this further +enlightenment. + +"I've never telt onybody except yoursel'," he said, hurt at her seeming +want of interest, and feeling that what he was going to say was less +manly than he intended it to be. Indeed he was aware that it was +decidedly childish of him to say it, but, like many wiser and older, he +could not keep his dignity, and took pleasure in hurting her; for there +is a pleasure sometimes in hurting a loved one, because they are loved, +and will not speak the things one wants them to say, which if said might +add to one's vanity and sense of importance. "So ye'll just be by +yoursel' the morn, unless they put Dicky Tamson owre aside you," he +added viciously. + +"I dinna want Dicky Tamson aside me," she said with some heat, and a +hint of anxiety in her voice, which pleased him a little. "He's an +impudent thing," and again she relapsed into silence, just when he +thought his pleasure was going to be complete. + +"Oh, they'll maybe put Aggie Lowrieson on your side o' the table," he +volunteered, glad that at last she had shown some feeling. + +"They can keep Aggie Lowrieson too," she said shortly. "I dinna' want +her. I'll get on fine mysel'," and she said no more. + +He talked of his new venture all the way home, and he felt more and more +hurt because she did not reply as eagerly and volubly as he wished. + +"It'll be great goin' doon the pit," he said, again feeling that he was +going to be priggish. "Pickin' stanes is a' guid enough for a laddie for +a wee while, an' for women, but you're the better to gang into the pit +when you're the age. You get mair money for it. Of course, it's hard +work, but I'll be earnin' as much as twa shillin's a day in the pit, and +that'll be twelve shillin's a week." + +But Mysie could not be drawn to look at his rosy prospects, and still +kept silent, so that the last few hundred yards were covered in silence. +At the end of the row where they always parted, he could not resist +adding a thrust to his usual "good-night." + +"Guid nicht then, Mysie. I thocht may be ye'd be vexed, seem' that +Dickie Tamson can torment you as muckle as he likes now." And so he +went home feeling that Mysie didn't care much. + +But Mysie had a sore heart that night. She knew only too well that Dick +Tamson would torment her, and would be egged on by the other women to +kiss and tease her, and they would laugh at it all. Robert had always +been her champion, and kept Dick, who was a mischievous boy, at a +distance. She was sorry that Robert was going down the pit, and it +seemed to her that she'd rather go to service now. The harsh clamor and +the dirty disagreeable work were bearable before, but it would not be +the same with Robert away. She knew that she would miss him very much. +She thought long of it when she lay down in her bed that night. He had +no right to think that she was not vexed, and she cried quietly beneath +the blankets. + +"Here's Mysie greetin'," cried her little brother, who lay beside her. +"Mither, Mysie's greetin'." + +"What's wrang wi' her?" called the mother anxiously from the other bed. + +"I dinna' ken," answered the boy, "she'll no' tell me." + +"What is't that's wrang with you, Mysie?" again called the mother more +sharply. + +"I've a sore tooth," she answered, glad to get any excuse, and lying +with promptitude. + +"Well, hap the blankets owre your head," the mother advised, "and it'll +soon be better. Dinna' greet, like a woman." + +But Mysie still continued to cry softly, choking back the sobs, and +keeping her face to the wall, so as not to disturb the other sleeper +beside her--cried for a long hour, until exhaustion overcame her, and at +last she fell asleep, her last thought being that Robert had no right to +misjudge her so. + +Robert, on the other hand, as is the prerogative of the man, soon forgot +all about his disappointment at Mysie's seeming want of interest in his +affairs, and was busy with his preparations for the next day. + +He had a lamp to buy, for Lowwood was an open-light pit, and was soon +busy on the instructions of his father learning the art of "putting in a +wick" to the exact thickness, testing his tea flask, and doing all the +little things that count in preparing for the first descent into a coal +mine. He was very much excited over it all, and babbled all the evening, +asking questions regarding the work he would be called upon to do, and +generally boring his father with his talk. + +But his father understood it all, and was patient with him, answering +his enquiries and advising him on many things, until latterly he pleaded +for a "wink o' peace," and told the boy "for any sake" to be quiet. + +Geordie Sinclair knew that this enthusiasm would soon evaporate. Only +too well he knew the stages of disappointment which the boy would +experience, and for this reason he was kindly with him. + +He was now looking forward with better prospects. Robert was the second +boy now started, and already matters were somewhat easier; but he +shuddered to think of the lot of the man who was battling away unaided, +with four or five children to support, and depending on a meager three +and sixpence or four shillings of a daily wage to keep the house +together. For himself the prospect was now better, and in looking back +he realized what a terrible time it had been--especially for his wife; +for hers was the more difficult task in laying out the scanty wages he +earned. + +It never had seemed to strike him with such force before, even when +matters were at their worst, what it had meant to her; and as he looked +at her, sitting knitting at the opposite side of the fire, he was filled +with compassion for her, and a new beauty seemed to be upon her lined +face, and in the firm set of her mouth. + +Thus he sat reviewing all the terrible struggle, when she had slaved to +keep him and the children, during the time he was injured, and a pang +shot through, as the conviction came to him, that perhaps he had not +been as helpful as he might have been to her, when a little praise even +might have made it easier for her. + +Impulsively he rose to his feet and crossed to where she sat, taking her +in his arms and kissing her. + +"Losh, Geordie, what's wrong with you!" she enquired, looking up with a +pleased sparkle in her eyes, for he was usually very undemonstrative. + +"Oh, just this, Nellie," he said with embarrassment in every feature of +his face, "I've been thinking over things, and I feel that I havena' +given you encouragement as I should have done, for all that you have +done for me and the bairns." + +"You fair took my breath away," said Nellie with a pleased little laugh; +then, as she looked at his glowing face, something came into her throat, +and the tears started. + +"There now, lassie," he said, again gathering her into his arms, and +kissing her tenderly, "it's all past now, my lass, and you'll get it +easier from this time forth. God knows, Nellie, you are worth all that I +can ever do for you to help," and the happy tears fell from her eyes, as +she patted his rough, hairy cheek, and fondled him again, as she had +done in their courting days. + +"I'll wash the floor for you, lass," he said impulsively, almost beside +himself with happiness, as he realized that this little act of his had +made them both so happy. "You've been in the washing tub all day, and I +ken you'll be scrubbin' on the floor first thing in the morning, as soon +as we are away to the pit. But I'll do it for you the nicht. The bairns +are all in bed, and I'll no' be long. You sit an' tak' a rest," and he +was off for the pail and a scrubbing brush, and was back at the fireside +pouring water from the kettle before his wife realized it. + +"Oh, never mind, Geordie," she said remonstratingly, "I'll do it myself +in the morning. You've had your own work to do in the pit, an' you need +all the rest you can get." + +"No," he said decisively. "You sit doon, lass. I'll no' be lang. Just +you sing a bit sang to me, just as you used to sing, Nellie, an' I'll +wash out the floor," and he was soon on his knees, scrubbing away as if +it were a daily occurrence with him. And Nellie, pleased and happy +beyond expression, sat in the big chair by the fireside and sang his +favorite ballad, "Kirkconnel Lea." + + Oh, that I were where Helen lies, + For nicht and day on me she cries, + Oh, that I were where Helen lies + On fair Kirkconnel Lea. + + Oh, Helen fair, beyond compare, + I'll mak' a garland o' your hair + Shall bind my heart for evermair + Until the day I dee. + +And Nellie Sinclair never in all her life sang that song so well as she +did that night; and she never sang it again. Robert, who was lying in +the room, heard her glorious voice, and marveled at the complete mastery +she showed over the plaintive old tune. It was as if her very soul +reveled in it, as the notes rose and fell; and it stirred the boy into +tremendous emotional excitement, as the tragedy was unfolded in the +beautiful words and the sadness of the old tune. + +It was a memorable night of quiet happiness for all, and there was so +much of tragedy lying behind it unseen and unknown. But so often are the +sweetest moments of life followed by its sadness and its sorrow. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE ACCIDENT + + +Next morning at five o'clock Robert leapt from his bed, full of +importance at the prospect of going down the pit. Stripping off his +sleeping shirt, he chattered as he donned the pit clothes. The blue +plaid working-shirt which his mother had bought for him felt rough to +his tender skin, but unpleasant as it was, he donned it with a sense of +bigness. Then the rough moleskin trousers were put on and fastened with +a belt round the waist, and a pair of leg-strings at the knees. The +bundles of clothes, separately arranged the night before, had got mixed +somewhat in Robert's eagerness to dress, with the result that when his +brother John rose, with eyes half shut, and reached for his stockings, +he found those of Robert instead lying upon his bundle. + +"Gie's my socks," he ordered grumpily, flinging Robert's socks into the +far corner of the kitchen. "You've on the wrong drawers too. Can ye no' +look what you're doin'?" and the drawers followed the socks, while +Robert looked at his mother with eyes of wonderment. + +"Tak' aff his socks, Rob," she said, "he's a thrawn, ill-natured cat, +that, in the mornin'." + +"Well, he should look what he's doin' an' no' put on other folk's +claes," and immediately the others burst out laughing, for this advocate +of "watchin' what he was doin'" had in his half sleepy condition failed +to see that he had lifted his jacket and had rammed his leg down the +sleeve in his hurry and anger. + +"Noo, that'll do," said Geordie, as John flung the jacket at Robert, +because he laughed. "That'll do noo, or I'll come alang yer jaw," and +thus admonished John was at once silent. + +Robert soon had his toilet completed, however, even to the old cap on +his head, upon which sat the little oil-lamp, which he handled and +cleaned and wiped with his fingers to keep it bright and shiny, whilst +all the time he kept chattering. + +"For ony sake, laddie, hand your tongue," said Geordie at last, as he +drew in his chair to the table to start upon the frugal breakfast of +bread and butter and tea. "Your tongue's never lain since you got up." + +Robert, thereupon, sat down in silence at the table, though there were a +hundred different things he wanted to ask about the pit. He could not +understand why everyone felt and looked so sleepy, nor divine the cause +of the irritable look upon each face, which in the dim light of the +paraffin lamp gave a forbidding atmosphere to the home at this time of +the day. + +At last, however, the meal was over, and when Geordie had lit his pit +lamp and stuck his pipe in his mouth, all three started off with a curt +"Good morning" to Mrs. Sinclair, who looked after her boys with a smile +which chased away the previous irritability from her face. + +Arrived at the pit-head, they found a number of miners there squatting +on their "hunkers," waiting the time for descending the shaft. As each +newcomer came forward, the man who arrived immediately before him called +out: "I'm last." By this means--"crying the benns,"--as it was +called--the order of descent was regulated on the principle of "First +come, first served." Much chaffing was leveled at little Robert by some +of the younger men regarding his work and the things which would have to +be done by and to him that day. + +At last came the all important moment, and Robert, his father and two +men stepped on to the cage. After the signal was given, it seemed to the +boy as if heaven and earth were passing away in the sudden sheer drop, +as the cage plunged down into the yawning hole, out of which came evil +smells and shadows cast from the flickering lamps upon the heads of the +miners. The rattling of the cage sent a shiver of fear through Robert, +and with that first sudden plunge he felt as if his heart were going to +leap out of his mouth. But by the time he reached the "bottom," he had +consoled and encouraged himself with the thought that these things were +all in the first day's experience of all miners. + +That morning Robert Sinclair was initiated into the art of "drawing" by +his brother John. The road was fairly level, to push the loaded "tubs," +thus leaving his father to be helped with the pick at the coal "face." +After an hour or two, Robert, though getting fairly well acquainted with +the work, was feeling tired. The strange damp smell, which had greeted +his nostrils when the cage began to descend with him that morning, was +still strong, though not so overpowering as it had been at first. The +subtle shifting shadows cast from his little lamp were becoming +familiar, and his nervousness was not now so pronounced, though he was +still easily startled if anything unusual took place. The sound of the +first shot in the pit nearly frightened him out of his wits, and he +listened nervously to every dull report with a strange uneasiness. About +one o'clock his father called to him. + +"Dinna tak' that hutch oot the noo, Robert. Just let it staun', an' sit +doon an' tak' yir piece. Ye'll be hungry, an' John an' me will be out +the noo if we had this shot stemmed." + +"A' richt," cheerfully replied the boy, withdrawing down to the end of +the road, where his clothes hung upon a tree, and taking his bread from +one of his pockets, he sat down tired and hungry to await his father and +John. + +Geordie's "place" was being worked over the old workings of another mine +which had exhausted most of the coal of a lower seam many years +previously, except for the "stoops" or pillars, which had been left in. +This was supposed to be the barrier beyond which Rundell's lease did not +go. It would be too dangerous to work the upper seam with the ground +hollow underneath, so the "places" had all been stopped as they came up, +with the exception of Geordie Sinclair's. Sinclair was puzzled at this, +and he often wondered why his place had not been stopped with the +others. He was more uneasy, too, when he began to find large cracks or +fissures in the metals, and spoke of this to Andrew Marshall a few +nights before; but he did not like to seem to make too much of it, and +the matter was passed over, till the day before, when Walker visited the +place for a few minutes, when Geordie accosted him. + +"What way is my place going on?" he asked, and was told that it was a +corner in the barrier, which extended for one hundred yards and must go +on for that distance, and that there was really no danger, as the ground +below was solid. + +So, busily working away, and finding still more rents in the floor and +roof, Sinclair thought it must just be as he had seen it in other places +of a like kind, the weight of the upper metals which were breaking over +the solid ground by reason of the hollow beneath between the stoops, +though in this case it did not amount to much as yet. + +The coal was easy to get; he had one boy "forrit to the pick," with +Robert as "drawer," and his prospects seemed good, he thought, as he was +busily preparing a shot, ramming in the powder, and "stemming" up the +hole. He was busy ramming the powder in the prepared hole, while the +elder boy prepared clay, with which to stem or seal it up after the +powder had been pressed back, leaving only the fuse protruding. + +"Here's a tree cracking," said the boy, drawing his father's attention +to a breaking prop; but as this is a common occurrence in all mines +where there is extra weight after development, Geordie thought nothing +of it at the time, intending merely, before he lighted his shot, to put +in a fresh prop. + +"Bring in another prop, sonny," he said to the boy, "and I'll put it in +when I have stemmed this hole," and the boy turned to obey his order. + +But suddenly a low crackling sound, caused by the breaking of more +props, was heard, then a roar and a crash as of thunder, followed by a +long rumbling noise, which left not a moment for the two trapped human +beings to stir even a limb or utter a cry. The immensity of the fall +created a wind, which put out little Robert's lamp; the great rumbling +noise filled him with a dreadful fear, and he sprang involuntarily to +his feet. + +"Faither! Faither!" he called, terror in his voice and anxiety in his +little heart, but there was no reassuring answer. He felt his breathing +getting difficult; the air was thick with dust and heavy with the smell +of rotting wood and damp decaying matter. + +"Faither! Faither!" he called again louder in his agony, darting +forward, thinking to go to their assistance, and knocking his head +against a boulder. + +"John! Faither! I'm feart," and he began to cry. Afraid to move, unable +to see, he staggered from one side to another, bruising his face and +arms against the jagged sides, the blood already streaming from his +bruises, and his heart frantic with fear. + +"Oh, faither! faither! Where are ye?" and he began to crawl up the +incline, in desperate fear, while still the rumbling and crashing went +on in long rolling thunder. "Oh! oh!" he moaned, now almost mad with +terror. "Faither! John! Where are ye! Oh! oh!" and he fell back stunned +by striking his head against a low part of the roof. + +Again he scrambled to his feet, certain now that some disaster had +happened, since there was no response to his appeals, and again he was +knocked to the ground by striking his head against the side of the +roadway. But always he rose again, frantically dashing from side to +side, as a caged lark, when first caught, dashes itself against the bars +of its prison; until finally, stunned beyond recovery, he lay in a +semi-conscious condition, helpless and inert, his bruises smarting but +unfelt, and the blood oozing from his nose and mouth. + +Andrew Marshall, working about fifty yards away, heard the roar and the +crash, and the boy's cries, and at once ran to Geordie's place. In his +haste and anxiety he nearly stumbled over the prostrate boy, who lay +unconscious in the roadway. + +"Good God! What has happened?" he exclaimed, anxiously bending over the +boy and raising him up, then dashing some cold tea from Robert's flask +upon him, and forcing some between his lips. Then, when the boy showed +signs of recovery, he plied him with anxious questions. + +"Where's yir faither? What's wrang?" But the boy only clung to him in +wild terror, and nothing connected could be got from him. + +Andrew lighted the boy's lamp and tore up the brae, leaving Robert +shrieking in nervous fright. + +"Great Christ! It has fa'en in!" he cried, when he had got as far as he +could go. "Geordie! Geordie! Are ye in there?" and as no answer came, he +began tearing at the great blocks of stone, flinging them like pebbles +in his desperation, until another warning rumble drove him back. +Immediately he realized how helpless he was alone, so he went back to +the boy and hurried him down the brae and out to where some other men +were at work. A few hasty words, and Robert was passed on, and Andrew +went back with the men, only to find how hopeless it all was; for +occasionally huge falls continued to come away, and it seemed useless to +attempt anything till more help was procured. + +Andrew hurried off to the bottom and overtook Robert, sending back +others to help, and he ascended the shaft and was off to break the news +to Mrs. Sinclair; after which he returned to the pit, determined to get +out all that remained of Geordie and the boy John. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +HEROES OF THE UNDERWORLD + + +Matters were now much easier and more comfortable for Geordie Sinclair +and his wife. They had long since added another apartment to their +house, and the "room" was the special pride of Nellie, who was gradually +"getting a bit thing for it" just as her means permitted. They had two +beds in each apartment, and the room was furnished. Mrs. Sinclair had +long set her mind upon a "chest of drawers," and now that that +particular piece of furniture stood proudly in her room, much of her day +was given to polishing it and the half-dozen stuffed bottomed chairs, +which were the envy of every housewife in the village. A large oval +mirror stood upon the top of the drawers, and was draped with a piece of +cheap curtain cloth, bleached to the whiteness of new fallen snow. + +This mirror was a much-prized possession, for no other like it had ever +been known in the village. The floor was covered with oilcloth, and a +sheepskin rug lay upon the hearthstone, while white starched curtains +draped the window. The getting of the waxcloth had been a wonderful +event, and dozens of women had come from all over the village to stand +in gaping admiration of its beauty. This was always where Mrs. Sinclair +felt a thrill of great pride. + +"Ye see," she would explain, "it's awfu' easy to wash, and a bit wipe +owre wi' soap an' watter is a' it needs." + +"My, how weel aff ye are!" one woman would exclaim, "I'm telt that ye +maunna use a scrubbin' brush on't, or the pattern will rub off." + +"Oh, ay," Nellie would laugh with a hint of superior wisdom in it. +"Ye'll soon waste it gin ye took a scrubber to it. An' ye maunna use +owre hot water to it either," she would add. + +"Oh my!" would come in genuine surprise. "Do you tell me that. Eh, but +you're the weel-aff woman now, to hae a room like that, an' rale +waxcloth on the floor!" + +"I thocht it was a fine, cheerie bit thing," Nellie would say. "It mak's +the hoose ever so much mair heartsome." + +"So it is," would come the reply. "It's a fine, but cheerie thing. +You're a rale weel-aff woman, I can tell ye," and the woman would go +home to dream of one day having a room like Mrs. Sinclair's, and to tell +her neighbors of the great "grandeur" that the Sinclair's possessed, +whilst Nellie would set to, and rub and polish those drawers and that +mirror, and the stuff-bottomed chairs till they shone like the sun upon +a moorland tarn, and she herself felt like dropping from sheer +exhaustion. + +She even took to telling the neighbors sometimes, when they came on +those visits that "working folk should a' hae coal-houses, for coal kept +ablow the beds makes an awfu' mess o' the ticks." + +"Oh, weel," would be the reply, made with the usual sigh of resignation, +"I hae had a house a gey lang while now, an' I dinna think I've ever +wanted ony sic newfangled things as that." + +"That's what's wrang," Mrs. Sinclair would reply. "We dinna want them. +If we did, we'd soon get them. What way would the gentry hae a' thae +things, an' us hae nane?" + +"That's a' richt, Nellie," would be the reply. "We wadna ken what to do +wi' what the gentry has got. They're rich an' can afford it, an' forby +they need them an' we don't. I think I'm fine as I am." + +"Fine as ye are!" with bitter scorn in her tones. "Ye'll never be fine +wi' a mind like that." + +"Wheesht, woman Nellie! You're no feart. Dinna talk like that. We micht +a' be strucken doon dead!" + +This usually ended the discussion, for Scots people generally--and the +workers especially--are always on very intimate terms with the Deity, +and know the pains and penalties of too intimate allusions to His power. + +Yet, with all her discontent, Mrs. Sinclair found life very much easier +than it had been, for now that she had some of the boys started to work, +she had made her house "respectable," and added many little comforts, +besides having a "bit pound or twa lyin' in the store." So she looked +ahead with more hope and a more serene heart. Her children were well-fed +and clothed, and the old days of hunger and struggling were over, she +thought. Geordie was now taking a day off in the middle of the week to +rest, as there was no need for him to slave and toil every day as he had +done in the past. After all it would only be a very few years till he +would no longer be able to work at all. + +Rosy looked the future then, as Mrs. Sinclair, on the day on which young +Robert went down the pit, showed off her room "grandeur" to an admiring +neighbor. + +"My, what braw paper ye hae, Nellie. Wha put it on for ye? Was it +yirsel'?" asked the visitor with breath bated in admiration. + +"Ay, it was that. I just got the chance o' the bargain, an' I thocht I'd +tak' it," she replied, with subdued pride. + +"Oh, my! it's awful braw, an' sae weel matched too! I never saw anything +sae well done. You're rale weel-off, do ye ken." + +"My God! What's wrang?" cried Nellie suddenly, gazing from the window +with blanched cheeks. + +"I doot there's been an accident. I heard the bell gang for men three +tows a' rinnin', an' I see a lot o' men comin' up the brae. I doot the +pit's lowsed." + +Both of them hurried to the door, and found that already a crowd of +women had flocked to the end of the row, and were standing waiting +anxiously on the men, in order to learn what had happened. They did not +talk, but gazed down the hill, each heart anxious to know if the +unfortunate one belonged to her. The sickening fear which grips the +heart of every miner's wife, when she sees that procession from the pit +before the proper quitting hour, lay heavy upon each one. The white +drawn faces, the set firm lips, and the deep troubled breathing told how +much the women were moved. + +Wives and mothers, sweethearts and sisters, oh, what a hell of torture +they suffered in those few tense moments whilst waiting for the news, +which, though to a great extent it may relieve many, must break at least +one heart. No man, having once seen this, ever wants to witness it +again. Concentrated hell and torture with every moment, stabbing and +pulling at each heart and then--then the sad, mournful face of Andrew +Marshall as he steps forward slowly past Mag Robertson, past Jean +Fleming, past Jenny Maitland, past them all, and at last putting a +kindly hand on the shoulder of Nellie Sinclair, he says, with a catch in +his voice that would break a heart of granite: "Come awa' hame, Nellie. +Come awa' hame. Ye'll need to bear up." + +Then it is whispered round: "It's Geordie Sinclair killed wi' a fa'." +And hope has died, and dreams have fled, and the world will never again +look bonnie and fresh and sweet and full of happiness, nor the blood +dance so joyously, nor the eyes ever again sparkle with the same soft +loving glance. + +No more happy evenings, such as the night before had been, when the +glamor and romance of courtship days had come back, and they had found a +new beauty of love and the glory of life, in the easier circumstances +and rosy hopes ahead. + +Misery and suffering, and the long keen pain, the sad cheerless +prospect, and over all the empty life and the broken heart. + +Lowwood was plunged into gloom when the news of the accident was known, +and every heart went out in sympathy to Nellie Sinclair and her young +family. It was indeed a terrible blow to lose at one and the same time +her husband and her eldest boy. + +It was two days later, and the bodies had not yet been recovered. Men +toiled night and day, working as only miners fighting for life can work, +risking life among the continually falling débris to recover all that +remained of their comrades. + +"It couldna ha'e been worse," said Jenny Maitland sorrowfully to her +next door neighbor. "It's an awfu' blow." + +"Ay," rejoined her neighbor, applying the corner of her apron to her +eyes. "It mak's it worse them no' bein' gotten yet. I think I'd gae +wrang in the mind if that happened to our yin," and then, completely +overcome, she sat down on the doorstep and sobbed in real sorrow. + +"I suppose it's an awfu' big fall. He had been workin' on the top o' +some auld workin's, an' I suppose they wadna ken, an' it fell in. It +maun hae been an awfu' trial for wee Rob, poor wee man. His first day in +the pit, an' his father an' brither killed afore his een!" + +"Hoo has Nellie taken it, Jenny?" enquired the neighbor, after a little, +when her sobs had subsided. + +"Ye'd break yir heart if ye could see her," replied Jenny sorrowfully. +"I gaed owre when oor yin gaed out wi' the pieces--he cam' hame at fower +o'clock to get mair pieces, for they're goin' to work on to ten the +nicht--an' I never saw onything sae sad-lookin' as her face. She has +never cried the least thing yet. Never a tear has come frae her, but +she'd be better if she could greet." + +"Do ye tell me that! Puir Nellie! It's an awfu' hand fu' she is left +wi', too," commented the neighbor. + +"Ay, she jist looks at ye sae sad-like wi' her big black een; never a +word nor a tear, but just stares, an' she's that thin an' white lookin'. +I look for her breakin' doon a'thegither, an' when she does I wadna like +to see her. The bits o' weans gang aboot the hoose wonderin' at her, and +she looks to them too, but ye'd think she'd nae interest in onything. +She jist looks out o' the window an' doon the brae to the pit. It's +awesome to look at her." + +"Oh, puir body!" and again the kindly neighbor was overcome, and Jenny +joined her tears too in silent sympathy. + +"The minister was owre last nicht," said Jenny after a little, "but I +dinna think she ever spoke to him. He cam' in just when I was comin' +oot, an' I dinna like to leave her. He talked away a wee while an' then +put up a prayer; but there was nae consolation in't for onybody. I think +the sicht o' her face maun hae been too muckle for him. He didna stay +very lang, and gaed awa' saying he'd come back again. Nellie has +everything ready--the bed a' made, wi' clean sheets an' blankets on +them--an' there she stan's always at that window, lookin' doon the brae. +It would break yer heart to see her, Leezie, she's that vexed lookin'." +So they wept and sorrowed together. + + * * * * * + +Down in the pit, Andrew Marshall, Matthew Maitland, Peter Pegg, and a +number of others toiled like giants possessed. Their naked bodies +streamed with sweat and glistened in the light of their lamps. Timber +was placed in position, and driven tight with desperation in every blow +from their hammers; blocks of rock were tossed aside, and smashed into +fragments, ere being filled into the tubs which were ever waiting ready +to convey the débris to the pit-head. Few words were spoken, except when +a warning shout was given, when some loose rubble poured down from the +great gaping cavern in the roof, and then men jumped and sprang to +safety with the agility of desperation, to wait till the rumbling had +ceased, only to leap back again into the yawning hell, tearing at the +stones, and trying to work their way into the place where they knew +Geordie and the boy were lying. It seemed impossible that human efforts +would ever be able to clear that mountain away. + +"Wait a minute, callans," said Andrew, almost dropping with exhaustion, +and drawing his hands across his eyes to wipe the sweat from them, +whilst he "hunkered" down, his back against a broken tree which stood +jutting out from the building, supporting a broken "baton" (cross-tree), +which bent down in the center, making the roadway low and unsafe. "Let +us tak a minute's thocht, and see if we can get a way o' chokin' up that +stuff fear fallin' doon. We'll never get it redd up goin' like this." + +So they sat down, tired but still desperate, to listen to each one +suggesting a way of stopping the débris from continuing to fall. Baffled +and at their wits' end, they could think of nothing. + +At last in came a number of other men to relieve them--men equally +anxious and desperate as they, burning with the desire to get to grips +with this calamity which had come upon two of their comrades. + +"I'm no' goin' hame," said Andrew decisively, "till I see Geordie out." +He was almost dropping with exhaustion, but he could not think of +leaving his dead friend in there. So at last it was agreed that he +should stay, and at least give the benefit of his advice. The others, +more tired than ever they had been before in all their experience of the +mines, where hard work is the rule, trudged wearily home, to be met by +the waiting groups of women and children, who at all times stood at the +corners of the village eagerly asking for news, "If they'd been gotten +yet." + +After a few minutes' deliberation a plan was decided on by Andrew and +his comrades of trying to choke up the hole in the roof with timber, and +the work went on desperately, silently, heroically. Time and again their +efforts were baffled by new falls, but always the same persistent eager +spirit drove them back to their toil. So they worked, risking and daring +things of which no man who never saw a like calamity has any conception, +and which would have appalled themselves at any other time. + +"Look out, boys," called Tam Donaldson, springing back to the road as +the warning noise again began, and great masses of rock came hurtling +down, filling the place with dust and noise. + +A cry of pain and horror broke upon them as they ran, and brought them +back while the crumbling mass was still falling. + +"Great God! It's wee Jamie Allan," roared one man above the din. "He's +catched by the leg! Here, boys, hurry up! Try an' get this block broken +afore ony mair comes doon. God Almichty! Are we a' goin' to be buried +thegither? This bit, boys! Quick!" And they tore at the great masses of +stone, the sweat streaming from every pore of their bodies, cursing +their impotence as they smashed with big hammers the rock which lay upon +Jamie's leg. + +"Mind yersel's, laddies!" warned Jamie, as again the trickling noise +began, heralding another fall. "Leave me, for God's sake, an' get back!" +But not one heeded. Desperate and strong with the strength of giants, +they toiled on, the sight of suffering so manifest in Jamie's eyes, as +he strove not to cry out, spurring them onward. + +"Ye'll never lift that bit, Tam," said Jamie, as four of them tore at +the block which lay upon his leg. "It's faur too big. Take an ax an' +hack the leg off. I doot it'll be wasted anyway. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" +And unable longer to endure the pain, he roared aloud in agony, and tore +at the stone himself with his fingers, like an imprisoned beast in a +trap. + +"Here, boys, quick!" cried Andrew, getting his long pinch in below the +stone, upon a fine leverage. "Put yir weight on this, Tam, an' Jock an' +Sanny'll try an' pull Jamie out. Hurry up, for she's working for anither +collapse. A'thegither!" and so they tugged and tore, and strained and +pulled, while the roars of the imprisoned man were deafening. + +"A'thegither again, laddies!" encouraged Andrew. "This time!" and with a +tremendous effort the stone gave way, and Jamie was pulled clear, his +leg a crushed mass of pulpy blood and shattered bones. They dragged him +back clear of any further falls, and improvised a stretcher on which to +carry home his now unconscious body. + +"That was a hell o' a narrow shave," quietly observed Tam Donaldson, as +they panted together, and tried to collect themselves. "His leg's +wasted, I doot, an' will need to come off." When they had their +stretcher ready, the wounded man was tenderly placed upon it, carefully +covered up with the jackets of the others; whilst half-a-dozen of them +carried him to the pit bottom, and finally bore him home, where the +doctor was ready waiting to attend to him. + +Andrew and a few others worked away, and at last managed to get the +running sore in the roof choked up with long bars of timber, and even +though it continued to rumble away above them, the heavy blocks of wood +held, and so allowed them to work away in comparative safety. + +Peter Pegg and Matthew Maitland returned at six o'clock next morning, +bringing with them another band of workers to relieve those who had +worked all night, but still Andrew Marshall would not leave the scene of +the disaster. He worked and rested by turns, advising and guiding the +younger men, who never spared themselves. They performed mighty epics of +work down there in the darkness amid the rumbling, falling roof. It was +a great task they were set, but they never shirked the consequences. +They never turned back. Risks were taken and accepted without a thought; +tasks were eagerly jumped to, and the whole job accepted as if it were +just what ordinarily they were asked to do. + +Crash went the hammers; thump went the great blocks of material into the +tubs, and the men quietly got away the tubs as they were filled. Night +and day the great work went on, never ceasing, persistent, relentless. +If one man dropped out a minute to breathe and rest when exhausted, +another sprang into his place, and toiled and strove like an engine. + +There was something great and inspiring even to look on at those mighty +efforts--something exhilarating and elevating in the play of muscles +like great long shooting serpents under the glistening skins of the men. +Arms shot out, tugged and tore, jerked and wrenched, then doubled up and +the muscles became knots, bulging out as if they would break through the +skin, as the great blocks were lifted; and then the blocks were cast +into the tub, the knots untied themselves, and slipped elastically back +into their places, and the serpents were momentarily at rest until the +body bent again to another block. Out and in they flew, supple and +silent, quick as lightning playing in the heavens; they zig-zagged and +shot this way and that, tying and untying themselves, darting out and +doubling back, advancing and retiring in rhythmic action, graceful and +easy, powerful and inevitable. Bending and rising, the swaying bodies +gleamed and glistened with greasy dust and sweat, catching the gleams +from the lamps and reflecting them in every streaming pore. Straining +and tearing, the muscles, at every slightest wish, seemed to exude +energy and health, glowing strength and power. + +It was all so natural and apparently easy--an epic in moleskin and human +flesh, with only the little glimmer of oil-lamps, which darted from side +to side in a mad mazurka of toil, crossing and recrossing, swinging and +halting, the flames flattening out with every heave of their owners' +bodies, then abruptly being brought to the steady again. Looked at from +the road-foot, it was like a carnival of fireflies engaged in trying how +quickly they could dart from side to side, and cross each other's path, +without coming into collision. + +Who shall sing in lyrical language the exhilaration of such splendid +men's work? Who shall catch that glow of strength and health, and work +it into deathless song? The ring of the hammers on the stone, the dull +regular thud upon the timber, the crash of breaking rock, and the +strong, warm-blooded, generous-hearted men; the passionate glowing +bodies, and above all, the great big heroic souls, fighting, working, +striving in a hell of hunger and death, toiling till one felt they were +gods instead of humans--gods of succor and power, gods of helpfulness +and strength. + +So the work went on hour after hour, and now their efforts were +beginning to tell. No more came the rumbling, treacherous falls; but +perceptibly, irresistibly was the passage gradually cleared, and the way +opened up, until it seemed as if these men were literally eating their +way into that rock-filled passage. + +"Can ye tell me where Black Jock is a' this time?" enquired Andrew, as +Peter and Matthew and he sat back the road, resting while the others +worked. "Rundell has been here twa or three times, for hours at a time, +but I hae never seen Walker yet." + +"I hae never seen him either, an' I was hearin' that he was badly," +returned Peter, and his big eye seemed to turn as if it were looking for +and expecting some one to slip up behind him. + +"Ay," broke in Matthew, "badly! I wadna say, but it micht be that he's +badly; but maybe he's not." + +"Do ye ken, boys," said Andrew quietly, taking his pipe out of his +mouth, and speaking with slow deliberation, "I'm beginnin' to think +Black Jock is guilty o' Geordie's death. Geordie, as we a' ken, had ay +something against Walker. There was something he kent aboot the black +brute that lately kept him gey quiet; for, if ye noticed, whenever +Geordie went to him about anybody's complaint, the men aye won. I ken +Walker hated him, an' I'm inclined to think that he has deliberately +put Geordie into this place, kennin' that the lower seam had been +worked out lang, lang syne. His plans wad tell him as muckle about the +workin's, and I ken, at least, he's never been in Geordie's place since +it was started, an' there's nae ither places drivin' up sae far as this. +They're a' stoppit afore they come this length; an' forby, frae what +Rundell has let drap the day, he never kent that the coal was being +worked as far up as this. By ----! Peter, gin I could prove what I +suspect, I'd murder the dirty brute this nicht! I would that!" + +"Would Nellie no' ken, think ye, what it was that Geordie had against +Black Jock that kept him sae quiet?" enquired Peter. + +"I couldna' say," answered Andrew, "but some day when I get the chance +I'll maybe ask her, an' if it is as I think, then there'll be rows." + +"Let me ken, Andrew," broke in Matthew. "Let me ken if ever ye discover +onything; an' ye can count on me sharin' the penalties o' hell alang wi' +ye for the murder o' the big black brute." + +"I heard," said Peter, "that he was boozin' wi' Mag Robertson and Sanny. +But we'll no' be long in kennin', for ill-doin' canna hide." + + * * * * * + +After three frantic days of fighting against calamity, during which +Andrew never left the fight except for that brief journey to tell Nellie +the news, at last they came upon the crushed mass of bloody pulp and +rags, smashed together so that the one could not be told from the +other--father and son, a heap of broken bones and flesh and blood.... +And no pen can describe accurately the scene. + +The light had gone out from one woman's heart, the hope had been crushed +from her life. The rainbow which had promised so much vanished. The lust +and urge had gone out of eager life. Never again would the world seem +fair and beautiful. Instead, all the weary fight and desperate battle +with poverty and privation over again; the dull misery and the drab +gray existence, and always the pain--the heavy, dragging pain of a +broken life. With a woman's "Oh! my God!" the world for one heart stood +still, and the blind fate of things triumphed, crushing a woman's soul +in the process. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE STRIKE + + +A week had passed, and Geordie Sinclair and his boy, or at least all +that could be gathered up of them, had been laid to rest. + +Nellie was very ill, and was now in bed. The reaction had been too much +for her. But, as Jenny Maitland had said: "She's never cried yet, an' it +would hae been better gin she had. She jist looked at ye wi' her big +black e'en sae vexed-like and faraway lookin', an' never spoke hardly. +When they carried out the coffins, she sprang up gin she wad follow +them, but was putten back to bed again. It was heart-vexin' to look at +her." + +Robert suffered, too. The sympathy of everyone went out to him. At night +when he went to bed the whole scene was reënacted before him in all its +horror. Those tense moments of tragedy had so powerfully impressed his +boyish mind that he could never forget them. + +At the end of the week Andrew Marshall visited them to talk over +matters. A collection had been made at the pay-office by the men +employed at the pit, and a beautiful wreath purchased and placed upon +the grave. A substantial balance had been handed over to Mrs. Sinclair, +and this defrayed the expenses of the funeral. After Andrew had spoken +of various things, he broke on to the object of his errand that night. + +"I hae been thinkin', Nellie," he began nervously, "that I could tak' +Rob in wi' me. Ye see, I ha'e no callans o' my ain, and I ha'e aye to +get yin to draw off me. So, gin ye're agreeable, I could tak' Rob, an' +I'll be guid to him. He can come an' be my neighbor, an' as he'll hae to +get work in ony case, he micht as weel work wi' me as wi' ony ither +body. Forby I'll maybe be able to pay him mair than plenty ithers could +pay him, an' that is efter a' the point to be maist considered. What do +ye think?" + +But Mrs. Sinclair could not think; she merely indicated to him that he +might please himself and make his own arrangements with the boy, which +Andrew did, and Robert went to work with him the following week. He was +a mass of nerves and was horribly afraid--indeed, this fear never left +him for years--but, young as he was, he recognized his responsibility, +to his mother and the rest of the family. He was now its head, and had +to shoulder the burden of providing for it, and so his will drove him to +work in the pit, when his soul revolted at the very thought of it. +Always the horror of the tragedy was with him, down to its smallest +detail; and sometimes, even at work, when his mind wandered for a moment +from his immediate task, he would start up in terror, almost crying out +again as he had done on the day of the accident. + +Andrew kept his word and was good to the boy now in his care. Indeed, he +took, as some said, more care of the boy than if Robert had been his +own, for he tried to save him from every little detail that might remind +him of the accident. + +"That's yours, Robin," he said, when pay-day came, as he handed to the +boy the half of the pay earned. + +"Na, I canna' tak' that, Andrew," replied Robert, looking up into the +broad, kindly, honest face of the man. "My mither wouldna' let me." + +"Would she no'?" replied Andrew. "But you are the heid o' the hoose, +Robin, sae just tak' it hame, an' lay it down on the dresser-head. We +are doin' gey weel the noo, an' forby, ye're workin' for it. Noo run +awa' hame wi't, an' dinna say ocht to yir mither, but just put it doon +on the dresser-head." And so the partnership began which was to last for +many years. + +About this time there happened one of those tremendous upheavals, long +remembered in the industrial world, the great Scottish Miners' Strike of +1894. The trade union movement was growing and fighting, and every +tendency pointed to the fact that a clash of forces was inevitable. The +previous year had seen the English miners beaten after a protracted +struggle. They had come out for an increase in wages, and whilst it was +recognized that they had been beaten and forced to go back to work +suffering wholesale reductions, yet a newer perspective was beginning to +appear to the miners of Scotland. + +"We'll never be able to beat the maisters," said Tam Donaldson, when the +cloud first appeared upon the industrial horizon. "The English strike +gied us a lesson we shouldna forget." + +"How's that?" enquired Peter Pegg, as he sat down on his hunkers one +night at the end of the row, while they discussed the prospects of the +coming fight. + +"Weel, ye saw how the Englishmen fought unitedly, an' yet they were +beaten, an' had to gang back on a reduction. We'll very likely be the +same, for the maisters are a' weel organized. What we should do is to +ha'e England an' Scotland coming out together, an' let the pits stan' +then till the grass was growin' owre the whorles. That would be my way +o' it, and I think it would soon bring the country to see what was in +the wind." + +"That's richt, Tam. It would soon bring the hale country to its senses; +for nae matter what oor fight is, we are aye in the wrang wi' some folk; +so the shock o' the hale country comin' out would mak' them tak' notice, +an' would work the cure." + +So they talked of newer plans, while Smillie toiled like a giant to +educate and organize the miners. He had taken hold of them as crude +material, and was slowly shaping them into something like unity. A few +more years and he would win; but the forces against him knew it, too, +and so followed the great fight which lasted for seventeen weeks. + +Singularly enough, while there was undoubtedly much privation, there was +not very much real misery, as the strike had started early in a warm, +dry summer. + +Communal kitchens were at once established throughout the country. +Everybody did his best, and the womenfolk especially toiled early and +late. A committee was appointed in each village to gather in materials. +Beef at a reasonable price was supplied by a local butcher. A horse and +cart were borrowed, which went round the district gathering a cabbage or +two here; a few carrots or turnips there, parsley at another, and so +on, returning at night invariably laden with vegetables for the next +day's dinner. Sometimes a farmer would give a sheep, and the local +cooperative society provided the bread at half the cost of production. +Those farmers who were hostile gave nothing, but it would have paid them +better had they concealed their hostility, for sometimes, even in a +single night, large portions of a field of potatoes would disappear as +by magic. + +Robert worked in this fight like a man. He helped to cut down trees and +saw them into logs, to cook the food at the soup kitchen. Everything and +anything he tried, running errands, and even going with the van to +solicit material for the following day's meals. + +All were cheerful, and no one seemed to take the fight bitterly. Sports +were organized. Quoiting tournaments were got up, football matches +arranged, games at rounders and hand-ball--every conceivable game was +indulged in, with sometimes a few coppers as prizes but more often a few +ounces of tobacco or tea or a packet of sugar. Dances in the evenings +were started at the corner of the row to the strains of a melodeon, and +were carried on to the early hours of the morning. It was from these +gatherings that the young lads generally raided the fields and hen runs +of the hostile farmers, returning with eggs, butter, potatoes, and even +cheese--everything on which they could lay their hands. + +At one of these gatherings Robert related his experience with "auld +Hairyfithill." Robert had been round with the van that day, and calling +at Wilson's, or Hairyfithill Farm, to ask if they had any cabbage to +give, he heard the old man calling to the servant lass: "Mag! Mag! Where +are ye? Rin an' bring in the hens' meat; there's thae colliers coming." + +Nothing daunted, Robert had gone into the kitchen to ask if they had +anything to give the strikers. + +"Get awa' back to yer work, ye lazy loons, ye!" was the reply from old +Mr. Wilson. "Gie ye something for your soup kitchen! Na, na! Ye can gang +an' work, an' pay for your meat. Gang awa' oot owre, and leave the town, +an' dinna come back again." And so they had drawn blank at +Hairyfithill. + +"It wad serve him richt, if every tattie in his fields was ta'en awa'," +said Matthew Maitland, after the story had been told and laughed over. + +"It wad that," agreed a score of voices; but nothing was done nor +anything further said, so the dancing proceeded. + +About two o'clock in the morning while the dancing was still going on +and a fire had been kindled at the corner in which some of the strikers +were roasting potatoes and onions a great commotion was suddenly caused, +when Dickie Tamson and two other boys drove in among them old +Hairyfithill's sow which he was fattening for the market. Some proposed +that the pig be killed at once. + +"Oh no, dinna kill it," said Matthew Maitland, with real alarm in his +voice. "Ye'd get into a row for that. Ye'd better tak' it back, or there +may be fun." + +"Kill the damn'd thing," said Tam Donaldson callously, "an' it'll maybe +a lesson to the auld sot. Him an' his hens' meat! I'd let him ken that +it's no' hens' meat the collier eats--at least no' so lang as he can get +pork." + +"That's jist what I think, too, Tam," put in another voice. "I'd mak' +sure work that the collier ate pork for yince. Come on, boys, an' mum's +the word," and he proceeded to drive the pig further along the village, +followed by a few enthusiastic backers. They drove it into Granny +Fleming's hen-house in the middle of the square, put out the hens, who +protested loudly against this rude and incomprehensible interruption of +their slumbers, and then they proceeded to slaughter the pig. + +It was a horrible orgy, and the pig made a valiant protest, but +encountered by hammers and picks, knives and such-like weapons, the poor +animal was soon vanquished, and the men proceeded to cut up its carcass. +It was a long and trying ordeal for men who had no experience of the +work; yet they made up in enthusiasm what they lacked in science, and by +five o'clock the pig was cut up and distributed through a score of +homes. Every trace of the slaughter was removed, and the refuse buried +in the village midden, and pork was the principal article on the +breakfast table that morning in Lowwood. + +"I hear that auld Hairyfithill has offered five pound reward for +information about his pig," said Tam Donaldson a few mornings later. + +"Ay, an' it's a gran' price for onybody wha kens aboot it," said auld +Jamie Lauder. "Pork maun hae risen in price this last twa-three days, +for I'm telt it was gaun cheap enough then." + +"That is true," said Tam, "but it was a damn'd shame to tak' the auld +man's pig awa', whaever did it. But I hear them saying that the polisman +is gaun to the farm the nicht to watch, so that the tatties 'll no' be +stolen," he went on, as some of the younger men joined them, "an' I +suppose that the puir polisman hasna' a bit o' coal left in his +coal-house. It's no' richt, ye ken, laddies, that a polisman, who is the +representative o' law and order in this place, should sit without a +fire. He has a wife an' weans to worry aboot, an' they need a fire to +mak' meat. Maybe if he had a fire an' plenty o' coal it wad mak' him +comfortable, an' then he'd no' be sae ready to leave the hoose at nicht +an' lie in a tattie pit to watch thievin' colliers. If a man hasna' +peace in his mind it'll mak' him nasty, an' we canna' allow sic a thing +as a nasty polisman in this district!" + +"That's richt, Tam," said one of the younger men. "It would be a shame +to see a woman an' twa-three weans sittin' withoot a fire an' a great +big bing o' coal lyin' doon there at the pit. We maun try an' keep the +polisman comfortable." + +That night the policeman without in any way trying to conceal his +purpose walked down through the village and across the strip of moor and +took up his position at the end of Hairyfithill's potato field. At once +a group of young men led by Tam Donaldson set off with bags under their +arms after it was dark for the pit at the other end of the village and +were soon engaged in carrying coal as if their lives depended on it. + +"Noo, lads, the first bag gangs to the polisman, mind," said Tam, +shouldering his load and walking off. + +"A' richt, Tam. If we a' gang wi' the first bag to him that'll be nine +bags, then we can get two or three bags for hame. Dinna hurry; we ha'e +a' nicht to carry, an' we can get in a fine lot afore daylicht breaks." + +"That's richt," said Tam, "but mind an' no' tire yersels too much, for +ye've a nicht at the tatties the morn. The polis'll be at the bing the +morn's nicht efter this carry-on, an' when he is busy watchin' for coal +thieves, we maun see that we get in a denner or twa o' tatties. I heard +him sayin' he could not be everywhere at yince, an' couldna' both watch +coal thieves an' tattie stealin' at yin an' the same time." + + * * * * * + +All this time matters went very smoothly. The men were very firm, having +great trust in Smillie. After about six weeks, however, from various +causes a suspicious atmosphere began to be created. Hints had been +appearing from time to time in the newspapers that matters were not +altogether as the miners thought they were. Then vague rumors got afloat +in many districts and spread with great rapidity, and these began to +undermine the confidence of the strikers. + +"What think ye o' the fecht noo, Tam?" enquired Matthew Maitland one +night as they sat among the others at the "Lazy Corner," as the village +forum was called. + +"I dinna ken what to think o' it," replied Tam glumly. "Do ye think +there's any truth in that story aboot Smillie havin' sell't us?" + +"It wad be hard to ken," replied Matthew Maitland, taking his pipe out +of his mouth and spitting savagely upon the ground. "But I heard it for +a fact, and that a guid wheen o' men doon the country hae gaen back to +their work through it. An' yet, mind ye, Smillie seemed to me to be a +straight-forret man an' yin that was sincere. Still, ye can never tell; +an' twa-three hunner pound's a big temptation to a man." + +"Ay," said Tam dryly, "we hae been diddled sae often wi' bigmoothed men +on the make, that it mak's a body ay suspicious when yin hears thae +stories. I heard Wiston, the coal-maister, had gien him five hunner +pounds on the quiet." + +"I heard that too," replied Matthew, "but, like you, I'm loth to think +it o' Smillie. I'd believe it quicker aboot yon ither chiel, Charlie +Rogerson. He comes oot to speak to us ay dressed in a black dress-suit, +wi' white cuffs doon to his finger nebs, his gold ring, his lum hat, an' +a' his fal-de-lals." + +"Weel, I dinna believe a word o' this story aboot Bob," said Robert +quietly, who had "hunkered" down beside the two men who sat so earnestly +discussing matters while the others went on with their games and +dancing. + +"Do ye no', Rob?" said Tam. + +"No, I do not," was the firm reply, "for nae matter what happens in a +fight, it's ay the opeenion o' some folk that the men ha'e been sell't." + +Robert, though young, took a keen interest in the fight. While other +lads of his age looked upon it as a fine holiday, the heavy +responsibilities he had to face gave him a different outlook, and so the +men seemed to recognize that he was different from the other boys, and +more sober in his view-point. + +"This story is set aboot for the purpose o' breakin' oup the men," he +continued. "We hear o' Smillie haein hale rows o' cottages bought, an' a +lot ither rubbish, but I wouldna believe it. It's a' to get the men to +gang back to their work; an' if they do that, it'll no' only break the +strike, but it'll break up the union, an' that's what's wanted mair than +anything else. I've heard Smillie an' my faither talkin' aboot a' thae +things lang syne, an' Smillie says that's what the stories are set aboot +for. We should ha'e sense enough no' to heed them, for I dinna think +Smillie has sell't us at a'." + +There was a fine, firm ring in the boy's voice as he spoke which moved +the two older men, and made them feel a little ashamed that they had +been so ready to doubt. + +"Ah, weel, Rob," said Tam, "maybe you are richt, but a lot o' men ha'e +gaen back to their work already, an' it'll break up the strike if it +spreads. But we'll ha'e to get some tatties in the nicht; the polisman's +goin' to be watchin' auld Burnfoot's hen-hoose, sae it'll be a grand +chance for some tatties," and the talk drifted on to another subject. + +About the eighth week of the strike the news went round the village +that Sanny Robertson and Peter Fleming were "oot at the pit." + +"I wad smash every bone in their dirty bodies if I had my way o' it. I +would," said Matthew Maitland, with emphasis. Matthew was always +emphatic in all he said, though seldom so in what he did. + +"But we'll ha'e to watch hoo we act," said Andrew Marshall more +cautiously. "It's agin the law, ye ken, to use force." + +"I wadna' gi'e a damn," said Peter Pegg, his big eye making frantic +efforts to wink. "I wad see that they blacklegged nae mair." + +"Sae wad I," promptly exclaimed half a dozen of the younger men. + +"We maun see that they don't do it ony mair." + +"Ay, an' I hope we'll mak' sure work that they sleep in for twa-three +mornin's." + +"I'll tell ye what," said old Lauder, "let us get a few weemin' and +weans thegither, an' we'll gang doon to the pit an' wait on them comin' +up frae their shift. The bairns can get tin cans an' a stane for a +drumstick, an' we'll ha'e a loonie band. We can sing twa or three o' +thae blackleg sangs o' Tam Donaldson's, an' play them hame." + +"That's the plan, Jamie," replied Tam, who had suddenly seen himself +immortalized through his parodies of certain popular songs. "Let us get +as mony women an' callans as possible, and we can mak' a damn'd guid +turnout. We'll sing like linties, an' drum like thunder, an' the +blacklegs'll feel as if they were goin' through Purgatory to the tune +o':" + + Tattie Wullie, Tattie Wullie, + Tattie Wullie Shaw, + Where's the sense o' workin', Wullie?-- + Faith, ye're lookin' braw. + +or + + Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming, + Peter, man, I say, + Ye've been workin', ye've been workin', + Ye've been workin' the day. + + Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming, + If ye work ony mair, + Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming, + Your heart will be sair. + +With little difficulty a band of men, women and children was organized +and proceeded to the pit to await the coming up of the culprits. Hour +after hour they waited patiently, determined not to miss them, and the +time was spent in light jesting and singing ribald songs. + +"I wadna' like if my faither was a blackleg," observed Mysie Maitland to +the girl next her. + +"No, nor me, either!" quickly agreed the other. "It wad be awfu' to hear +folk cryin' 'Blackleg' after yir faither, wadna' it, Mysie?" + +"Ay," was the reply. "I wadna' like it." + +"They should a' be hunted oot o' the place," put in Robert, who was +standing near. "They are just sellin' the rest o' the men, an' helpin' +to break up the strike. So ye mind, Mysie, hoo Tam Graham's lass aye +clashed on the rest o' us on the pit-head? She's just like her faither, +ay ready to do onything agin the rest, if it would gi'e her a wee bit +favor." + +"Ay, fine I mind o' it, Rob," Mysie replied eagerly. "Do ye mind the day +she was goin' to tell aboot you takin' hame the bit auld stick for +firewood? When I telt her if she did, I'd tell on her stealin' the +tallow frae the engine-house an' the paraffin ile ay when she got the +chance. She didna say she'd tell then." + +"Ay, Mysie. Maybe I'd ha'e gotten the sack if she had telt. But she was +aye a clashbag. But here they come!" he shouted animatedly, as the bell +signaled for the cage to rise, and presently the wheels began to +revolve, as the cage ascended. + +"May the tow break, an' land the dirty scums in hell," prayed one man. + +"Ay, an' may the coals they howkit the day roast them forever," added +another. Though they prayed thus, yet once again they found that the +"prayer of the wicked availeth naught." Buckets of water, however, and +even bits of stone and scrap iron were surreptitiously flung down the +shaft; and when the blacklegs did appear, they were nearly frightened +out of their senses. It would have gone hard with them as they left the +cage, but someone whispered, "Here's the polis!" and so the crowd had to +be content with beating their tin cans; and keeping time to the songs +improvised by Tam Donaldson, they escorted the blacklegs to their homes. + +Next morning a large number of the strikers gathered at the Lazy Corner, +enjoying themselves greatly. + +"They tell me," said Tam Donaldson, "that our fren's ha'e slept in this +morning." + +A laugh greeted this sally, which seemed to indicate that most of them +knew about the sleeping-in and the reason for it. + +"Ay, they'd be tired oot efter their hard day's work yesterday," replied +another. + +"Ay, an' they dinna seem to be up yet," said a third, "for I see the +doors are still shut, an' the bairns are no' awa' to the school. They +maun ha'e been awfu' tired to ha'e slept sae lang." + +"Let's gang doon and gi'e them a bit sang to help to keep their dreams +pleasant," suggested Tam Donaldson, as they moved off down the row and +stopped before Jock Graham's door. Tam, clearing his throat, led of: + + Hey, Johnnie Graham, are ye wauken yet, + Or is yer fire no' ken'lt yet? + If you're no wauken we will wait, + An' tak' ye to the pit in the mornin'. + + Black Jock sent a message in the dark, + Sayin': Johnny Graham, come to your wark, + For tho' ye've been locked in for a lark, + Ye maun come to the pit in the mornin'. + + You an' Fleeming, an' Robertson tae, + Had better a' gang doon the brae, + An' you'll get your pay for ilka day + That ye gang to your work in the mornin'. + +Then, leading off on to another, Tam, with great gusto, swung into a +song that carried the others along uproariously: + + O' a' the airts the win' can blaw, + It canna blaw me free, + For I am high an' dry in bed, + When workin' I should be; + But ropes are stronger faur than is + Desire for work wi' me, + An' sae I lie, baith high an' dry-- + I'll hae to bide a wee. + + I canna say on whatna day + I'll gang again to work, + For sticks an' stanes may break my banes, + As sure's my name's McGurk. + Gie me the best place in the pit, + Then happy I shall be, + Just wi' yae wife to licht oor life, + Big dirty Jock an' me! + +After a round or two of applause and some shouts from the children, Tam +broke out in a new air: + + This is no' my ain lassie, + Kin' though the lassie be, + There's a man ca'd Black Jock Walker, + Shares this bonnie lass wi' me. + She's sweet, she's kin', her ways are fine, + An' whiles she gies her love to me. + She's ta'en my name, but, oh, the shame, + That Walker shares the lass wi' me. + + This is no' my ain lassie, + She is changefu' as the sea, + Whiles I get a' her sweet kisses, + Whiles Black Jock shares them wi' me. + She's fat and fair, she's het and rare, + She's no' that trig, but ay she's free, + It pays us baith, as sure as daith, + That Walker shares the lass wi' me. + +This sent the crowd wild with delight, and cries of "Good auld Tam!" +were raised. "Damn'd guid, Tam! Ye're as guid as Burns." All of which +made Tam feel that at last his genius was being recognized. The +explanation of the joke was to be found in the fact, as one song had +hinted, that the strikers had securely fastened the doors of all the +blacklegs' houses with ropes, and jammed the windows with sticks, so +that the inmates could not get out. Even the children could not get out +to go to school. It was late in the afternoon before the police heard of +it, and came and cut the ropes, and so relieved the imprisoned inmates. + +This happened for a morning or two, and then the practice stopped, for +the police watched the doors throughout the whole night. This +preoccupation of the police was taken advantage of to raid again old +Hairyfithill's potato field, and also to pay a visit to the bing for +coal, and a very profitable time was thus spent by the strikers, even +though the blacklegs were at their work in a few days. + +What was happening in Lowwood was typical of almost all other mining +villages throughout the country. Everywhere high spirits and +cheerfulness prevailed among the men. As for the leaders, the situation +proved too big for some of them to cope with it, the responsibility was +too great; and so they failed at the critical moment. The demand of an +increase of a shilling a day, for which the men had struck, had been +conceded by some of the owners, whilst others had offered sixpence. Some +of the leaders were in favor of accepting these concessions, and +allowing the men at the collieries concerned to resume work, and so be +able to contribute considerably to help keep out those whose demands had +not been met. Others of the leaders refused to agree to this, and +insisted that as all had struck together, they should fight together to +the end, until the increase was conceded to all. This difference of +opinion was readily perceived and welcomed by the coalmasters, and +stiffened their resolution, for they saw that disagreement and divisions +would soon weaken the morale of the men, and such proved to be the case. + +No one can imagine what Smillie suffered at this time, as he saw his +splendid effort going to pieces; but being a big man, he knew that it +was impossible to turn back. His plans might for the moment miscarry; +but that was merely a necessary, yet passing, phase in the great +evolution of Industrialism, and his ideals must yet triumph. + +As the result of the differences among the leaders, the strike +collapsed at the end of seventeen weeks. The men were forced to return +to work on the old terms. In some cases a reduction was imposed, making +their condition worse than at the start. The masters sought to drive +home their victory in order to break the union. In many parts of the +country they succeeded, while in others the spirit of the men resisted +it. Generally it ended in compromise; but, so far as the Union was +concerned, it was a broken organization; branches went down, and it was +many years afterwards before it was again reestablished in some of the +districts. + +Though at the time it might have seemed all loss, yet it had its +advantages, and especially demonstrated the fact that there was a fine +discipline and the necessary unity among the rank and file. The next +great work was to find out how that unity could be guided and that +discipline perfected--how to find a common ideal for the men. This was +Robert Smillie's task, and who shall say, looking at the rank and file +to-day, that he has failed? + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE RIVALS + + +Eight years passed, and Robert grew into young manhood. One of his +younger brothers had joined him and Andrew Marshall in the partnership. +It had been a long, stiff struggle, and his mother knew all the hardness +and cruelty of it. In after years Robert loved his mother more for the +fight she put up, though it never seemed to him that he himself had done +anything extraordinary. He was always thoughtful, and planned to save +her worry. On "pay-nights," once a fortnight, when other boys of his age +were getting a sixpence, or perhaps even a shilling, as pocket-money, so +that they could spend a few coppers on the things that delight a boy's +heart, Robert resolutely refused to take a penny. For years he continued +thus, always solacing himself with the thought that it was a "shilling's +worth less of worry" his mother would have. + +Yet, riches were his in that the enchantment of literature held him +captive, and his imagination gained for him treasures incomparably +greater than the solid wealth prized by worldly minds. His father had +possessed about a dozen good books, among others such familiar Scottish +household favorites as "Wilson's Tales of the Borders," "Mansie Waugh," +by "Delta," "Scots Worthies," Allan Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd," Scott's +"Rob Roy" and "Old Mortality," and the well-thumbed and dog-eared copy +of Robert Burns' Poems. + +"Gae awa', man Robin," his mother would say sometimes to him, as he sat +devouring Wilson's "Tales" or weeping over the tragic end of Wallace's +wife Marion as recounted in Jean Porter's entrancing "Scottish Chiefs." + +"Gang awa' oot an' tak' a walk. Ither laddies are a' oot playin' at +something, an' forby it's no' healthy to sit too long aye readin'." + +"Ach. I canna' be bothered," he would answer. "I'd raither read." + +"What is't you're readin' noo?" she would enquire. "Oh, it's the +'Scottish Chiefs,' an' I'm jist at the bit aboot Wallace's wife being +murdered by Hazelrig. My! It's awfu' vexin'." + +"Ay, it's a fine book, Robin. Ye might read that bit oot to me." + +"A' richt," and he would start to read while Nellie sat down to listen. +Soon both were engrossed in the sad story, so powerfully told, and the +tears would be running from the mother's eyes as her fancy pictured the +sorrows of Wallace, while Robert's voice would break, and a sob come +into his throat, as he proceeded. When finally the passage was reached +where the brutal blow was struck, the book would have to be put down, +while mother and son both cried as if the grief depicted were their own. + +"It's an awfu' gran' book, Rob," she would say after a time, while she +strove to subdue the sobs in her breast. "Puir Wallace! It maun ha'e +been an awfu' blow to him, when he heard that Marion was killed. But you +maun read on a bit far'er, for I'm no' gaun tae work ony mair till I see +that dirty beast Hazelrig get his deserts. He has wrocht for it, sae +jist gang on noo till you feenish the bit aboot him gettin' killed wi' +Wallace. He deserves it for killin' a woman." + +Thus Robert would have to go on, until the incident in question had been +reached in the story, and as it unfolded itself his voice would grow +firmer and stronger as he became infected with the narrative, while his +mother's eyes would glow, and her body be tense with interest, and an +expectant expression would creep over her face, betraying her +excitement. In the interview between Wallace and Hazelrig in the house +in the Wellgate in Lanark, when Wallace dramatically draws his sword in +answer to the supplication for mercy, and says: "Ay, the same mercy as +you showed my Marion," Robert's voice would thunder forth the words with +terrible sternness, while Nellie would gasp and catch her breath in a +quick little sob of excitement, as the feeling of satisfied justice +filled her heart. And when the blow fell that laid the English governor +low, she would burst out: "Serves him richt, the dirty tyrant. He's got +what he deserved, an' it serves him right!" + +On another occasion Robert would suddenly burst out laughing, when +reading Delta's chronicle of the adventures of Mansie Waugh, the +Scottish "Handy Andy." + +"What are you laughing at, Robin?" Nellie would enquire, a smile +breaking over her face also. + +"Oh, it's Mansie Waugh, mither. Oh, but it's a gran' bit. Listen to +this," and he would begin to read the passage, where Mansie, simple soul +that he was, was described as going into the byre in the morning to +learn if the cow had calved during the night, and finding, on opening +the door, the donkey of a traveling tinker, he turned and ran into the +house, crying: "Mither! Mither! The coo has calved, an' it's a cuddy!" + +Whenever he reached this part of the story, his mother would go off into +a fit of uncontrollable laughter which left her helpless and crumpled up +in a heap upon the nearest chair. Her laugh was very infectious; it +began with a low, mirthful ripple, well down in the throat, and rose in +rapid leaps of musical joy till it had traveled a whole octave of +bubbling happy sounds, when it culminated in a peal of double forte +shakes and trills, that made it a joy to hear, and finally it died out +in an "Oh, dear me! What a callan Mansie was!" + +As Robert approached manhood, he took more and more to the moors, +wandering alone among the haunts of the whaup and other moor birds, +wrestling with problems to which older heads never gave a thought, +trying to understand life and to build from his heart and experience +something that would be satisfying. Silent, thoughtful, "strange" to the +neighbors, a problem to everyone, but a bigger one to himself, life +staggered him and appalled his soul. + +Earnestly he worked and tested his thought against the thought of +others, sturdily refusing everything which did not ring true and meet +his standard. Old religious conceptions, the orthodoxy of his kith and +kin, were fast tested in the crucible of his mind and flung aside as +worthless. The idea of Hell and the old Morrisonian notion of the +Hereafter appeared crude and barbarous. His father's fate and the +condition of the family left to welter in poverty, the cruelty of life +as it presented itself to the great mass of the working class, could not +be reconciled with the Church's teaching of an all-loving and omniscient +Father. + +With the audacity of youth, he felt that he could easily have +constructed a better universe. He felt that Hell could have no terrors +for people condemned to such hardship and suffering as he saw around +him. Life was colorless for them; stinted of pleasure and beauty, with +merely the joys of the "gill-stoup" on a Saturday night at the local +"store" to look forward to, there was in it no real satisfaction either +for the body or the mind. Would he, indeed, have to wait till after +death before knowing anything of real happiness or comfort? His mind +refused to accept this doctrine so frequently expounded to working class +congregations by ministers, who were themselves comparatively well +endowed with "treasures upon earth." + +Life was good, life was glorious if only it could be made as he dreamed +it. This fair earth need be no vale of tears. There were the blue skies, +the white tapestry of cloudland ever varying; there was the wind upon +his face and the sweet rain; there was the purl of mountain brook, the +graceful sweep of the river, the smile of the flowers, the songs of the +birds; the golden splendor of the day and the silver radiance of the +night. + +But above and beyond all there was an ever-increasing love of his +fellows, there were noble women like his mother to reverence, and there +were sweet children to cherish. Surely life was good, and never was +meant to be the mean, sordid thing that too often was the lot of people +like himself. Heaven could and should be realized here and now. At +twenty, he finished by accepting Humanity as it is, to be understood and +loved, to be served, and, if necessary, to die for it. + +Though thus naturally reserved and meditative, yet he was not unloved. +There was no more popular lad in the village. Everyone in a tight corner +came to him for help and advice. He was private secretary to half the +village and father confessor to the other half. He served everyone, and +in return all loved him more or less. In the course of time he came to +occupy the place his father had held before him as president of the +local branch of the Union, which had been recently revived. His duties +as a Union official forced him more and more into mixing with others, +and into taking a larger interest in the affairs of the locality. + +Gradually with the activities of public life his moodiness gave place to +a healthy cheerfulness, and his enthusiasm soon led him into taking part +in nearly every form of sport which gave life more zest. His interest +being roused, he was wholehearted in his application, whether as a +member of the executive of any local sports association, or as a +participant in the game itself. He was elected to the committee +responsible for organizing the Lowwood Annual Games, but resigned +because having taken up racing as his pet pastime for the time being, he +wanted to compete in some of the items. + +At last the "Sports" day arrived. The pits were idle, for this was one +of the recognized holidays. Everyone looked forward eagerly to this day, +and prepared for it, each in his or her own way. For weeks before it the +children practiced racing, and trained themselves in jumping, football, +quoiting and such sports. Young men stole away to secret places in the +moor to train and harden themselves, timing their performances and +concentrating on the strenuous day ahead when they would compete with +one another in fair tests of speed, strength, skill and endurance. + +One event was always a special attraction, even to professional racers +all over the country. This was known as the "Red Hose Race," about which +many legends were told. The most popular of these was to the effect that +the stockings were knitted each year by the Laird's wife, and if no one +entered for the race, the Laird must run it himself, or forfeit his +extensive estate to the Crown. In addition to the Red Hose, there was a +substantial money prize. To win the race was looked upon as the greatest +achievement of the year, for it was one of the oldest sporting events +and had been run for so many years that its origin seemed lost in the +mists of antiquity. Robert made up his mind to win the Red Hose in this +particular year. Mrs. Graydon, of Graydon House, had intimated that she +herself would be present and would hand over the stockings to the proud +winner in person, but it was not by any means on this account that +Robert was so keen to win. It was the older lure that brought every year +athletes of fame to run in the historic race. + +"So you are going to run in the Red Hose," said a voice behind Robert +while the people were all gathering to watch the preliminary races of +the boys and girls. Robert turned from the group of young men who had +been discussing the event with him, and met the smiling face of Peter +Rundell, dressed in immaculate style and looking as fresh and fine a +specimen of young manhood as anyone could wish to see. + +"Yes," he said with a smile, "and I intend to win it." + +"Do you?" returned Peter light-heartedly. "I have also entered for it, +though I had no intention of doing so when I came over; but Mr. Walker, +who, as you know, is on the committee, pressed me to go in, and so I +consented." + +"Oh!" said Robert, in surprise, "I thought after last year's success you +were not going to run again." Then, in a bantering tone, and with a +smile upon his lips, "I suppose we'll be rivals in this, then; but I +gi'e you fair warning that I'm gaun to lift the Red Hose if I get a +decent chance at all." + +"Well, I have set my mind on winning it, too," replied Peter. "I'd like +to lift it, just to be able to say in after years that I had done so." + +"That's just hoo I feel aboot the matter too," lightly answered Robert. +"I'd like jist to be able to say that I had won the Red Hose. I feel in +good form for it, so you'd better be on your mettle." + +"Well, I shall give you the race of your life for it," said Peter, +entering into the same light spirited boasting. "I hear Mair and Todd +and Semple are also entered, but with a decent handicap I won't mind +these, even with their international reputation." + +"All right," said Robert. "I suppose I shall have the greater pleasure +in romping home before you all. Are the handicaps out yet?" + +"Yes, I saw the list just before I spoke to you. Semple and Mair are +scratch, with Todd at five yards. You start at twenty-five, and I get +off at the limit forty.' + +"Oh!" said Robert, a note of surprise in his voice. "Walker has surely +forgotten who are the runners! Why, last year you won nearly all the +confined events, and you were second in the Red Hose with twenty-five +yards. He means you to romp home this year!" and there was heat in +Robert's voice as he finished. + +"Well, I daresay it is a decent handicap," said Peter, "and even though +Semple is among the crowd, I should manage, I think, to pull it off with +anything like luck." + +"I should think so," said Robert. "Walker has just made you a present of +the race. But I suppose it can't be helped, though it isn't fair. +Anyhow, I'll give you a chase for it." + +"All right. Half an hour and we shall be on," and Peter went on round +the field, exchanging greetings with most of the villagers. + +He was finishing his education at a Technical College in Edinburgh, and +at present was home on holidays. He was a well set up young man, and +though popular with most people, yet he brought with him an air of +another world among the villagers, which made them feel uncomfortable. +They recognized that his life was very different from their own, and +while they talked to him when he spoke to them, and were agreeable +enough to him, they felt awed and could not break down the natural +reserve they always had towards people of another station of life. He +was perhaps a little too thoughtless and impulsive, though +generous-hearted enough. He drifted into things, rather than shaped them +to his own ideas, and was often not sufficiently careful of the +positions in which he found himself as a consequence of thoughtless +acts. + +The week before he had caught and kissed Mysie Maitland, who was now +serving at Rundell House, merely because he was taken with her pretty +face. From that Peter already believed himself in love with her, +because she had not resented his action. He had even walked over with +her from the village, when she had been home visiting her parents one +night, and had felt more and more the witchery of her pretty face and +the lure of her fine little figure. + +Up to this time Mysie had always believed herself in love with +Robert--Robert who was always so strange from the rest of young men. He +had always been her hero, her protector; but there was something about +him for which she could not account and which she could not have +defined. Such was her admiration that she believed it was in his power +to do anything he cared to attempt; it was just possible that it was +this strange sense of unknown power which fascinated her. They had never +been lovers in the accepted sense of the word. They had never "walked +out" as young people in their social station usually do, but yet had +always felt that they were meant for one another. + +Only once had Robert kissed her, and that moment ever lived with her a +glowing memory. She had been home and was returning through a moorland +pass, when she came across him lying upon the rough heather, his +thoughts doubtless full of her, for he had seen her in the village, and +knew she must return that way. + +"Oh, Rob!" she cried, her face flushing with excitement as she saw him. +"Ye nearly frichted me oot o' my wits the noo." + +"Did I, Mysie?" he answered, springing to his feet. "I didna mean to dae +that. Ye'll be getting back, I suppose." + +"Ay," she returned simply, and a silence fell upon them, in which both +seemed to lose the power of speaking. + +Robert looked at her as she stood there, her full, curved breasts rising +and falling with the excitement of the unexpected meeting, the long +lashes of her eyes sweeping her flushed cheeks, as she stood with +downcast eyes before him. The last rays of the setting sun falling upon +her brown hair touched it with a rare strange beauty. Her red lips like +dew-drenched roses--luscious, pure, alluring, were parted a little in a +half smile. But it was the fascinating movement of the breast, full, +round and sensuous, that stirred and made an overpowering appeal to +every pulse within him. It seemed so soft, so tender, so wonderfully +alluring. At the moment he could not understand himself or her. There +was a strange, surging impetus raging through him that he felt +absolutely powerless to subdue, and he swayed a little as he stood. + +"Oh, Mysie!" he cried, leaping forward and clasping her in his strong, +young arms, and crushing her against him, holding her there, gasping, +powerless but happy. + +"You are mine, Mysie. Mine!" and he kissed her budded lips in an ecstasy +of passion and warm-blooded feeling, while a thousand fevers seemed to +course through him as he felt the contact of her body and her warm, +eager lips on his. Blinded and delirious, he kissed her again and again +in an impassioned burst of fervor, passion scorching his blood and +filling his whole heart with the enjoyment of possession. She closed her +eyes, and her head touched his shoulder, while the faint scent of her +hair and its soft caressing touch upon his cheek maddened him to a fury +of love. + +"Say you are mine, Mysie! Say you are mine!" he cried, and his voice was +strange and hoarse and dry with the desire within him. He felt her body +yielding as it relaxed in his arms, as if in answer to some unspoken +demand, and in a moment he realized himself and started back, hot shame +surging over his face and conquering the passion in his blood. In that +strange mad moment he had felt capable of anything--powerful, +overmastering, relentless in his desires; and now--weak, shame-stricken +and helpless. Ere he could say anything, Mysie had come to herself with +a shock, and started away over the moor as if possessed by something +that was mysterious and terrible. + +That had happened a year ago, and though Robert sought to learn when she +was in the village, and often watched her from a safe place where he was +not seen, delighting his eyes with the sight of her figure, and feeling +again the same hot shame come over him, as he had known that day on the +moor, yet he had never met her near enough to speak to her, but had +worshiped her at a distance and grown to love and desire her more and +more with every day that passed. + +He dreamed dreams around her, but was afraid to encounter her again. +This strange mad love burned in his blood, until at times he was almost +sick with desire and love. Every moor-bird called her name; every flower +held the shyness of her face; the clouds of peaceful sunsets showed the +glory of her hair, and the quiet, steadfast stars possessed the wonder +of her eyes. The madness of the passionate moment of possession on the +moor was at once his most treasured memory and his intensest shame. + +As for Mysie, since she had not heard any more from Robert nor even seen +him for almost a year, she felt quite flattered by the attentions of +Peter Rundell. It was not that she was in love with either of the young +men. Her nature was of the kind that is in love with love itself, and +was not perhaps capable of a great love, such as had frightened her, +when Robert, taken off his guard, had let her glimpse a strong, +overmastering passion and a soul capable of great things. Already she +dreamed of a grand house of which she would be mistress as Peter's wife, +as she stood in the silence of her own room, pirouetting and smirking, +and drawing pictures of herself in fine garments and stately carriage, +playing the Lady Bountiful of the district. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE RED HOSE RACE + + +"All competitors for the Red Hose, get ready!" called the bell-man, who +announced the events at the sports, and immediately all was stir and +bustle and excitement. + +"Wha's gaun to win the day, Andrew?" enquired Matthew Maitland, as they +stood waiting for the runners to emerge from the dressing tent. + +"I dinna ken," answered Andrew Marshall. "That's a damn'd unfair +handicap anyway. My neighbor is no' meant to lift it seemingly. Look at +the start they've gi'en him, an' young Rundell starts at the limit." + +"Ay!" said Matthew. "It's no' fair. It's some o' Black Jock's doings. +He's meanin' young Rundell to wun it." + +"Ay, it looks like it; but it's fashious kennin' what may happen. Rab's +a braw runner," and Andrew spoke as one who knew, for he was the only +person who had seen Robert train. + +"Weel, it's harder for him to be a rinner than for young Rundell, a man +wha never wrocht a day's work in a' his life, while Rab's had to slave +hard and sair a' his days.... Though Rundell can rin too," he added, +with ungrudged admiration. + +"Ay, he ran weel last year, but they tell me he'd like to get the Red +Hose to his credit, though for my pairt they'd been far better to ha'e +presented it to him, than to gi'e him it that way. Man, he's a dirty +brute o' a man, Black Jock!" and there was disgust in his voice. "Jist +look at Mag Robertson there, flittering aboot quite shameless, and +gecking and smirking at him, an' naebody daur say a word to her. She's a +fair scunner!" + +"If she belonged to me, I'd let her ken a different way o't." + +"Ay, Andra," was the reply. "But ye maun mind that Mag mak's mair money +than Sanny does. Jist look at her, the glaikit tinkler that she is. +Black Jock's no' ill to please when that pleases him." + +Mag Robertson, the subject of their talk, was quite oblivious, +apparently, of the many remarks that were being passed about her, and +she continued to follow Walker, who as a committee member, was busily +arranging matters for the race. + +"She's gie weel smeekit, Andra!" observed Matthew in a whisper, as Mag +passed close by. "Did ye fin the smell o" her breath?" + +"Ay!" replied Andrew. "She can haud a guid lot before ye see it on her. +She's--" but a shout from the crowd cut his further revelations short. + +"Here they come!" cried Matthew excitedly, as the tent opened, and young +Rundell came out with confident bearing, leading the other half-dozen +athletes to the starting place. "Let's gae roon' to the wunnin' post so +as to see the feenish." + +The competitors lined up, each on his separate mark, ready for the +signal to start. Rundell, in a bright-colored costume of fine texture, +showed well beside the other racer who started along with him at forty +yards. Peter was slimly built, but there were energy and activity in his +every movement; his legs especially, being finely developed, showed no +superfluous flesh; his chest alone indicated any weakness, but withal he +looked a likely winner. + +Robert, on the other hand, while not carrying a great amount of flesh, +was well built. The chest was broad and deep, the shoulders square and +the head held well up, his nose being finely adapted for good +respiration. The legs, by reason of heavy work in early life, were a +little bent at the brawn, but were as hard as nails; they showed +wonderfully developed muscles, and gave the impression of strength +rather than speed. + +They presented a fine picture of eager, determined young manhood, clean +and healthy, and full of life and mettle. Each face betrayed how the +mind was concentrated on, the work ahead, every thought directed with +great intensity towards the goal, as they bent their bodies in +preparation for the start. + +The pistol cracked and rang out upon the midday air with startling +suddenness, and immediately they were off on a fine start to the +accompaniment of the cheering of the crowd which lined the whole track +in a great circle. The first round ended with the runners much as they +had started, the interval between each being fairly equally maintained. +Semple, however, dropped out, not caring to overstrain himself as he had +some heavy racing next day at another gathering, where a much higher +money prize was the allurement. + +Round the others went, the excitement growing among the crowd, who kept +shouting encouraging remarks to the racers as they passed. + +"Keep it up, Robin!" cried Andrew Marshall. "Keep it up, my lad. Ye're +daein' fine." + +"Come away, Rundell, the race is yer ain," shouted an enthusiastic +supporter of Peter. + +"Nae wonner!" answered Matthew Maitland, heatedly. "They've gi'en him +the race in a present. Look at the handikep!" + +"An' what aboot it?" enquired the other, not knowing what to answer. + +"Plenty aboot it," replied Matthew. "If it hadna' been he was Peter +Rundell, he wadna' ha'e gotten sic a start. Black Jock means him to get +the race, an' it's no' fair. I wadna' ha'e the damn'd thing in that way, +an' if he does win it he'll hae nae honor in it." + +"But Rab's runnin' weel," Matthew continued, as he followed the runners +with eager eyes, and stuck the head of his pipe in his mouth in his +excitement, burning his lips in the process. "Dammit, I've burned my +mooth," he ejaculated, spluttering, spitting and wiping his mouth. "But +the laddie can rin. He's a fair dandie o' a rinner." + +"He couldna' rin to catch the cauld," broke in Rundell's admirer, glad +to get in a word. "Look at him. Dammit, ye could wheel a barrow oot +through his legs. He jist rummles alang like a chained tame +earthquake." + +"What's that?" asked Matthew, somewhat nettled at this manner of +describing Robert's slightly bent legs. "He canna rin, ye say! Weel, if +he couldna' rin better than Peter Rundell, he should never try it. Look +at Rundell!" he went on scathingly, "doubled up like a fancy canary, and +a hump on his back like a greyhound licking a pot. Rinnin'! He's mair +like an exhibition o' a rin-a-way toy rainbow. He's aboot as souple as a +stookie Christ on a Christmas tree!" And Matthew glared at the other, as +if he would devour him at a gulp. + +"Look at him noo," he cried, as Robert began to overtake the young miner +who had started equal with Rundell. "He's passed young Paterson noo, an' +ye'll soon see him get on level terms wi' Rundell. Go on, Rob!" he +yelled in delight, as Robert shot past. "Go on, my lad, you're daein' +fine!" + +Excitement was rousing the crowd to a great pitch, and yells and shouts +of encouragement went up, and cheers rang out as the favored one went +past the various groups of supporters. + +All during the race as the competitors circled the course, excitement +grew, until the last round was reached, when every one seemed to go mad. +Only three remained to compete now for the prize, the others having +given up. + +But the shouts and cheers of the crowd seemed strangely far away to the +racers, as each rounded the last corner for the final stretch of about +one hundred yards. They were both spent, but will power kept them at it. +They were not breathing, they were tearing their lungs out in great +gulping efforts, and their hearts as well. Tense, determined, +inevitability seemed to rest upon them. + +Louder roared the crowd, hoarser and deeper the cheers, closer and +closer the multitude surged to the winning post, yelling, shouting, +crying and gesticulating incoherently as the two men sprinted along with +great leaping strides, panting and almost breaking down under the +terrible strain of the mile race. + +Nearer and nearer they came, still running level, with hardly an inch to +tell the difference; but in a pace like this Robert's greater strength +and hard training were bound to tell. Fifty yards to go, and they came +on like streaks of color, fleeting images of some fevered brain, and one +girl's smile each knew was waiting there at the far end. + +The prize for which both were now striving was that for which men at all +times strive, which keeps the world young and sends the zest of creation +wandering through the blood--a pair of dancing eyes, lit by the happy +smile of love; for Mysie Maitland had smiled to them, each claiming the +smile for himself, just before the race started. + +And now the last ounce of energy was called up, but the mine-owner's son +failed to respond. Dazed and stupid, his mind in a mad whirl, his legs +almost doubling under him, he found his powers weaken and his strength +desert him, and he staggered just as Robert was about to shoot past him; +but in staggering he planted his spiked shoe right upon Robert's foot, +and both men went down completely exhausted, Rundell unable to rise for +want of strength and Sinclair powerless because of his lacerated foot. + +"Guid God! He's spiked him!" roared Andrew in a terrible rage. "The +dirty lump that he is--spiked him just when he was gaun to win, too!" + +A howl of execration went up from Sinclair's supporters as he lay and +writhed in agony, while Rundell lay still except for the heaving of his +chest. For one tense moment they lay and the crowd was silent, whilst +each man's heart was almost thumping itself out of place in his body, +stretched upon the rough cinder track. + +Then a low murmur broke from the crowd as they saw young Paterson coming +round the track, almost staggering under the strain, but keenly intent +on finishing now that his two formidable opponents were lying helpless. +He had kept running during the last round merely to take the third +prize. Now here was his chance of the coveted Red Hose, and he sprinted +and tore along as fast as he was able, calling up every particle of +effort he could muster, and intent on getting past before the two men +could gather strength to rise. + +"Come on, Rob!" roared Andrew Marshall, "get up an' feenish, my wee +cock! Paterson's comin' along, an' he'll win. Get up an' try an' feenish +it!" + +Stirred by the warning, Robert tried to rise. He raised himself to his +knees, but the pain in his injured foot was too great, and he fell +forward on his face unconscious, and the race ended with Paterson as +winner. It was an ironical situation, and soon the crowd were over the +ropes, and the two opponents were carried to the dressing tent, where +restoratives were applied under which they soon came round. + +It was a poor ending to such a fine exhibition. A terrible anger +smoldered in Robert's breast against the mine-owner's son for his +unconscious action, an action which Robert, blinded by anger at losing, +was now firmly convinced was deliberate, and he felt he would just like +to smash Rundell's face for it. + +Robert went home to have his injured foot attended to. He was too +disgusted to feel any more interest in the games that day, and so he +remained in the house, nursing his foot for the rest of the day, which +passed as such days usually do. Everyone talked about his misfortune and +regretted in a casual way the accident which had deprived him of the +coveted honor. + +It was in late June, and that night Peter Rundell, as he was returning +from the games after every event had been decided, overtook Mysie on her +way to Rundell House, after having spent the evening at her parents' +home. + +"It's a lovely evening, Mysie," he said, as he walked along by her side. +"What did you think of the games to-day?" + +"Oh, no' bad," replied Mysie, not knowing what else to say. "It was a +gran' day, an' kept up fine," she continued, alluding to the weather. + +"Yes. Didn't I make a horrible mess of things in the Red Hose?" he +asked. Then, without waiting, he went on: "I was sorry for Sinclair. +He's a fine chap, and ought to have won. It was purely an accident, and +I couldn't help myself. I was beaten and done for, and it was hard lines +for him to be knocked out in the way he was, just as he was on the point +of winning, too." + +"Oh, but ye couldna' help it," Mysie returned. "It was an accident." + +"Yes; and I would rather Sinclair had got in, though. It was a good +race, and Sinclair ought to have got the prize. It was rotten luck. I'm +sorry, and I hope the poor beggar does not blame me. We seem always to +be fated to be rivals," he continued, his voice dropping into +reminiscent tones. "Do you remember how we used to fight at school? I've +liked Sinclair always since for the way he stood up for the things he +thought were right. I believe you were the cause of our hardest battle, +and that also was an accident." + +"Yes," replied Mysie, her face flushing slightly as she remembered the +incident, and how Peter had been chosen, when her heart told her to +choose Robert. + +"Oh, well," said Peter, "I suppose we can't help these things. Fate +wills it. Let's forget all about such unpleasant things. It's a lovely +night. We might go round by the wood. It's not so late yet," and putting +Mysie's arm in his, he turned off into the little pathway that skirted +the wood, and she, caught by the glamor of the gloaming, as well as +flattered by his attentions, acquiesced. + +Plaintive and eerie the moor-birds protested against this invasion of +their haunts. The moon came slowly up over the eastern end of the moor, +flinging a silver radiance abroad, and softening the shadows cast by the +hills. A strange, dank smell rose from the mossy ground--the scent of +rotting heather and withered grass, mixed with the beautiful perfume +from beds of wild thyme. + +A low call came from a brooding curlew, a faint sigh from a plover, and +the wild rasping cry of a lapwing greeted them overhead. Yet there was a +silence, a silence broken for a moment by the cries of the birds, but a +silence thick and heavy. Between the calls of the birds Mysie could +almost hear her heart's quickened beat. Blood found an eager response, +and the magic of the moonlight and the beauty of the night soon wrought +upon the excited minds of the pair. Mysie looked in Peter's eyes more +desirable than ever. The moonlight on her face, the soft light within +her eyes, her shy, downcast look, and the touch of her arm on his +charmed him. + +"There are some things, Mysie, more desirable than the winning of the +Red Hose," he said after a time, looking sideways at her, and placing +his hand upon hers, which had been resting upon his arm. "Don't you +think so?" + +"I dinna ken," she answered simply, a strange little quiver running +through her as she spoke. + +"Isn't this better than anything else, just to be happy with everything +so peaceful? Just you and I together, happy in each other's company." + +"Ay," she answered again, a faint little catch in her voice, her heart +a-tremble, and her eyes moist and shining. Then silence again, while +they slowly strayed through the heather towards the little wooded copse, +and Mysie felt that every thump of her heart must be heard at the +farthest ends of the earth. Chased by the winds of passion raging within +him, discretion was fast departing from Peter, leaving him more and more +a prey to impulse and the unwearying persistence of the fever of love +that was consuming him. + +"Listen, Mysie, I read a song yesterday. It's the sort of thing I'd have +written about you: + + "In the passionate heart of the rose, + Which from life its deep ardor is feeing. + And lifts its proud head to disclose + Its immaculate beauty and being. + I can see your fine soul in repose, + With an eye lit with love and all-seeing, + In the passionate heart of the rose, + All athrob with its beauty of being." + +He quoted, and Mysie's pulse leapt with every word, as the low soothing +wooing of his voice came in soft tones like a gentle breeze among clumps +of briars. + +"Isn't it a beautiful song, Mysie?" he said. "The man who wrote that +must have been thinking of someone very like you," and as he said this, +he gave her hand a tender squeeze. Mysie thrilled to his touch and her +heart leapt and fluttered like a bird in a snare, her breath coming in +short little gasps, which were at once a pain and a joy. + +"Dinna say that," she said, a note of alarm in her voice as she tried to +withdraw her hand. + +But he only held it closer, and bent his lips over it, his manner gentle +but firm. + +"Ay, it is true, Mysie; but I am so stupid I can't do anything of that +kind. I'm merely an ordinary sort of chap." + +Mysie did not answer, and once again silence fell between them, broken +only occasionally by the cry of the birds or the bleating of a sheep. + +"I believe I'm in love with you, Mysie," he said at last. "You've grown +very beautiful. Could you care for me, Mysie?" he asked, looking at her +in the soft moonlight, a smile on his lips, his voice keeping its +seductive wooing tone, and his eyes kindling. + +Mysie's experience of life had been gleaned from the love stories of +earls and lords marrying governesses and ladies' maids after a swift and +very eventful courtship. Already she saw herself Peter's wife, her +carriage coming at her order, everyone serving her and she the queen of +all the district. Illiterate but romantic, she was swept off her feet at +the first touch of passion, and the flattery of being recognized! + +She did not answer. She did not know what to say; and Peter stole his +arm about her waist, so tempting, so sweet to touch, and they passed +beneath the shadow of the trees as they entered the little wooded copse. +The moonlight filtered down through the trees, working silvery patterns +upon the pathway. The silence, heavy and scented, was broken only by the +far-away wheepling of a wakeful whaup and the grumbling of the burn near +by, which bickered and hurried to be out in the open again on its way to +the river. + +Mysie heard the sounds, felt the fragrance of young briars and hawthorn +mingled with the smell of last year's decaying leaves which carpeted the +pathway. She noted the beauty of the foliage against the moon, heard the +swift scurry of a frightened rabbit and the faint snort of a hedge-hog +on the prowl for food. + +"What have you to say to me, Mysie?" Peter persisted, his hot breath +against her cheek, his blood coursing through his veins in red-hot +passion. "Could you care for me, Mysie? I want you to be mine!" + +"I dinna ken what to say," she at last answered, distress in her voice, +yet pleased to be wooed by this young man. "Wad it no' be wrang to ha'e +onything to dae wi' me? I'm only your mither's servant." She felt it was +her duty to put it this way. + +"No, you are my sweetheart," he cried, discretion all gone now in his +eager furtherance of his pleading. "I want you--only you, Mysie," and he +caught her in his arms in a strong burst of desire for her. "Mine, +Mysie, mine!" he cried, his lips upon hers and hers responding now, his +hot eyes greedily devouring her as he held her there in his strong young +arms. "Say, Mysie, that you are mine, that I am yours, body and soul +belonging to each other," and so he raved on in eager burning language, +which was the sweetest music in Mysie's ears. + +His arms about her, he made her sit down, she still unresisting and +flattered by his words, he fondling and kissing her, his hands caressing +her face, her ears, her hair, her neck, his head sometimes resting upon +her breast. + +Maddened and scorched by the passion raging within him, lured by the +magic of the night, and impelled by the invitation of the sweet dewy +lips that seemed to cry for kisses, he strained her to his breast. + +He praised her eyes, her hair, her voice, whilst he poured kisses upon +her, his fire kindling her whole being into response. + +Then a thick cloud came over the face of the moon, darkening the dell, +blotting out the silvery patterns on the ground, chasing the light +shadows into dark corners; and a far-off protest of a whaup shouting to +the hills was heard in a shriller and more anxious note that had +something of alarm in it; the burn seemed to bicker more loudly in its +anxiety to hurry on out into the open moor; and the scents and perfumes +of the wood sank into pale ghosts of far-off memories. + +When passion, red-eyed and fierce for conquest, had driven innocence +from the throne of virtue the guardian angels wept; and all their +tears, however bitter, could not obliterate the stains which marked the +progress of destruction. + +At the end of the copse, when Mysie and Peter emerged, they neither +spoke nor laughed. There was shame in their downcast faces, and their +feet dragged heavily. His arm no longer encircled her waist, he did not +now praise her eyes, her hair, her figure. Lonely each felt, afraid to +look up, as if something walked between them. And far away the whaup +wheepled in protest, the burn still grumbled, and the perfumes, and the +sounds of the glen and all its beauty were as if they had never existed, +and the thick cloud grew blacker over the face of the moon. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE AWAKENING + + +Night after night for a week afterwards, Mysie lay awake till far on +into the morning. She seemed to be face to face with life's realities at +last. The silly, shallow love stories held no fascination for her. The +love affairs of "Jean the Mill Girl" could not rouse her interest. Often +she cried for hours, till exhaustion brought sleep, troubled and +unrefreshing. + +She grew silent and avoided company. She sang no more at her work, and +she avoided Peter, and kept out of his way. She often compared Robert +with him now, and loved to let her mind linger on that one mad moment of +delirious joy a year ago, when he had crushed her to his breast, and +cried to her to be his. Thus womanhood dawned for her, and its great +responsibilities frightened her. + +Robert, on the other hand, spent a week nursing his injured foot, but +apart from the week's idle time, he suffered very little. He felt sore +at losing the race, but was able now to look upon it as an unfortunate +accident. But that smile which he had seen on the face of Mysie made him +strangely happy, and it helped him to get over his disappointment. He +was impatient to be out upon the moor again. He would wait for Mysie +some night, he concluded, and tell her calmly that he wanted her to +marry him. + +His mother's prospects were fairly good now. The youngest boy would soon +be working; besides, two other brothers were at work, while Jennie, his +eldest sister, was in service, and Annie, the younger one, was helping +in the house. He waited, night after night, after his injured foot was +better--lingering on the moor by the path which Mysie must travel. He +lay among the heather and read books, or dreamed of a rosy future, with +her the center of his dreams; but no Mysie came along, and he began to +grow anxious. + +He wanted to make enquiries about her, but feared to arouse suspicion of +having too keen an interest in her. By various ways he sought +information, but never heard anything definite. + +"I see Matthew Maitland's ither lassie has started on the pit-head," he +said to his mother, as one night they sat by the fire before retiring. + +"Ay," answered Mrs. Sinclair. "Matthew has the worst o' it by noo. Wi' +his twa bits o' laddies workin', an' Mysie in service, an' Mary gaun to +the pit-head, it should mak' his burden a wee easier." + +"I dinna like the idea o' lasses gaun to work on the pithead," he said +simply. "I aye mind of the time that Mysie an' me wrocht on it. It's no' +a very nice place for lasses or women." + +"No," his mother said. "I dinna like it either. Nae guid ever comes o' +lasses gaun there. They lose a' sense o' modesty an' decency, after a +while, an' are no' like women at a' when they grow aulder. Besides, it +mak's them awfu' coorse." + +"I wad hardly say that aboot them a'," he ventured cautiously. "Mysie's +no' coorse, an' she worked on the pithead." + +"No, Mysie's no' coorse," admitted his mother; "but Mysie didna work +very lang on the pit-head. An' forby, we dinna ken but what Mysie micht +hae been better if she had never been near it, or worse if she had +stayed langer. Just look at Susan Morton, an' that Mag Lindsay. What are +they but shameless lumps who dinna ken what modesty is?" and there was a +spark of the old scorn in her voice as she finished. + +"Oh, but I wadna gang as faur as you, mither," he said, "wi' your +condemnations. I ken that baith Susan Morton an' Mag Lindsay are +guid-hearted women. They may be coarse in their talk, an' a' that sort +o' thing; but they are as kind-hearted as onybody else, an' kinder than +some." + +"Oh; I hae nae doot," she answered relentingly. "I didna mean that at +a'; but the pit-head doesna make them ony better, an' it's no' wark for +them at a'." + +"I mind," said Robert reminiscently, "when Mysie an' me started on the +pit-head, Mag Lindsay was awfu' guid to Mysie; an' I've kent her often +sharin' her piece wi' wee Dicky Tamson, whiles when he had nane, if his +mother happened to be on the fuddle for a day or twa. There's no a +kinderhearted woman in Lowwood, mither, than Mag Lindsay. She'd swear at +Dicky a' the time she was stappin' her piece into him. It was jist her +wye, an' I think she couldna help it." + +"Oh, ay, Mag's bark is waur then her bite. I ken that," was the reply. +"An' wi' a' her fauts a body canna help likin' her." + +"Speakin' of Mysie," said Robert with caution, "I hinna seen her owre +for a while surely. Wull there be onything wrang?" and then, to hide the +agitation he felt, "she used to come owre hame aboot twice a week, an' I +hinna seen her for a while." + +"Oh, there canna be onything wrang," replied Nellie, "or we wad hae +heard tell o' it. But t' is time we were awa' to oor beds, or we'll no' +be able to rise in time the morn," and rising as she spoke, she began to +make preparations for retiring, and he withdrew to his room also. + +Still, day after day, he hung about the moorland path, but no Mysie, so +far as he knew, ever came past. She had visited her parents only once +since the games and her mother was struck by her subdued and thoughtful +demeanor. But nothing was said at the time. + +Robert grew impatient, and began to roam nearer to Rundell House, in the +hope of seeing her. Always his thoughts were full of Mysie and the +raging passion in his blood for her gave him no rest. He loved to trace +her name linked with his own, and then to obliterate it again, in case +anyone would see it. All day his thoughts were of her; and her sweet, +shy smile that day of the games was nursed in memory till it grew to be +a solace to his heart and its hunger. + +He saw likenesses to her in everything, and even the call of the +moor-birds awakened some memory of an incident of childhood, when Mysie +and he had, with other children, played together on the moors. Even the +very words which she had spoken, or the way she had acted, or how she +had looked, in cheap cotton frock and pinafore, were recalled by a +familiar cry, or by the sudden discovery of a bog-flower in bloom. + +It was a glorious afternoon in late July. The hum of insect life seemed +to flood the whole moor; the scent of mown hay and wild thyme, and late +hawthorn blossom from the trees on the edge of the moor, was heavy in +the air, and the sun was very hot, and still high in the heavens. The +hills that bordered the moor drowsed and brooded, like ancient gods, +clothed in a lordly radiance that was slowly consuming them as they +meditated upon their coming oblivion. + +The heather gave promise, in the tiny purple buds that sprouted from the +strong, rough stems, of the blaze of purple glory that would carpet the +moors with magic in the coming days of autumn. Yet there was a vague +hint, in the too deep silence, and in the great clouds that were slowly +drifting along the sky, of pent-up force merely awaiting the time to be +set free to gallop across the moor in anger and destruction. The clouds, +too, were deeply red, with orange touches here and there, trailing into +dark inky ragged edges. + +Far away, at the foot of the hills a crofter's cow lowed lazily, calling +forth a summons to be taken in and relieved of its burden of milk. The +sheep came nearer to the "bughts," and the lambs burrowed for +nourishment, with tails wagging, as they drew their sustenance, prodding +and punching the patient mothers in the operation of feeding. Robert, +noting all, with leisured enjoyment strolled lazily into the little +copse, and lay down beneath the cool, grateful shelter of the trees. + +Drugged by the sweetness and the solitude, he fell asleep, and the sun +was low on the horizon when he awoke, the whole copse ringing with the +evening songs of merle and mavis, and other less musical birds, and, as +he looked down the glade, he saw, out on the moorland path, coming +straight for the grove, the form of Mysie--the form of which he had +dreamed, and for which he had longed so much. + +The hot blood mounted to his face and raced through his frame, while +his heart thumped at the thought that now, in the quietness of the dell, +he would meet her and speak to her. He would speak calmly, and not +frighten her, as he had done on that former occasion; and he braced +himself to meet her. + +Impatiently he waited, and then, as he saw her about to enter the grove, +he rose as unconcernedly as he could, trying hard to assume the air of +one who had met her by accident, and stepped on to the path when Mysie +was within ten yards or so of him. + +The color left her face, and her limbs felt weak beneath her, as she +recognized him, and he was quick to note the change in her whole +appearance. + +She was paler, he thought, and thinner, and the bloom of a few weeks ago +was gone. Her eyes were listless, and the soft, shy look had been +replaced by an averted shame-stricken one. She was plainly flurried by +the meeting, and looking about trying to find if there were not, even +yet, a way of evading it. + +"It's a fine nicht, Mysie," he began, stammering and halting before her, +"though I think it is gaun to work to rain." + +"Ay," she responded hurriedly, her agitation growing, as she was forced +to halt before him. + +"I've come oot on the muir a wheen o' nichts noo, to try an' meet you," +he began, getting into the business right away, "an' I had begun to +think you had stopped comin' owre." + +But Mysie answered never a word. Her face grew paler, and her agitation +became more evident. + +"Mysie," he began, now fully braced for the important matter in view, "I +want you to marry me. I want you to be my wife. You've kenned me a' my +life. We gaed to the school together, and we gaed to work together, an' +I hae aye looked on you as my lass. I canna keep it ony langer noo. I +hae wanted to tell you a lang time aboot it, an' to ask you to be my +wife. My place at hame is easier noo. My mother has the rest o' the +family comin' on to take my place, and her battle is gey weel owre, an' +I can see prospects o' settin' up a hoose o' my ain, if you'll agree to +share it with me. I haven't muckle to offer you, but I think you'll ken +by this time that I'll be guid to you. Mysie, I want you. Will you +come?" + +For answer, Mysie burst into tears, her shoulders heaving with the sobs +of her grief, her breast surging and falling, while her little hands +covered her eyes, as she stood with bent head, a pitiable little figure. + +"What is it, Mysie?" he enquired, his hands at once going tenderly over +her bent head, and caressing it as he spoke, "What is it, Mysie? Tell +me. Hae I vexed you by speakin' like that? Dinna greet, Mysie," he went +on soothingly, his voice soft and tender, and vibrant with sympathy and +love. "Dinna greet. But tell me what's wrang. I'm sorry if it's me that +has done it, Mysie. Maybe I hae frightened you; but, there now, dinna +greet. I didna mean ony harm!" and he stroked and caressed her hair +softly with his hands, or patted her shoulders at every word, as a +mother does with a fretful child. + +"There noo, Mysie, dinna greet," he said again, the soft, soothing note +of vexation in his voice growing more tender and husky with emotion. +"Look up, Mysie, for I dinna like to see you greetin'. It maun be +something gey bad, surely, to mak' you greet like this," and his hands +seemed to stab her with every tender touch, and his soft words but added +more pain to her grief. + +But still Mysie never answered. Her tears instead flowed faster, and her +sobs grew heavier, until finally she moaned like a stricken animal in +pain. + +"Mysie! Mysie! my dochter, what is it?" unable to control himself +longer. "Surely you can tell me what ails you? What is it, Mysie? Look +up, my dear! Look up an' tell me what ails you!" + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" moaned Mysie, the floodgates of her grief now +wide, and her soul in torture. + +"Mysie," he cried, taking her head between his hands and raising it up, +"what is it that's wrang with you? Is it me that is the cause o' you +being vexed?" + +"Oh, no, no," she moaned, trying to avert her face. "Oh, dinna, Rob!" +she pleaded, and the old familiar name smote him and thrilled him as of +old. + +"Tell me what is the matter," he said, a stronger note in his voice, the +old masterful spirit asserting itself again. "What is wrang wi' you? I +can't understand it, an' I wish to try an' help you." + +But still she sobbed and there was no answer. + +"Look here," he said. "Tell me plainly if I have been the cause of +this." + +"No; oh, no," she sobbed, again hiding her eyes with her hands. + +"Very weel, then," he went on. "Will you no' tell me what is wrong? I +canna understand it unless you tell me. Are you in ony trouble o' ony +kind? Speak, Mysie." Then, his voice becoming more pleading in its +tones, "Wad you be feart to be my wife, Mysie? I aye thocht you cared +for me. I hae loved you a' my days. You maun ken that, I think. Speak +up, Mysie, an' tell me if you care for me. I want you, an' I maun ken +what you think o' it. Come, Mysie, tell me!" + +"Oh, dinna ask me, Rob," she pleaded. "Dinna ask me!" + +"What is the matter then?" he cried. "There's something wrong, an' +you'll no' tell me. Very well, tell me what you mean to do. I hae asked +you a fair question. Are you going to marry me? I want yes or no to +that," and there was a touch of impatience creeping into his voice. + +"Come on," he urged, after a short silence, broken only by Mysie's sobs, +"gie me an answer. Or, if you wad raither wait a wee while, till this +trouble has blawn by that is bothering you, I'm quite agreeable to +wait." + +"It'll never blaw by, Rob," she sobbed. "Oh, dinna ask me ony mair. I +canna be your wife noo, an' I jist want to be left alane!" + +The pain and despair in her voice alarmed him. It was so keen and +poignant, and went to his heart like a knife. + +"Oh!" he gasped in surprise, as he strove to call his pride to his +assistance. It was so unlike what he had anticipated that it amazed him +to have such a disappointing reply. Then, recovering somewhat:--"Very +well!" with great deliberation, while his voice sounded unnaturally +strained. Then the effort failing, and his pride breaking down: "Oh, +Mysie, Mysie," he burst out in poignant agony again relapsing into the +pleading wooing tones that were so difficult to withstand, "How I hae +loved you! I thocht you cared for me. I hae built mysel' up in you, an' +I'll never, never be able to forget you! Oh, think what it is! You hae +been life itsel' to me, Mysie, an' I canna think that you dinna care! +Oh, Mysie!" + +He turned away, his heart sore and his soul wounded, and strode from the +copse out on to the moor, a thousand thoughts driving him on, a thousand +regrets pursuing, and a load of pain in his heart that was bearing his +spirit down. + +"Oh, dear God!" moaned Mysie, kneeling down, her legs unable to support +her longer, "Oh, dear God, my heart'll break!" and a wild burst of +sobbing shook her frame, and her grief overpowering flowed through the +tears--a picture of utter despair and terrible hopelessness. + +Robert tore away from the dell, his whole calculation of things upset. +To think that Mysie could not love him had never entered his head. What +was wrong with her? What was the nature of her terrible grief? + +He kicked savagely at a thistle which grew upon the edge of the pathway, +his pride wounded, but now in possession of the citadel of his heart; +and on he strode, still driven by the terrible passion raging within +him; resolving already, as many have done under like circumstances, that +his life was finished. Hope had gone, dreams were unreal and vanishing +as the mist that crawled along the bog-pools at night. + +At the crest of the little hill, just where it sloped down to the +village, he stood and looked back. + +Good God! Was he seeing aright! The figure of a man, who in the gray +gloaming looked well-dressed, was approaching Mysie, and she was slowly +moving to meet him. A few steps more, and the man had the girl, he +thought, in his arms, and was kissing her where they stood. + +Was he dreaming? What was the meaning of all this? "Oh, Christ!" he +groaned. "What does it all mean?" and he rubbed his eyes and looked +again, then sat down, all his pride and anger raging within him as he +watched, kindling the jungle instinct within him into a raging fire, to +fight for his mate--his by right of class and association. He doubled +back, as the two figures turned in the direction of the copse--the +resolve in his mind to go back and forcibly tear Mysie from this unknown +stranger. He would fight for her. She was his, and he was prepared to +assert his right of possession before all the world. + +In a mad fury he started forward, a raging anger in his heart, striding +along in quick, determined, relentless steps, his blood jumping and his +energy roused, and all the madness of a strong nature coursing through +him; but after a few yards he hesitated, stopped, and then turned back. + +After all, Mysie must have made an appointment with this man. She +evidently wanted him, and that was her reason for asking to be left +alone. + +"Oh, God!" he groaned again, sitting down. "This is hellish!" and he +began to turn over the whole business in his mind once more. + +Long he sat, and the darkness fell over the moor, matching the darkness +that brooded over his heart and mind. He heard the moor-birds crying in +restlessness, and saw the clouds piling themselves up, and come creeping +darkly over the higher ground, bringing a threat of rain in their wake. +The moan in the wind became louder, presaging a storm; but still he sat +or lay upon the rough, withered grass, fighting out his battle, meeting +the demons of despair and gloom, and the legions of pain and misery, in +greater armies than ever he had met them before. + +Again he groaned, as his ear caught the plaintive note of a widowed +partridge, which sat behind him upon a grassy knoll of turf, crying out +on the night air, an ache in every cry, the grief and sorrow of his +wounded, breaking heart. + +It seemed to Robert that there was a strange sort of kinship between him +and the bird--a kinship and understanding which touched a chord of ready +feeling in his heart. The ominous hoot of an owl in the wood startled +him, and he rose to his feet. He could not sit still. Idleness would +drive him mad. He strode off on to the moor, away from the track, his +whole being burning in torture, and his mind a mass of unconnected +fancies and pains. + +Over the bogs and through the marshes, the madness of despair within +him, he heeded not the deep ditches and the bog-pools. They were the +pits of darkness, the sty-pools, which his soul must either cross, or in +which he must perish. He tore up the hills into the mists and the rising +storm, the thick clouds, full of rain, enveloping him, and matching the +terrible fury of his breast. + +On, ever on, in the darkness and the mire, through clumps of whin and +stray bushes of wild briar. On, always on, driven and lashed into action +by the resistless desire to get away from himself. He knew not the +direction he had taken. He had lost his bearings on the moor; the +darkness had completely hidden the landmarks, and even had he been +conscious of his actions, he could not have told in which part of the +moor he was. + +"Oh, God!" he groaned again, almost falling over a bush of broom; and +sitting down, he buried his face in his hands, and, forgetful of the +wind and the rain, which now drove down in torrents, sat and brooded and +thought, his mind seeking to understand the chaos of despair. + +What was the meaning of life? What was beyond it after death? Would +immortality, if such there were, be worth having? Men in countless, +unthinkable millions, had lived, and loved, and lost, and passed on. Did +immortality carry with it pain and suffering for them? If not, did it +carry happiness and balm? To hell with religions and philosophies, he +thought; they were all a parcel of fairy tales to drug men's minds and +keep them tame; and he glared impotently at the pitiless heavens, as if +he would defy gods, and devils, and men. He would be free--free in mind, +in thought, and unhampered by unrealities! + +No. Men had the shaping of their own lives. Pride would be his ally. He +would lock up this episode in his heart, and at the end of time for him, +there would be an end of the pain and the regret, when he was laid among +the myriad millions of men of all the countless ages since man had +being. + +This was immortality; to be forever robed in the dreamless draperies of +eternal oblivion, rather than have eternal life, with all its +torments--mingling with the legions of the past, and with mother +earth--the dust of success and happiness indistinguishable from the dust +of failure and despair. Time alone would be his relief--the great +physician that healed all wounds. + +The wind blew stronger and the rain fell heavier, the one chasing, the +other in raging gusts, and both tearing round and lashing the form of +the man who sat motionless and unaware of all this fury. The wind god +tried to shake him up by rushing and roaring at him; but still there was +no response. Then, gathering re-inforcements, he came on in a mad +charge, driving a cloud of rain in front of him as a sort of spear-head +to break the defense of fearlessness and unconcern of this unhappy +mortal. Yet the figure moved not. + +Baffled and still more angry, the wind god retired behind the hills +again to rest; then, driving a larger rain-cloud before him, with a roar +and a crash he tore down the slope, raging and tearing in a wild tumult +of anger, straight against the lonely figure which sat there never +moving, his head sunk upon his breast. + +Beaten and sullen, the god again retired to re-collect his strength. He +moaned and growled as he retired, frightening the moor-birds and the +hares, which lay closer to earth, their little hearts quivering with +fear. Young birds were tucked safely under the parent wing, as terror +strode across the moor, striking dread into every fluttering little +heart and shivering body. Low growled the wind, as he ran around his +broken forces, gathering again new forces in greater and greater +multitudes. + +Just then, with an oath, the figure rose and faced the storm, striding +again up the slope, as if determined to carry the war into the camp of +the enemy. + +A low growl came rumbling from the hills, as the wind god rushed along, +encouraging his legions, threatening, coaxing, pleading, commanding +them to fight, and so to overcome this figure who now boldly faced his +great army. + +The advance guard of the storm broke upon him in wild desperation, +rushing and thundering, howling and yelling, sputtering and hissing, +spitting and hitting at him, and then the main body struck him full in +the face, all the bulk and the force of it hurled upon him with terrible +impetuous abandon, and Robert's foot striking a tuft at the moment, he +went down, down into a bog-pool among the slush and moss, and decaying +heather-roots, down before the mad rush of the wind-god's army, who +roared and shouted in glee, with a voice that shook the hills and called +upon the elements to laugh and rejoice. + +And the widowed partridge out upon the moor, creeping closer to the lee +side of his tuft of moss, cried out in his pain, not because of the fury +of the blast, but because of the heart that was breaking under the +little shivering body for the dead mate, who had meant so much of life +and happiness to him--cried with an ache in every cry, and the heart of +the man responded in his great, overpowering grief. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +PETER MAKES A DECISION + + +Peter Rundell often wondered what had become of Mysie. For a day or two +after the evening of the day of the games, he had shunned the +possibility of meeting her, because of the shame that filled his heart. + +His face burned when his thoughts went back to the evening in the grove +on the moor. He wondered how it had all happened. He had not meant +anything wrong when he suggested the walk. He could not account for what +had occurred, and so he pondered and his shame rankled. + +Then an uneasy feeling took possession of him and he felt he would like +to see Mysie. + +A week slipped away and he tried to find a way of coming in contact with +her, but no real chance ever presented itself. + +A fortnight passed and he grew still more uneasy. He grew anxious and +there was a hot fear pricking at his heart. Then at last, one day he +caught a glimpse of her, and his heart was smitten with dread. + +She was changed. Her appearance was altered. She was thinner, much +thinner and very white and listless. The old air of gayety and bubbling +spirits was gone. Her step seemed to drag, instead of the bright patter +her feet used to make; and his anxiety increased and finally he decided +that he must talk with her. + +There was something wrong and he wanted to know what it was. He tried to +make an excuse for seeing her alone but no chance presented itself, and +another week went past and he grew desperate. Then luck almost threw her +into his arms one day in the hall. + +"Mysie," he whispered, "there is something I want to discuss with you. +Meet me in the grove to-night about ten. I must see you. Will you come?" + +She nodded and passed on, not daring to raise her eyes, her face flaming +suddenly into shame, and the color leaving it again, gave her a deeper +pallor; and so he had to be content with that. + +All day he was fidgety and ill at ease, torn by a thousand dreads, and +consumed by anxiety, waiting impatiently for the evening, and puzzling +over what could be the matter. He felt that for one moment of mad +indiscretion, when allowing himself to be cast adrift upon the sea of +passion, the frail bark of his life had set out upon an adventure from +which he could not now turn back. He was out upon the great ocean +current of circumstances, where everything was unknown and uncharted, so +far as he was concerned. What rocks lay in his track, he did not know; +but his heart guessed, and sought in many ways of finding a course that +would bring his voyage to an end in the haven of comfort and +respectability. Respectability was his god, as he knew it was the god of +his parents. Money might save him; but there was something repugnant in +the thought of leaving the whole burden of disgrace upon Mysie. For, +after all, the fault was wholly his, and it was his duty to face the +consequences. Still if a way could be found of getting over it in an +easy way it would be better. But he would leave that till the evening +when he had learned from Mysie, whether his fears were correct or not, +and then a way might be found out of the difficulty. + +But the day seemed long in passing, and by the time the clock chimed +nine he was in a fever of excitement, and pained and ill with dread. + +Yet he was late when it came the hour, and Mysie was there first and had +already met Robert before he reached the grove. + +When Robert had gone away, and she sat crying upon the moor, she felt +indeed as if the whole world was slipping from her and that her life was +finished. Only ruin, black, unutterable, stared her in the face. Oh, if +only Robert had spoken sooner, she thought. If only that terrible +beautiful night with its moonlight witchery had not been lived as it had +been! If only something had intervened to prevent what had happened! +And she sobbed in her despair, knowing what was before her and learning +all too late, that Robert was the man she loved and wanted. + +Then when her passionate grief had spent itself, she rose as she saw +Peter coming hurriedly to meet her. + +"What is the matter, Mysie?" he asked with real concern in his voice, +noting the tear-stained face and her over-wrought condition. "What is +it, Mysie?" + +But Mysie did not answer just then, and they both turned and passed into +the grove, walking separately, as if afraid of each other's touch, and +something repellent keeping them apart. + +They sat down, carefully avoiding the place where they had sat on that +other fateful occasion, nearly a month before, and a long silence +elapsed before words were again spoken. + +"Now, Mysie," said Peter at last breaking the silence, and bracing +himself to hear unpleasant news, "I want to know what is wrong. What is +the matter?" and he feared to hear her tell her trouble. + +But again only tears--tears and sobs, terrible in their intensity as if +the frail little body would break completely under the strain of her +grief. + +"Mysie," he said, and his voice had a note of tender anxiety in it, +"what is it, dear? Tell me." + +"You shouldn't need to ask," she replied between her sobs. "You +shouldn't need to ask when you should ken." + +Again a long silence, and Peter felt he had got a heavy blow. A +sickening feeling of shame smote his heart at the knowledge hinted at--a +knowledge he had feared to learn. + +"Is it--is it--am I the cause of it, Mysie? Is--is it--?" and his voice +was hoarse and dry and pained. + +She nodded, and Peter knew beyond all doubt that he was the cause of the +misery. + +Again a long silence fell between them, in which both seemed to live an +eternity of silence and pain. Then clearing his throat, Peter spoke. + +"Mysie," he said, "there is only one thing to be done then," and there +was decision in his voice and a desire which meant that he was going to +rise to a height to which neither he nor Mysie ever expected he would +rise. "We must get married." + +She looked at him, with eyes still wet, but searching his face keenly. + +"Ay. It's a' richt sayin' that now, efter the thing's done," she said +bitterly. + +"But it is the only thing, Mysie, that can be done," he replied quickly. +"I can't think of anything else." + +"You should hae thought aboot that afore. It's nae use now," she said +bluntly. + +"Why, Mysie," he asked in surprise. "Why is it no use? Wouldn't you like +to marry me?" + +"No," she replied firmly. "I would not! Do you think I have no thought +o' mysel'? If nothing had happened, you would never hae thought aboot me +for your wife. But now that you've done something you canna get oot o' +you'd like to mak' me believe you want to help me bear the disgrace, +while a' the time you don't want to. But it's no' my disgrace," and +there was heat creeping into her voice. "It is yours, an' you should hae +thocht aboot a' that afore," and her voice was very angry as she +finished. + +"You are wrong, Mysie," he replied mollifyingly. "I love, you and I told +you that before it happened, and I also hinted that I wanted to marry +you." + +"Ay, but that was just at the time. Maybe if nothing had happened, an' I +had never been in your company again, you'd soon hae forgotten." + +"No, Mysie, you are wrong. I love you, and I've brought you to this, for +which I am sorry, so we must be married," he said decisively. + +"Why?" she asked, and her eyes met his honestly and fairly. + +"Because it is the right thing to do," he replied quietly. + +"Is that a'?" she asked. + +"Is it not enough? What else is there to do?" Mysie was silent, and +after a while Peter went on;--"It is a duty, dear, but I am going to +face it, and shoulder the responsibility. It is the right thing to do, +and it must be done." + +"Ay, an' you are gaun to dae it, just as a bairn tak's medicine; because +you are forced. I asked if that was a', and it seems to be. But what if +I don't have onything mair to dae with you?" + +"You would not do that, Mysie," he said hurriedly, and incredulously. It +had never entered his mind that she would refuse to marry him, and he +looked upon his offer as a great service which he was doing her. "Why, +what could you do otherwise?" he asked looking blankly at her. + +"I could work as I hae always done," she said sharply. "You surely think +you are a catch. Man, efter what has happened I feel that I wudna care +than I never saw you again. You hae little o' rale manliness in you. You +thocht it was gran' to carry on wi' a workin' lassie, maybe," and there +was bitter scorn in her voice, "an' now when you hae landed yourself +into a mess you are grinning like a bear with the branks an' wantin' to +dae what is richt as you call it," and Mysie was now really in a temper. + +"Mysie, you must not speak like that," he broke in, in earnest tones. +"You know I love you, and loving you as I do, I want to shield you as +much--" + +"Ay, but you want to shield yourself first," she said. + +"No, dear, it is only of you I am thinking. I love you very much and +want to do what is right. Even although this had not happened, I was +going to ask you to be my wife. Will you marry me, Mysie?" + +"What'll your folks say?" she asked bluntly. "You ken that I'm no' the +wife you would have gotten nor the yin your folk would like you to get," +she said, searching his face with a keen look. "I'm no' born in your +class. I'm ignorant an' have not the fine manners your wife should have, +an' I doot neither your faither nor your mither wad consent to such a +thing." + +"But I won't ask them," he replied. "I am a man for myself, and do not +see why they should be asked to approve my actions in this." + +"Ay, that's a' richt; but what aboot your ain feelings in the matter? +Am I the lass you wad hae ta'en, Peter, if this hadna happened?" and +there was a world of hungry appeal in her voice as she finished. It was +as if she wanted to be assured that it was for herself alone that he +really wanted to marry her. + +"Why should you not?" he enquired. + +"That's no' the question," she said, noting the evasion. "You ken as +weel as I dae that it wad be an ill match for you. You've been brought +up differently. You've had eddication, an' an easy life. You've been +trained faur differently, an' you canna say that you'd no' tire o' me. I +have not as muckle learning as wad make me spell my ain name, an' I +could never fill the position o' your wife with the folk I'd have to mix +with." + +"That's all right, Mysie," he said, ready to counter her argument. "You +have not been educated, that is true, but it is only a question of +having you trained. If one woman can be educated and trained so can +another. This is what I propose to do: I go back to Edinburgh in a +fortnight to finish my last year. My father has put the colliery into a +company, and he has a large part of the management on his shoulders. He +expects when I come home next year to gradually retire. I shall be the +controlling power then, and he will slip out of the business and end his +days in leisure." + +"Ay, but you are thinking a' the time aboot the disgrace," she said. +"Your whole thought is about your position, an' you hae never a real +thought aboot me." She was somewhat mollified; but there was still a +hard note in her voice, and not a little distrust too. "Are you sure you +are no' proposin' this just because o' the trouble? I don't want peety! +I am pairtly to blame too," this with a softer note creeping into her +voice, and making it more resigned. "If it's no' oot o' peety for me, I +could bear it better. But I'll no' hae peety. I can look after mysel' +an' face the whole thing, even though I ken it'll break my mither's +heart." + +"I know what it is for you, Mysie," he said. "I am trying to look at the +whole thing from your point of view. That's why I have planned to give +you some sort of a training, and make it as easy for you as possible. It +is for your position I am worrying and when I come into my father's +place I will be able to put all things right for you, and make you +really happy." + +"But you have not faced the main bit yet," she said as he ceased +speaking. "Where do I come in? You hae got this to face now, an' it'll +no' wait a' that time." + +"Yes, I know," he replied, "I'm just coming to that. At first it won't +perhaps look too nice to you, but remember, Mysie, I want to face the +matter honestly and you'll have to help me. Very well," he went on. "As +I said, I go back to Edinburgh in three weeks at most--I'll try and go +in a fortnight, and you must go with me--not traveling together. We must +keep all our affairs to ourselves, and not even your parents or mine +must know. When I go away you'll come the day after. You can travel over +the moor to Greyrigg station, take the 4:30 train from there and I can +meet you at Edinburgh. I'll get a house next week when I go to arrange +for my term. I shall tell no one. You can live in the house I get and I +can continue perhaps in lodgings, and I shall come and visit you as +often as I can." + +He stopped for a little and then resumed:--"I shall buy books for you +and come and teach you the things you'll need to learn, or I can get +someone to do it, if you'd like that better. Then when you are +thoroughly trained, I can bring you home to Rundell House and all will +be well." + +"An' what aboot--what aboot--" she paused, averting her face. "Are you +no' forgettin' that it'll tak' a lang time for me to learn a' I'll need; +for I'm gey ill to learn." + +"No, Mysie," he replied reassuringly. "When you arrive in Edinburgh, we +can go next day to be married before the Sheriff. It's all right, Mysie +dear," he assured her as he saw the questioning look in her eyes. "Don't +think I'm trying to trap you. I want to make what amends I can for what +has happened. You'll be my wife just as surely as if the minister +married us. If you are not content with that we can easily get married +with a minister after we decide to come back here." + +"But wad that be a true marriage?" she asked, scarcely able to credit +what he told her. "Wad I get marriage lines?" + +"Oh, yes. It would be legal, and you'd get marriage lines. Now what do +you say?" + +"I dinna like the thocht o' no' tellin' my mither. Will I hae to gang +away, an' no' tell her?" + +"Oh, you must not tell anyone," he replied quickly. "No one must know or +all our plans will go crash, and we'll both be left to face the shame of +the whole thing. So you must not tell." + +"Mither will break her heart," she broke in again with a hint of a sob. +"She'll wonder where I am, an' worry aboot me, wi' nae word o' me! Am I +just to disappear oot o' everybody's kennin' altogether? Oh, dear! It'll +break my mither's heart," and she cried again at the thought of the pain +and anxiety which her parents would experience. + +So they sat and talked, he trying to soothe and allay her anxiety and +she, at first openly skeptical, and then by and by allowing herself to +be persuaded. + +All this time they had been too engrossed in their own affairs to notice +how the wind had risen and that a storm was already breaking over the +moor. Then suddenly realizing it, they started for home. + +It was nearing midnight, and the clouds being thick and low made the +mossy ground very dark. The rain was coming down heavily and everything +pointed to a wild night. + +"I'm sorry I did not bring a coat with me," said Peter, taking the +windward side of Mysie, so as to break the storm for her. "I had no idea +that it was going so rain when I came away," and they plowed their way +through the long rough grass, plashing through the little pools they +were unable to see, while the wind raged and tore across the moor in a +high gale. + +He had a key in his pocket and when they arrived at Rundell House he +noiselessly opened the door, and they entered, slipping along like +burglars. + +When Mysie reached her room, she sat down to think matters over for +herself, forgetful of the fact that she was wet. She sat a long time +pondering in her slow untrained way over the arrangements which had been +come to, her mind trying to get accustomed to the thought that she was +going to be Peter's wife and to leave Lowwood. + +But somehow the thought of being his wife did not appeal to her now, as +it had done when she had pictured herself the lady of the district with +her dreams of everything she desired, and fancying herself the envy of +every woman who knew her. + +The secrecy of the business she did not like; but she told herself it +would all come right; that it was necessary under the circumstances and +that afterwards when she had been taught and trained in the ways of his +people she would come back and all would be well. + +Then in the midst of all this looking into the future with its doubts +and promises, came the thought of Robert, and her pulses thrilled and +her blood quickened; but it had come too late. + +Would she rather be at Rundell House as Peter's wife or sitting in a +one-roomed apartment sewing pit clothes perhaps, or washing and +scrubbing in the slavery in which the women folk of her class generally +lived? Ah, yes, as Robert's wife that would have been happiness. But it +was all too late now. She had turned aside--and she must pay the penalty +of it all. + +Long she sat, and cried, and at last realizing that she was cold and +shivering, she took off her clothes and crawled off to bed, her last +thought of Robert as he had left her, the pain in his eyes and the awful +agony in his voice: "Oh, Mysie, how I hae loved you! An' I thocht you +cared for me!" rang in her ears as she lay and tossed in sleepless +misery. + +In the morning she was in a high fever and unable to rise out of her +bed. She had a headache and felt wretched and ill. In her exhausted +state, weakened by worry and her resistance gone, the drenching, the +chill and the long sitting in her lonely room had overmastered her +completely. + +She raved about Robert, crying to him in her fevered excitement, and he, +all unconscious, was at that time at his work, tired also and exhausted +by his terrible night upon the moor. + +When he stumbled and fell into the mossy pool, his mind became more +collected and, scrambling out, he stood to consider where he was, trying +to find his bearings in the thick darkness. + +The low whinnying of a horse near by gave him a clew and he started in +the direction of the cry, concluding that it was some of the horses +sheltering behind a dyke which ran across the moor from the end of the +village. + +He crawled and scrambled along, and after going about twenty yards he +came to the dyke, at the other side of which stood the cowering horses. + +"Whoa, Bob," he said soothingly, and one of them whinnied back in +response as if glad to know that a human being was near. He moved nearer +to them, and began to stroke their manes and clap their necks, to which +they responded by rubbing their faces against him and cuddling an +affectionate return for the sympathy in his voice. + +"Puir Bob," he said, tenderly, as he patted the neck of the animal which +rubbed its soft nose against his arm. It seemed so glad of the +companionship and reached nearer as Robert put out his other hand to +stroke sympathetically the nose of the other horse, as he also drew +near. + +"Puir Rosy," he said. "Was you feart for the wind and the rain? Poor +lass! It's an awfu' nicht to be oot in!" and they rubbed themselves +against him and whinnied with a low pleased gurgle, grateful for his +kindness and company as he patted and stroked the soft velvet skins, and +they rubbed themselves against him as if each were jealous lest his +attentions be not equally divided. + +He stood for a short time, thus fondling and patting them, then keeping +to the dyke, he made his way along it and he thus came out right at the +end of the village, and knowing his way now with confidence, he was soon +at the door of his home. Cautiously opening it, afraid he would awaken +the inmates, whom he concluded must all be asleep, he slipped in +quietly, bolting the door behind him, and reached the fire. + +"Dear me, Rob," said his mother. "Where in the name o' goodness hae you +been the nicht! I sat up till after midnight aye expectin' you'd be in, +sae I gaed awa' to my bed to lie wauken till you should come in. You are +awfu' late." + +He did not answer but stooped to take off his boots, and Mrs. Sinclair +was soon out of bed and upon the floor. + +"Michty me, laddie! You are wringin' wet! Where have you been? Rain and +glaur to the e'en holes! Get thae wet claes off you at yince, an' I'll +get dry shirts for you, an' then awa' till your bed!" she rattled on, +running to the chest in the room and coming back with dry clothes in her +arms. "My, I never kent you oot o' the hoose as late as this in a' your +life! Have you been oot in a' that rain?" + +"Ay," he answered, but venturing nothing more, as he went on changing. + +"It's been an awfu' nicht o' wind and rain," she again observed, +glancing at his dripping clothes, and conveying a hint that explanations +were desirable. + +"I canna understand at a' what way you hae bidden oot in a' that rain, +Lod's sake? It's enough to gie you your daeth o' cauld. You are wet to +the skin, an' there's no a dry steek on you? Hae you been oot in it a'?" +and her curiosity she felt was too crudely put to be answered. + +Robert knew that she was bent on having an explanation, and that if he +gave her any encouragement at all she'd soon have the whole story out of +him. + +"Yes," he said curtly, "but I'm no' gaun to talk ony the nicht. I'm gaun +to my bed for an oor before risin' time." + +"You'll never gaun till your work the day," she said in warm concern. +"You'll never be able. You'd better tak' a rest, my laddie. A day will +no' mak' muckle difference noo. We're no sae ill aff, an' I wadna like +to hae onything gaun wrang. Gang away till your bed, an' dinna bother +aboot your work. A guid rest'll maybe keep you frae getting the cauld." + +"I'm a' richt, mither," he replied as airily as he could. "Dinna worry; +an' be sure an' wauken me for my work. I'm na gaun to bide in when there +is naething wrang. You gang awa' to your bed," and she knowing that was +the last word, did not speak further, and as he withdrew to his room, +she went back to bed wondering more and more at the mystery of it all. + +But he did not sleep. Torn by worry and in spite of his earlier +resolution to think no more about it he lay and thought and wondered +about Mysie, and the man he saw, joining her at the end of the grove; +and when Nellie opened the door to call him that it was "rising time," +Robert answered to the first cry, and his mother was more amazed than +ever; for he generally took a good many cries, being a heavy sleeper. +But being sensible she kept her wonder to herself, knowing if it were +anything which she had a right to know he'd tell her in his own good +time. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A STIR IN LOWWOOD + + +"My! Div you ken what has happened?" asked Mrs. Johnstone, bursting in +upon Mrs. Sinclair one day about two weeks later. "My, it's awfu'!" she +continued in breathless excitement, her head wagging and nodding with +every word, as if to emphasize it, her eyes almost jumping out with +excitement, and her whole appearance showing that she had got hold of a +piece of information which was of the first importance. "My, it's +awfu'," she repeated again lifting her hands up to a level with her +breast, and then letting them fall again, "Mysie Maitland has ran away +frae her place, an' naebidy kens where she has gane to. An' Mrs. +Rundell, mind you, has been that guid to her too, givin' her her caps +an' aprons, an' whiles buyin' her a bit dress length forby, an' she +gi'ed her boots and slippers, an' a whole lot o' ither things to tak' +hame for the bairns--things that were owre wee for the weans at Rundell +Hoose but were quite guid to wear. My, it's awfu'! Isn't it?" + +"Mysie Maitland!" exclaimed Mrs. Sinclair in astonishment. "When did +this happen? Where has she gane? Are you sure you hinna made a mistake?" +and Mrs. Sinclair was all excitement, hanging in breathless anxiety upon +the tidings her neighbor brought. + +"I hae made nae mistake, Nellie Sinclair," returned Leezie, "for it was +her ain mother wha telt me the noo. I was at the store, an' when I was +comin' hame I met Jenny hersel' gaun awa' tae Rundell Hoose. She was +greetin' an' I couldna' get oot o' spierin' at her what was wrang, an' +she telt me her ain self." + +"You dinna mean tae tell me that Mysie Maitland has disappeared? In the +name o' a' that's guid, what has happened to bring aboot sic news?" + +"Aye, it's true, Nellie," replied Mrs. Johnstone, feeling very important +now that she knew Mrs. Sinclair had not heard the news. + +"When did this happen?" asked the latter, still incredulous. "Are you +sure that's true? Dear me! I dinna ken what the world's comin' to at +a'!" + +"Ay, it's awfu'! But it's true. You never ken what thae quate kin' o' +modest folk will dae. They look that bashfu' that butter wadna' melt in +their mouths; an' a' the time they are just as like to gang wrang as +ither folk." + +"But wha said Mysie Maitland has gang wrang?" enquired Mrs. Sinclair, +flaring up in Mysie's defense. "I wadna' believe it, though you went +down on your bended knees to tell me. A modester, weel-doin' lassie +never lived in this place!" + +"Weel, I dinna ken whether she has gane wrang or not; but she has ran +awa', an' it is gey suspeecious conduct that for ony lassie that is +weel-doin'. She is jist like the rest of folk." + +"It canna' be true," said Mrs. Sinclair, still unable to believe the +news. "I canna' take it in." + +"Ay, but it is true," persisted her neighbor with assurance. "For I tell +you, it was her ain mother what telt me hersel'. It seems she has been +missing since the day afore yesterday. She gaed awa' in the afternoon to +see her mither, an' as she hadna been keepin' very weel for a day or two +an' no comin' back that night, Mrs. Rundell jist thought that Jenny had +keepit her at home for a holiday. But she didna turn up yesterday, an' +thinkin' maybe that the lassie had turned worse, Mrs. Rundell sent owre +word jist the noo, to ask how she was keepin'; an' Jenny was fair +thunder-struck when the man came to the door to ask. Puir body! Jenny's +awfu' puttin' aboot owre the matter. I hope," she added, with the first +show of sympathy, "that naething has happened to the lassie. That wad be +awfu'!" + +"Dear keep us!" exclaimed Nellie. "I hope nothing has happened to her." + +"God knows!" replied Mrs. Johnstone piously, for want of something else +to say. "It's awfu'!" + +"Do they ken naething at a' aboot her at Rundells'?" again enquired Mrs. +Sinclair. + +"No' a thing they ken, ony mair than you or me. She left her bits o' +claes, jist as if she meant to come back. Her new frock was in her +drawer jist as she had put it by efter tryin' it on. An' a braw frock it +is. She has nothing except what she was wearin' at the time she gaed +oot. Her guid boots jist yince on her feet are in her room, a' cleaned +jist as she took them off the last time she had them on. I canna' +believe it yet. My! it's awfu'! It'll be a sair, sair heart her +faither'll hae when he hears about it. He had aye an' awfu' wark wi' +Mysie, an' thought the world o' her. If he got Mysie richt he ay seemed +to think that a' else was richt. I hope nae harm has come to her. I +dinna ken what the world's comin' to at a', I'm sure? My, it's awfu', +isn't it?" and Mrs. Johnstone went out to spread the news, leaving Mrs. +Sinclair more mystified and astonished than ever she had been in her +life. + +Mysie missing! She could not understand it, and always she tried to +crush back the suggestion which was plainly evident in Leezie's +statement that Mysie had "gang wrang." It could not be that, for Mysie +was never known to have dealings with anyone likely to betray her like +that. It was a hopeless puzzle altogether, and she could not account for +it. + +It was nearing "lousing time" and Mrs. Sinclair was busy getting the +dinner ready, and water boiled to wash the men coming in from the pit, +and she wondered how Robert would take the news. + +She knew, having guessed, as most mothers do guess, that Mysie held a +sacred corner in Robert's heart; though noticing the silence during the +last two weeks, and his renewed attention to books and study, she +wondered if anything had come between Mysie and himself. Had he at last +spoken to her and been discouraged? She could hardly harbor that +thought, for she felt also that Mysie's heart enshrined but one man, and +that was Robert. Yet what could be the meaning of all this mystery? + +It was true Mysie and Robert had never walked out as young men and +women of their class do; but she knew in their hearts each regarded the +other with very warm affection, and thinking thus she worked about the +house preparing things and running occasionally over to Maitland's +house, to see that the dinner was cooking all right, and giving little +attentions wherever they were needed, in Mrs. Maitland's absence. + +She did not mention the news to Robert when he came in, but she watched +him furtively as she worked about the house getting the water into the +tub for him to wash, before placing the dinner on the table; but she +guessed from his face that he must have already heard of it on his way +home. + +He was silent as he pulled off his rough blue flannel shirt and stooping +over the well-filled tub of hot water, he began to lave the water over +his arms, and the upper part of his body. + +At last, Mrs. Sinclair could hold herself in no longer, and looking +keenly at the half-naked young man as he straightened himself, having +washed the coal-dust from his hands and arms, he began to rub his breast +and as much of his back as he could reach, she said, "Did you hear aboot +Mysie, Rob?" + +"Ay," he returned simply, trying to hide his agitation and his blanching +face. "I heard that she had disappeared frae her place, an' that nae +news o' her could be got. Is it true, mither?" + +"Ay, it's true, Rob," she replied. "But I hinna got ony richt waye o' it +yet. Jenny's awa' owre to Rundell Hoose, an' we'll no' ken onything till +she comes back. It's an awfu' business, an' will pit her faither an' +mither a guid lot aboot. I wonder what'll hae ta'en her." + +"It's hard to ken," he replied in a non-committal voice. "Hae you ony +idea, mither, as to what has brought this aboot?" + +"No, Rob, I canna' say; but folks' tongues will soon be busy, I hae nae +doot, an' there will be a lot o' clip-clash, an' everybody kennin' +nothing, will ken the right way o't, an' every yin will hae a different +story to tell." + +"Ay, I hae nae doot," he said, again stooping over the tub flinging some +water over his head, and beginning to rub the soap into a fine lather +upon his hair. "Everybody will ken the right wye o' it, and will claver +and gossip, when they wad 'a be better to mind their ain affairs, an' +let ither folk alane." + +His mother did not speak for a little, but went on with her work. There +was something on her mind about which she wanted to speak, and she +bustled about and washed, and clattered the dishes; and every plate and +spoon, as they were laid dripping from the basin of warm water, plainly +indicated that something troubled her. + +Finally, when the last steaming dish had been laid upon the table, and +she had begun to wipe them dry, she cleared her throat, and in a +somewhat strained sort of voice asked, "Dae you ken, Rob, onything aboot +Mysie?" + +"No, mither," he replied at once, as he ceased rubbing the white foaming +lather on his hair, and again straightened himself up to look at her, as +she spoke; his head looking as if a three inch fall of snow had settled +upon it, giving the black dirty face and the clean eyes shining through +the dust, a weird strange appearance. "What makes you ask that?" + +"Oh, I dinna ken, Rob, but jist thought you micht hae kent something," +she answered evasively. + +"No, I dinna ken onything at all aboot her, mither," he said. "If I had +kent onything, dae you think I'd hae kept quiet?" + +"Oh, I dinna mean that, Rob," she replied with relief in her voice, "but +I thought that you might hae heard something. That Leezie Johnstone was +in here the day, an' you ken hoo she talks. She was makin' oot that +Mysie had gane wrang, and had ran awa' tae hide it." + +"Leezie Johnstone had little to do sayin' onything o' the kind," he said +with some heat in his voice. "There never was a dirty coo in the byre +but it liket a neighbor. I suppose she'll be thinkin' that a' lasses +were like her. These kind of folk hae dam'd strange ideas aboot things. +They get it into their heads it is wrang to do certain things when folk +are no married, but the cloak of marriage flung aboot them mak's the +same things richt. They hinna the brains o' a sewer rat in their +noddles, the dam'd hypocrites that they are!" + +"Dinna swear, Rob!" said Mrs. Sinclair, interrupting him. "Do you ken," +she went on, her astonishment plainly evident in her face and voice, +"that is the first time I ever heard you swear in a' my life!" + +"Well, mither, I am sorry; but I couldna' help it. Folk like that get my +temper up gey quick; because they get it into their heids that marriage +makes them virtuous, even though they may be guilty o' greater excesses +after than they were before marriage." + +"Ay, that's true, Rob!" she agreed. "But it is a sad business a' +thegether. I wonder what has come owre the bit lassie. God knows where +she may be?" + +But Robert was silent, and no matter how much she tried to get him to +speak, he would not be drawn into conversation, but answered merely in +short grunts; but she could see that he was very much disturbed at what +had happened. After a few days the sensation seemed to pass from the +minds of most of the villagers, who soon found something new to occupy +them, in connection with their own affairs. + +About this time much interest was being manifested in mining circles. +The labor movement was beginning to shape itself into solidarity towards +political as well as industrial activity. Robert Smillie and the late J. +Keir Hardie, and many other tireless spirits, had succeeded in molding +together the newly created labor party, infecting it with an idealism +which had hitherto not been so apparent, and this work was making a deep +impression upon the minds of the workers, especially among the younger +men. + +The Miners' Union had been linked up into national organizations; and a +consolidating influence was at work molding the workers generally, and +the miners particularly, imbuing them with a newer hope, a greater +enthusiasm and a wider vision. + +About a fortnight after the news of Mysie's disappearance, Keir Hardie +paid a visit to Lowwood, and a large crowd gathered to hear him in the +village hall. Smillie also was advertised to speak, and great interest +was manifested, and much criticism passed by the miners. + +"I don't give in wi' this dam'd political business," said Tam Donaldson, +who was frankly critical. "I've aye stood up for Smillie, but I dinna' +like being dragged intae this Socialist movement. A dam'd fine nest o' +robbers an' work-shy vermin. Trade Union officials should attend tae +Trade Union affairs. That's what we pay them for. But it looks to me as +if they were a' that dam'd busy trying to get intae Parliament, thet +they hinna time to look after oor affairs." + +"I'm kind o' suspeecious aboot it mysel', Tam," said Robert quietly, as +they made their way to the hall that night. "I'm no' sure jist yet as to +what this Socialism is, it looks frae the papers to be a rotten kind o' +thing an' I'm no' on wi' it. But I'll wait an' hear what Hardie an' +Smillie say aboot it, afore a' make up my mind." + +"To hell wi' them an' their Socialism," said Tam with some heat. "I want +a shillin' or twa on my day. It's a' yin damn to me hoo mony wives they +gie me. I canna' keep the yin I hae. What the hell wad a workin' man dae +wi' three wives? An' they tell me they're goin' to abolish religion too. +Not that I'm a religious man mysel', but I'm damn'd if I'd let them +interfere wi' it. If I want religion I've a guid richt to hae it; an' +forby, if they abolish religion, hoo wad folk do wi' the funerals? I can +see hoo they'll do wi' marriages, for there's to be nane. You've to get +your wife changed every two-three years, an' the weans brought up by the +State as they call it. But the puirhouse is a dam'd cauld step-mother, +an' I'd be up against that." + +Thus discussing the subject, they reached the hall to find it packed, +everyone being keen to see and hear this man, who was making such an +uproar in the country with his advocacy of Socialism. + +Robert was chairman, and had labored hard to prepare a few remarks with +which to open the meeting. He wanted to be non-committal, and his +reading and self-teaching had been of immense service to him. His +mother's influence in the molding of his character, unconsciously to +himself, had made his mind just the sort of soil for the quick rooting +of the seed to be sown that night. + +It was certainly a great occasion. Robert thought as he looked at this +man, that he had never seen anyone who so typefied the spirit of +independence in his bearing. His figure was straight, the eyes fearless, +yet kindly and gentle; but the proud erect head, the straight stiff back +which seemed to say "I bend to no one" impressed Robert more than +anything else in all his make up. + +Yet there was nothing aggressive about him with it all; but on the +contrary, an atmosphere of kindliness exuded from him, creating a +wonderful effect upon those with whom he came in contact. The wild +stories of this turbulent agitator, which everyone seemed to hear, and +be acquainted with, made the audience hostile to begin with. It was not +a demonstrable hostility; but one felt it was there, ready to break out, +and overwhelm this stormy petrel of the political world. + +Yet they patiently waited for Hardie to begin, tolerating Smillie, and +even applauding his ringing denunciations of the wrongs they suffered, +but critically waiting on his attempts to switch them on to Socialism. +Then came Hardie, halting and stammering a little as he began his +address. The audience thinking this was due to his searching for a way +to delude them, became more suspicious and critical, and ready to stop +him, if he tried any tricks upon them; but broad-minded enough and fair +enough to give him a hearing, until he trespassed upon them too much. + +So it was in this atmosphere that Socialism first was heard in Lowwood; +but soon the speaker became less halting as he warmed to his subject, +until not only was he fluent, but eloquent, and powerful, winning his +audience in spite of themselves. + +They sat and listened, and were soon under his sway, watching his every +gesture and thawing under his spell, as they watched the fine head +thrown back with its inimitable poise, the back straight and stiff, the +eyes aglow with the light of the seer, and the hands gracefully rising +and falling to emphasize some point. + +What a change soon came over them! Gradually as the speaker developed +his subject the faces changed, and they were soon responsive to his +every demand upon them. The clear ringing voice, insistent, strong, yet +catching a cadence of gentleness and winsomeness that moved them to +approval of everything he said. + +There was deep humanity about him, that was strangely in contrast with +the monster he had been to their fancy before they saw and heard him. +This was not the politics of the vulgar kind, of which the newspapers +had told; on the contrary, every man in the hall felt this was the +politics to which every reasonable man subscribed. It was the politics +of the fireside, of sweetness and light, of justice and truth, of +humanity and God. + +In burning words he denounced the wrongs under which the people +suffered, winning them by his warm-blooded championship of their cause, +appealing to them to forsake the other parties, form an independent +party for themselves; and sketching in glowing words the picture of the +world as it might be, if only a saner and more human view were taken by +those who ruled. + +It made an indelible impression on Robert's mind. The way was so simple, +so clear, so sure, that if only men like Hardie could go round every +town and village in the land, he believed that a Utopia might be brought +into being in a very few years; that even the rich people, the usurpers, +would agree that this state of affairs might be brought about, and that +they'd gladly give up all they had of power over the lives of others, to +work cooperatively for the good of all; and already he was deciding in +youth's way, he would give his life, every moment of it, to help Hardie +and Smillie, and all those other great spirits to win the world to this +state of affairs. Body and soul he would devote to it, and so help to +make the world a brighter and happier place for all human beings. + +His was the temperament that having found an ideal would storm the gates +of Heaven to realize it; or wade through hell, suffering all its +penalties to gaze upon the face of that he sought. + +So the meeting ended in great enthusiasm, and the audience was amazed +and pleased to find that this man Hardie was not the vulgar-minded, +loud-mouthed ignorant agitator of which the press had told them; but was +just one of themselves, burning with a sense of their wrongs, with +ability to express their thoughts in their own words, and with an +uncompromising hatred of the system which bred these wrongs in their +lives. + +Tam Donaldson and Robert compared notes after the meeting was over in +the following conversation: + +"What do you think o' it, Tam?" + +"Christ! but it was great," was the reply. + +"What aboot the three wives noo, Tam?" + +"Oh, for ony sake, dinna rub it in, Rob. I feel that small that I could +hide myself in the hole of my back tooth. Man, do you ken, I jist felt +as if we were a' back in the Bible times again, wi' auld Isaiah +thundering oot his charges and tellin' the oppressors o' the people what +he thought of them. The white heid o' Hardie maun hae been gey like +Isaiah's. Or sometimes it was like John the Baptist, comin' to tell us +o' the new world that was ready to dawn for the folk! Man, it was +hellish guid, and frae this day I'm a Socialist. I've always been +fightin' the oppressors o' the workers, an' only wish I had a tongue +like Hardie, so that I could gang roon' the hale country tellin' folk +the rale God's truth aboot things. Guid God! Rob, it was better than +goin' to the kirk!" + +"Ay, it was gran', Tam. I'm goin' to read up this Socialism; for it +seems to me to be worth it." + +"So will I. I hae got twa or three bits o' books that I bought, an' I'll +swallow them as quick as I can. Lod! It seems as if a new world had +opened up a' thegether the night. I'm that dam'd happy, I could rin +roon' an' tell everybody aboot it! But I suppose we maun gang awa' hame +to bed; for we'll hae to gang to oor work the morn, though it's dam'd +cauld comfort to think o' gaun oot to the pit, when we could hae better +conditions to work in if only folk had the sense to do right." + +Thus they parted, full of the subject which had stirred them so much +that night. + +Robert went home, full of vision of an emancipated world, his whole +heart kindled and aglow with the desire to be a spokesman like Hardie on +behalf of the workers, and thoroughly determined to devote the rest of +his life to it. + +"There's nae word o' Mysie yet," said Nellie, when he came in, and her +words seemed to shock him with their unexpectedness. + +"Is there no'?" he replied, trying hard to bring his mind back to the +realities. "What kind o' word did Jenny get frae the polis?" + +"Oh, they ken naething aboot her," said Nellie. "A' that is kenned is +jist what we heard already. The polis hae been searchin' noo for a +fortnight an' nae trace o' her can be got. Mr. Rundell has pit it in the +papers; but I hae my doots aboot ever seeing her again. Mysie wasna' the +lassie that wad keep her folk in suspense. She wad ken fine that they'd +be anxious. Matthew an' Jenny are in an awfu' way." + +"Ay. I believe they will," he replied, and a deep silence followed. + +After a time, as the silence seemed to become oppressive, and for the +sake of saying something, Mrs. Sinclair said: "What kin o' a meetin' had +you the night?" + +"My! we had an awfu' meeting, mither," he said in reply, his eyes +kindling with enthusiasm at the memory of it. "Smillie was askin' for +you, an' he's comin' owre to see you the morn afore he goes awa'." + +"Oh, he had mind o' me then," she said, pleased at this information. + +"Ay, an' he talked rale kindly aboot my faither to Hardie, mither. +Smillie's a fine man, an' I like him," he said with simple enthusiasm. + +"He is that, Rob. I've aye liked Bob for the way he has had to fecht. +Lod, I dinna ken hoo he has managed to come through it a'. He's been a +gran' frien' to the miners. What kin' o' a man is Hardie?" + +"He's yin o' the finest men I ever met," he answered in quick +enthusiasm. "You would hae enjoyed hearin' him, mither. It's an awfu' +peety that the weemin dinna gang to the meetin's. I'm shair there's no' +a woman in the place but wad hae liket him. My! if you had jist heard +him, strong, sturdy, and independent. Efter hearin' him, it fair knocked +the stories on the heid aboot him bein' oot to smash the hame, an' +religion an' sic like. He's clean and staunch, an' a rale man. Nae sham +aboot him, but a rale human bein', an' after listenin' to him tellin' +what Socialism is, it mak's you feel ashamed that you ever believed +things that you did believe aboot it. It's that simple an' Tam Donaldson +is fair carried awa' wi' it the night." + +"I'm glad you had a guid meetin'," she said, her interest kindled too. +"Tell me a' aboot it," and Robert told her, sketching the fine picture +which Hardie had given to his memory to carry, as long as life lasted +for him. + +"I've been appointed delegate to the Miners' Council," he said after a +while. "I'll hae to gang to Hamilton once a month to attend the +conferences." + +"Oh!" she said in surprise, and with pride in her voice. "What way hae +they sent you?" + +"I don't ken," he answered, "but I was a wee bit feart to take it. It's +only the very best men that should be sent there to represent the +branches, an' I thought they might hae sent an older man, wi' mair kind +o' thought about him, an' mair experience." + +"Oh, weel, Rob," she said with pride, "ye are maybe as guid as ony o' +them, and a hantle better than some o' them. I hope you'll dae well and +aye act fair." + +"I'll dae my best," he said simply. "Mony a time we hae been selt wi' +place-seekers, an' maybe there are some still at it," he went on, "but I +can say this, mither, if ever I get an inklin' o' it, I'll expose them +to every honest man. We want men who can look at things withoot seem' +themsel's as the center o' a' things. My, if you had only seen Hardie," +he broke off. "He was grand." + +Thus they talked for an hour before retiring, but all the time Robert's +mind occasionally kept wondering about Mysie, and he went to bed, his +heart troubled and aching to know the fate that had overtaken the girl +he had loved and lost. + +All night long he tossed unable to sleep, as he tried to think what had +happened to her, his mind and heart pained at the thought of something +that boded no good to her. + +He again lived over in his mind all that had happened that night upon +the moor, when he saw the man going to meet her after his own meeting +with Mysie. + +He was pained and puzzled what to do. Had the stranger any connection +with her disappearance, he asked himself? Should he tell of that? And +yet she had been to her father's house since then, so that it would be +of little value to mention it, he thought. + +Perhaps she had run away with the man. That was quite a likely thing to +happen, and if Mysie wanted him no one else had anything to do with it. +Still, she might have told her people, he thought. But perhaps she might +do that later on. + +But Mysie and her fate would not be banished from his mind, and he lay +and tumbled and tossed, a terrible anxiety within him, for youth is apt +to pity its own sufferings, and give them a heroic touch under the spell +of unrequited love. + +Thus the night passed and morning came, and he had not slept, and he +went to his work debating as to whether he should inform the police or +not about the man he had seen in the company of Mysie. But no decision +was ever come to. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +MYSIE RUNS AWAY + + +It was a gray, sultry summer night, with one small patch of red near the +western horizon when Mysie, making the excuse of going to the village to +visit her parents, had stolen over the moorland path on her way to join +the evening train for Edinburgh at a neighboring village station. + +She had left early, so as to have plenty of time on the way, and also +because she was really ill, and could not hurry. + +She had forced herself to work, so as not to attract attention to her +weak state during the past few weeks. Peter, who had already gone some +days before, had now everything ready for her, and this was her final +break with the old life. + +She knew she was ill, but thought that when she got to Edinburgh, with +good medical attention and treatment, she would soon be all right again. +Perhaps a rest and the change would help her as much as anything; and +she'd soon get well and strong, and she would work hard to fit herself +for the position she was to occupy as Peter's wife. + +But her legs did feel tired, as she trudged over the moor, and her steps +dragged heavily. She sank down for a few moments upon a thyme-strewn +bank to rest; the scent of the wild moorland bloom brought back the +memory of that evening in the copse. She shut her eyes for a moment, and +heard again the alarmed protest of the whaup, and the grumble of the +burn; saw again the moonlight patterns upon the ground, as it flittered +through the trees, like streams of fairy radiance cast from the magic +wand of night and, above all, heard Peter's voice, praising her eyes, +her hair, her figure. + +Her cheeks burned again, and her heart throbbed anew--she heard his +tones, hoarse, vibrant and warm, as his breath scorched her cheek. She +felt his arms about her, the contact of his burning lips upon her own. + +Then the calm which follows the wake of the storm, the consciously +averted eyes, and the very conscious breathing, which had in it +something of shame; the almost aversion to speak or touch again, and +over all, the deep silence of the moor, broken only by the burn and the +whaup, and the thick cloud, kindly dark, that came over the moon. + +But, behind it all, the remorse and the agony that would never die; the +anxiety and uncertainty, and the secret knowledge for which each had +paid so high a price. + +She rose from the bank and went slowly along the lovely moorland path. +Her breath was labored and the cough troubled her. She was hot, and +besides the tired sensation in her limbs, there was a griping feeling +about her chest that made breathing difficult. + +She reached the station just a minute before the train was due, and +entered an almost empty compartment, glad to be seated and at rest. + +The train soon moved out of the station, and an intense desire took hold +of her to go back. The full consciousness of her action only seemed to +strike her now that she had cut the last tie that bound her to the old +life, and involuntarily she rose to her feet, as if to get out. A man +sitting in the opposite corner, thinking she was going to close the +carriage window, laid a restraining hand upon her. + +"Don't close it," he said, "fresh air is what we all need, though we may +not in our ignorance think so. But you take it from me, miss, that you +can't get too much fresh air. Let it play about you, and keep it always +passing through your room, or the railway carriage when traveling, and +you'll never be ill. Look at me," he continued aggressively, almost +fiercely, and very pompously, "the very picture of health--never had a +day's illness in my life. And what is the reason? Why, fresh air. It is +the grand life-giver. No, miss, leave the window open. You can't get too +much of it. Let it play about you, draw it deeply into your lungs like +this," and he took a great deep draught, until Mysie thought he was +going to expand so much that he might fall out of the carriage window, +or burst open its sides. Then, he let it out in a long, loud blast, like +a miniature cyclone, making a noise like escaping steam; while his eyes +seemed as if they had made up their minds to jump out, had the blast and +the pressure not eased them at the last critical moment. + +Then he stood panting, his shoulders going up and down, and his chest +going out and in, like a pair of bellows in a country blacksmith's shop. + +"Nothing like fresh air, miss," he panted. "You take my tip on that. +I've proved it. Just look at me. I'm health itself, and might make a +fortune by sitting as an advertisement for somebody's patent pills, only +I feel too honorable for that; for it is fresh air that has done it. +Fresh air, and plenty of it!" and he turned his nose again in the +direction of the window, as if he would gulp the air down in gallons--a +veritable glutton of Boreas. + +Mysie could not speak. She was overwhelmed by the blast of oratory upon +air, and a woman who sat on the far side of a closed window, with +tight-drawn lips and smoldering eyes, looked challengingly at this fresh +air fanatic, observing with quiet sarcasm: "A complexion like that might +make a fortune, if done with colors to the life, in advertising some +one's 'Old Highland'!" + +The fresh air apostle gasped a little, looking across at the grim set +mouth and the quiet, steady eyes, as if he would like to retort; but, +finding no ready words, he merely wiped his forehead, and then subsided +helplessly in his corner seat, as the lady rose, and, going over to the +window, said to Mysie, as she closed it: "It is a little cold to-night, +after the scorching heat of the daytime, and one is apt to catch cold +very readily in a draught at an open carriage window. There, we'll all +feel more comfortable now, I fancy. It is a little chilly." The poor +worm who had always lived and thrived upon fresh air felt himself +shriveling up in the corner, and growing so small that he might easily +slip through the seam at the hinges of the carriage door. + +Mysie merely lay back in her corner without speaking. She had never +traveled much in the train; and this journey, apart from its +eventfulness, was sufficient in itself to stupefy her with its newness +and immensity. She had never before had a longer journey than to the +county town, which cost sixpence; and here she was going to Edinburgh! a +great city, of which she had all the dread of the inexperienced, +unsophisticated country girl. A slight shiver soon began to creep down +her back, and gradually she became cold; but she sat never speaking, and +the other two occupants were so engrossed in thinking out maledictions +against each other, that they had no thoughts to bestow upon her. + +The wild, bleak moors rolled past, as the train rushed onward, and the +telegraph poles seemed to scamper along, as if frightened by the noise +of the train. She gazed away to the far horizon, where the sun had left +a faint glow upon the western clouds, and she tried to think of +something that would not betray her nervousness, but her mind was all +chaos and excitement, and strange expectation. + +What would be waiting for her at the end of the journey? Suppose Peter +failed to be at the station, what would she do in a strange city? What +if he were ill, and would not come? Or if he was doing this +deliberately, and did not mean to meet her? Thus, torn by anxiety, and +worried almost to death by nameless other fears, she spent the hour-long +journey which seemed like a day, making herself ill, so that she could +scarcely leave the carriage when the train steamed into Princes Street +Station. + +"Have you any luggage that I can assist you with?" asked the fresh air +man, as Mysie seemed reluctant to get out, now that she had arrived at +her destination. + +"No," she replied simply, forgetting to thank him for his kind +consideration, and rising slowly to her feet, she followed the stream of +passengers down the platform, keeping a keen look-out for Peter. + +"Here we are, Mysie," he said cheerily, striding towards her, with real +welcome in his voice, and she clung to him like a child, so glad that he +had been true to his word. "I have a cab waiting," he rattled on +brightly. "Just come along, and we'll soon be at your digs, and we'll +talk as we drive along," and he piloted her to a waiting cab; and +getting in beside her, it moved off, as she heard him say "Grassmarket" +to the driver. + +But she had little interest in anything, now that Peter was here. She +felt a sense of security in his company that she had never felt before. +She trusted him, now that all her bearings were lost. The fear of the +city, and the strangeness of her experiences, made her turn to him as +her only prop upon which she could lean; and she clung to his arm as +they drove along, the cab rattling over the stones and through what +seemed to Mysie interminable streets of houses. + +"Did you manage to get away all right, without anyone knowing?" he +asked, as he felt her trembling hands upon his arm. + +"Yes, I think sae," she replied. "I never saw onybody. I jist let on +that I was gaun hame, an' gaed owre the muir, an' got the train. I didna +see onybody that I kent." + +"That was right, Mysie," he said. "I was afraid you might decide at the +last moment not to come." + +"I did feel awfu' frightened," she confessed, "an' I could fain hae +bidden at hame; but I can never gang hame noo," she added with a slight +tremor in her voice, at the realization of all it meant. "I can never +gang hame noo!" and the tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke. + +What a noise, and what a multitude of houses, she thought. She would +never be able to go out and find her way back. She would get lost in all +this noise and hurry and confusion. + +"I have taken a little house for you, Mysie," said Peter, in explanation +of his plans. "I have also a woman engaged to help you for a time, to +look after you till you get acquainted with the place; and I'll come +home to you every evening, and spend as much of my time with you as I +can, superintending your lessons. I am going to teach you myself for a +while, and we'll live together and be as happy as we can. But first of +all, you must get better," he said, as a fit of coughing seized her. +"You've got a bad cold. Luckily, the old man allows me plenty of money, +so that we need not worry." + +Mysie sat lost in wonder at it all, and presently the cab stopped, and +Peter helped her out, paid the fare and, taking her arm, led her up a +long flight of stairs--stairs that seemed to wind up and up till she +felt dizzy, before he came to a halt at one of the many doors opening on +the landing, entering which she found herself in a neat little room and +kitchen, simply furnished, but clean and tidy. + +"This is Mrs. Ramsay, my landlady," he said as they entered, leading +Mysie forward to where a middle-aged woman of kindly demeanor stood with +a smile of welcome for them. Mrs. Ramsay stepped forward and began to +help Mysie to take off her hat. With a few words she soon made the girl +feel more at ease, and then left them to get tea ready. + +"Is that the woman you stay wi'?" asked Mysie, as Mrs. Ramsay went to +the other room. + +"Yes, she's my landlady," he replied. + +"An' does she bide here too?" + +"Well, she'll stay just as long as you think necessary. Whenever you +think you can get on without her, let me know. Her daughter is looking +after her own house till she returns. She's a good, kindly soul, and +will do anything to help you." + +"Are you gaun to stay here now, too?" + +"Well, that is for you to say, Mysie," he said seriously. "Certainly I +should like to stay with my wife, for we'll be married to-morrow. But if +you would rather stay alone, I can easily remain in my digs, and just +attend to your lessons In the evening." + +"If you stay here, will she need to stay too?" + +"Of course that will all lie with you, Mysie," he replied. "Perhaps it +might be better for her to stay and help you for a few weeks, and by +that time your cold may be better. But you can think it over to-night +and tell me your decision in the morning." + +Mrs. Ramsay's return cut short any further conversation, and they all +sat down to tea, a strange little party. Mysie did not eat much. She was +too tired, and felt that she would rather go to bed. She looked ill and +very wretched, and at last Peter went out, leaving the women together. + +"I'll be round for you by half-past ten in the morning, Mysie," he +said, as he was going. "So you must be up, and be as bright as you can. +So take a good long sleep, and you'll feel ever so much better in the +morning. Mrs. Ramsay will see you all right," and he was off before +Mysie realized he was going. + +It was all so strange for Mysie. She was lost in wonder at it all, as +she sat quietly pondering the matter while Mrs. Ramsay washed the dishes +and cleared the table. The noises outside; the glare of the street, +lamps, the tier upon tier of houses, piled on top of each other, as she +looked from the window at the tall buildings, and the Castle Rock, grim +and gray, looking down in silence upon the whole city, but added to +Mysie's confusion of mind. + +Shouts from a drunken brawl ascended from the street; the curses of the +men, and the screams of women, were plainly audible; while over all a +woman's voice, further down the street, broke into a bonnie old Scots +air which Mysie knew, and she could not help feeling that this was the +most beautiful thing she had heard so far. + +The voice was clear, and to Mysie very sweet, but it was the words that +set her heart awandering among her own moors and heather hills. + + Ca' the yowes tae the knowes, + Ca' them where the heather grows, + Ca' them where the burnie rows, + My kind dearie, O! + +This was always the song her father sang, if on a Saturday night he had +been taking a glass. It was not that he was given to drinking; but +sometimes, on the pay night, he would indulge in a glass with Andrew +Marshall or Peter Pegg--just a round each; sufficient to make them happy +and forgetful of their hard lot for a time. She had seen her father +drunk on very few occasions, as he was a very careful man; but +sometimes, maybe at New Year's time, if things were going more than +usually well, he might, in company with his two cronies, indulge in an +extra glass, and then he was seen at his best. + +On such occasions Mysie's mother would remonstrate with him, reminding +him with wifely wisdom of his family responsibilities; but under all her +admonishings Matthew's only reply was: + + As I gaed doon the water side, + There I met my bonnie lad, + An' he rowed me sweetly in his plaid, + An' ca'd me his dearie, O! + +and as he sang, he would fling his arms around Mysie's mother and turn +her round upon the floor, in an awkward dance, to the tune of the song, +and finally stopping her flow of words with a hug and a kiss, as he +repeated the chorus: + + Ca' the yowes tae the knowes, + Ca' them where the heather grows, + Ca' them where the burnie rows, + My kind dearie, O! + +So that, when the words of the old song floated up through the noise of +the street, Mysie's heart filled, and her eyes brimmed with tears; for +she saw again the old home, and all it meant to her. + +"There now," said Mrs. Ramsay, noticing her tears, and stroking her hair +with a kindly hand. "Mr. Rundell has told me all about it, and I am your +friend and his. I deeply sympathize with you, my dear, for I know how +much you must feel your position; but Mr. Rundell is a good-hearted +young man, and he'll be good to you, I know that. Don't cry, dearie. It +is all right." + +Thus the words of an old song, sung by a drunken street singer, brought +a stronger and deeper stab to the heart of this lonely girl, than to the +exile in the back-blocks of Maori-land, or on the edge of the golden +West, eating his heart out over a period of years for a glint of the +heather hills of home, or the sound of the little brook that had been +his lullaby in young days, when all the world was full of dreams and +fair romance. + +In a sudden burst of impulsiveness, Mysie flung her arms round the neck +of the older woman, pouring out her young heart and all its troubles in +an incoherent flood of sorrow and vexation. + +"There now, dearie," said Mrs. Ramsay, again stroking Mysie's hair and +her soft burning cheek. "Don't be frightened. You must go to your bed, +for you are tired and upset, and will make yourself ill. Come now, like +a good lass, and go to your bed." + +"Oh, dear, I wonner what my mither will say aboot it," wailed the girl, +sobbing. "She'll hae a sair, sair heart the nicht, an' my faither'll +break his heart. Oh, if only something could tell them I am a' richt, +an' safe, it would mak' things easier." + +"There now. Don't worry about that any more, dearie. You'll only make +yourself ill. Try and keep your mind off it, and go away to bed and +rest." + +"But it'll kill my mither!" cried Mysie wildly. "Her no' kennin' where I +am! If she could only ken that I am a' richt! She'll be worryin', an' +she'll be lyin' waken at nicht wonderin' aboot me, an' thinkin' o' every +wild thing that has happened to me. Oh, dear, but it'll break her heart +and kill my faither." + +It needed all Mrs. Ramsay's tact and patience to quieten and allay her +fears; but gradually the girl was prevailed upon to go to bed, and Mrs. +Ramsay retired to the next room. But all night she heard Mysie tossing +and turning, and quietly weeping, and she knew that despair was +torturing and tearing her frightened little heart, and trying her beyond +endurance. + +Mysie lay wondering how the village gossips at home would discuss her +disappearance. She knew how Mag Robertson, and Jean Fleming, and Leezie +Johnstone and all the other "clash-bags," as they were locally called, +would talk, and what stories they would tell. + +But her mother would be different--her mother who had always loved +her--crude, primitive love it was, but mother love just the same, and +she felt that she would never be able again to go back and take up her +old life--the old life which seemed so alluring, now that it was left +forever behind. + +Thus she tossed and worried, and finally in the gray hours of the +morning her thoughts turned to Robert, who had loved her so well, and +had always been her champion. She saw him looking at her with sad eyes, +eyes which held something of accusation in them and were heavy with +pain--eyes that told he had trusted her, had loved her, and that he had +always hoped she would be his--eyes that told of all they had been to +each other from the earliest remembered days, and which plainly said, as +they looked at her from the foot of her bed: "Mysie! Oh, Mysie! What way +did you do this!" + +Unable to bear it any longer, she screamed out in anguish, a scream +which brought good Mrs. Ramsay running to her bedside, to find Mysie +raving in a high fever, her eyes wildly glowing, and her skin all afire. +The good lady sat with her and tried to soothe her, but Mysie kept +calling on Robert and her mother, and raving about matters of which Mrs. +Ramsay knew nothing; and in the morning, when Peter arrived expecting to +find his bride ready, he found her very ill, and his good landlady very +much frightened about the whole matter. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +MAG ROBERTSON'S FRENZY + + +"I want to ken what has gone wrong with you?" said Mag Robertson, +speaking to Black Jock, whom she had called into her house one morning +as he returned from the pit for his breakfast. + +"There's naething wrang wi' me," he said with cool reserve. "What dae +you think is wrang?" + +"Ay, it's a' right, Jock," she said, speaking as one who knew he +understood her question better than he pretended. "I can see as far +through a brick wall as you can see through a whinstone dyke." + +"Maybe a bit farther, Mag," he said with a forced laugh, eyeing her +coolly. "But what are you driving at?" + +"You'll no' ken, I suppose?" she retorted. "Sanny has told me a' aboot +it this morning afore he gaed to his work. My! I'd hardly hae looked for +this frae you," she went on, her voice suddenly becoming softer and more +soothing as if she meant to appeal to his sense of gratitude if any +remained within him. "Efter what we've been to yin anither, I never +expected you'd dae this. I aye thocht that you'd be loyal as we hae been +tae you. We hae made oursel's the outcasts o' the district for you, an' +noo you wad turn on us like this. No, I never thocht it o' you at a'!" + +"What are you ravin' at this morning?" he asked, in a quiet voice, as if +he meant to force her into being more definite. "I don't ken I'm sure +what you are drivin' at." + +"Dae you no?" she broke in quickly, loosing hold of herself as she saw +that her method of attack was not going to succeed. "I hae been +suspectin' something for a while. You hinna been in owre my door for +three weeks an' that's no your ordinar. But I have seen you gaun in tae +Tam Granger's nearly every nicht in that time. An' I can put twa an' twa +together. Dae you think we dinna ken the reason that Sanny has lost his +contracts an' the reason why Tam Granger has stepped into them? Oh, ay," +she cried, her voice rising as she continued. "I can see hoo things are +workin'! I ken a' aboot it. Wee Leebie, I suppose, will be afore some o' +us noo. The stuck-up limmer that she is. She gangs by folk as brazened +as you like, wi' her head in the air, as if she was somebody. You wad +think she never had heard o' Willie Broonclod, the packman, that she +sloped when she left doon the country. Nae wonder she has braw claes to +glaik aboot in; for they were gey easy paid. The dirty glaiket limmer +that she is. I wonder she disna think shame o' hersel'." + +"What the hell's a' this to me?" asked Walker abruptly breaking in upon +her tirade. + +"I suppose it'll no' mean onything to you," she returned. "But I just +wanted to tell you, that you're no her first, for Willie Broonclod gaed +to her lang afore she cam' here, an' she's left him wi' a guid penny +that he'll never get. But her man's a contractor noo, makin' big money, +an' Jock Walker ca's in to see her whenever he's needfu' an' there's +naething sae low as a packman noo for her. The brazen-faced stuck-up +baggage that she is. Does she think I dinna ken her? Her, with her hair +stuck up in a 'bun' an' her fancy blouses an' buckled shoon, an' a'!" +Mag was now very much enraged and she shouted and swore in her anger. + +"Ach, gang to hell," he said with brutal callousness. "You're no' hauf a +woman like Leebie. She's a tippy wee lass, an' has a way wi' her. She +has some spirit, an' is aye snod and nate," and there was a tantalizing +smile about his lips that was plainly meant to irritate Mag. + +"I was guid enough a gey lang while, an'--" + +"Ay, but you've haen a damn'd guid innins," he interrupted. "A dam'd +guid innins, an' I canna see what the hell you hae to yowl at." + +"A guid innins, you muckle black-hearted brute!" she cried. "By heavens, +an' I'll see that you get yours afore I hae done wi' you. Dinna think +though I hae been saft wi' you a' along, that I'll ay be like that. Oh, +no, I can stand a lot; but you'll find oot that Mag Robertson hasna selt +her a' tae you, without driving a hard bargain afore she lets you alone. +You can gang back to your tippy wee baggage! Gang to hell, baith you an' +her, an' joy be wi' you baith! But I'll put a sprag in your wheel afore +you gang far. Mind that! By ---- I will! She'll nae toss her heid as she +gangs past me as if I was dirt. Her, an' her fine dresses that she never +payed for wi' money an' her fal-lals. By heaven! But you hae a fine +taste!" She finished up exasperated beyond all control by his coolness. + +"Ay, it wad seem so," he laughed brutally. "When I look at you, I begin +to wonder what the hell I was lookin' at. You're like a damnationed big +lump o' creesh," and he laughed in her face, knowing this would rouse +her more than ever. Then as she choked and spluttered in her anger he +said: "But what the hell odds is't to you, you baggage?" and his eyes +and voice were cold and brutal beyond expression. "Leebie Granger is +young," he went on insultingly, in a collected even voice which he +strove to make jaunty in tone. "She's as fresh an' young. An' you're +auld, an' fat an' as ugly as hell, an' if I dae gang to Leebie you hae +damn all to dae wi' it. As I said, you've had your innin's, an' been gey +well paid for it, an' I dinna gie a damn for you." + +"Dae you no'?" she cried now livid with anger and losing all control +over her words and actions, her eyes flashing with maddened rage and the +froth working from her lips. "I'll let you ken or no'. I'll tear the +pented face off your new doll; and I'll sort you too, you dirty black +brute that you are." + +"Gang to hell!" he shouted, starting out of the door so suddenly that he +almost ran into the next door neighbor who hearing the noise had crept +noiselessly on tiptoe to the door the better to hear all that was going +on. + +"What the hell's wrang wi' you?" he demanded turning in rage upon the +eavesdropper. "Have you naething else to dae than that? Gang in an' get +your dirty midden o' a hoose cleaned an' I'll see that you don't stay +lang in Lowwood to spy on ony mair folk!" and cowering in shame the +poor woman backed into the door and shut it, making up her mind that her +man would be sacked that day, and wondering where they would flit to, so +as to find work and a house. + +Walker strode up the row with Mag Robertson shouting behind him and the +neighbors all coming to the doors as they passed, and craning their +necks, while keeping their bodies safe hidden within the doorways of +their homes. + +"We're surely gettin' an entertainment the day," observed one fat old +woman to another woman two doors away, as they both looked after Mag as +she followed Walker up the row, shouting her worst names at him, and +vowing what she'd do with Leebie Granger, when she got hands on her. + +"Ay," replied the other woman stealing along the wall to the doorway of +the older woman, and slipping inside as if she were afraid of being +detected. "It's a hell o' a business when blackguards cast oot." + +"Wheest, Annie, dinna swear," remonstrated the old woman. "I dinna like +to hear folk swearin' at a'. I wonner the Lord disna open the grun' to +swallow the half o' the folk noo-a-days; for I never heard sic swearin' +a' my life." + +"Och, there's nae harm meant," returned Annie, taken aback by the old +woman's admonition. "It's jist a habit that folk get into an' they canna +help it. But listen to her," she broke off, alluding to Mag Robertson +again. "She micht think shame o' hersel', the shameless lump that she +is. She'd hae been faur better to hae keepit her mouth shut, Phemie." + +"That's true, Annie," replied Phemie. "Listen to her. My, she's no' +canny an' she's fairly givin' him a bellyfu'. But they're a' yae swine's +pick an' no' yin o' them decent. I wadna be in her shoon for a' the +money that ever was made in Lowwood. She micht hae kent hoo it wad end. +Hark at her. My, but it's awfu'." + +"Keep in, Annie," Phemie admonished as they both craned their necks to +look up the row as she saw Walker turning to face Mag. "Dinna let him +see you or your man will get the sack. My! but she's layin' it in tae' +him. What a tongue." + +"Lord bless us! He's strucken her, Phemie," said Annie, clutching her +neighbor's shoulder as she spoke. "My, he's gaen her an awfu' blow on +the mouth an' knocket her doon. Come inside for as sure as daith it'll +end in a coort case, an' I'm no wanting to be mixed up in it," and they +went inside and shut the door, looking at each other with frightened +eyes. Then Annie, stealing to the window and lifting the curtain a +little at the side, gazed sideways up the row, reporting to Phemie +everything that happened. + +"He's kicking her, Phemie. Eh, the muckle beast that he is. My God, +he'll kill her afore he's finished wi' her. He's hitting her on the face +every time she tries to rise an' gaein' her anither kick aye when she +fa's doon again. Oh! my God, will naebody interfere. He'll kill her as +sure as death," and she stepped back with blanched face sickened at the +spectacle she had described. + +"Here she comes, Annie," said her neighbor after a few moments. "My! +what a face. Dinna look you at her," cried Phemie in alarm pushing back +Annie who had moved near to the window to get a better view. "In God's +name, woman, dinna you look at her. You shouldna ha' looked at onything +that has taken place. If onything is wrang wi' your bairn when it is +born I'll never forgi'e' mysel' for lettin' you look at this business at +a'. Gang awa' back an' sit down an' try an' forget a' aboot what you hae +seen. Dinna look up till she gangs back intae the hoose," and the old +woman kept Annie sitting back at the bedside in the corner farthest from +the window until Mag staggered to her home, her face streaming with +blood. + +Not a soul was in sight as Mag returned; but many a pair of eyes watched +her from behind curtained windows, and expressions of sympathy were +common even though her relations with Walker were common knowledge in +the village, and had been censured by everyone in consequence for her +misdeeds. They all knew why Mag had "opened out" on Walker that morning +and the reason she had been set aside for another who pleased his fancy. + +Tam Granger and his wife had recently come into the district from a +neighboring village, where Leebie's name had been coupled with a local +draper's or packman's in some scandal. Black Jock had soon got into +contact with them and finding them willing tools he had deserted Sanny +and Mag Robertson. All the contracts were taken from Sanny and given to +Tam, and it was this that had made Mag watch for Walker coming in for +his breakfast, determined to have it out with him, with the result which +is chronicled above. + +The encounter between Mag and Black Jock was the talk of the village. +Mag was mad with rage, and having washed her bruised face, she ramped +out and in all day, washing the floor, clattering among dishes and +scouring pots and pans. She was working off her anger and swearing and +threatening, until most of the other women in the row grew afraid, and +kept as much as possible within doors the rest of the day. + +When the men returned from work the whole episode had to be gone through +and described to them by their wives. + +When Sanny Robertson came home that afternoon, he found Mag with swollen +lips and half closed eyes and a face bruised all over. He did not have +to wait long for explanations. She railed and swore and raged until one +wondered from where she got all the energy, and all the strength. It was +amazing why she did not collapse altogether. + +Sanny sat quietly listening without comment, then washed himself and sat +smoking by the fire for a time. He was a quiet go-as-you-please man, not +given much to talking. But finally he could stand it no longer, and he +took hold of his wife by the shoulder, saying. + +"Noo, jist you listen, an' for God's sake shut your mooth. It'll no dae +a bit o' guid ravin' like that. We are in a bigger hole noo than ever we +hae been in a' oor lives, an' mind that. I've made up my mind what I am +gaun tae dae. Sae listen. I'm gaun straucht awa' ower to Rundell's the +morn, at the time when Mr. Rundell gangs hame frae the office for his +breakfast, an' I'll tell him everything aboot the contracts. Then I'm +gaun awa' doon the country tae look for work, an' I'll flit oot o' here +an' tae hell wi't. Noo shut up an' gae me peace and quateness for an +hoor, so that I can think oot things. You get awa' tae bed. Maybe by +richt I should gang doon tae Black Jock an' stap a knife in him--if for +nae ither thing than the way he has treated you the day, I should dae +that. But I'm no gaun to dae it the noo. I'm no' blaming you for what +has happened; for I'm mair to blame than you are. But I'll be even wi' +that black beast, an' put an end to his rotten career, someway or +another. Sae aff you gang to your bed, an' gie me a quate hoor tae +mysel'," and there was such a quiet authoritative ring in his voice that +Mag dared not disobey it, and she went quietly off to bed while he sat +by the fireside smoking and thinking, and feeling that his home that +night must surely be the most unhappy place on God's earth. + +About midnight he knocked the ashes from his pipe, and placing it on the +mantelpiece, went to bed and soon fell asleep, but Mag, an insane +decision taking shape in her brain, lay and brooded and tossed till well +on in the morning, when she rose, kindled the fire, "redd up" the house, +prepared the breakfast and awoke her husband to partake of the meal she +had prepared. + +Never a word was spoken between them, and at last Sanny, after washing +and dressing, walked out without a word, but fully determined in his +heart to get equal with Walker before the day was over. + +He went straight to Rundell House, and ringing the bell asked to see the +mine owner. + +He was shown into a room and Mr. Rundell came to him almost before he +had been comfortably seated. + +"Well, Sanny," he began genially. "What brings you here this morning?" + +"A business that I'd rather no' been comin' on," replied Sanny uneasily +shifting on his chair. + +"Oh, nothing serious, I hope, is it?" + +"Ay, it's serious enough," returned Sanny. "Mair serious than you think, +Mr. Rundell; an' I dinna ken what you'll think o' me after I hae telt +you." + +"Oh, well, in that case," said the mine owner, becoming serious, and +speaking with slow deliberation. "Just let me hear what it is all about, +and we'll see how matters stand after you have told me," and he sat +down in a chair opposite Robertson as he spoke. + +"I hae lost my contracts, sir," began Sanny, not knowing how else to +open up the subject. "But I'm gaun to tell you the hale story just in my +ain way, so I want you to sit quate and no' interrupt me; for I hinna +jist the knack of puttin' things maybe as they should be put. But I'll +tell you the hale story an' then leave you to do as you like, an' think +what you like." + +"Very well, Sanny. Just go on. I did not know you had lost them. But +just let me hear about the trouble in your own way." + +"For gey near twenty year," began Sanny, "I've had maist feck o' the +contracts in your pits back and forrit--me an' Tam Fleming. Walker an' +us were aye gey thick, an' though it maybe was putten doon to you that +oor offer to work ony special job was the cheapest, I may tell you that +I never put in an offer in my life for yin o' them. Walker an'--an'" +here Sanny stammered a little, "Walker an' oor Mag were gey thick, an' +I'm ashamed o' this part o' the story; for I should hae been man enough +to protect her frae him. But the money was the thing that did it, Mr. +Rundell, an' I'm no' gaun to mak' excuses noo aboot it. But every +bargain I had, I had to share the pay, efter the men was payed, penny +aboot, wi' Walker. That was ay the bargain. He gaed us the job at his +ain feegure, an' we shared the profits wi' him. + +"Noo, jist keep yoursel' cool a bit," he said, holding up his hand as +Rundell made to speak. "We did gey well," he resumed in his even +monotone, like a man who was repeating something he had learned by +heart. "But gey soon I found that I was expected to spend a good share +o' my pay in drink, while Walker took a', an' never spent a penny. So it +was, that for a' the money we made we've been gey little the better o't, +an' very much the worse o' it. Without exception we shared penny aboot +with Walker on every bargain we got, an' I ken he has a guid bank +balance, while I hae nane. + +"Noo, this is a rotten story frae end to end o't," he went on after a +short pause to wipe his face with a handkerchief. "I allowed him to +ruin my wife's character. I kent it was gaun on a' the time; but like +mony mair I hae kent, a manager's favor was mair to me than the honor o' +a wife. I let him tak' a share o' the money I made, an' spent my ain to +keep him up on drink. But noo it's ended a'. A wheen o' weeks syne, a +man ca'd Tam Granger came to the place and his wife being young an' +fresh, an' guid-looking, besides being free, Walker's fancy was ta'en +wi' her. So you ken what it means, when a gaffer carries on like that, +an' the man is saft enough as weel as the woman being willin'. Tam got +my contracts this week, an' I have to gang back into a common place and +howk coals. + +"Weel, the wife couldna' stand being slighted like thet, an' Granger's +wife had been tantalizin' her too, you ken hoo women rave when they are +slighted. So she opened oot on Walker yesterday mornin' an' followed him +up the row, the hale place being turned oot to hear her exposure o' him. +She fair gaed mad wi' anger I think, an' lost a' control o' hersel' an' +she followed him shouting so that a' the neighbors could hear her +tauntin' an' jibin' at him, till he could staun it nae langer, an' he +turned an' struck her, knockin' her doon on the green, an' then kickin' +her, till she's a' bruised ower the body. She has an' awfu' lookin' face +too, an' she came in bleeding like a sheep. + +"So that's the hale ugly story, Mr. Rundell. As I said I'm gaun to mak' +nae excuses. There's nane tae mak'; an' I'm cheap served for it a'. I +should hae stood by the wife and protected her. But I'll dae it noo. +She's mine, an' if she's no guid it is me that is to blame. I'm leavin', +an' I'm gaun awa' doon the country the morn to look for work; but I +thocht I'd tell you the whole rotten story first, then I'll get Walker, +an' hae a reckonin' wi' him an' be off the morn. I'll pay off that +black-hearted brute this day afore I leave Lowwood an' then my +conscience will be easier." + +Mr. Rundell sat stupefied and amazed at the story just told him by +Robertson, and just as both men sat staring at each other and before +another word could be said, a miner burst into the room, almost +exploding with excitement, crying:-- + +"Oh, Mr. Rundell, you've to come to the pit at once. A woman has flung +herself doon the shaft." + +"Guid God! That'll be oor Mag," cried Sanny, starting up and out at the +door, running in the direction of the pit and stumbling every few yards +in his excitement. + +When Sanny had left the house that morning to go and interview Mr. +Rundell, Mag, with the insane decision she had made overnight still +holding her mind, dressed herself in her best clothes, and without +hesitation set off to the pit. + +On her way down the row she stepped into Leebie Granger's house very +excited though she had been fairly quiet all morning; so quiet in fact +that Phemie Grey and Annie Watson could not help remarking upon it. + +"She's been awfu' quate a' mornin', Phemie," said Annie, going into her +neighbor's house. "She has worked away there as if she was gaun to clean +the hale place, scrubbing oot the floor, although she washed yesterday; +an' noo, she has on her Sunday best, wi' her new hat on too, an' she's +awa' into Leebie Granger's. I wonner what'll hae ta'en her noo." + +"Guid kens," replied Phemie, "but she's fair off her heid. Dae ye ken +she's just like a daft body. Did you see the look in her e'en?" and so +they discussed poor Mag, who had drawn their attention by the +strangeness of her behavior. + +"Oh, dinna be feart, Leebie," began Mag as she saw Leebie's apprehensive +look. "I'm no' gaun to meddle wi' you, although I swore yesterday that I +would. You've only done what I did before you. You are young, an' mair +pleasin' than I am noo, an', as he said, I hae had a good innins. But, +Leebie, you'll hae to look for another fancy man. He'll no' be lang +yours. I'll see to that. Him an' me will gang oot thegither, if I can +manage it. We've baith been rotten, an' it's richt that we should gang +baith at once, an' rid the place o' a dam'd bad sore. Guid day, Leebie. +It's a dam'd puir life to leave, an' while it maybe is a woman's lot in +life to sell hersel' for ease and comfort, it's a' bad for her when she +does it in a way that the world says is a wrang way; for she soon finds +that her life isna worth a tinker's curse. She sells hersel' an' it's no +worth while complainin' if the bargain turns oot a rotten yin. + +"If every woman had plenty of honest work, there wad be nae fancy women, +for they wadna ned do it. Guid day, Leebie. Maybe you'll think I'm +strange a wee an' maybe so I am. You micht think I'm daft; an' maybe so +I am. But after a while when you get time to think, you'll maybe feel +that you hae heard mair soond sense oot o' Mag Robertson when she was +mad than ever she spoke when she was supposed to be wise. Guid day, +Leebie. Think ower a' I have said. I'm no gaun to hurt you; but I'm gaun +to tak' Black Jock oot o' your clutches as shair as daith. You've had +your innins too; but it has been a dam'd short yin. I've had mine, an' +the game is feenished noo. It's time the hale thing was totaled up so +that we can see wha is the winner. I've been maybe playin' a losin' +game, Leebie, but noo we'll ken afore lang. Guid day, Leebie. I'm off," +and she was out of the door leaving Leebie speechless with fear and +amazement. + +Mag flew down the brae to the pit almost running, while Leebie and other +neighbors looked after her with a strange dread at their hearts. + +When Mag arrived at the pit she asked a boy if Walker was up the pit yet +for his breakfast. + +"I dinna' think so," replied the boy. "He's kind o' late this mornin'; +but there's the bell chappit three," he said as the signal was made from +the bottom that men were about to come up. "That'll likely be him coming +up." + +The boy had no sooner spoken, than with a mad rush Mag darted forward, +and opening the gates at the "low scaffold," where no one was near, +being situated below the pit-head proper, with a loud scream she hurled +herself down the shaft. + +"God Almichty!" roared the engineman who saw all from the engine house, +as he rushed out of the door, calling to the pit-head workers. "Mag +Robertson has flung hersel' doon the shank!" and immediately all was +consternation. + +The engine keeper had just been in the act of signaling down to Walker, +who was ready to ascend when he saw the flying figure dart forward and +fling herself into the yawning abyss. + +Walker, standing at the foot of the shaft waiting for the answering +signal from above, heard the noise and the rush of Mag's body as it +bumped from side to side in its mad descent, and starting back, he was +just in time to get clear as the mangled mass of rags and blood and +pulpy flesh fell with a loud splashy thud at the bottom, the blood +spattering and "jauping" him and the bottomer, and blinding their eyes +as it flew all over them. + +"In the name o' Heavens what's that?" yelled Walker, screaming in terror +and jumping aside from the bloody upturned face, with the wide, staring +eyes, which he seemed to recognize, as the other parts of the body lay +about, still quivering and twitching, and a horrible sickness came over +him and terror flooded his mind. + +"Bell, three, quick!" cried Walker, frantic with desperation in his +voice. "Bell three, dammit. An' let us up out o' here. Hurry up, hell to +you," and he drew the bell himself, and without waiting on the signal +back from above, jumped into the cage, averting his face from those +horrible eyes, which lay staring at him out of the darkness. + +"Chap it awa', man!" he yelled at the bottomer, his voice rising to a +scream. "Chap it, an' let us up to hell oot o' this," and the bottomer, +no less frightened than he, tore at the bell, and jumping in himself +just as the cage began slowly to ascend, clung to the bar, shivering +with terror. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +BLACK JOCK'S END + + +When Walker reached the surface, he was like a madman. He raved and +swore and frothed like a churn, running here, there and everywhere +nearly collapsing with rage, which sprang from terror. + +Usually cool and calculating, steady and active-minded, he seemed to +have lost all grip upon himself. He had been drinking heavily the night +before and was none too sober in the morning when he was called upon to +go to work. Mag Robertson's attack the night before had sent him to the +drink, and being a heavy drinker he was in a bad state the following +morning. Mr. Rundell found him swearing and raving in a great passion, +sacking men and behaving like a maniac. + +"Look here, Walker," he began at once, his quick temper rising anew as +he thought of the story Sanny Robertson had told him. "I'll give you +twenty-four hours to get out of here and away from the place; and if you +are not gone in that time I shall inform the police. I know the whole +story regarding the setting of the contracts. Sanny has told me, and if +I was doing right I would not give you a single minute." + +Walker seemed to calm down all at once, and his eyes became cringing as +those of a kicked cur as he stood before the angry mine-owner. + +"But I hinna telt you a' he has done," said Sanny Robertson, who came up +just then in time to hear Mr. Rundell's words. "The dirty black-hearted +brute murdered Geordie Sinclair. He telt me himsel' one nicht at the +time when we were drinkin' together. He kent a' aboot Geordie workin' on +the boss ground an' sent him to his death to get rid of him because in a +soft moment I had telt Geordie hoo the contracts were set. He was feart +Geordie wad tell you. He's a black-hearted murderer, an' noo he has +added Mag's death to his list o' damnation. Tak' that! an' that! you +dirty villain! I'll save the hangman the bother o' feenishin' you!" and +Sanny was upon Walker tearing at him like a cat, and clawing his face +with his nails, punching, biting and kicking him as hard as he could +drive his hands and feet. + +The attack was so sudden that Walker went down, and Sanny was on top of +him before anyone could intervene. + +"I'll tear the thrapple oot o' you, you dirty swine!" he squealed, as he +tugged at Black Jock's throat. + +Mr. Rundell and a couple of laborers soon pulled Sanny up, though he +struggled to maintain his hold upon the throat of his adversary. + +"Let me at him," he yelled, striving to get free. "Let me at him, an' +I'll save the hangman a guid lot o' bother stretchin' his dirty neck! +Oh, you swine! You dirty murderin' beast!" he shrieked, as he tried to +break away from the restraining hands which held him. + +But Sanny was soon overpowered, and Walker, bounding to his feet, was +off up the railway towards his home, terror filling his heart, and his +mind reeling with fear. + +Mr. Rundell quickly organized a band of men to descend the shaft and +recover Mag's body, and soon the whole village was in possession of the +news, and the excitement was intense. + +They gathered her up, a mass of dirty, pulpy flesh, scraping the remains +together and shoveling them into a rude improvised box, the head and +eyes being the only part of the body that resembled anything like a +human being. + +"Hell to my sowl, but this is the warst job that ever I got," said +Archie Braidhurst, as he scraped a mass of blood and bones, mud and +rags, together. "It's a hell o' a daith to dee." + +"Ay, puir lassie," replied Adam Lindsay. "She's made a splash at the +hinner end. Mag ay cried that it was best to mak' a splash aboot the +things you did; but, by sirs, she has made yin this time. What an awfu' +mess!" + +"Splash!" echoed Archie with a grim laugh. "She's gane a' into jaups. +She maun hae thocht she was a juck-pool. I would like to dee like a +Christian when I dee, and no' shuffle oot like a scattered explosion, or +a humplick o' mince." + +"Oh, for Heaven's sake shut your mooth, an' let us get her gathered up +an' get oot o' here. Dammit, hae ye nae common sense, swearin' an' +jokin' about sic a thing! It's enough to tempt Providence, an' had it +no' been for the tumblerful o' whisky that Mr. Rundell gied us I dinna +think I could hae faced it. It's awfu'!" + +"What the hell are ye girnin' at?" asked Archie, turning round on him. +"Are ye feart Mag bites ye? Man, she's got a' her bitin' by noo, +although I admit she's made a hell o' a mess at the end. Pit your shovel +in here an' lift this pickle, an' no' stand there gapin' like a grisly +ghost at the door o' hell! Fling it into her gapin' mouth, if you think +she's goin' to bite you!" and the others laughed uneasily at Archie's +sardonic humor. + +It was a nerve-trying experience for most of them, and they felt sick +with horror of it, in spite of the whisky and their grim jokes. The pit +was put idle, and the men went home. A gloom brooded over the whole +place. + +Black Jock saw Mag Robertson's eyes staring at him, as he hurried over +the moor. He had not even stopped to wash himself, but merely stowing +some money into his pocket, was off, not deigning to answer his +daughter's enquiries as to what was wrong, or where he was going. Every +wild bird upon the moor seemed to shout at him in accusation; every +living thing seemed to scream out in terror as he approached. + +He laughed a harsh laugh, like the cry of a wild beast, and the sheep +scampered away in fear. The wind moaned out of the gray clouds, which +lay thick upon the hidden hills, and there was an early iciness in its +breath as it groaned past; A soft, slushy sound rose from the moor at +every step, until it seemed that even earth protested. Eerie and sad the +moor was, gray and threatening the hills. Laughing at intervals that low +gurgle which sprang from fear, as some wild bird would start up at his +approach, he plodded on. + +He did not know where he was going. He had no particular objective. He +did not know what line he would pursue. He only wanted to get away from +the scene of the tragedy, and those terrible eyes staring, which seemed +to follow him from behind every bush or clump of heather, till in the +gray mist it seemed as if the moor were alive with them. + +Eyes everywhere. Eyes that never winked or moved. Eyes that never +trembled with recognition or glimmered with life. Dead eyes, cold eyes, +immovable and clear--horribly clear they were--eyes that simply stared, +neither showing accusation nor denunciation; but there they were at +every tuft of yellow grass, behind every moss-hag, and staring like +pools of clear silent death, which struck horror to his heart. He +bounded sideways as a partridge on whirring wing flew away at his +approach, and almost dropped dead with fright as a muircock, with loud +protesting voice, seemed to scream: "'way back! 'way back! 'way back!" +and then, drawing out into a low grumbling command, as it came to earth +a few hundred yards away, still muttering its orders to him, as he +momentarily stood to recover from his fright. + +The whinny of a horse upon the hillside, the low cry of a young cow, the +bleat of a sheep, all added to his feeling of dread, until the sweat +streamed down his body, as he swung along the moor. + +At last he came to a little village, about six miles from Lowwood, and, +entering the inn, he called for a supply of whisky. + +"It's kind o' cauld the day," the landlady said in an affable way, as he +stepped into the bar. + +"Warm enough where I have been," he replied bluntly. "Gie's something to +drink in whusky!" + +"So it wad seem," she said in reply, noting his beaded forehead, as he +wiped it with a colored handkerchief. + +"You've surely been gey hard ca'd wherever you hae been," and there was +a note of curiosity in her voice. + +"I want a drink," he broke in abruptly, "an' it doesna matter a damn to +you whether I hae been hard ca'd or no'. You're surely hellish keen to +hae news. Dis a' your customers get the Catechism when they come in +here?" he queried. "If they do, I may as well tell you to begin with, +that I came in for whusky, an' no' to staun' an examination." + +She saw at once that he resented her leisurely way and her attempt at +affability, and she hastened to apologize. + +"Look dam'd sharp," he growled, as she attended to his order. "I want +whusky and plenty o' it." + +"You are in an unco' hurry," she replied, getting nettled, as she filled +a glass. "It doesna' do to be so snottery as a' that." + +"Well, dammit, look alive. I'm dying for a drink. Bring in a bottle," as +she placed a glass before him filled with whisky, "an' tak' the price o' +your dam'd poison aff that!" and he flung down a sovereign upon the +table. + +"Look here," said the landlady, "I'll tak' nane o' your snash, so mind +that. If folk come in here to be served, they've got to be ceevil." + +"Oh, there's nae harm," he said apologetically, with a forced laugh, +"but I'm in a hurry, and I want a drink." + +"Weel, I maun hae ceevility. So if you don't gi'e the yin, you'll no' +get the ither." + +"That's all right," he said. "Keep the sovereign. I may need more. Tell +me when it is all spent," and he filled a bumper and drained it without +a halt. + +"Weel, ye may be dirty at many a thing," she observed, as she noted his +action, "but you're a gey clean drinker o' whusky anyway," and she left +him with his bottle to fuddle alone. + +"A gey queer body that," she mused, as she returned to the bar. "Lod! +he's like a wannert thunder-storm, growlin' and grumblin', as if he had +got lost frae the rest o' his company. But he seems to hae plenty o' +siller anyway," she concluded, "an' he can drink whusky wi' anybody I +ever seen try it." + +By and by a village worthy came in, and he was at once hailed by Black +Jock, and invited to have a glass. + +"What are you drinkin', chappie?" he enquired. + +"Same as you," was the reply, while a smile of pleased anticipation +hovered round the worthy's face at this unexpected good fortune. "I jist +ay tak' a moothfu' o' whusky. As a maitter o' fact, I was brocht up on +the bottle, and I hae never been spained yet." + +"Right you are, cocky! Drink up! You're the man I am lookin' for to help +me to spend an hour or twa." + +"That'll suit me a' to bits," was the reply, "an' you are jist the man I +hae been lookin' for. It's a guid thing we hae met, or we'd baith hae +been unhappy." + +So the hours passed, and each newcomer was invited to join the company, +until it grew so large that the "big room" was requisitioned, and it +soon held a laughing, joking, drinking, good-natured set of as drouthy +individuals as ever met together in company. Every worthy for miles +around seemed to get the news of the free drinks, and whisky and beer +flowed like water, and the company grew more and more cheerful and +happy. + +Bottle after bottle of drink was consumed, and as the company got +hilarious, a song was sung or a story was told, until the whole place +had the air of a fair day about it. + +Jock spent his money freely, and his company drank his health as freely +as he paid for the drinks. So the merry hours went past, and the +darkness came on. Yet for all the whisky that Walker consumed, he never +seemed to get drunk. He was certainly a bit intoxicated, but was in that +condition described by one of the company next day as being "sensibly +drunk." + +"Come on, damn you, you son of a tinkler," he urged. "Drink up, an' let +us mak' a nicht o't," and thus urged they drained their glasses, and had +them refilled again and again. + +"Gie's a sang, Geordie," cried one of the company across the room to an +old shaggy-faced individual, who sat and laughed and drank with happy +demeanor, rubbing his bristly chin, which resembled the back of a +hedgehog, with dirty gnarled fingers which seemed made for lifting +glasses, having a natural crook in them, into which the glass as +naturally fitted. "You hinna sung anything yet. Gie's yin o' your ain +makin'." + +"Lodsake, I canna sing," said Geordie, with the air of a man who wanted +to be told he could sing. + +"Ach, you can sing fine," was the chorused reply from nearly everyone in +the company. + +"Come on, Geordie, you ken you can sing fine. Man, there's no' a better +singer in the place, auld and a' as ye are." + +"Och, I canna sing noo, Charlie," replied Geordie, clearing his throat, +"but I'll confess that I hae seen the day when I could lilt it wi' the +best o' them." + +"Oh, but we a' ken fine that you can sing. Man, it's a treat to hear +him," said Charlie, turning to Black Jock. "He could wile the bird aff +the bush. Gie's yin o' your ain, Geordie. It's aye best to hear you at +yin o' your ain." + +"Oh, weel," said Geordie with a show of reluctance, as he rose to his +feet, making a noise in his throat, like the exhaust pipe of an engine, +"seein' that you are all so pressin' on the maitter, I'll gi'e ye a bit +verse or twa." + +A roar of applause greeted Geordie as he sat down, and words of +appreciation broke from everyone in the room. + +"Dam'd guid, Geordie! Fill up your glass. That deserves a richt guid +dram!" cried Black Jock, as he reached across the table and poured a +bumper for Geordie. "Wha's gaun to sing next? Come on, chaps; let us +mak' a nicht o't!" + +"Hear, hear," said Geordie. "I'm just feelin' in gran' fettle for a +nicht. Tammas Fairly will gie's a bit verse maybe. He can sing a fair +guid song." + +"Me sing!" exclaimed Tam. "Gae awa'! Ye ken fine I canna sing like you, +Geordie," and there was a hint of assumed bashfulness in Tam's voice as +he spoke. + +"Come on, Tam. There's to be nae jookin' oot o' it. It's to be a sang +roon' aboot, so you micht as weel begin noo, an' get your turn by." + +"Ay, come on," chimed in Walker. "Let us enjoy oorsel' the nicht, when +we are in a mood for it. Guid kens when we may ever spend a nicht +thegither again. Come on, Tam, get up!" + +"Oh, weel," said Tam with bashful reluctance, "I'll do my best," and +clearing his throat, Tam sang. + +"Hear, hear!" roared Black Jock. "That deserves a bumper too, Tammas. +Fill up your glass. An honest dram's afore a' the simperin' Judies that +ever held up their gabs to be kissed!" and filling another round, they +drank, and roared, and cried their appreciation. + +The fun waxed fast and furious, as song after song was sung, which +sometimes were capped by a rough story or a questionable joke from +someone in the company. + +"But you havena gi'en us a sang yoursel'!" observed Charlie, turning to +Black Jock, after most of the company had obliged with an effort. + +"No, I havena gi'en you a sang," he replied with a coarse laugh, "but I +hae paid for a' the drinks, an' I suppose that'll please the maist o' +you better than a dizzen sangs frae me." + +"Quite true," said Geordie. "You're a gentleman, an' I never met a +better. I only hope we'll hae the pleesure o' meetin' you here again +afore lang. It's been yin o' the best nichts I hae spent for a lang +time." + +"That's true, Geordie," said Charlie. "He has gi'en us yin o' the best +nichts I hae ever spent. In fact I never min' o' haein' a better, an' to +celebrate it, if nane of you hae ony objections, I'll sing anither +sang." + +"Hear, hear," cried Walker heartily. "Order for the sang," and he tapped +the table loudly with a bottle, as he called for quietness amid the din. + +"Order for the sang, boys!" bawled Geordie, "Charlie is gaun to favor +the company," and as the noise immediately ceased, Charlie sang a song +about the fascinating women. + +"That's a guid yin, Charlie," roared Walker, thumping the table as he +roared. "I hae had a lang experience o' weemin' bodies," and he winked +across to Geordie as he spoke, "an' I can say they are rale +blood-suckers. They're like whisky, gran' at the time, but you sing +sorry next day, an' fin' oot what a fool you hae been. They hing on to +you like leeches, an' mak' a mess o' things at the en'. Though you had a +face like a crocodile as long as you had plenty of cash, they'd lick +your feet; when your money's done, they're awa' like swallows at the +first nip o' autumn frost!" + +"Ay, it's a dam'd funny world," he went on in a lower tone, as if half +speaking to himself. "A fu' purse an' you've plenty o' frien's, an' a +woman when you need her, but if your purse is toom, your heart may +grien a hell o' a lang while afore yin wad ever come near you." + +Thus the evening passed till some were lying below the table, unable to +sit up and take their round; and finally the closing hour arrived, and +all had to disperse. + +Black Jock, again left to himself, deserted by all his company, and in +spite of all the drink he had consumed walking fairly steadily, stepped +out upon the country road, neither caring nor knowing in which direction +he went. His head bent forward upon his breast, or rolling occasionally +from side to side, seemed too heavy for his neck to support, as he +swayed from the center of the road to its margin. + +The horrible staring eyes began again to infest his journey, and seemed +to accompany him wherever he went. He could not get away from them. Out +in the lonely night, the whole sky merry with stars, was alive with +staring eyes, that glared down upon him from above with a cold sinister +light. They looked at him from the hedgerows; they glared at him from +behind every bush or knoll by the wayside; they glowered at him from +behind the trees; and they even perched upon his shoulders and peeped at +him in accusation. + +"Damn you!" he growled, striking at them as if he would brush them from +his sight; but still they followed and accused no matter where he +turned. He grew more and more irritated and alarmed, as they seemed to +multiply with every minute that passed; and he quickened his pace, but +in spite of his speed, they still pursued and multiplied. + +Driven mad by the persistence of their stare, he rushed from side to +side of the road, striking at them, hitting out with his hands, and +kicking with his feet; but still they grew in numbers and in immensity. + +He shook himself as if to free his body from them; he rushed ahead, +swearing and muttering; he growled and shouted, sometimes pleading to be +let alone, and sometimes roaring defiance to the night air; but still +the eyes held him relentlessly, implacably, and ever growing in numbers, +until it seemed as if the whole countryside were alive with them. They +came nearer and receded again; they swarmed round him in legions, then +withdrew behind the hedges to stare at him with wide-open lids. They +drew him onward, and he advanced cautiously. Then they rushed at him, +and retired again, as if driven back; but still they were there, just +round the bend of the road, just behind that bush, just over that hedge, +and behind that tree, glaring and looking at him, and ready to rush +forth again as soon as they thought he was sufficiently off his guard. + +"Back!" he roared again, striking out with his fist as they rose only a +couple of yards ahead. "Back! an' be damned to you," as a whole swarm +larger and larger, so that they lighted up the night, came rushing round +him. + +They were hissing and roaring at him this time. They had hitherto been +silent, and he seemed to hear at first a low murmuring whisper, as if +they consulted together as to the best way to attack him. Then the +whisper grew to a louder swishing sound like the noise Mag had made as +her body hurtled from side to side on falling down the shaft. It grew +louder and louder, like the wind coming through far-off trees, gradually +swelling to a roar. The eyes grew in numbers and got larger with the +noise; and finally, with terror clutching at his heart and an oath upon +his lips, he turned to run back, only to find that they had all merged +into two wide, horribly glaring fiery eyes which were bearing down upon +him with the speed and noise of an express train. They were on him +before he could turn, as if they now realized that he was fully at their +mercy, and with the courage of desperation he flung himself bodily upon +them and went down crushed beneath the heavy mass of a motor driven with +reckless speed by a young man rushing to catch a train. + +Walker was down before the young man realized what had happened and the +hoot of the horn had merely spurred Black Jock to the last desperate +leap to death, the lights of the motor having taken on the shape of all +the pursuing eyes that had followed him that night. + +When he was taken from beneath the wheels, his neck broken and his body +smashed, Black Jock had paid the last penalty, and the eyes which +destroyed him flashed out accompaniment to his departing soul. And the +winking skies, still merry with the stars of night, looked down unmoved, +while the night-birds on the moor answered one another in their flight, +and called a last farewell to the spirit of Black Jock. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE CONFERENCE + + +The storm which had been brewing in the industrial firmament grew more +threatening and the clouds grew blacker until it seemed as if nothing +could prevent a commotion on a big scale. + +The demand for a fuller life and more security was being made by the +miners all over the country. Organization was proceeding apace, and a +new idea was being glimpsed by the younger men especially, which filled +their hearts and fired their imagination. + +"Do you think the time has come now, Bob?" asked Robert Sinclair, +speaking to Smillie one day, as they proceeded by rail to a conference +together, "when the whole Federation can try its power in a demand for +something real?" + +"What do you mean by something real, Robert?" asked Smillie, with a keen +look at the young, eager face turned towards him. + +"Some guarantee of comfort in our lives," was the reply. "You know that +we have none now. You and others of us have been teaching the miners to +work towards the day when a standard of ease and comfort will be assured +to all. We have worked for it, and the miners now are looking for +something tangible." + +"Yes, I know; but do you think, Robert, that the time has come to put it +to the test?" and Smillie had gone on to tell of some of the +difficulties they were faced with. + +So they talked and discussed, exchanging opinions and hopes; and all +over the mining world their dreams were being voiced, and had helped to +make the coming crisis. + +Conferences were held, and the whole matter threshed out from every +angle. The miners were united as they had never been before and the +whole of the British miners were determined to use their organization to +enforce their demands. + +It was a triumph for Smillie's genius, the climax of his dream, to have +them united as one body to fight what he called their real enemies. One +federation linked together by common ideals, with common interests bound +by common ties, united by traditions, by creed, by class, by common +tastes shared, by suffering and hardship. It was his monument, and +perhaps he regarded it with no little pride. + +When Robert was appointed delegate to the council of his Union from his +branch, he set himself to master thoroughly, in every detail, its +machinery, and very soon his voice was raised in the debates, and it +amazed even himself to find what a power he seemed to possess over his +fellows. He soon learned to state his case in simple unaffected language +which took a marvelous hold upon his hearers, while at times his warm +glowing imagination would conjure up a living picture that hit with +irresistible force, and made a lasting impression upon those who +listened. + +He gradually became more fluent, and studied how best to impress his +comrades. His earnestness and enthusiasm were unquestioned, and +sometimes were even found to be a serious obstacle to the older type of +leader, men for the most part lacking imagination, and whose older and +more prosaic outlook could not understand the younger man, whose zeal +they regarded with impatience. + +But Smillie soon recognized Robert's talent and his worth, and gave him +more scope than he otherwise might have done. + +Robert's admiration for his chief was unbounded, though it did not keep +him from differing from Smillie at times on matters of detail. On +principles they were generally at one with each other and while it was +rarely that they differed, the occasions upon which they did so were +remembered by all who heard. Smillie soon realized that there was an +unshakable will behind the young man, and watched him under every +difficult occasion with a certain amount of pride, as he grew in +individuality and resource. Robert was not a frequent speaker, but was +always listened to with respect when he did speak. + +An industrial crisis was upon the country and everyone was expectant, +and wondering how it would all end. Keir Hardie's preaching of the +working class gospel was a big factor in Robert's development and the +latter was soon in demand for platform lectures, stirring up the workers +and pleading with them to organize, and teaching them economics through +historical allusion and industrial evolution until he soon became +recognized as one of the coming forces in the working-class movement. He +was as yet very impulsive, and while such a trait had generally a +powerful appeal on the average audience of the working class type, it +often put him into somewhat compromising situations, when dealing with +the more sober and serious work of the organization. Still he was +showing up well, and only time and experience were needed to cure his +defects. So the year ended, and the cloud grew more and more +threatening. + +January brought the crisis to a head, and the Government, recognizing +that nothing could avert a strike and as the foreign situation was +passing through a critical period, requested that a conference should be +called in London, and invited the miners and the mine-owners to come +together so that the Prime Minister and other statesmen could be present +to try and adjust the grievance. It was a historic gathering and one +that marked an epoch in the history of the industrial movement. + +Delegates were present from almost every Miners' Lodge in Great Britain, +while the owners were also fully represented. + +The Prime Minister acted as chairman of the gathering and he was +supported on the platform by other members of the Government, while +Smillie and other well-known leaders represented the men and a number of +the owners represented the Coal Masters' Association. + +The platform party was an imposing one. Men of big reputation were +there, and Robert felt himself wondering, as he looked at them, how +ordinary they looked after all, and he began to speculate as to the +qualities they possessed which had given them such importance. + +"That's the Chancellor o' the Exchequer," said one of the delegates to +Robert, pointing out the individual named. "He's a wee eatin'-an'-spued' +lookin' thing when you see him sittin' there, isn't he?" + +"Ay," answered Robert casually, as he surveyed the group. "I was just +wondering how it was they had a' gained such reputations. In appearance +they are not much to boast about." + +"Ach, they're jist a lot o' oily tongued wheedlers," was the reply, "an' +that wee ferrit-eyed yin is the worst o' them a'. Just wait till he +begins to speak, an' you'll think he's a showman. He can fairly pit on +the butter, an' he'll send us a' away hame in the belief that we're the +finest set o' men he ever met, an' mak' us feel that if we decide to do +anything against what he recommends, the hale country will gang to +ruin." + +"Oh," said Robert, as his fellow delegate paused, "I've read aboot him." + +"Ay, but wait till you hear him. We can a' come up here as angry as +hell, ready to string him up to the nearest lamp-post; but after he has +spoken an' slaivered ower us for a while, we begin to feel differently, +an' finally gang awa hame wi' our minds made up that we are the salt o' +the earth. Man, it tak's a' the sting oot o' bein' dune, to be dune sae +well an' sae completely." + +"Yes, but when you know that why do you allow yourselves to be +wheedled?" + +"Ach, man; it's a' right askin' that question; but efter thae chaps get +round aboot you, wi' their greasy tongues, an' their flatterin' ways, +you jist begin to think that it's nae use to bother ony mair aboot +resistin'. Look at that auld fermer-collier lookin' chiel, wi' his white +heid an' his snipe-nose an' a smile on his face that wad mak' you +believe he was gaun to dae you some big service. That's the smile that +has made him Prime Minister. You'd think frae his face that he was just +a solid easy-gaun kindly auld fermer, who took a constant joy in givin' +jeelie-pieces to hungry weans. But when he speaks, and gets a grip o' +you, he's yin o' the sooplest lawyers that ever danced roun' the rim o' +hell withoot fallin' in. He'd do his faither, that yin. He wad that." + +Robert looked at the various individuals as they were described, keenly +interested and feeling that this comrade of his was describing much of +what he himself had felt about these men, and wondered more and more as +to what it was that had given them their power. + +"They're a fine rogues' gallery when you see them a' sittin' there," +went on the other. "They ken we are up here the day determined to demand +our terms, an' that's the way they are a' turned out. Just you wait till +they begin, an' you'll see a fine bit o' play actin'. They'll play us +aboot as auld Tom Tervit wad play a trout in the Clyde. They hae ony +amount o' patience, an' they'll gae you onything but the thing you want. +They'd promise us the kingdom o' Heaven; an' they'll give us plenty o' +line to run wi'; but a' the time they'll be lookin' for a chance to land +us. An' they'll do it. Jist you wait." + +"Well, it will be our own fault if we let them," said Robert, shortly, +as he listened. "I would not let any of them do that. If we have our +minds made up on what we want, I can't see why we should be wheedled +like that." + +"Neither do I," was the reply. "But it is aye done for all that. Then +there's that ither chiel--I think he's on the Local Government Board or +something. He's a corker, wi' a face like yin o' they pented cupids that +the lasses send to the young men on picture postcards. Look at his nice +wee baby's mooth, an' the smile on it too. It wad dazzle a hungry +crocodile lookin' for its denner. His e'en are aye brighter than ony I +ever saw--an' speak! Guid God! He could speak for a hale June day. He's +gran' at makin' your flesh creep. He blinds you wi' sparks, an' +fire-works, his words are that hot an' glowin', an' he fair dumbfounders +you wi' fine soundin' sentences an' lang words. He's a corker I can tell +you! But here, they are gaun to begin," he broke off hurriedly as the +Prime Minister rose to his feet. Then in a sly whisper, he added:--"Just +you pay attention, an' tell me after if you can tell how we hae been +dune. They are here to do us the day, as sure as daith." + +The Prime Minister's speech was a masterly plea for compromise; but +through it all, it seemed as if he was laying the blame upon the miners +for the critical stage which had been reached. He appealed and cajoled, +asked them to take long views, and talked fine platitudes about +self-sacrifice, and the spirit of brotherhood, which could alone bring +peace and contentment. The country was in danger, and it would be a +terrible crime if the miners forced a strike; for only upon the great +white solitudes of self-sacrifice and mutual help, whose peaks towered +away into the realms of eternity, could real satisfaction be gained, and +much more of a like kind. + +Then followed other ministers, who took their cue from their chief; but +there was no hint that any of them had ever made a serious attempt to +understand the problem which has arisen to confront them so seriously. + +They talked, or so at least it seemed to Robert, who sat in the body of +the hall with the rest of the delegates, to the miners as if they were +children, naughty and spoilt; and of course such an attitude could never +bring about any form of agreement to sensible men, who deal every day +with the life at the rough, raw edges of things. + +So it was, when four of them had spoken after the Prime Minister, and +none of them had shown any attempt to grapple with the subject under +dispute, Robert felt more and more the truth of his fellow-delegates' +description. It was all a masterly bit of wheedling and the Chancellor's +effort especially was designed to win them over to a compromise +settlement. + +He began jocularly with a broad jest which set the delegates all rocking +with laughter, telling how glad he was to be there to talk over with +them the difficulties which had arisen. It always gave him pleasure to +meet them and to get to know their point of view; because usually their +good sense and their large stock of prudence made them amenable to +listening to a reasoned argument. + +He was glad they always recognized there were two sides to most +disputes, and he felt sure whatever the outcome of this conference might +be they would not allow their good sense to stand in the way of a +possible settlement. Gradually he worked into more serious lines, and +with vivid language, putting the case for the opposite side, gently +bringing their minds by degrees further and further away from the +point--the real point of issue. + +Then finally when sufficiently developed, he gathered all the threads +together, and in a great burst of poetic eloquence and fiery fervor he +swept along like a tornado in a grand burst of superb oratory, his eyes +rolling and flashing, his hands and head poised into beautifully +effective gesture, and appealed to them in great rolling, fiery +sentences that completely swept the conference like a whirlwind, and sat +down amid a great burst of applause which broke with splendid +spontaneity from the assembled delegates, and the winning golden smile +upon his face which Robert's companion had described earlier in the day. + +Robert could hardly analyze his feelings. He felt he did not know +whether to admire or condemn, but all the time he felt a slow rising +indignation within him, and that the Conference was being swung away +from what they had met to discuss. Perhaps it was his companions' +conversation that did it. He could not tell; but unable to contain +himself longer his impulsive nature getting the upper hand, he bounced +to his feet, pale and excited, though trying hard to curb and control +himself, and in a low tense voice, which at first halted a little, +electrified the gathering by a speech wrung from his very soul. + +"Mr. Chairman," he began, in this unexpected incident, "I have listened +very attentively to the speeches just delivered by yourself and the +other honorable gentlemen." + +Here some of the other delegates intervened to tell him that he was not +expected to speak, but the Prime Minister, for some reason unknown, told +him to go on and so he proceeded. + +Then Robert proceeded to pour out his soul, stating the miners' +grievances and their rights as men. How they were always put off with +promises, and defeated in dialectics and the game of wits. As he spoke +he felt the assembly gradually thaw, then become liquid, finally it +seemed to join the torrent of his eloquence, and sweep on, blotting out +all resistance. + +When at last he sat down a wild burst of applause rent the air, as he +sat down pale and excited; but glad that he had got the chance at last +of speaking what he felt to the enemies of his class. + +For fully five minutes the delegates went wild in their cheering and +applause. Again and again it broke out afresh, when it had spent itself +a little, and seemed to be dying down, but the memory of it always +stirred them to fresh outbursts until at last, taking advantage of a +lull, the Prime Minister suggested that he and his colleagues would +prefer that the conference should stand adjourned till the next day, and +this was agreed to by the delegates, who were not averse to the holiday. + +Congratulations were showered upon Robert from all sides. Even men who +differed from him on most things grasped his hand and shook it, and told +him how proud they were of his little speech. + +Robert heard and saw all their pleased enjoyment but was vaguely +troubled in his heart, wondering how Smillie would have taken it, and +this pained him more than the pleasant things the other delegates said +to him. + +"Man, Sinclair," said the one who had sat next to Robert in the +Conference, when they got out on to the street, "you've fairly upset the +hale jing bang o' them the day. Lod! But I was like a balloon in a high +wind, fair carried away wi' you. I never thocht you could have done +that. I was in the opinion that Smillie was the only yin that could +stand up to that set o' rogues. It was great. It was that." + +Robert laughed uneasily and bashfully as he answered, "I couldn't help +it, Davie," then adding as an afterthought, "Maybe I hae put my fit in +it. I wonder how Smillie took it a'." + +"Ach, well, it disna matter a damn, onyway. You did fine, an' I canna +see how Smillie has onything ado wi' it. However, we hae a hale day to +oorsel's now, what dae you say to gaun to the length of Kew Gardens? +It's a gran' place, an' I hae a sister oot there in service." + +"Oh, I don't mind. I don't know onything aboot London and as you are +nae stranger, I might as well gang wi' you, as bother onybody else to +show me roun'." + +"There's some of thae chaps'll fairly enjoy this," said Davie, nodding +in the direction of some of the delegates. "That's the way they agreed +to adjourn sae already. They jist leeve for the conferences. It's the +time they like. They booze and get their horns oot for a day or two, an' +I can tell you, Rab, it's maybe jist as well that they dinna bring their +weemin folks wi' them. However, it tak's a' kinds of folk to mak' a +world, I suppose, so let's off, and see as muckle o' London as +possible," and they set off and were soon swallowed up in the great +Metropolis. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE MEETING WITH MYSIE + + +When the London Conference ended, the delegates hurried back to put the +terms of the suggested agreement before the men, and as they journeyed +the whole topic of conversation was of the Conference, and of the terms +which had been suggested as a basis for settlement of the dispute. + +"Well, you can a' say what you like," put in Davie Donaldson, who had +sat beside Robert in the Conference, "but in my opinion we hae been +diddled again. The wee showman wi' the ferret een was too mony for us, +an' he jist twisted us round his wee finger as he liked." + +"Ach, but you are never content," replied another who was of an opposite +opinion. "It doesna matter what kind o' terms you get, you're never +content." + +"I'm no' content wi' thae terms ony way," persisted Davie stubbornly. +"What the hell's the use o' makin' a demand for something, an' sayin' +afore you gang that you mean to hae it, an' then to tamely tak' the hauf +o' it, an' gang awa' hame as pleased as a wheen weans wha have been +promised a penny to tak' castor oil? I'd be dam'd afore I'd tak' that." + +"You're owre ill to please," said the other. "You're never satisfied wi' +a fair thing. Didn't you hear as weel as me that there was a danger o' +war breakin' oot at the present time, an' we couldna possibly hae a +strike at a time like this." + +"War!" retorted Davie, heatedly. "They'll aye hae a war or something +else to fricht you wi', when you show that you mean business. Wha the +hell hae we to quarrel wi' onyway, I'd like to ken?" + +"Oh, it micht be France, or Germany, or Russia, or some ither o' thae +cut-throat foreign nations." + +"An' what are you gaun to quarrel aboot?" yelled Davie still more +heatedly. + +"What the hell do I ken?" was the answer. + +"Then, if you don't ken, why the damn should you quarrel? It's a dam'd +silly thing to fecht at ony time, but it's a dam'd sicht sillier to +fecht withoot haein' a quarrel at a'," cried Davie, now fairly roused. +"That's jist hoo they diddle us. They diddle the workers o' France an' +ither countries in the same way. Maybe the French Government is telling +the French colliers that there is a danger o' a war wi' Britain at this +minute, to keep them quate; an' if they are, do you an' me ken anything +aboot what the war will be for? No' a thing does yin o' us ken. Wars are +no' made by workin' folk at all! They are made wi' the ither crowd, an' +they laugh in their sleeves when they hae sent us awa' back to our work +an' oor hames as quate as mice," and Davie looked round in triumph, +asking with his eyes, and in the tones of his voice, for confirmation of +his views from the others. + +Thus they talked and discussed, exchanging opinions about all things in +strong but expressive language, as the train sped northwards bearing +them home. District meetings were organized, and the leaders put +persuasively the arguments for the acceptance of the terms laid down. +All through the crisis the men had behaved admirably, for they had +learned to trust Smillie, even when they felt doubtful of his policy. +Robert took a big share in the organizing of these meetings and in +addressing them. He flung himself into this work whole-heartedly. The +terms certainly did not please him; but, as the majority at the London +Conference had decided to recommend them to the men, he thought it his +duty to sink his personal opinions, and in the interests of discipline +and the unity of the organization--as he had already had his say and had +been found in the minority--he put all his efforts into trying to get +the men to accept the suggested terms, and go forward as one united +body. His persuasive powers of appeal, and his straight, direct way of +argument, commended him to his comrades. By the time that the ballot had +been carried through in the various districts, it was mid-February, and +the Scottish delegates met in Edinburgh to give the result of the +voting among the rank and file. + +Robert attended the Conference, and while he had appealed to the men to +accept the terms of the London Conference, he secretly hoped that the +ballot vote of the men would decide to fight; for, like Davie Donaldson, +he believed they had again been side-tracked. He wondered how Smillie +regarded the matter. He had not had an opportunity of talking with +Smillie to learn his opinion, but he felt sure that his leaders did not +like the terms either. + +If, however, the men had agreed on acceptance, he could not help +matters; but a direct refusal from the rank and file would, he thought, +be an intimation to the more reactionary leaders that the spirit of +revolt was growing, and would give the rebels the chance for which they +were looking. But he would soon know, he thought, as he hastened to the +Synod Hall, where the Conference was to be held; for the result of the +ballot was to be announced at the end of the first part of the +Conference. + +There was some routine business to get over when it opened, and after a +while the President rose and gave the result of the ballot, which showed +a considerable majority for acceptance, and this brought the adjournment +for dinner. + +Robert felt that he wanted to spend a quiet five minutes or so before +the Conference resumed; so he hurried through with his dinner and then +strolled out into Princes Street Gardens, which attracted him very much. +His mind seemed to want peace and quietness, and as he walked along, +turning over the situation and examining it from all points of view, the +fluttering of early mating birds among the shrubs soon shifted his +thoughts to other things; and, as they romped and courted, and fought +among the bushes, his thoughts went back to the moor at home, and the +little wood, and the memories of other things. + +The vague stirrings of power within him had become more pronounced +during the last six months, and he felt conscious of a growing sense of +importance. It was not that he was conceited, but his mental muscles, as +it were, seemed to have gained in power from the strenuous exertions +which they had lately undertaken. + +He knew that he possessed talents far above the average of his class. He +was sensible of a certain superiority, yet it was not from the +contemplation of this that he drew his elation. He saw the issue quite +clearly and knew the pathway which must be trodden. He was not +personally ambitious for the sake of making an impression or gaining +power. He knew that in too many cases men had in the past made their +position a sinecure in the Labor Movement and he condemned their action. +The Movement must be served and not lived on. Not personal betterment, +but the betterment of the whole lot. Whatever it demanded of service +from anyone should be given willingly, no matter in what direction the +call were made. + +Musing thus, he strolled along among his hopes of the future. His life's +work lay here, working for his own class--for humanity. There was +nothing else to win him; for like most young men in like circumstances +he had already concluded that now, since Mysie was not to be his, there +was nothing else to which he could better devote his life. + +Where was Mysie, he wondered? What had happened to her? She had +completely gone out of everybody's knowledge, and no one seemed to know +anything about her. + +He moved slowly along and at the thought of Mysie his former decision +seemed a cold one and he felt that she still held a big place in his +life. Moving towards a seat a little way ahead so that he might enjoy +this mood, the figure of a girl started up as if to go, and immediately +he rushed forward, all his pulses afire, and his whole being stirred +beyond words. + +"Mysie!" he exclaimed, jumping forward, "Guid God! where have you come +from? Where have you been?" and his hands were holding hers, and his +eyes greedily scanning her face as if he would look into her very soul, +and read the story of the last few months. + +"Oh, Rob," she said, with a gasp, "I didna think I wad meet you here." + +"Sit down," he said hurriedly, as he recovered himself. "Sit down and +rest. You're ill. What's the matter? Where have you been? Tell me all +about it!" There were tears in Mysie's eyes too, as she weakly sat down, +unable to do anything else. She had recognized him as he approached, and +had started up to get away; but he had also recognized her, and she was +too late. + +"Hoo is my mither an' my faither?" she enquired, after a short silence, +as she tried to recover herself. "Hoo are they a' at hame?" the greedy +heart hunger for loved ones drove her to the impatient enquiry. "Did +they miss me muckle, Rob? Were they awfu' vexed at what I did? Tell me +a' aboot it then, I want to ken." + +"But you must tell me first aboot yoursel', Mysie," he replied +evasively, searching in his mind the best way to adopt in telling her of +the things he knew would wound her. "Come, Mysie," he urged, "you surely +can trust me. I have always been your friend, and I only wish now to +hear all about you. Why did you go away?" + +She saw him look at her, and a quick flush overspread her thin, pale +cheeks as she detected his look. He had no need to ask further. + +"Oh, Rob, I wish--I wish I had died a year syne!" and a wild burst of +sobbing came over her as she spoke. + +"Dinna greet, Mysie," he said, as his hand reached out and began to +stroke her hair tenderly. Then after a short pause, "Wha was he, Mysie? +Tell me, an' I'll tear the black heart oot o' him!" + +But Mysie only cried, uncontrollably, and hid her face in her hands; for +the homely doric on Robert's tongue touched her and it came readier to +him in moments like these, and the tender touch of his hand upon her +head gave her comfort, soothing her, and staying her grief, as a child +is quieted by the loving hand of a mother. + +"I'll tell you a' aboot it, Rob," she said at last after a short time. +"An' I hope you'll no' tell onybody. There's naebody to blame but mysel' +for a' that has happened, an' I maun bear the punishment if there is +punishment gaun," and bit by bit, with many an effort to compose herself +as she spoke, she told him the whole sad story from beginning to end. + +"There was naebody to blame, Rob--naebody but mysel'! I should hae kent +better. But I never thocht it wad hae turned oot as it has done. I hae +been gey ill, an' I maun say that Peter has been awful guid to me. He's +done his best to get me better, so that he can marry me afore it +happens. I lay for nearly six months, an' I wasna carin' whether I died +or no'! I was fair heartbroken, an' didna mind what happened. This is +the first day I hae been oot. He cam' this mornin' frae his lodgings tae +ask me tae gang oot a wee while in the sunshine, seein' that it was sic +a guid day, and Mrs. Ramsay brocht me oot here, and warned me to sit +till she cam' back. When I saw you comin' I got up to run awa', but I +dinna ken whaur to run to; for this big toon is a' strange to me, an' +I'm feart." + +"Oh, if I had only kent! You maun keep yoursel' as free frae worry as +possible, an' try an' get better," he went on, trying to speak as +lightly as possible. "Keep up your spirits, an' you'll maybe soon be a' +better." + +"Aye, Rob," she said, "but it's no' easy. An' I hae been gettin' waur +instead o' better. I ken mysel' that I'm no' improvin', an' I often +think it wad hae been better if I had died. When folk don't want to +live--when they've nothing to be happy aboot they are better to dee!" + +"But you maunna talk like that, Mysie," he said again. "You'll get +better yet, an' be as happy as ever you were. It is only because you are +ill noo an' you sae weak, that mak's you talk like that. An' forby you +maun mind that there are ither folk wha'll be vexed if you dinna get +better. Your faither and your mither wad like to see you weel an' happy, +an' oh, Mysie, Mysie, I want you to get weel!" he broke out +passionately--pleadingly, the misery in his voice going to her heart as +it cried to her, ached for her, and suffered for her. "Wad you hae +married me, Mysie, if I had asked you afore you went awa'?" and his +hands were again stroking tenderly the brown hair and patting the thin +cheeks as he spoke and plead. + +"Ay, Rob," she answered simply, "I wad hae married you. I sometimes +think yet that I'll never marry onybody else. As a lassie I aye dreamed +in my ain mind that I'd be your wife. It's awfu' hoo the things that +folk want maist are aye the things they never get!" + +"Mysie, wad you marry me yet?" he asked, impulsively. "Jist this minute? +An' I'll tak' you hame, an' naebody will ken onything. I'll take a' the +blame, an' you can say that it was me. I'll nurse you back to health +again wi' my mither's help an' naebody need ken the richt wye o' it!" + +"No, Rob," she said after a short pause. "I couldna dae that. It wad +neither be fair to you or me, nor to onybody else." + +"But, Mysie," he went on in the low tender voice that was so difficult +to withstand, "you don't like Peter weel enough to be his wife. You say +you never intended to be onybody's wife but mine; an' what wye should +you no' do as I propose? You ken I'll never do onything else but love +you. You ken that, Mysie!" + +"Ay, Rob," she answered, "I ken a' that. Naebody kens it better than me +noo; and that's what mak's it sae awfu' hard to refuse. But it wadna be +richt at a', an' that's a' that can be thocht aboot it. You maunna ask +me ony mair." + +"But I will ask you," he cried in another burst of passion, "an' I'll +keep on askin' you. You ken you are mine, an' naebody else has a richt +to you. I love you, Mysie! Oh, can you no' see, lassie, that it wad be +a' richt if you'd do as I want you?" + +"No, no, Rob. Dinna say that. It wadna be richt at a', an' I'd be doin' +anither wrang thing if I did." + +"But you said jist the noo, that you sometimes thocht you wadna marry +onybody else?" + +"Yes, I ken I said that," she replied. Then with pain in her voice as it +grew more pitiful, "Dinna ask me, Rob, to do that. I ken it wadna be +richt, an' you munna ask me ony mair; for though I said that I sometimes +thocht I wadna marry onybody else, I canna marry you noo. Oh! if only my +mither kent, it would break her heart, an' my faither wad dee o' the +disgrace! What do they think o' me, Rob? Tell me a'--hoo are they, an' +if they miss me very much." + +"Your faither and mither nearly broke their hearts," he said simply, +"an' at nicht your mother lies an' thinks an' wonders what has come owre +you. You ken hoo a mither grieves an' worries aboot her bairns. She +never thocht o' sic a thing happening in her family. She was aye sae +prood o' them a'. I heard her say ane day to my mither that she dootit +you maun be deid, or you wad hae sent her word; and that you wadna hae +gane wrang. She never, she said, kent o' you takin' up wi' men, an' was +sure that naething o' that kind had happened." + +"Did she really think that, Rob?" asked Mysie, glad to know that her +mother had believed in her virtue, yet pained. "Rob, if only mithers wad +be mair open wi' their lassies an' tell them o' the things they +shouldna' do, an' the dangers that lie afore them. But tell me aboot +them a'. What did my faither say aboot it? How are they a' keepin'?" + +This was the question which Robert had feared most, for although Matthew +Maitland had said very little, everybody knew that he grieved sorely +over his daughter's disappearance, and at the time was lying very ill. +He was fast nearing the end, which most colliers of the day reached--cut +off in middle life, made old by bad ventilation in the mines, and black +damp. His condition was almost despaired of by the doctor, and when +Robert left Lowwood that evening for Edinburgh, he was in a very +critical state. Two months before, the oldest boy, who was some two +years younger than Mysie, had been taken suddenly ill, and had died +after a few days' illness. + +How was he to tell Mysie of this? How tell her that John was dead, and +her father perhaps dying? How tell of her mother eating out her heart in +the hungry longing for news of the missing girl, and killing herself +with work and worry? + +"Your faither's no' very weel, Mysie," he began evasively, his eyes +turned away from her, in an attempt at hiding what he felt. + +"What's wrang wi' him, Rob?" she asked, the quick alarm in her voice +cutting his heart as she spoke. + +"He hasna been workin' for fully a fortnicht," he replied. + +"But what's wrang?" she persisted. "Is he ill?" + +"Mysie, I'd raither onything than be the means o' painin' you, for you +are no' in a fit state to be worried." + +"You maun tell me, Rob," she cried fiercely, her face showing +excitement. "What is it that is wrang? Is he awfu' ill?" + +"He's lyin' gey bad, Mysie, an' when I cam' awa' this mornin', I didna +like the look o' him at a'. He was kind o' wanderin' in his mind, an' +speakin' to you an' John, jist as he used to speak when we were a' +bairns thegither. He was liltin' some o' thae auld sangs he used to sing +to us. But dinna greet, Mysie, you'll mak' yoursel' waur. You are no +very strong, you ken, an' if you worry it'll mak' you waur. You should +raither try an' bear up, an' get strong, an' maybe gang an' see him. +He'd be awfu' prood to see you, an' so wad your mither." + +"No, no," she cried. "I canna gang. It wad kill them to see me noo, an' +I couldna bear't, if they should be angry wi' me. I couldna face their +anger, Rob." + +"Weel, Mysie," he said, drawing a long breath, as if to face a stiff +proposition, "there is no other way out of it, but that you'll hae to +marry me now--just this minute, an' gang back wi' me. If you do that, I +can tak' you back wi' me, an' gang to your faither an' say that it was +me that was responsible. It can be done, Mysie, if only you'll agree to +it. Come, Mysie!" he cried in a burst of passionate pleading. "I want +you. Mysie, Mysie! Say that you'll come." + +Robert looked at her pale, thin, emaciated face with greedy pleading in +his eyes. He saw the thin-looking, hungry body as it shook with her +sobs, and that terrible cough, which seemed as if it would carry her +away before his eyes. "Say you'll come, Mysie!" he pleaded, his hands +held out appealingly. "Say you'll come, an' it'll be so easy." + +"No, no," she sobbed vehemently, "I canna do that. Dinna ask me ony +mair, Rob, I canna do that. It wadna be fair." + +A hopeless look came into his eyes as he listened to her words, for he +knew that Mysie could never consent to his proposal. Frail as she was, +and torn by her wish to agree, yet he knew she meant it, when she said +no. + +"Where do you live, Mysie?" he enquired at last, thinking to find some +way of helping her. "Wad you gie me your address, so that I'll ken where +you bide?" + +"No, I dinna want to tell you, Rob. You'd better gang awa' noo. Mrs. +Ramsay will soon be comin' for me. Gang awa' an' leave me. I want to be +a wee while by mysel'. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' leave +it a'!" + +Robert stole away on tiptoe, as if he were afraid longer to intrude upon +her grief--his mind in a whirl, and his heart heavy with sorrow. He +returned to the Conference to find that the debate was in full swing, +and that Davie Donaldson, was laying about him in vigorous style, +denouncing the leaders for recommending the terms to the men, and +telling them that the "wee chocolate-moothed Chancellor had again +diddled them." + +But he felt no interest in Davie's denunciation, and could not smile at +his picturesque language. His mind would revert to the gardens in +Princes Street, and he saw the thin white figure on the seat, the +picture of hopeless misery, her frail form torn with sobs; and heard the +wail in her voice as she moaned, "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I could dee +an' leave it a'!" + +Some of the young delegates wondered why Sinclair remained silent in +such an important debate. They had succeeded in raising a question which +at any other time would have brought him to his feet; but he sat +impassive and silent, and above all the clash and glamor, above the +applause and the interruptions, above all the witty sallies which +brought unexpected laughter, he saw only the thin, white lonely +figure--the dejected and outcast, the poor plaything of fate, and heard +the heart-breaking cry, "Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' leave it a'!" +and in every syllable there was a stab of pain. + +The Conference ended, and the delegates made homeward. The terms had +been agreed to, so far as Scotland was concerned, and all pointed to +peace. + +"You didna speak the day, Sinclair, and I fairly thocht you wad hae been +into the fecht," said one delegate to Robert, as the train moved away +from the station. + +"No, I wasna feelin' up to the mark," he returned, in a tone that +hinted that he did not want to be troubled, and he sat back in his +corner in silence. In the gray quick gloaming the moors and the hills, +viewed from the train, seemed to him a country without hope. There was +sadness in it, and pain, and the gray wintry sky brooded of sorrows to +come. + +Occasionally a few sheep would start away from where they had been +grazing close to the railway, startled by the noise of the train. Thin +wisps of gray ragged clouds hung low, as if softly descending upon the +hills, in fateful sinister storms, and a fiery flash of yellow left a +strip of anger on the western horizon, where the sun had gone down a +short time ago. + +Gray mists and grayer moors, with occasionally a solitary tree standing +out in the distance, as if to accentuate the loneliness and the sorrow +of the world in their ragged branches, which seemed ready to pierce the +sky in defiance of the anger of the, as yet, unleashed storm. + +On rushed the train, and through the mists there kept coming before his +eyes the white lonely figure, moaning in fatal grief--grief inexorable +and unrelenting, while the flying wheels groaned and sobbed and clicked, +with the regular beat of a breaking heart, as if they were beating out +the sorrows of the world, and over all they sang the dirge of the broken +life of a maid. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' leave it +a'!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +MYSIE'S RETURN + + +When Mrs. Ramsay returned she found Mysie in a fainting condition, +thoroughly exhausted, and on the point of collapse. Mrs. Ramsay saw, by +her red swollen eyes, that she had been weeping. With the help of her +daughter the kind woman, who had done so much for Mysie during the past +few months, got her to the street, and procuring a cab, got her back to +the house, much alarmed by the patient's condition. + +All night Mysie tossed and raved in a high fever and delirium, while +Mrs. Ramsay sat by her bedside, trying to soothe and quieten the +stricken girl. As she seemed to get no better the older woman grew more +alarmed. + +"Oh, my puir faither!" moaned the girl. "Oh, mither, I am vexed at what +has happened. Oh, dear, I wonder what I'll do!" + +"There now, dearie!" said Mrs. Ramsay in warm sympathetic tones, as she +stroked the burning hands and brow. "Try and quieten down and go to +sleep. You were getting on very well, you know, and making fine +progress, but you'll make yourself worse than ever if you carry on like +that. There now, dearie! Try and get to sleep, and you'll soon be better +again!" + +But Mysie was silent only for a moment, and the low moan soon broke from +her lips again, like the wail of some stricken thing at night upon the +moor, and still she tossed and tumbled feverishly in her bed. + +In the morning the doctor came and shook his head. Mysie was ill, very +ill. Her condition was serious, and it was little he could do. Only care +and good nursing and try to keep her from worrying. He left a +prescription, and Peter soon had the necessary medicine, and later the +patient grew calmer, and finally sank into a deep sleep; and so the old +fight had to be fought over again, to get her strength restored and her +vitality increased. + +Mysie did not mention another word of home. She lay quiet, hardly even +moving and seldom speaking; but the burning fire that consumed her was +apparent in her hectic cheeks and glowing eyes, and one could see that +her mind was away, never dwelling upon her surroundings, but was +wandering among the heather hills and quiet valleys, where the call of +the curlew and the shout of the lapwing stir the primitive impulses of +those who love the haunts of the moorland life, and weave so much +romance into the lives and souls of the country bred people, who never +grow to love the ugly towns, but whose hearts remain with their first +love--the moors, and the hills, and the mountain brooks for ever. + +She seemed to grow a little stronger as the days passed. She took her +medicines regularly and without protest; but deep down in her heart she +felt that she would never get better, and her only desire, that had been +shaping itself ever since Robert had told her of her father's condition, +was to be strong enough, to go home to Lowwood, just to see her parents, +her brothers and sisters, once more; then she could die in peace. If +only she could do that, she would not care what happened. Nothing else +mattered; but she must get home. Nothing would prevent her from doing +that. + +It was the instinct of the wounded animal, dragging itself home to +die--home to its home in the kindly earth, away from contact with other +things--just to be alone, to nurse its suffering and its misery, till +the last shred of strength had gone, and the limbs stiffened out, while +the glazing eyes looked forward as the pain increased, across the +barriers of other worlds to a land of plenty--a land of green shrubs, +and sweet waters bubbling from scented hillsides, overhung with blue +skies which never brewed storms. A land of bud and bloom and blossom, +scented and sweet, with every desirable weed and tasty herb--a land of +life full and beautiful, of warm suns, calling up dreams from a +blossoming mist of bluebells, creating the freshness and the happiness +of youthfulness in every living thing. A land where far vistas and wide +horizons, bounded by green hills, brought visions from the inner self, +with joyous abundance through lusty life, and glorious passionate +being--a land sweet and fruitful, and never-ending in its beauty and its +means of happiness! + +Slowly the days passed, and her strength gradually increased little by +little, until a month had gone past, and she was able to be about the +house again; but this determination in her heart to go home grew +stronger with every day that passed, and it seemed to give her strength +and vitality, and her hope became more definite and more sure. + +She pictured her home again, as she had known it; the little kitchen, +with its white scrubbed floor and a few newspapers spread over its newly +washed surface to keep it clean from muddy feet; the white-washed jambs +of the fireside, and the grate polished with blacklead; the clear-topped +fender, with its inscription done in brass in the center, "Oor ain +fireside"; the half-dozen strong sturdy, well-washed chairs; the +whitewood dresser, with its array of dog ornaments and cheap vases, and +white crocheted cover; and the curtains over the two beds in the +kitchen. All these things she loved to think about, and she saw them +pictured in her mind as real as they'd ever been to her when her own +life was centered in them, and her fancy took delight in these secret +joys. It was her home she saw always, the humble "but and ben" with the +primitive conditions of life, the crude amenities, the sweet joys of +simple unaffected people; but it was her home. + +One day, Mrs. Ramsay had gone out on an errand that detained her some +time, Mysie seized suddenly again in a more intense form by her desire +to go home, feverishly dressed herself, and hastily scribbling a note of +thanks to her good friend and nurse, she stole out on to the street, a +poor, forlorn, weak girl, but thoroughly determined to go home to where +her heart called her. + +Out upon the street, she grew frightened. She did not know anything +about the city, nor in which direction to turn. She had no idea how far +it was to the station. She was helpless and alone, and very much +excited. + +A boy passed her, whistling as she had often heard her own brothers +whistling, and hastily calling to him she accosted him thus: + +"Could you tell me hoo far it is to the station?" + +"Whit station?" asked the boy, and she suddenly remembered it was +Princes Street, and mentioned it. "Oh, ay; it's no' faur," he said +airily, as he pointed in the direction of it. "Jist gang alang that +way," and he turned away as if to leave her. + +"Wad you tak' me to it, an' I'll gie you a shillin'?" she asked, and he +eagerly turned at once to close the bargain. + +"Oh, ay," he agreed, "I'll soon tak' you there," and the two set off; +and guided by the boy, whose knowledge of the city seemed to her +wonderful in one so young, they arrived at the station, with Mysie very +tired and half-fainting with excitement. + +"Hae you a ticket?" asked the boy, judging from her appearance that she +needed to be reminded of such things. + +"No, I forgot I hadna got yin," replied Mysie. "I wonder where I'll hae +to gang to get yin. Hoo much will it be, think you?" + +"Oh, I dinna ken," said the boy. "Come alang here to the bookin' office, +an' ask a ticket for the place you want to gang to, an' the clerk will +soon tell you the price o't." + +Luckily Mysie had a few pounds in a purse which Peter had given her some +time ago, in case she might want to go out, he said, and buy something +she might want. Going to the booking office, and guided by her little +friend, she timorously made known her wants, and a ticket was given her; +and she returned under her youthful escort, who enquired the time of the +trains leaving of a porter, and conducted her to the platform, and +helped her into the train, which soon started off on the homeward +journey. + +"Thenk you," said the boy, his eyes glowing with pleasure at the two +shining half-crowns which Mysie had given him, and he waved his hand to +her as the train steamed out of the platform. + +"Going home, going home," sang the wheels as the train rushed along. +"Going home," with every beat of her heart they answered her with their +cheery monotone. "Going home," they gurgled, as they freely ran down the +gradients. "Going home, going home," as they ran along the flat moor. +"Going home, going home," they panted up the inclines, but still joyous +in the thought of getting there. + +Home, aye, home, they were taking her. Home to the cheery fireside, with +the homely fare and the warm hearts! To the cosy corner by the fender at +her father's feet, to the music of her mother's clicking needles as she +knitted; to the sweet comfort of the love and kindness of brothers and +sisters; to the warmth of glowing smiles and loving hearts. Home! Home! +Oh, God! Comfort of weary and battered humanity, dragging its wounded +and broken life to the shelter and the sanctity of love. So rose her +hopes, and her heart sang as the brooding night lowered and the wind +rose, bringing the rain lashing from the spring clouds to burnish the +moor with storms. Home to the hearts that loved her first, and would +love her to the end. + +At last the train steamed into the little station from which she had +first gone to the great city, and everything looked just the same as +upon that night, when she had stolen across the moor to run away where +she expected to hide her shame, and try and redeem that one mistaken +impulse, which had been so thoughtlessly indulged, and so terribly paid +for in suffering and tears. The station-master looked at her keenly as +she passed. She seemed so frail and weak looking to be abroad in such a +night; but she passed on and out upon the country road that ran across +the moor, where the darkness always lay thickest, and where the terrors +of the timid were greatest, and the storms raged fiercest. + +On she battled, already feeling weak and tired; but always the thought +of home waiting for her impelled her onward. Home was waiting over +there--waiting just two miles off, where she could see the twinkling of +the lights from the pithead at which she had worked, and where she had +been so happy at the dreams conjured by six and sixpence per week. Down +rushed the wind from the hills, careering along the wide moor, driving +the rain and hail in front, as if he would burst the barriers of the +world and go free. + +She halted and turned her back upon the blows, as if she would fall; but +there were light and warmth, and love and cheerfulness over there, if +only she could hold out till she reached them. + +She turned again, and a sheep scampered across the moorland path just in +front, and the soft bleat of an early lamb soothed the quick excited +leap in her heart. The rain ceased, and a pale glitter of the rim of a +moon, like the paring of a giant's nail in the sky, glinted from behind +the dark cloud, and flung a silver radiance over the bog-pools around, +which glittered like patches of fairy silver upon a land of romance. + +She was wet, but not cold. The fever in her blood raged and she +staggered forward again, slowly and tottering. A smile was playing about +her lips and eyes. Her lips were parted, and her breast rose and fell +like the heaving beat of an engine. But home beckoned and lured her +onward, and the hope of a long dream filled her soul. Again a sharp +scurry in front drove her heart to her mouth, as two hares battled and +tore at each other for the love of the female which sat close by, +watching the contest. + +The sharp swish of the wings of lapwings, as they dived towards her, +filling the moors with their hard rasping double note, and also battling +for possession of a mate, stirred her frightened blood; and at every +step some new terror thrilled her, and kept her continually in a state +of fear. + +Still she plodded on, and another squall of rain and hail followed, +giving place soon to the glory of the cold moon, and again obscuring it +in a quick succession of showers and calm moonshine. But there was home +in front, and she was always drawing nearer. Just a little while now, a +few hundred yards or so, and she would be there. + +Weak and exhausted, stumbling and rising again, driven by that +unrelenting, irresistible desire, this poor waif of humanity, impelled +by sheer force of will, staggered and crawled towards its hope, forward +to its dream, and at last stood by the window of the home it had sought. + +Panting and utterly worn out, she stood holding on to the window ledge, +her will now weakened, her strength of mind gone, and her desire +forsaking her now that she was there. + +The wind fell to a mere whisper, and she stooped to look in at a chink +in the shutter, the tears running in hot, scalding streams from her eyes +and blinding her vision. The soft stirring of little limbs beneath her +heart brought back the old desire to hide herself from everyone she had +known. + +Oh, God! It was terrible thus to be torn; for she had sung the song of +all motherhood in her own simple way--the song of the love that +recreates the world. The same song that enables motherhood to commune +with God. "I will walk in the pure air of the uplands, so that your life +shall be sweet and clean. I shall bathe my body in the sweet waters of +the earth, so that you shall be pure; I shall walk in meditation and +solitude, so that your thoughts shall be worthy thoughts; I shall dwell +on the hillsides, so that your mind shall be lofty; I shall love all +living things, so that you shall be godly in the love of your kind; I +shall be humble, so that you shall not be proud; I shall be tender, +wandering among the sweet flowers, so that you shall never be rough or +unkindly; I shall serve, so that you shall be kingly in your service to +others. + +"Down in the valleys I shall linger, drinking in the music of sweet +streams; and the songs of the morning and the eventide shall make you +gentle and happy. The tender grass shall be my couch upon the moor, so +that you can know the restfulness and comfort of love. The grateful +trees shall shade me from the fierce heat of the sun, so that you shall +be restful, yet active in kind deeds. Oh, I shall clothe me in the +sweetest thoughts, and sing the sweetest songs, speak the kindliest +words, and do the friendliest deeds--I shall lie down in gratitude for +all that has ever been rendered to me, and shall keep faith with love, +so that you--you who are me, you who are my heart and mind, my body and +soul shall be ushered into the world as a savior of the race; and the +lyrics of the dawn and the dayfall, of the golden, glorious day, and the +silver radiant night, shall all be thine to interpret, in spirit and in +word and service." + +Thus had motherhood sung in all ages, weaving the dreams of hope about +the soul which she had called from eternity, after having gone upon that +long perilous journey into the land of Everywhere to bring back a new +life to the world. Mysie dashed the warm tears from her eyes, and looked +again through the chink in the shutter. + +She had a full view of the kitchen. It was the same cosy, bright place +it had always been, when she had sat there on the corner of the fender +o' nights, her head against her father's knee, as he read out the news +from the evening paper, while her mother sewed, or darned, or knitted. + +Her father sat in the easy chair, pale and thin and weak. He looked ill, +and it seemed as if he were merely out of his bed, so that her mother +might change the linen, for she was busy pulling off pillow-cases and +putting clean ones on, and turning the chaff-filled tick to make it +easier for his poor bones to lie on. + +He lay back in his chair, his eyes half closed, as if tired. + +"The wind has surely gane doon noo," Mysie heard her mother observe, as +she spread out the clean white sheet upon the bed. + +"Ay, it seems to hae quietened," returned Matthew weakly. "It has been +an awfu' nicht, and gey wild." + +"Ay, it has that. Peety ony puir body that has been oot in it," said her +mother, with a deep sigh, as she folded back the blankets. "It's an +awfu' nicht for the homeless to be oot in." + +Silence reigned for a short time, and only the whisper of the wind +outside prevented the sobs of the poor waif at the window being heard. + +"You are lookin' a wee better the nicht, Matthew," said Mrs. Maitland +after a long thoughtful pause, as she drew in her chair beside his. + +"Ay, I'm feelin' no' sae bad," he answered feebly. Then, as if having +made up his mind about something, he went on, as he looked into the +glowing fire, "Do you ken, wife, I hae been thinkin' a lot aboot oor +Mysie a' day. I wonder what'll be the cause o't? But a' day she has been +in my mind, an' I only hope naething has come to her." + +"I dinna ken, Matthew," she said; for this was the first time he had +spoken about their missing daughter since the day they had learned of +her disappearance. He had always remained silent when she had given +expression to her thoughts regarding Mysie; but thinking this an +encouragement, she spoke about her, and he too, in a way that made her +wonder; for he was never talkative at any time, and it seemed as if his +heart was hungering to talk of their bairn. + +"I wonder what wad hae come owre her, that nae spierin's o' her could be +got. Puir Mysie! I liket that wean, wife--liket her maybe owre weel; an' +my heart has been sair for her mony a time, wonderin' what has come o' +her!" + +Mrs. Maitland lifted a corner of her rough apron and wiped her eyes, as +she cried softly at hearing her husband thus speak of their missing +daughter. + +"Do you think she'll be living, Matthew?" she asked looking through her +tears at her husband anxiously. + +"That's hard to say, wife," he replied, a break in his voice. "Sometimes +I think she maun be deid, or she wad hae come back to us in some way. I +think we liket her weel enough, an' she kent it, and she was ay a guid +lassie at a' times." + +"Ay, she was," replied the mother, "a guid bairn, an' a clever yin aboot +the hoose; an' I never had an angry word frae her a' my days. Oh, +Matthew," she cried out, again bursting into tears, and sobbing +pitifully, "what is't we hae done to be tried like this? Mysie gane, an' +guid kens where she is, an' John ta'en awa' jist when oor battle was +beginnin' to get easier. Noo you hae been laid aside yoursel', an' God +kens hoo we are to do, for hinna a penny left in the hoose! Oh, dear, +but it's a hard lot we hae to suffer!" and she sobbed in silence, while +her husband stroked her pale, thin, toil-worn hands that hid her weeping +eyes. + +"Wheesht, lassie!" he said brokenly. "Dinna you break doon noo, for you +hae been the mainstay o' us a', when we wad hae lost heart often. I used +to think that oor lot couldna be harder, when the bairns were a' wee, +an' we were struggling frae haun' to mooth, to see them fed an' cled. +But wi' a' the hardships, thae days were happy. We were baith young, an' +I was aye fairly healthy an' when we locked the door at nicht, we were +satisfied that a' that belanged to us were inside, an' in safety, even +though their wee stomachs maybe werena' ower fu'. But noo we canna do +that, wife. Some hae gane to where want an' poverty canna hurt them, an' +that is a consolation; but where will oor lassie be, that never gi'ed us +a wrang word a' her days? Is she in want this nicht, the same as we are +oorsels? Will she be hungry an' homeless, ill clad, an' oot in the +storm? If she is, then God peety her. If only we had her aside us, +hunger wad be easier tholed for us a'," and Matthew, unable to control +himself longer, completely broke down and wept, mingling his tears with +those of his wife, because of their misery and poverty and suffering. + +The girl outside could hardly restrain herself at thus hearing her +parents speak. She sobbed and held on to the window ledge, her eyes +fixed greedily upon the open chink in the shutter, listening to, and +looking at her parents in their misery, as they sat and talked so kindly +and anxiously about her--talked so that every word was a stab at her +heart; for she had never heard them open their hearts like this before. + +"Ay, wife," he said after a time, "it was a sair blow to me. I could hae +fain dee'd at the time; I was fair heartbroken. It's a gey queer world +that brings the keenest pangs frae them that yin likes best. I could hae +dee'd gladly to hae saved that bairn frae the slightest hurt!" + +"Matthew," said the mother, speaking with all her soul in her eyes, as +she looked at him, "if by ony chance it should turn oot that Mysie gaed +wrang an' fell into disgrace, wad ye tak' her back, if she should come +hame again?" and there was a world of pleading in the mother's voice as +she spoke. + +"Tak' her back! Oh, God, I'd dae onything to hae her here at this +meenit, nae matter though it should be proved that she was guilty o' the +warst sin under the sun. Tak' her back! Oh, wife! my heart is breakin' +for her!" and he lifted his thin worn hand to his eyes and sobbed in his +grief. + +"Weel, Matthew," returned the wife, "if ever she does come back, nae +matter when it may be, or hoo it may be, I'm glad you'll no be harsh wi' +her. You'll just speak to her as if naething had happened; for I ken +she'll be mair feart to face you than onybody else. Jist try an' mak' +her believe, when you speak, that she had gane awa' to the store a +message, or to the well for watter, an' that she had bidden owre lang, +as she an' ither weans used to do when they got started the play, an' +forget to come hame. Jist speak to her that way, Matthew, an' the +hame-comin', if ever it comes, will no' be sae hard for the puir bairn. +For God knows, it micht be hard enough for her!" + +The girl outside, listening eagerly to every word, tried to cry out with +the pain of all this talk by her parents, but her tongue clove to her +parched mouth, and her lips were stiff and dry. + +"I'll never be harsh wi' a bairn o' mine, wife," he replied brokenly. "I +liket Mysie owre weel ever to be harsh wi' her. Oh, if only I could see +her afore me this nicht, I wad gie a' I ever had in the world. To hae +her sittin' here, as she used to sit, her wee heid wi' its soft hair +against my knee, an' my haun clappin' it, an' her bonnie een lookin' up +at me, as if I was something she aye looket up to, as bein' better than +ony living being she ever kenned, wad be mair pleasure for me this +minute than if I got a' the money in the world. I'd swap heaven and my +chances o' salvation, wife, jist to hae her sittin' here on the fender, +as she used to sit. Hunger an' a' the rest wad be easy borne for that." + +There was a soft rustling sound at the window as he spoke, and a slow +step was heard, which seemed to drag along towards the door, then a +fumbling at the sneck, the handle lifted, and the door opened slowly +inwards, as if reluctant to reveal its secret. + +It was a tense poignant moment for all; for both the father and mother, +weak as the former was, rose to their feet expectantly, their eyes +searching the slowly opening door, as a thin pale draggled figure +entered and staggered forward with a low pitiful cry of "Faither! +Mother! I've come hame!" and tottering forward, fell at Matthew's feet, +clasping his knees with the thin fragile hands, while the tears of a +heart-breaking sorrow flowed from the appealing eyes, upturned to the +amazed parents. + +"Mysie! Mysie!" he sobbed, clasping her to his thin worn knees, and +kissing the bent head, as she sobbed and cried. "Oh, Mysie! Mysie! but +you hae been a lang time at the store!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +HOME + + +"Oh my puir wean! My bonnie bairn!" crooned Mrs. Maitland, as she bent +over the figure of her daughter who, clinging to Matthew's knees, was +looking up into his face, as he lay back in his chair where he had +fallen, when Mysie fell at his feet. "Oh, my puir lamb, you're wet to +the skin, an' fair done; for God knows its an' awfu' mess you hae cam' +hame in." + +"Puir thing," she wailed and crooned, again breaking out after having +kissed and fondled Mysie's wet face. "We hae lang hungered for +you--hungered for you for a gey lang time, an' noo you hae cam' hame, +near to daith's door. But we'll nurse you back. We'll mak' you strong +and healthy again. Oh, Mysie, my puir lassie. What ails you? Where hae +you been? What has happened to you a' this time? But what am I thinking +aboot," she broke off, "sitting here, when I should be gettin' some dry +claes for you, an' a bed ready." + +She rose and began to busy herself shaking up a bed and diving into +drawers, bringing clean clothes forth and hanging them over a piece of +rope which stretched across the fireplace, so as to air and heat them, +the tears streaming from her eyes and occasionally a low moan breaking +from her as if forced by some inward pain; while Matthew, nearly +overcome with excitement, could only lie back in his chair, his eyes +closed and his hands stroking tenderly the wet young head that lay +against his knee. + +"Faither," murmured Mysie, brokenly and weakly, "oh, faither, I've come +back. Jist let me lie here near you. I jist want you to clap my held, to +lean against you, an' gang to sleep. Are you angry wi' me, faither? Are +you--" and Mysie's eyes closed in a faint, as she lay limp against his +knee. + +Just then the door opened and Mrs. Sinclair came in. She always came in, +after she had got everyone in the house to bed, to see how Matthew felt. +It was her first errand in the morning and her last before retiring at +night. She was generally the last visitor, and the door was always +locked and barred when she went away. + +"Oh, Nellie, come awa' in," said Matthew. "You're a God's send this +nicht. I'm glad to see you. Mysie's jist cam' back, an' she has fented. +Gie's a bit haun' wi' her to get her into bed. Puir thing. She's fair +done up," and Matthew tried to raise up the prostrate figure of his +bairn; but sank back too weak, and too overcome to do anything. + +"Dinna you trouble yourself, Matthew," said Mrs. Sinclair, gathering the +prostrate girl in her arms and raising her up on her knee like a child. +"Bring some dry claes. Jenny, an' get some warm watter bottles in the +bed. Puir thing, she's in an awfu' state. She's a' tremblin' an' maun +hae been awfu' ill," and she worked with and stripped the wet clothes +from the girl and soon had her in bed, but in spite of all her efforts +Mysie remained unconscious. She then left to get the doctor summoned, +leaving the sorrowing parents to look after the girl till she returned. + +When she did come back, Matthew was in bed and his condition very much +worse. The excitement had been too much for him in his weakened state +and he lay exhausted, crying like a child. + +Soon the doctor came and did all in his power. At the end of an hour +Mysie's eyes opened and she looked about her. + +"Where's my faither?" she asked weakly. "Oh, I'm gled I'm hame." + +"He's in bed," answered Mrs. Sinclair. "An' you're no' to talk the +nicht, Mysie. Jist lie still, like a good lass, an' drink this, an' in +the mornin' you'll may be a bit better." And Mysie drank, and with a +sigh of happy contentment, she turned her face to the wall, glad she was +now at home--home with her wounded spirit and broken life. + +The soft easy chaff bed gave her more of rest and satisfaction than if +it had been eiderdown. She traced as of old the roses upon the cheap +paper with which the box bed was papered, and which had been her +mother's pride when it was put on. Mysie watched the twining and +intertwining of the roses, as they reached upward toward the ceiling +through a maze of woodbine and red carnations, and noted that the +curtains upon the bed were the same as they were when she had last slept +there. + +The old wag-at-the-wa' clock which had belonged to her grandfather, +wheezed wearily from the corner and the shrill eerie call of a courting +cat outside broke familiarly upon her ear. Thus surrounded by the sights +and sounds of old, a glad contentment in her heart, she soon dozed off +into a deep sleep. + +When Mrs. Sinclair went home just as midnight was striking she found +Robert sitting by the fire wondering at her absence. He had just +returned from a meeting at a neighboring village, and finding his +brothers and sisters all in bed and his mother not in the house with his +tea ready for him as usual, he wondered what was the matter. + +"I was owre at Matthew's," she replied in answer to the question she +knew he was going to ask. + +"Is he waur the nicht?" he asked quickly. + +"Weel, it's no' him, although he's gey upset too; but Mysie has cam' +hame the nicht, an' puir lassie she is in an awfu' state," and she was +quick to note the soft blanching of his cheek as she spoke. + +"Mysie hame," he echoed with quick interest. + +"Ay, puir lassie; but I doot if I'm no' cheated that Mysie'll no' be +lang anywhere. The doctor says she's to be keepit quate; for she's gey +low. In fact he felt me at the door that he dinna think she could last a +week." + +Robert sat a long time looking into the fire, while his mother got ready +his tea, and described to him all that she knew of Mysie's return and of +her sad condition. + +"You'd hardly ken her," she went on. "She's that thin and white and faur +gane lookin', forby havin' a boast that wad fricht you. Puir lassie, I +was vexed for her an' Matthew too is gey upset aboot it. Dae you ken, +Rob, I believe they mun be gey hard gruppit. Wi' Matthew being off +work, and John deein' an' a' the ither troubles they had this while, I +think they canna be ower weel off." + +"Ay," he said, "they canna be ower weel off; for they hae had a lot to +dae this while. You micht look to them, mither. We are no sae ill off +noo, an' we can afford tae help them." + +"Weel, Rob, I've been aye givin' them a bit hand, buying beef for soup +an' that' an' daein' a' I could. But I'm awfu' puttin' aboot ower puir +Mysie. She's gey faur gane, an' wherever she has been she's been haein a +bad time of it." + +"I saw her at Edinburgh," he said quietly, as she paused to pour out the +tea. + +"In Edinburgh?" + +"Ay," he replied. "Last month when I was at the conference," and Robert +told his mother the whole story of his meeting with Mysie and of her +disappearance and all that had happened to her from the time she had +gone away. + +"But you never telt yin o' us, Rob," she said after he had come to the +end of the story. + +"No, I never telt ony o' you; for Mysie made me promise no' to tell; an' +forby she wadna' gi'e me her address. But I was that upset that day that +I couldn't collect mysel' an' I minded o' a lot o' things I should hae +done an' said after I left her. It was terrible," and he relapsed into +silence again, as he went on with his supper. + +His mother saw all the pain in his heart that night, though neither +spoke much of the state of his feelings for Mysie; but it was evident to +her who saw all the cross currents of fate, perhaps more clearly than +Robert knew. + +She looked at him with furtive pride. There was no showy parading of +what he felt, but only the set of the mouth was a little firmer perhaps +than usual and the eyes a little softer and glistening. That was all. + +"Ay, Robin," she said brokenly, unable to hide her pride and weakness. +"I ken a' that you hinna telt me. I guessed it years syne; but I'm sure +noo. An' I'm awfu' vexed, laddie; ay, I'm awfu' vexed," and with that he +withdrew to his room, more touched with her simple words of sympathy +than anything she had ever said to him in all her previous life. + +Mrs. Sinclair went to bed, but she knew her laddie had not done so. She +heard him in his room and knew that in the silence of the night and in +the privacy and secrecy of his own room he was fighting out his battle +with fate, and she knew that no one could help him--that only the fiber +of his own soul could help him through. + +In the morning he rose early and went for a walk, for it was Sunday. +Returning, he found his mother with the latest news of Mysie's +condition. She waited until the other members of the house had gone out, +and then with a sigh observed very quietly but with a world of tender +sympathy in her voice: + +"Mysie's sinkin' fast, Robin. I think you should gang ower and see her. +She canna' last very lang, puir thing, an' she was askin' aboot you when +I was ower. I think she wad like to see you. You'll gang ower and see +her, Rob," she entreated, a sob in her throat as she spoke. "She'll be +awfu' pleased to see you." + +"Ay, I'll gang ower, mither," he replied simply. "I'll gang ower efter a +wee while." + +But it was drawing near to the darkness when he managed to summon +sufficient resolution to face the ordeal. + +Mysie was lying in the room and he went in to see her--her whom he would +have given his own life to restore to activity and health again. A low +moan occasionally escaped her as she panted and battled for breath and +the color came and faded from her cheeks in quick fleeting waves. + +Oh God! Was this Mysie--this faint apparition of the girl whom he had +loved? Even in the short month when he had seen her in Edinburgh a very +great change had been wrought upon her. The eyes, softly glowing with a +quiet radiance as they rested upon his face, were sunk, and the voice +faint and weak. A thin white hand lay upon the coverlet and the great +waves of brown hair which had been his pride, were tumbled about the +thin face framing it in a tangled oak brown frame of deepest beauty. + +She lifted her hand as he approached, a sweet smile breaking through +her pain, caught him in radiance of love. "I'm glad you've come, Rob," +she panted. "I jist wanted to see you again--an'--an' tak' good-by wi' +you," and the quick catch in her words gripped his heart as he knelt +beside the bed, taking the thin hand between his while the tears started +from his eyes and fell upon the white bed cover. + +"Oh, Mysie," he said brokenly. His voice refused to go further and he +bent his head upon the bed, trying hard to control himself and keep from +breaking down before her. + +"I'm awfu' vexed, Rob," she said, after a while. "It was a' a mistak' +an' naebody's to blame. I ought to hae kent better mysel'," and she +paused again for breath. "I--I should hae kent better, that nae guid +could come--oot o' it--I was just carried awa'. Dinna ever blame +lasses--nor men either, when things happen. They--they canna help +themsel's--" and here again she paused for breath, gasping and fighting +at every word. + +"It's a' a mistake, Rob, an' I think it's a' in the way folk look at +thae things." Another pause, while her chest heaved and panted. "Maybe +we dinna look at thae things richt," she again resumed. "We--we mak' +mistak's and canna help oorsel's; but God dinna mean it as--as a +mistak'. It's a' because we think it is. Everything's richt--but we mak' +them wrang in the way we look at them. It wad hae--been a' richt--in oor +mind, if I had been married afore--afore it happened--but because we +werena married--it was wrang. It's a' a mistak' Rob, a' a--" and a burst +of coughing nearly choked her and a flood of blood began to gurgle in +her mouth. + +Robert grew alarmed and lifting a cloth began to wipe the blood from her +mouth, looking on her so concerned and anxious that she tried to smile +to him to reassure him. + +Presently she lay back with eyes closed and her hand limp in his. A wild +fear took possession of him as he looked upon the scarcely moving +breast, a fear which seemed to communicate itself to the sufferer, and +she opened her eyes again, but the voice was weak and very far away. + +"Dinna be angry wi' onybody, Rob. It was you I liket, it was you I +wanted--but it was a' a mistake." + +"I'm no' angry, Mysie," he said stifling his sobs, his tears falling +upon the white thin face. "Oh, Mysie, I'm only vexed. I'm only vexed +aboot the hale sad business. There now, dearie," he said bending low +over her and kissing and stroking the pallid brow and caressing the face +so dear to him. "There noo, I'm no' angry. You're mine, Mysie. You've +always been mine, an' I'm no' angry. But oh, I love you, Mysie, an' it's +breaking my heart to part frae you. Oh, God!" he groaned in agony. "What +does it a' mean? I canna' bear it,--I canna' bear't," and a wild burst +of grief swept over him as he flung his head and arms upon the bed in a +vain attempt to control his sobbing sorrow. + +A long pause--then the white hand was raised and crept slowly over his +shoulder, working its way among the thick shaggy hair of his head as the +fingers strayed from curl to curl, patting him and soothing him as a +child is soothed by a mother's hand. It rested upon his bent head and +the eyes opened again. + +"Ay, Rob, I'm vexed for your sake--but it was a' a mistake." She went on +halting and very weak. "It was a' a mistak'--an' naebody is to blame. We +are just--driven alang, an'--we canna help oorsel's--it's awfu' to +hae--sic feelin's--an'--an' no' hae any poo'er--to guide them +richt--it's ay the things we want maist--that we dinna get. Kiss me, +Rob--kiss me, as you kissed me--yon--nicht on the muir. Haud me like +you--an' I think I can--gang content. Oh, Rob,--ay liket you--it was you +I wanted a' the time!" + +He clasped her tenderly in his arms as he kissed her mouth, her eyes, +her brow, her hair, stroking her and fondling the dear face, catching +hungrily the smile that came to the pale lips, and lingered there like a +blink of sun upon a hillside after the rest of the landscape is clothed +in shadow. + +Again there was a pause while he searched the pale face with the +lingering smile, noting the veined, almost discolored eyelids, +transparent and closed over the tired suffering eyes. Then a burst of +coughing again and the blood in thick clots gurgled up from the throat. +Then after a little she spoke again. + +"Oh, Rob, you hae made me very happy. But I'm vexed aboot you--an'--an' +Peter. He tried to dae what was richt; but it wasna to be--I hope +you'll--no'--be angry wi' him. He was like me--he couldna' help it." + +"Oh, Mysie, I'm no' angry wi' him," he replied brokenly, trying hard to +make his voice sound dearly. "I'm no' angry wi' onybody." + +"I'm glad o' that, Rob," she said, her hand caressing his head. "You was +ay a guid hearted laddie--I'm awfu' glad." Then her mind began to wander +and she was back in Edinburgh speaking of her father and John. + +"Oh, faither," she rambled on. "Dinna be angry wi' me. There's naebody +to blame. Dinna be angry." + +Then Robert was conscious that others were in the room, and looking up +he beheld his mother and Jenny Maitland and behind them with anxious +face and frightened eyes stood Peter Rundell, the picture of misery and +despair. + +"She's kind o' wanderin', puir thing," he heard the mother say in +explanation to the others. "She's kind o' wanderin' in her mind." + +It was a sad little group which stood round the dying girl, all anxious +and alarmed and watchful. Then after a while she opened her eyes again +and there was a look of startled surprise as if she were looking at +something in the distance. Then she began to recognize each and all of +them in turn, first Robert, who still held her hand, then her mother and +Nellie, and Peter. A faint smile came into her eyes and he stepped +forward. Her lips moved slowly and a faint sound came falteringly from +them. + +"Dinna be angry wi' onybody," she panted. "It was a'--a--mistake." + +Then raising her hand she held it out to Peter, who advanced towards the +bedside and placing his hand on Robert's she clasped them together in +her own. "There noo--dinna be angry--it was a' a mistake. It was Rob I +liket--it was him--I wanted. But it--was--a' a mistak'. Dinna be--" and +the glazed sunken eyes closed forever, never to open again, a faint +noise gurgled in her throat, and the dews of death stood out in beads +upon the pale brow. A tiny quiver of the eyelids, and a tremor through +the thin hands and Mysie--poor ruined broken waif of the world--was +gone. + +"Oh, my God! She's deid," gasped Robert, clasping the thin dead hands in +a frenzy of passionate grief. "Oh, Mysie! Mysie! Oh God! She's deid," +and his head bent low over the bed while great sobs tore through him, +and shook his young frame, as the storm shakes the young firs of the +woods. Then suddenly recollecting himself as his mother put her hand +upon his bent head saying: "Rise up, Robin, like a man. You maun gang +oot noo." He rose and with tears in his eyes that blinded him so that he +hardly saw where he was going, he stumbled out into the darkness under +the pale stars--out into the night to the open moor, his grief so +burdening that he felt as if the whole world had gone from his +reckoning. + +"Oh, my poor Mysie," he groaned. "It was all a horrible mistake," and +the darkness came down in thick heavy folds as if the whole world were +mourning for the loss of the young girl's soul, but it brought no +comfort to him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +A CALL FOR HELP + + +It was a quiet night in early April, full of the hush which seems to +gather all the creative forces together, before the wild outburst of +prodigal creation begins in wild flower and weed and moorland grasses, +and Robert Sinclair, who had walked and tramped over the moors for +hours, until he was nearly exhausted, his heart torn and his mind in an +agony of suffering, sat down upon a little hillock, his elbows on his +knees and his hands against his cheeks. + +The moor-birds screamed and circled in restless flight around him. They +were plainly protesting against his intrusion into their domain. They +shrilled and dived in their flight, almost touching the bent head, with +swooping wing, to rise again, cleaving the air and sheering round again; +but still the lonely figure sat looking into darkness, becoming numbed +with cold, and all unconscious of the passage of time. + +Gradually the cold began to tell upon him, and he started to his feet, +plodding up the hill, through the soft mossy yielding soil. Back again +he came after a time, his limbs aching with the long night's tramping; +but yet he never thought of going home or turning towards the village. + +"Oh, Mysie!" he groaned again and again, and all night long only these +two words escaped his lips. They came in a low sad tone, like the wind +coming through far-off trees; but they were vibrant with suffering, and +only the moor-birds cried in answer. + +"Oh, Mysie!" and the winds sighed it again and again, as they came +wandering down out of the stillness between the hills, to pass on into +the silence of the night again, like lost souls wandering through an +uncreative world, proclaiming to other spheres the doom that had settled +upon earth. + +"Oh, Mysie!" groaned a moorland brook close by, which grumbled at some +obstruction in its pathway, and then sighed over its mossy bed, like a +tired child emerging exhausted from a long fever, to fall asleep as +deeply as if the seal of death had been planted upon the little lips. +Occasionally he shifted his position, as his limbs grew cramped, or rose +to pace the moor again to bring himself more exhaustion; but always he +came back to the little knoll, and sat down again, groaning out the sad +plaintive words, that were at once an appeal and a cry, a defiance and a +submission. By and by the first gray streaks of dawn came filtering +through the curtains of the cloudy east, touching the low hills with +gray nimble fingers, or weaving a tapestry of magic, as they brightened +and grew clearer, over the gray face of the morn. + +Soon the birds leapt again from every corner, climbing upon the ladders +of light and tumbling ecstasies of mad joy to welcome the day, as if +they feared to be left in the darkness with this strange figure, which +merely sat and groaned softly, and looked before it with silent agony in +its eyes; and now that the light had again come, they shouted their +protest in a louder, shriller note; they mounted upon the waves of light +and swooped down into the trough of the semi-darkness, expostulating and +crying, not so much in alarm now, as in anger. For with the light comes +courage to birds as well as men, and fear, the offspring of ignorance, +which is bred in darkness, loses its power when its mystery is revealed. + +But even with the coming of the day the still silent figure did not +move. It continued to sit until the birds grew tired of protesting, and +even the mountain hare wandered close by, sniffing the breeze in his +direction, and cocking its ears and listening, as it sat upon its hind +legs, only to resume its leisurely wandering again, feeling assured that +there was nothing to fear in the direction of this quiet, bent figure of +sorrow, that sat merely staring at the hills, and saw naught of anything +before him. The things he saw were not the things around him. He was +moving in a multitude again. He was walking among them with pity in his +heart--a great pity for their ignorance, their lack of vision; and he +was giving them knowledge and restoring light to their eyes, to widen +their range of vision, so that they could take things in their true +perspective. He was full of a great sympathy for their shortcomings, +recognizing to the full that only by sowing love could love be reaped, +only in service could happiness be found--that he who gave his life +would save it. + +The great dumb mass of humanity needed serving--needed love. It passed +on blindly, wounding itself as it staggered against its barriers, +bruising its heart and soul in the darkness, and never learning its +lessons. Saviors in all ages had lifted the darkness a bit, and given +knowledge, and sometimes it had profited for a while till false prophets +arose to mislead. + +It was a seething feverish mass, stamping and surging towards every +blatant voice which cried the false message to it, rousing it to anger, +and again misleading, until it often rose to rend its saviors instead of +those who had duped it so shamelessly. + +All the tragic procession filed past, and he gave them peace and +knowledge. By and by they grew to a long thin stream, feverish and +agitated, seemingly all converging towards a point--pain and anxiety in +every quick movement, and suffering in every gesture. He looked with +still more and more compassion upon them, with a greater love in his +breast, but it did not calm them as before, and at last in desperation +he stretched out his hands in appealing pity for them, his whole being +aglow with the desire to help and pity and love, and he found that the +scene changed. He was on the moor, and there was the discomfort of cold +in his limbs; but--yes, he was looking at the pit, and there was a long +stream of men, women and children, principally women and children, +running frantically across the moor towards the pit, and he could hear +the faint sound of their voices, which clearly betokened suffering, +anxiety and alarm. Something had happened. He must have been looking at +that procession for a long time, he realized, and pulling himself +together, he bounded to his feet and was off in a long striding race +through the moor towards the pit, his heart telling him that something +had happened which was out of the ordinary kind of accident that +regularly happened at a coal mine. He bounded along, knowing as he went +that there was something more of sorrow for his mother in this, whatever +it was. He felt so, but could not account for the feeling, and as this +thought grew in intensity in his mind, he changed his course a bit, and +made for home, to ascertain what had really happened. It was something +big, he felt, but whatever it was, his mother must again be called upon +to suffer, and his alarm grew with his pace, until he arrived breathless +at the house. One look at her face, and he knew his instincts had told +him the truth. + +She was white and strained, though tearless, but her eyes were full of +an awful suffering. + +"What has happened, mother?" he demanded, as if he could hardly wait for +her to answer. + +"The moss has broken in, an' twenty-three men are lost. Jamie an' Andra +are among them. They gaed oot themselves this morning, telling me they +could work fine, even though you werena there. Oh, Rob! What will I do! +Oh, dear! Oh, dear! My bonnie laddies!" and with a sob in her voice she +turned away, and Robert was again out of the house, and running through +the moor to the pit, as hard as desperation could drive him. His two +brothers were down there, and they must be got out. Even as he ran he +wondered what strange freak of fate it was, that had kept him out there +on the moor all night and so saved him from this terrible fate. + +He could understand how his brothers would feel at the chance of working +one day by themselves. He had always been their guide and protector. +They had gone into the pit with him when they left school, and had just +continued working with him since, learning their trade from his greater +experience, and trusting always to his better judgment when there was +danger to avoid. They would go out that day with the intention of +working like slaves to produce an extra turn of coal. Even though it +were but one extra hutch, they would fill it, and slave all day with +never a rest, so that they could have the satisfaction of seeing +approval in his eyes, when they told him at night how many they had +turned out, and how well things had gone generally with them in his +absence. + +He reached the pit, to find that the moss was already rising in the +shaft, and that there was no possibility of getting down to try and save +these twenty-three men and boys who were imprisoned in the darkness +beneath. + +He came across Tam Donaldson, who was the last to get up. + +"Tell me aboot it, Tam," he said. "Is there no chance of getting down? +Do you think any of them will be safe so far?" and a whole lot of other +anxious questions were rattled off, while Tam, dripping wet from having +to wade and fight the last fifty fathoms toward the pit bottom, through +the silent, sinister, creeping moss that filled the roadways and +tunnels, stood to give him an account of what had taken place. + +"They were a' sitting at their piece, Rob--a' but James and Andra. They +were keen to get as muckle work done as possible, an' they had some coal +to get to fill oot a hutch, when a' at yince we heard Andra crying on us +to rin. Had they a' ran doon the brae we'd a' hae been safe, for we +could hae gotten to the bottom afore the moss; but some ran into the +inside heading, an' hadna time to realize that their outlet was cut off, +an' there they are; for the moss was comin' doon the full height of the +road when I ran back to try an' cry on them to come back. So I had to +rin for't too, an' jist got oot by the skin o' my teeth. + +"I kent fine it wad happen," he went on, as Robert stood, the tears in +his eyes, as he realized how hopeless the position was of ever being +able to restore these men and boys again to their homes. There was anger +in Tam's voice as he spoke. "It's a' to get cheap coal, an' they ought +to hae known, for they were telt, that to open oot that seam into long +well workings so near the surface, an' wi' sic a rotten roof, was +invitin' disaster, wi' as muckle rain as we hae had lately. They are a +lot o' murderers--that's what they are! But what the hell do they care, +sae lang as they get cheap coal!" + +Robert turned away sick at heart. It was certainly a foolish thing, he +had thought at the time, for the management to change their method of +working the coal; for even though the seam had grown thinner, he felt +that it could have still been worked at a profit under the old system. +He knew also that the men were all upset at the time by this change, but +the management had assured them that there was no danger, and that it +would mean more money for the men, as they would be enabled to produce +more coal. + +This certainly had happened for a week or two, but the rates were soon +broken, because they were making too high wages; and the men found, as +usual, that their increased output had merely meant increased work for +them, and increased profits for the owners. + +Was there nothing to be done? Robert wondered, as he paced restlessly +back and forth, his mind busy, as the mind of every man present, and +anxious to make any sacrifice, to take any risk, if by so doing they +might save those imprisoned in the mine. Even while his mind was +working, he could not help listening to the talk of those around him. +There were strange opinions expressed, and wild plans of rescue were +suggested and discussed and disputed. Everyone condemned the coal +company for what had happened, but over all there were the white-faced +women and the silent children; the muffled sobs, the tears, and the +agony of silent wet eyes that spoke more pain than all the tragedies +that had ever been written. + +Robert could not help listening to one man--a big, raw, loosely-built +fellow, who stood in the midst of a group of women laying off his idea +of a rescue. + +"I'm rale glad to be out of it," he said, "for Jean's sake, an' the +bairns; but for a' that I'd gang doon again an' try an' get them oot if +there was ony chance o' doin' it." + +"Hoo is Jean?" one woman interposed to enquire about his wife, who had +been ill a long time. + +"Oh, she's gettin' on fine noo, an' the doctor has a hopeful word o' +her," he answered. "In fact, I was just feeding the birds the last time +he was in, an' asked him hoo she was doin'." + +This man, Dugald McIntosh, had one god--his canaries. He read all he +could get to read about them, and studied the best conditions under +which to rear them, sacrificed everything he could to breed better +birds, and this was always a topic for him to discourse upon. + +"I was just busy feedin' them when he cam' in, and after he had examined +her, I asked him hoo she was gettin' on." + +"Fine," he said, "gi'e her plenty o' sweet milk noo, and fresh eggs, an' +she'll sune be on her feet again. Fresh eggs! mind you, an' me canna get +yin for my canaries! I thocht it was a guid yin!" + +Robert turned away; but there was working in his mind an idea, and he +ran round to the colliery office to the manager, who was nearly mad with +grief and anxiety at what had happened. + +"Come in, Sinclair," he said simply. "Can you suggest anything to help +us? Whatever is done, it can only be done quickly; for the moss is +rising rapidly in the shaft, and even though some of the men are safe in +the upper workings, it is only a question of a very short time till the +moss will rise and suffocate them, or until the black damp does so. If +you have any idea that can help, out with it and let us make a trial, +for the inactivity is killing me." + +"I have been thinking, Mr. Anderson," replied Robert, "that we might go +down the old air-shaft over in the moss there, and run along the top +level, which is not far from the surface, and try and blast it through +on the heading into which the moss broke." + +It might be full of moss too, for no one knew the extent of the breakage +in the metals, and even though it were clear, the damp would be lying in +it; but surely they might make an attempt on it. Robert remembered +working this level to within about nine feet from going through on the +heading. If he had plenty of hands, just to go down and drill a hole in +anywhere, and blast out the coal with a shot or two wherever he could +best place them, he might succeed in getting through to the men. It +might be that after the first rush filling the roadways, the flood of +moss had drained off, and was not now running so thickly down the +heading. + +"Let me go and try, sir," he pleaded eagerly. "I think I can manage, if +the level is still unbroken. We can work in short turns, so as not to +be overcome with the damp. Will you let me have a try? I believe it's +the only chance we have, and if we do succeed, look what it will mean to +the women in the village. Will you let me try?" + +"Yes," replied Anderson, reaching for his lamp, "and I shall be one of +the triers too. Go out and pick seven or eight men. I'll get the +necessary tools and get off over the moor to the old air shaft. It may +still be open. It is a pity we let it go out of repair, but we can have +a trial." + +Robert ran out, a hope filling his heart, telling his news to those +round about, and the first man to step forth, before he had finished, +was Dugald McIntosh, the man who had put more value on his canaries than +on his wife's health, who quietly lifted up the drills the manager had +brought, and slinging them lightly over his shoulder, was off across the +moor at a run, with a dozen men at his heels, all eager to get to grips +with the danger, and try to rescue their imprisoned comrades. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +A FIGHT WITH DEATH + + +Robert Sinclair seemed to be the one man who knew what to do--at least, +he seemed to be the only one who had a definite aim in view and as if by +some natural instinct everyone was just ready to do his bidding. He was +the leader of the herd towards whom everyone looked ready for a new +order to meet any new situation which might arise. Initiative and +resource were a monopoly in his hands. He was silent, and worked to get +ready to descend the old air-shaft, with grim set lips. Yet there seemed +to be no sense of bustle, only the work was done quickly and orderly, +his orders being issued as much by signs as by speech, and soon a +windlass was erected with ropes and swing chair fastened, into which he +at once leaped, followed by another man. Tools and explosives were +packed in and lamps lit and the order given to lower the chair. + +Robert felt a queer sort of feeling as he stood waiting on the first +motion of the little drum round which the rope wound. He was cool and +clear brained--in fact he wondered why he was so collected. He felt he +was standing out of all this maelstrom of suffering and terror. Not that +he was impervious to anxiety for the men below, not that he was unmoved +by all that it meant to those standing round; but after that first wild +throb of terror that had clutched at his heart when his mother had told +him the dread news and that his two brothers were imprisoned in the +mine, something seemed suddenly to snap within him, the load and the +intensity of the pain lifted, and from that moment he had been master of +the situation. + +He glanced round him as he waited quietly in his swinging seat. He felt +as he looked, no sense of fear or impending doom. He knew that black +damp probably lay in dense quantities down in that yawning gulf below +him, he knew that the sides of the shaft were in a bad state of +disrepair, and that they might give way at any time as the swinging rope +must inevitably touch them, and bring the whole thing in upon him, with +hundreds of tons of débris and moss. + +Yet it was not of these things he thought. Perhaps he did not think of +anything particularly, but a far-off lilt of a children's game which was +played at school, kept iterating and reiterating through his brain, and +everything seemed done to that tune. + + "Don't take a laddie, oh, + Laddie oh, laddie oh, + Don't take a laddie oh, + Take a bonnie wee lassie." + +It sang continually within him and men seemed to move to its regular +beat, as they hurried to get ready. He looked at the hills, and noted +how quiet everything seemed, their curving outlines gave such a sense of +eternal rest. There was a patch of lovely blue sky above him, he noticed +where the clouds opened up and a glint of golden glorious sunshine came +through; but it looked garish and it closed again and the white clouds +trailed away, their lower fringes clinging to the hill tops like veils +of gossamer woven by time to deck the bride of Spring. A lark rose at +the edge of the crowd of weeping women and children as if unmindful of +the tragedy over which it sang so rapturously, and he noted its +fluttering wings and swelling throat as it soared in circles of glad +song. + +All these things and more he noted though it was but a momentary pause. + +"Are you right?" came the question from the men at the windlass, far +away it seemed and unconnected with the scene. + +"Right," he answered with a start, and looking round he seemed to become +aware of the white-faced, red-eyed women among whom his mother's face +seemed to stand out. She was not weeping, he noticed, but oh God! her +face seemed to turn him with the intensity of the suffering in her eyes. +He realized that he had not noticed her before, and now with a wild +throb of pity he stretched out his hands towards her, a look of +suffering in his eyes, as if he were feeling the pains of humanity +crucified anew, and the chair began to drop slowly below the surface, +swinging down into the darkness and the evil dangers that lurked below. +Her face was the last thing he saw--a face full of agony yet calm with a +great renunciation coming to birth in her eyes, her lips drawn thin like +a slit in her face and all the color gone from them, the head bent a +little as if a great blow had fallen upon her--an island of agony set in +a sea of despair. + +A wild impulse seized him to go back. It was too much to ask of a woman, +he felt. Too great a burden of tragedy to heap upon one soul, as he cast +his mind back through the suffering years and viewed all the pain she +had borne, and the terrible Gethsemane which her life had been; but as +the chair swung round he clutched the swaying rope and with the other +hand steadied it from crashing against the side of the shaft as they +slowly dropped lower and lower into the darkness and the evil smells +which hung around. + +"Things look bad here," said his comrade as they passed down where at +some time a huge portion from the side had fallen out and down into the +bottom of the old shaft. + +"Ay," answered Robert, "everything seems just ready to collapse," and +they dropped lower and lower, swaying from side to side, cautiously +guiding their swinging chair from the moss-oozing side, their nerves +strained as they listened to the creeking rope as it was paid out from +above. + +"Holy God," cried his mate, "that was a near thing," as a huge mass of +rocks and slimy moss lunged out a little below them and hurtled away in +a loud rumbling noise. + +Robert pulled the signal cord to stop and looked up to see the white +clouds passing over the narrow funnel-like shaft in which they hung. +Then he gave the signal to let out again noting how thick with damp the +atmosphere was becoming, and having difficulty with his light. + +Lower and lower they swung and dropped down into the old shaft and as +the rope creaked and crazed above them it lilted: + + "Choose, choose, wha' you'll tak', + Wha' you'll tak', wha' you'll tak', + Choose, choose wha' you'll tak', + A laddie or a lassie." + +And the memory of the old lilt brought back other scenes again and he +found himself guiding the chair from the shaft side steering it off with +his hand at every rhythmic beat of the child song. + +Soon they reached the bottom of the shaft, for it was not very deep, and +found a mass of débris, almost choking up the roadways on either side of +the bottom. But they got out of their chair and soon began to "redd" +away the stones though they found very great difficulty in getting the +lamps to burn. Occasionally, as they worked, little pieces came tumbling +from the side of the shaft, telling its own tale, and as soon as Robert +got a decent sized kind of opening made through the rocks which blocked +the roadway he sent up the other man to bring down more help and to get +others started to repair the old shaft by putting in stays and batons to +preserve the sides and so prevent them from caving in altogether. + +He found his way along the level which had been driven to within nine +feet of going through on the heading in which the inbreak of moss had +taken place. He noticed the roof was broken in many places and that the +timber which had been put in years before was rotten. Strange noises +seemed to assail his senses, and stranger smells, yet the lilt of that +old childish game was ever humming in his brain and he saw himself with +other boys and girls with clasped hands linked in a circle and going +round in a ring as they sang the old ditty. + +"Three breakings should dae it," he said as he looked at the face of the +coal dripping with water from the cracks in the roof. "If only they were +here to put up the props. I could soon blow it through," and he began to +prepare a place for batons and props, pending the arrival of more help +from those who were only too eager to come down to his aid. + +It was almost an hour before help came in the shape of two men carrying +some props. Then came another two and soon more timber began to arrive +regularly and the swinging blows of their hammers as they drove in the +fresh props were soon echoing through the tunnels, and Robert set up his +boring machine and soon the rickety noise of it drowned all others. He +paused to change a drill when a faint hullo was heard from the other +side. + +"Hullo," he yelled, then held his breath in tense silence to hear the +response which came immediately. "Are you all safe?" he roared, his +voice carrying easily through the open coal. + +"Ay," came the faint answer; "but the moss is rising in the heading and +you'll have to hurry up." + +Robert knew this, and one of his helpers had gone down an old heading to +explore and had returned to say that it was rising steadily and was now +within two hundred feet from the old shaft down which he had descended. + +"Where away did the roof break?" roared Robert as he changed his second +drill. + +"Half way doon the cousie brae," came the answer, "an' we're all shut in +like rats. Hurry up and get us oot," and again the rickety, rackety +noise of the boring machine began and drowned all other noises. + +He soon drilled his holes and he could hear them on the other side +singing now some ribald song to keep up their courage, while others who +were religiously inclined chanted hymns and psalms, but all were +wondering whether Robert and his men would be able to break through the +barrier in time to save them before the persistently rising moss claimed +them. + +He charged his shots and called them to go back, telling them the number +of his charges, then lit his fuse and ran out of the old level to wait +in a place of safety while the explosion took place. + +Soon they boomed out and the concussion put them all in darkness; but +they soon had the lamps re-lit and were back in among the thick volumes +of powder smoke, groping about and shading their lamps and peering in to +see what their shots had done to lessen the barrier between them and +their imprisoned comrades. + +Then the shovels set to work and tossed the coal which the shots had +dislodged back into the roadway and soon the boring machines were busy +again, eating into the coal; for those tireless arms of Robert's never +halted. He swung the handle or wielded the pick or shovel, never taking +a, rest, while the sweat streamed from his body working like some +mechanical product for always in his mind he was calculating his chances +for being able to blast it through the barrier before the moss rose. + +"It has only a stoop length an' a half to rise now," reported one of the +men. "It's creeping up like the doom o' the day o' judgment. But I think +we'll manage. If these shots do as well as the last ones we should be +within two feet of them, an' surely to God we can bite the rest of it, +if we canna blaw it. Let me stem the shots, Rob, an' you take a rest." + +"You go to hell," was the unexpectedly astounding reply; for no one had +ever heard Robert Sinclair use language like this before. "As soon as +thae shots are off an' if they blaw as well as the others we'll turn out +the coal an' then you can gang up the pit, every yin o' you. I'll soon +blow through the rest of it, and if you are all up by then it will make +for speed in getting the others out. We're going to have a race for it +even though we manage as I'm thinking to. So get out of the way and +don't talk. Again the air's getting too dam'd thick for you all +remaining here. There's hardly as muckle as would keep a canary living," +and again he called to those on the other side to beware of the shots, +and again ran out to a place of safety while the explosions took place. + +Once more the result of the shots was good; but the smoke choked and +blinded them and one man was overcome by the fumes. They carried him out +the road a bit and after he showed signs of coming round, Robert gave +instructions for him to be taken to the surface. + +"Oh, Lod, but it's nippin' my e'en," said one as he rubbed his eyes and +blew his nose, sneezed and finally expectorated. "It's as thick as soor +milk, be dam'd!" + +"Well, get him up, and I'll away back and redd out the shots and try +and get it through again. The moss is rising quicker noo an' it has only +aboot eighty feet to come." + +So back he went among the thick choking volume of smoke, tripping and +stumbling and staggering from side to side as he scrambled on. Would he +be in time to blast the barrier down before the steadily creeping moss +rose to cut off his only avenue of escape? + +"My God! What's that?" he asked himself as he paused while a rumble and +crash behind him told him that the old shaft had caved in burying his +comrades in rocks and moss and water. + +He ran back but could get no further than within a stoop length of the +old shaft. There were hundreds of tons of débris and all was finally +lost. For the first time terror seized him and he tore desperately at +the bowlders of stone, cutting his fingers and lacerating his body all +over with cuts and bruises. He raved and swore and shouted in +desperation, the sweat streaming from every pore, his eyes wild and +glaring, but he was soon driven back by the moss which was oozing and +percolating through the broken mass of bowlders and gradually it forced +him back with a rush as it burst through with a sudden slushing sound as +if suddenly relieved from a barrier which held it. Back he rushed, his +light again becoming extinguished, the flood pursuing him relentlessly, +the air now so heavy that he could hardly breathe, but groping his way +he reached the first end roadway down which for the moment the flood ran +to meet the rising moss creeping up relentlessly from below. + +Choking and only half conscious he staggered on with all sense of +disaster gone from his mind, with no thought of his comrades on the +other side waiting so impatiently to be released, and singing their +frothy songs in the hope that all was well, his legs doubling below him, +and his lungs heaving to expel the poison which the thick air contained. +Down at last he fell, his head striking against the side of the roadway, +and he lay still. + +The moss might rise hungrily over him now, the rotten roof might fall +upon him, all the dangers of the mine might conspire together against +him; but nothing they might do could ever again strike terror into the +young heart that lay there, feebly throbbing its last as it was being +overcome with the deadly poison of the black damp. + +He was proof against all their terrors now, the spirit could evade them +yet; for though the old shaft might collapse and imprison his body and +claim it as a sacrifice to the King Terror of the Underworld, no prison +was ever created that could contain the indomitable spirit of man as +God. He was free--free, and was happy and could cry defiance to the +dangers of the mine, to the terrors of time itself. He could clutch the +corners of the earth, and play with it as a toy of time, among the Gods +of Eternity. + +"Choose, choose wha' you'll tak'," throbbed the young heart and a smile +of triumph played upon the lips as the pictures of bygone times flitted +across his dying brain. He was again the happy infant, hungry it may be, +and ill-clad, but Heaven contained no happier soul. The little stomach +might not be filled with sufficient food; but the spirit of him as it +was in younger years knew no material limits to its laughter in the +childish ring games of youth. Again he was waiting in the dark wintry +mornings on Mysie, so that she would not be afraid to go to work on the +pit-head; ay, and he was happy to take the windward side of her in the +storm, and shield her from the winter's blast, tying her little shawl +about her ears and making her believe he did not feel the cold at all. + +He was back again at his mother's knee, listening to her glorious voice +singing some pitiful old ballad, as she crooned him to sleep; or lying +trying to forget the hunger he felt as the glorious old tune seemed to +drown his senses while he waited to say his prayer at night. + + "Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me, + Bless Thy little lamb to-night, + In the darkness be Thou near me, + Keep me safe till morning light." + +Then there was the "good-night" to everyone and the fond kiss of the +best of all mothers, the sinking into sleep that billowed and rocked +the weary young spirit of him, crushed and bruised by the forces of the +world, and finally the sweet shy smile of a young girl blushing and +awkward, but flooding his soul with happiness and thrilling every fiber +of him with her magic as she stood upon the hill crest, outlined against +the sunset with a soft breeze blowing, kissing the gray hill side, +bringing perfumes from every corner of the moor and beckoning him as she +rose upward, he followed higher and higher, the picture taking shape and +becoming more real until it merged into spirit. + +And the creeping moss moved upward, hungry for its prey and greedy to +devour the fine young body so fresh and strong and lusty; but it was +balked, for it claimed only the empty shell. The prize had gone on the +wings of an everlasting happiness and the spirit of the moor, because +there is no forgetting, triumphed over the spirit of destruction, so +that in the records of the spirit he shall say: + + "I shall remember when the red sun glowing + Sinks in the west, a gorgeous flare of fire; + How then you looked with the soft breeze blowing + Cool through your hair, a heaving living pyre + Fired by the sun for the sweet day's ending; + I still shall hear the whirring harsh moor-hen, + Roused from her rest among the rushes bending + I shall remember then. + + "I shall remember every well-loved feature, + How, on the hill crest when the day was done, + Just how you looked, dear, God's most glorious creature, + Heaven's silhouette outlined against the sun; + I shall remember just how you the fairest, + Dearest and brightest thing that God e'er made, + Warmed all my soul with holy fire the rarest, + That vision shall not fade." + +But pain and tragedy forever seem to have no limit to their hunger; and +in the clear spring air above the place where the bodies of her boys +lay, Mrs. Sinclair's heart was again the food upon which the tragedy of +life fed. All the years of her existence were bound up in the production +of coal, and the spirits of her husband and of her sons call to-day to +the world of men--men who have wives, men who have mothers, men who have +sweethearts and sisters and daughters, stand firm together; and preserve +your women folk from these tragedies, if you would justify your manhood +in the world of men. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNDERWORLD*** + + +******* This file should be named 15503-8.txt or 15503-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/0/15503 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Welsh</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + hr.full { width: 100%; } + pre {font-size: 8pt;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Underworld, by James C. Welsh</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Underworld</p> +<p> The Story of Robert Sinclair, Miner</p> +<p>Author: James C. Welsh</p> +<p>Release Date: March 30, 2005 [eBook #15503]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNDERWORLD***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by David Garcia, Josephine Paolucci,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1><b>THE UNDERWORLD</b></h1> + +<h2>THE STORY OF</h2> + +<h2>ROBERT SINCLAIR, MINER</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>JAMES C. WELSH</h2> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h6>New York<br /> +Frederick A. Stokes Company<br /> +Publishers</h6> + +<h4>1920</h4> + +<p> </p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>I have tried to write of the life I know, the life I have +lived, and of the lives of the people whom, above all +others, I love, and of whom I am so proud.</p> + +<p>My people have been miners for generations, and I myself +became a miner at the age of twelve. I have worked since then +in the mine at every phase of coal getting until about five years +ago, when my fellow workers made me their checkweigher.</p> + +<p>I say this that those who read my book may know that the +things of which I write are the things of which I have firsthand +knowledge.</p> + +<p> +JAMES C. WELSH.<br /> +DOUGLAS WATER,<br /> +LANARK.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> + <a href="#PREFACE"><b>PREFACE</b></a><br /> + <a href="#THE_UNDERWORLD"><b>THE UNDERWORLD</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>I. THE THONG OF POVERTY </b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>II. A TURN OF THE SCREW</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>III. THE BLOCK</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>IV. A YOUNG REBEL</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>V. BLACK JOCK'S THREAT</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>VI. THE COMING OF A PROPHET</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>VII. ON THE PIT-HEAD</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>VIII. THE MANTLE OF MANHOOD</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>IX. THE ACCIDENT </b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>X. HEROES OF THE UNDERWORLD</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>XI. THE STRIKE</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>XII. THE RIVALS</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>XIII. THE RED HOSE RACE</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>XIV. THE AWAKENING </b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>XV. PETER MAKES A DECISION</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>XVI. A STIR IN LOWWOOD</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>XVII. MYSIE RUNS AWAY </b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>XVIII. MAG ROBERTSON'S FRENZY</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>XIX. BLACK JOCK'S END</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>XX. THE CONFERENCE</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b>XXI. THE MEETING WITH MYSIE</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b>XXII. MYSIE'S RETURN</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><b>XXIII. HOME</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><b>XXIV. A CALL FOR HELP</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><b>XXV. A FIGHT WITH DEATH</b></a><br /> + </p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_UNDERWORLD" id="THE_UNDERWORLD"></a>THE UNDERWORLD</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h2>THE THONG OF POVERTY</h2> + + +<p>"Is it not about time you came to your bed, lassie?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, I'll no' be very long now, Geordie. If I had this +heel turned, I'll soon finish the sock, and that will be a +pair the day. Is the pain in your back worse the nicht, that +you are so restless?" and the clicking of the needles ceased as +the woman asked the question.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm no' so bad at all," came the answer. "My back's +maybe a wee bit sore; but a body gets tired lying always in +the yin position. Forby, the day aye seems long when you +are out, and I dinna like to think of you out working all +day, and then sitting down to knit at nicht. It must be very +tiring for you, Nellie."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm no' that tired," she replied with a show of cheerfulness, +as she turned another wire in the sock, and set the +balls of wool dancing on the floor with the speed at which she +worked. "I've had a real good day to-day, and I'm feeling +that I could just sit for a lang while the nicht, if only the +paraffin oil wadna' go down so quick. But the longer I sit, +it burns the more, and it's getting gey dear to buy now-a-days."</p> + +<p>"Ay," said the weary voice of the man. "If it's no' clegs +it's midges. Folk have always something to contend against. +But don't be long till you stop. It's almost twelve o'clock, and +you ought to be in your bed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll no' be very long, Geordie," was the bravely cheerful +answer. "Just you try and gang to sleep and I'll soon +finish up. I'll have to try and get up early in the morning, +for I have to go to Mrs. Rundell and wash. She always gi'es +me twa shillings, and that's a good day's pay. The only thing +I grudge is being away all day, leaving you and the bairns, for +I ken they're no' very easy to put up with. They're steerin' +weans, and are no' easy on a body who is ill."</p> + +<p>"Ay, they're a steerin' lot, lassie," he answered tenderly. +"But, poor things, they must hae some freedom, Nellie. I +wish I was ready for my work."</p> + +<p>"Hoot, man," she said with the same show of cheerfulness. +"We might have been worse, and you will be better some day, +and able to work as well as ever you did."</p> + +<p>For a time there was silence, broken only by the loud ticking +of the clock, the clicking of the needles, and occasionally a +low moan from the bed, as the injured miner sank into a restless +sleep.</p> + +<p>There had been an accident some six weeks before, and +Geordie Sinclair, badly wounded by a fall of stone, had been +brought home from the pit in a cart.</p> + +<p>It was during the time known to old miners as the "two-and-sixpenny +winter," that being the sum of the daily wage +then earned by the miners. A financial crisis had come upon +the country and the Glasgow City Bank had failed, trade was +dull, and the whole industrial system was in chaos. It had +been a hard time for Geordie Sinclair's wife, for there were +four children to provide for besides her injured husband. +Work which was well paid for was not over plentiful, and she +had to toil from early morning till far into the night to earn +the bare necessities of life. There were times like to-night, +when she felt rebellious and bitter at her plight, but her tired +eyes and fingers had to get to the end of the task, for that +meant bread for the children in the morning.</p> + +<p>The silence deepened in the little kitchen. No sound came +now from the bed, and the lamp threw eerie shadows on the +walls, and the chimney smoked incessantly.</p> + +<p>Her eyes grew watery and smarted with the smoke. She +dropped stitches occasionally, as she hurried with her work, +which had to be lifted again when she discovered that the +pattern was wrong, and sometimes quite a considerable part +had to be "ripped out," so that she could correct the mistake.</p> + +<p>The dismal calling of a cat outside irritated her, and the +loud complacent ticking of the clock seemed to mock her +misery; but still she worked on, the busy fingers turning the +needles, as the wool unwound itself from the balls which +danced upon the floor. There was life in those balls of wool +as they spun to the tune of the woman's misery. They advanced +and retired, like dancers, touching hands when they +met, then whirling away in opposite directions again; they +side-stepped and wheeled in a mad riot of joyous color, just +as they were about to meet: they stood for a little facing each +other, feinting from side to side, then were off again, as the +music of her misery quickened, in an embracing whirl, as if +married in an ecstasy of colored flame, many-shaded, yet one; +then, at last, just as the tune seemed to have reached a crescendo +of spirit, she dashed her work upon the floor, as she +discovered another blunder, and burst into a fit of passionate +weeping.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a faint tap at the window, and she +raised her head, staying her breath to listen. Soon she heard +it again, just a faint but very deliberate tap, which convinced +her that someone was outside in the darkness. Softly she stole +on tiptoe across the room, so as not to disturb her sleeping +husband, and opening the door quietly, craned forward and +peered into the darkness to discover the cause of the tap.</p> + +<p>"It's just me," said a deep voice, in uneasy accents, from +the darkness by the window, and she saw then the form of a +man edging nearer the door.</p> + +<p>"And who are you?" she asked a little nervously, but trying +to master the alarm in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Do you not ken me?" replied the voice with an attempt +to speak as naturally as possible; yet there was something in +the tone that made her more uneasy.</p> + +<p>Then the figure of the man drew nearer, and he whispered +"Are they all sleeping?" alluding to the inmates of the house.</p> + +<p>"Ay," she answered, drawing back into the shelter of the +doorway. "Why do you ask? And what is it you want?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I just came along to see how you were all getting on," +was the reply. "I ken you must be in very straitened circumstances +by this time, and thought I might be able to help you +a bit," and there was an ingratiating tone in the words now +as he sidled nearer. "You must have a very hard battle just +now, and I would like to do something to help you."</p> + +<p>"Come away in," said the woman, with still an uneasy +tremor in her voice, yet feeling more assured. "Geordie is +sleeping, but he'll not be hard to waken up. Come away in, +and let us see who you are, and tell us what you really want."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm no' coming in," he whispered hoarsely. "Do you +no' ken me? Shut the door and not let any of them hear. I'm +wanting you!" and he stepped into the light and reached forward +his hand, as if to draw her to him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sinclair gasped and recoiled in horror, as she recognized +who it was that stood before her.</p> + +<p>"No," she cried decisively, stepping further back into the +shelter of the house, her voice low and intense with indignation. +"No, I have not come to that yet, thank God. Gang +home, you dirty brute, that you are! I'll be very ill off when +I ask anything, or take anything, from you, Jock Walker!" +For it was well known in Lowwood that Jock Walker's errands +to people in distress had always in them an ulterior +motive.</p> + +<p>He was the under manager at the pits, and his reputation +was of the blackest. There were men in the village of Lowwood +who were well aware of this man's relations with their +wives, and they openly agreed to the sale of the honor of +their women folk in return for what he gave them in the +shape of contracts, at which they could make more money than +their neighbors, or good "places," where the coal was easier +won. In fact, to be a contractor was a synonym for this sort +of dealing, for no one ever got a contract from Walker unless +his wife, or his daughter, was a woman of easy virtue, and at +the service of this man.</p> + +<p>"Very well," replied Walker with chagrined anger. "Please +yourself. But let me tell you that you'll maybe no' ay be so +high and mighty; you'll maybe be dam'd glad yet of the +chance that I have given you."</p> + +<p>"No, no," protested Mrs. Sinclair. "Go away—"</p> + +<p>"Look here, Nellie," he said, his voice changing to a low +pleading tone, "you're in a hole. You must be. Be a sensible +woman, and you'll never need to be so ill-grippet again. I +can put Geordie in a position that he'll make any amount of +money as soon as he is able to start. You are not a bit better +than anyone else, and for the sake of your bairns you should +be sensible. And forby," he went on, as if now more sure of +his ground, "what the hell's wrang in it? It's no' what folk +do that is wrong. It's in being found out. Now come away +and be sensible. You ken what is wanted, and you ken that +I can make you well off for it."</p> + +<p>"No, by heavens," she cried, now tingling with anger at +the insult. "Never! Get out of this, you brute! If Geordie +Sinclair had been able this nicht, I'd have got him to deal +with you. Get out of here, or I'll cleave your rotten body, +and let out your rotten heart." And she turned in, and closed +and bolted the door, leaving Walker fuming with anger at the +repulse of his advances. Nellie Sinclair had never felt so +outraged in all her life before. She was trembling with anger +at the insult of his proposals. She paced the floor in her +stockinged feet, as if a wild spirit were raging within her demanding +release; then finally she flung herself into the "big +chair," disgust and anger in her heart, and for the second time +that night burst into a passionate fit of weeping, which seemed +to shake her body almost asunder. For a long time she sat +thus, sobbing, her whole being burning with indignation, and +her mind in a fury of disgust and rebellion.</p> + +<p>Then there was a faint stirring in the bed where the children +slept, and a little boy's form began to crawl from amongst the +rough bedclothes, his eyes gazing in amazement at the bowed +figure of his mother. She was crying, he concluded, for her +shoulders were heaving and it must be something very bad +that made his beautiful mother cry like this. He crept across +the bare wooden floor, his bare sturdy legs showing beneath +the short and meager shirt, and was soon at her side.</p> + +<p>"What's wrang wi' you, mother?" he asked, as he put his +soft little hand upon her head. "What's wrang wi' you? Will +I kiss you held and make it better?" But his mother did not +look up—only the big sobs continued to shake her, and the +boy becoming alarmed at this, also began to cry, as he placed +his little head against hers. "Oh, mother, dinna greet," he +sobbed, "and I'll kiss your heid till it's better."</p> + +<p>At last she lifted her head, and seeing the naked boy, she +caught him in her arms and crushed him to her breast, as if +she would smother him. This was strange conduct for his +usually undemonstrative mother; but it was nice to be hugged +like that, even though she did cry.</p> + +<p>"What made you greet, mother?" he queried, for he had +never before, in all his four years, seen his mother cry. For +answer she merely caught him closer to her breast, her hair +falling soft and warm all over him as she did so.</p> + +<p>"Was you hungry, mither?" he tried again.</p> + +<p>"No' very," she answered, choking back her sobs.</p> + +<p>"Are you often hungry, too, mither?" he persisted, feeling +encouraged at getting an answer at last.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes," she replied. "But dinna bother me, Rob," +she continued. "Gang away to your bed like a man."</p> + +<p>He was silent for a time at this repulse, and lay upon her +knee puzzling over the matter.</p> + +<p>"Do you greet when you are hungry?" he enquired, with: +wide-eyed earnestness and surprise.</p> + +<p>"There noo," she answered, "don't ask so many questions, +Daddy'll not be long till he is better again, and when he is +at work there'll be plenty of pieces to keep us all from being +hungry."</p> + +<p>"And will there be jeely for the pieces?" pursued the boy, +for it seemed to him that there had never been a time when +there was plenty to eat.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we'll get plenty o' jeely too," she replied, drying the +remaining tears from her eyes, and hugging him again to her +breast.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my," he said, with a deep sigh. "I wish my father +was better!" and the little lips were moistened by his tongue, +as if in anticipation of the coming feast.</p> + +<p>Another silence; and then came the query—"What way do +we not get plenty o' pieces when my daddy's no' working? +Does folk no' get them then?"</p> + +<p>"No, Robin," she answered, "but dinna fash your wee noddle +with that. You'll find out all about it when you get big. +Shut your eyes and mother'll sing, an' you'll go to sleep." +And he snuggled in and shut his eyes, while Mrs. Sinclair gathered +him softly to her breast and began to croon an old +ballad.</p> + +<p>As she sang it seemed to the boy that there were no such +things as "jelly-pieces" to bother about. He liked his mother +to sing to him, for he seemed to get rolled up in her soft, +warm voice, and become restful and happy. Gradually the low +crooning song grew fainter in his ears, the flicker of the fire +danced further and further away, until long streaks of golden +thready light seemed to reach out, straight from his eyes to +the fireplace, and all the comfort that it was possible to have +flowed through his soul, and at last he slept. Mrs. Sinclair +placed him beside his brothers and sisters in the bed and went +back to finish her knitting. The night was far gone before +she accomplished her task, and she stood and surveyed her +humble home with weariness in her heart.</p> + +<p>Through the dim smoke which hung like a blue cloud along +the roof, and made more seemingly thick by the small lamp +upon the table, she looked at her husband lying asleep, and so +far free from pain. Then her eyes traveled to the children +in the other bed, and they filled with tears as she thought that +she had had to put them supperless to bed that night, and +again rebellion surged through her blood as she thought of +all the misery of her life. Was it worth living and going on in +this way? Was it worth while to continue? What had she +done to reap all this suffering?</p> + +<p>She was hungry and weak and exhausted. Perhaps if she +could sleep she would forget it, and in the morning the socks +she had finished would bring her a few pence, and that would +mean food.</p> + +<p>She decided to go to bed, and in passing by the shelf at +the window, her eye caught sight of a plateful of potato skins, +the remains of the meager dinner of boiled potatoes which the +children had had; and clutching them, she began greedily to +devour them, filling her mouth and cramming them in in handfuls, +until it seemed as if she would choke herself. Then, +licking the plate clean of every crumb, she undressed and +slipped quietly into bed, to lie and fret and toss, as she thought +of the insult which Black Jock had offered her, and pondered +over the unhappy lot of her children and their injured father.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h2>A TURN OF THE SCREW</h2> + + +<p>On the Friday following Jock Walker's visit to Mrs. +Sinclair, a notice was put up at the pit by Peter Pegg +and Andrew Marshall, to the effect that a collection +would be taken next day on behalf of Geordie Sinclair. The +notice was posted up before Andrew and Peter descended the +pit for the day.</p> + +<p>"Black Jock," as Walker was called by the miners, saw the +notice before it had been ten minutes posted, and deliberately +tore it down. He then visited Peter Pegg and Andrew Marshall +at the coal face.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you an' Andrew are goin' to gather for Geordie +Sinclair the morn?" he said, addressing Peter.</p> + +<p>"Ay," Peter answered, "we were thinkin' it was aboot time +somethin' was done. There's four bairns an' their two selves, +an' though times are no' very guid for ony of us now, it maun +be a lot worse for them. Geordie has been a guid while off."</p> + +<p>"Do ye think, Peter, they are in such need?" asked Walker, +with a hint in his voice that was meant to convey he knew +better.</p> + +<p>"Lord, they canna be aught else!" decisively returned Peter. +"How can they be? I ken for mysel'," he went on, "that if it +was me, I wad hae been in starvation lang syne."</p> + +<p>"Weel, wad ye believe me when I tell ye—an' it's a fact—they're +about the best-off family in this place, if ye only +kent it."</p> + +<p>"What!" cried Peter in surprise, "the best-off family in the +place! Lord, I canna take that in!"</p> + +<p>"Maybe no'," said Walker, "but I ken, an' ye're no' the +first that's been taken in by Nellie Sinclair. If ye notice, she +never tells any thin' to anybody; but she lets ye carry the +notion in your mind that she's in great straits. She's a cute +one, Nellie."</p> + +<p>"Weel, Nellie does keep hersel' to hersel'," admitted Peter. +"She's no' given to clashin' and claverin' about the doors like +some o' the rest o' the women; but I canna' for the life o' me +see where she can be onythin' but ill aff at this time."</p> + +<p>"Weel, I ken when folk are bein' imposed on," said Walker, +in a knowing tone, "an' I tore down your notice this mornin'. +I didna want to see you mak' a fool o' yersels. I ha'e been +considerin' for a while," he went on, speaking quickly, "about +puttin' a stop to this collectin' business at the office on pay +Saturdays, for it just encourages some men to lie off work +when there's no' very muckle wrong wi' them; after they get +the collection they soon start work again. Ye had better no' +stand the morn, for I might as well begin at once and put a +stop to it."</p> + +<p>Up till now Andrew Marshall had not spoken; he was a +silent man, given more to thought than speech, but this was a +way of doing things he did not like.</p> + +<p>"But ye might let us tak' the collection first, and then put +up a notice yersel sayin' that a' collections have to be stopped. +It wad be best to gi'e the men notice."</p> + +<p>"No," said Walker, "there's to be nae mair collections taken. +I might as well stop it this time as wait. So ye'll no' stand the +morn."</p> + +<p>"Will I no'?" returned Andrew challengingly. "How the +hell do ye ken whether I will or no'?"</p> + +<p>"I ken ye'll no'," replied Walker, with quiet menacing tones; +"the ground at the office belongs to the company, and is private. +So ye can do it if ye like, but ye'll be weel advised no' +to bother."</p> + +<p>"I don't gi'e a damn," cried Andrew explosively, "whether +the ground is private or no'. I'll take that 'gathering' for +Geordie Sinclair the morn, though ye ha'e a regiment o' +sodgers at the office."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Walker, as he departed, "if ye do, ye +can look out."</p> + +<p>Peter took his pipe out of his mouth and spat savagely on +the ground; he then replaced it with great deliberation and +looked gloomily at the stoop-side. He was a man about thirty-five, +tall, bony and angular; his neck was long and thin, and +his head seemed always on the point of turning to allow him +to look over his shoulder. His right eye was half closed, while +his left eye looked big and saucer-like, and never seemed to +wink; one eye was ready to laugh and the other to "greet," +as his comrades described it. He had been badly disfigured +in a burning accident in the pit when he was a young man, +and a broken nose added still more to the strangeness of his +appearance. Andrew, on the other hand, was stout and broadly +built, with a bushy whisker on each cheek, and a clump of +tufty hair on his head.</p> + +<p>"What do ye mak' o' that, Andrew?" enquired Peter, after +a few minutes, as he again spat savagely at the stoop-side.</p> + +<p>"What do I mak' o't?" echoed Andrew, as he glowered across +the little bing of dross at his mate, "it's just in keepin' wi' +the rest o' his dirty doin's, the dirty black brute that he is!"</p> + +<p>"I wonder what's wrong wi' him?" mused Peter as he +sucked quietly at his snoring pipe. But there was no answer +from Andrew, who was sitting silent and glum, gazing at his +little lamp.</p> + +<p>"What are ye goin' to do about it, then?" broke in Peter +again.</p> + +<p>"Just what I said," returned Andrew with quiet firmness. +"I'll take that collection the morn, some way or another, if I +should be damned for it. Does he mean to say that we can let +folk starve?" He lifted his pick and began to hew the coal +with an energy that told of the passion raging within him.</p> + +<p>"Does he mean to think I'm goin' to see decent folk starve +afore my e'en?" he asked after a while, pausing to wipe the +sweat from his eyes. "No' damned likely! Things ha'e come +to a fine pass when folk are compelled to look at other folk +starvin' an' no' gi'e them a crust."</p> + +<p>"Do ye think there's onything in what he said about them +bein' weel-aff?" asked Peter cautiously, while his big eye tried +to wink. "Nellie is a wee bit inclined to be prood an' independent, +ye ken, an' disna say muckle about her affairs. An +forby we don't ken very muckle about her; she's an incomer +to the place, and she might ha'e been weel-aff afore she +married Geordie, for aught we ken."</p> + +<p>"It disna matter," replied Andrew, "I dinna care though they had +thousan's. What I don't like is this +'ye'll-no'-do-this-an'-ye'll-no'-do-that' sort o' thing. What the hell +right has ony gaffer wi' what a man does? It's a' one to him what I do. +I'm nae slave, an' forby, I dinna believe they are weel-aff. They maun +be hard up."</p> + +<p>"But he'll maybe sack ye," suggested Peter, "if ye take +the collection."</p> + +<p>"Well, let him," cried Andrew, now thoroughly roused, "the +bastard! I would see the greyhounds o' hell huntin' him +roun' the rocks o' blazes afore I'd give in to him!"</p> + +<p>Nothing further was said of the matter until well on in +the day, when it suddenly occurred to Andrew that Peter, +who had a large family, might not care to incur the displeasure +of Walker by taking the collection the next day.</p> + +<p>"Of course, Peter," he said, after he had thought the matter +over, "if ye don't care to take the collection wi' me, I +won't press ye. I'll no' think ony worse o' ye if ye don't. Ye +ha'e a big family, while I ha'e only the wife to look after. +Sometimes I think it's lucky we ha'e nae weans; I can flit, and +ye might no' be able to rise an' run. But I mean to take the +collection onyway, for I don't like a man to order me what I +ha'e to do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wasna mindin' that, Andra," replied Peter, trying +to make Andrew believe that he had not guessed the truth. +"I'll take the collectin wi' ye, an' Black Jock can gang to hell +if he likes."</p> + +<p>"No, Peter, ye'll do naethin' o' the kind. I'll take it mysel'." +And Andrew would not move from that decision.</p> + +<p>Next day everybody was curiously expectant; it had got +noised abroad that Walker had defied Andrew Marshall to +take a collection at the office, and had threatened him with +arrest. There were wild rumors of other penalties, and when +pay-day came everybody was surprised to see Andrew draw his +pay and walk home. They concluded that Andrew had thought +better of it, and had been cowed into submission. When darkness +began to fall, however, Andrew sauntered out and visited +every home in the village, soliciting aid on behalf of Geordie +Sinclair. There were few houses from which he did not get a +donation, though the will to give was often greater than the +means. In each house Andrew had to give in detail the interview +between Black Jock and himself in the pit.</p> + +<p>"The muckle big, black, dirty brute that he is!" the good-wife +would cry in indignation. "It's a pity but he could ken +what starvation is himsel'. It might make him a bit mair +like a human bein'."</p> + +<p>"That's true," Andrew would agree.</p> + +<p>In one or two houses he met with a blank refusal, but in +these he was not disappointed, for he knew that the men +would not risk Walker's disapproval by contributing. Again, +some were wholly hostile. They were the "belly-crawlers," as +Geordie Sinclair had once dubbed them at a meeting, those who +"kept in" with the management by carrying tales, and generally +acting as traitors to the other men.</p> + +<p>"No, I'll no' gi'e ye onythin'," would be the reply; "he can +just be like me an' gang an' work for his bairns. Forby, +look at yon stuck-up baggage o' a wife o' his. She can +hardly pass the time o' day wi' ye—she thinks hersel' somethin'."</p> + +<p>"Very well," Andrew would reply, "maybe ye ha'e mair +need o't for other things." And he would pass on to the next +house.</p> + +<p>He had gathered between three and four pounds, contributed +sometimes even in pennies, and going to Geordie's house, he +knocked at the door. This was the most uncomfortable part +of his work, and he stood shifting from one foot to the other, +wondering what he would say when he entered. Mrs. Sinclair +was busy washing the floor and cleaning up, after having +been at work all day washing for someone in the village. She +wiped her hands and opened the door.</p> + +<p>"How are ye a' keepin' the night?" inquired Andrew, as he +stepped inside at Mrs. Sinclair's invitation, feeling more and +more uncomfortable. It was a hard enough matter to go and +ask others whom he knew had little to spare, but now, having +got the money, he did not know how he was going to hand +it over to Nellie. He ruminated for a time as to how he would +break into the subject. He knew that Nellie Sinclair must +have heard of the collection, and guessed his errand, for he +saw that she, too, was uneasy and agitated.</p> + +<p>"How are ye a' the night?" he again enquired, to break +the silence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm no' so bad at a', Andra," replied Geordie. "I'm +feelin' a wee bit easier the night. How's yersel'?"</p> + +<p>"No' so bad," answered Andrew, putting his hand in his +pocket for his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Dash it! I'm away without my pipe," he said with a show +of annoyance. "Can ye len' me yours, Geordie, to get a +smoke? I ha'e my tobacco and matches. Ye see," he went on, +speaking more rapidly, "I thought I would just slip round to +see how ye was keepin'."</p> + +<p>Andrew knew that Geordie would not have had a smoke +for a long time, and this was his way of leaving him with a +pipeful of tobacco.</p> + +<p>"I think my pipe's on the mantelshelf," returned Geordie, +"but I doot it's empty."</p> + +<p>Andrew took down the pipe, filled it generously, set it +alight, and sat for a few minutes trying vainly to keep up a +connected conversation. After he had puffed a few minutes +at Geordie's pipe he laid it down, dived his hand into his +trousers pocket as he made for the door. He pulled forth the +money, which was in a little bag, and laid it down on the +table, saying: "I'm no' guid at this kind of thing, Geordie. +There's something for ye from the men. Guid nicht!" and +he was off, leaving Nellie in tears and Geordie in glum silence.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sinclair's tears were tears of rebellion as well as of +gratitude. She was touched by Andrew's delicacy, but her independent +spirit was wounded at having to take help from +anyone. She thought of the children and of her husband, who +needed nourishment, and taking up the little bag she poured +its contents into her lap, while her hot tears fell upon the +money. Little Robert, who was sitting watching, and who had +never in all his life seen so much money, ran to his mother with +a cry of delight.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mammy, will I get sweeties noo?" and the boy danced +with glee, as he shouted, "I'll get jeely-pieces noo, hurray!"</p> + +<p>That night there was happiness in Geordie Sinclair's house, +for there was food in plenty, and it seemed as if the children +would never be able to appease their hunger.</p> + +<p>The "jeely-pieces," or slices of bread with jam on them, +disappeared with amazing rapidity, and Geordie had some +beef-tea, which seemed to improve him almost as soon as he +had taken it. For the first time for many months Mrs. Sinclair +and the children went to bed with satisfied appetites; +and the children's dreams were as the incidents in the life of +a god, exalted and happy, and their mother's rest was unbroken +and full of comfort.</p> + +<p>But on Monday morning Andrew Marshall had to pay the +price of the happiness he had been instrumental in giving +them, for he was informed by one of Walker's henchmen that +his place was stopped. The excuse given was that it was too +far in advance of the others. Andrew knew what that meant, +and as he went home, fierce rebellious feelings stirred within +him. Peter Pegg, he was glad to know, had got started on +"oncost" work, and Andrew felt he had done right in not allowing +Peter to take the collection with him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h2>THE BLOCK</h2> + + +<p>"I see Andra Marshall's back again," observed Sanny Robertson +to Peter Pegg one evening three months later.</p> + +<p>"Ay," said Peter, "he was at Glampy, but his place +was stopped, an' there wasna anither for him."</p> + +<p>"Got the sack again, I suppose," said Sanny. "Weel, he +maun learn, Peter, that gaffers are no' gaun to put up wi' his +nonsense. If a man will no' do what he's telt, he maun just +take the consequences."</p> + +<p>"Ay," said Peter, very dryly, and as Peter knew his man, +no more was said.</p> + +<p>Later the same night Matthew Maitland observed to Peter, +as they sat on their "hunkers" at the corner:</p> + +<p>"Andra's back again, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Ay," was the answer, "he was telt his place was stopped."</p> + +<p>"Imphm," said Matthew, "it's a damn fine excuse. It's a +pity but somethin' could be done."</p> + +<p>"It's the Block," said Peter. "I'm telt that a' the managers +roun' aboot ha'e an understandin' with one another no' to gi'e +work to onybody they take a dislike to."</p> + +<p>"Ay," agreed Matthew, "I ha'e heard aboot it, but I would +soon put a stop to it."</p> + +<p>"Ay, Matthew, it's a union we need up here badly. I'm +telt that that chap Smillie has managed to start one down in +the West Country, an' it's daein' weel. He's got some o' their +wages up a hale shillin' a day since he took it in hand."</p> + +<p>"Is that a fact, Peter? The sooner we ha'e him up here the +better then. Black Jock needs a chap back onyway," and +Matthew looked like a man who had suddenly discovered a +great truth.</p> + +<p>Andrew Marshall had never been allowed to forget his action +in defying Walker; everywhere he went it was the same story—no +work for him. The "Block" system among the managers +was in good working order, and could easily starve a man into +docility. Andrew became more desperate as time passed, +and he knew that he and his wife were nearing the end of their +small savings. He returned home one evening from his usual +fruitless search for employment, and threw himself into the +arm-chair by the fireside.</p> + +<p>"No work yet, Andra?" asked Katie.</p> + +<p>"Nane," was the gloomy response.</p> + +<p>"We have no' very mony shillin's left noo, Andra. I dinna +ken what we'll do."</p> + +<p>Savage, revengeful feelings surged through Andrew, and +found vent in a volley of oaths which terrified his wife.</p> + +<p>"Dinna talk like that, Andra," she pleaded. "It's no' canny, +an' forby, the Lord disna like ye to do it."</p> + +<p>"If the Lord cared He could take Black Jock by the scruff +o' the neck an' fling him into hell oot o' the road. It's Black +Jock that's at the bottom o' this, an' I could twist his dirty +neck for him."</p> + +<p>"Weel, Andra, it's the Lord's doin', an' maybe things'll +soon men'."</p> + +<p>"If it's the Lord's doin', I dinna think muckle o' His conduct +then," and Andrew lapsed into sullen silence.</p> + +<p>On Monday morning he was up at five o'clock, desperately +resolved to lay his case before the men. He walked to the end +of the village, knowing the colliery would be idle, for Tam +Donaldson was to be "creeled." This was a custom at one time +very prevalent in mining villages. When a young man got +married, the first day he appeared at his work afterwards he +was taken home by his comrades, and was expected to stand +them a drink. It generally ended in a collection being made, +after they had tasted the newly-married man's whiskey, and +a common fund thus being established, a large quantity of beer +and whiskey was procured, and all drank to their heart's content.</p> + +<p>Andrew heard the men calling to each other as they made +their way to the pit, the lights from their lamps twinkling +in the darkness of the winter morning.</p> + +<p>"Is Tam away yet, Jamie?" he heard wee Allan ask, as he +overtook old Jamie Lauder on his way to the pit.</p> + +<p>"Ay, I saw to that," replied Lauder, "I chappit him up +at five o'clock, so that he wadna sleep in. I hinna missed a +creelin' for thirty-five years, an' I wasna' gaun to miss Tam +Donaldson's. I heard him goin' oot two or three minutes +afore me. We're in for a guid day, for he telt me he had in +two bottles for the spree."</p> + +<p>"That's a' right, then; I was afraid he wad maybe sleep +in," and the two trudged on together towards the pit.</p> + +<p>A group of dark figures stood on the pithead, waiting their +turn to go below. The cage rattled up from the depths of +the shaft, the men stepped in, and almost immediately disappeared +down into the blackness. Arrived at the bottom, they +walked along towards the different passages, chaffing and jesting +with Tam Donaldson, the newly-married one.</p> + +<p>"Ye'll be gaun to do something decent the day, Tam, when +we take ye hame?" said Jamie Allan. "I hear ye ha'e two +bottles ready for the occasion."</p> + +<p>"Ay, but I'm damned shair there's no a lick gaun unless +ye take me hame," answered Donaldson. "If I ha'e to be +creeled, I'll be creeled right, an' every one o' ye'll gang hame +wi' me afore ye get a taste."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but we'll see to that, chaps," said old Lauder. "Here's +a hutch, get him in an' aff wi' him."</p> + +<p>The victim pretended to resist, and stoutly maintained that +they should not creel him. He was seized by half a dozen pairs +of arms, and with much expenditure of energy and breath, deposited +in the hutch. Some considerate person had put some +straw and old bags in the "carriage" to make it more comfortable, +and a few of the wags had chalked inscriptions, the +reverse of complimentary, all over it.</p> + +<p>"There, noo', boys," said old Lauder, who had been busy +hanging lighted pit lamps round Tam's cap, "gi'e him a guid +run to the bottom, and see that he gets a guid bump in the +lye."</p> + +<p>The men ran the hutch to the "bottom" straight against +the full tubs ready to be sent to the surface.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Sourocks, let us up," called Allan to the old +man who acted as "bottomer."</p> + +<p>"Hell to the up will ye get!" replied the old fellow, "I'm +gaun to put on these hutches first."</p> + +<p>"No, ye'll no', an' if ye do, you'll gang into the 'sump,' an' +we'll chap the bell oorsels"—the sump being the lodgment into +which the water gathered before pumping operations could +start.</p> + +<p>"Sourocks" thought discretion the better part of valor in +this case, and swearing quietly to himself, he signaled to the +engineman at the top to draw them up.</p> + +<p>"He's no gaun to walk hame," said Allan, as they all gathered +again on the pit head. "We'll take the hutch hame wi' +Tam in it. Put a rope on it, and we'll draw the damned thing +through the moor, an' maybe Tam'll mind the day he was +creeled as lang as he lives."</p> + +<p>This proposal was jumped at, especially by the younger +men, to whom an idle day did not mean so much worry on +pay-day as to their married elders.</p> + +<p>Andrew Marshall had waited at the end of the village, knowing +that the creeling was to take place, and that he would get +the men on their way from the pit. Presently old Lauder, +who had taken a short cut across the moor, came up, and Andrew +accosted him.</p> + +<p>"Will ye wait here, Jamie, so that I can try an' get a meetin' +held wi' the rest o' the men when they come alang?"</p> + +<p>"I will that, Andra," replied Jamie, taking the lighted lamp +from his head, and sitting down at the corner on his "hunkers." +"They're a' comin' hame anyway, for we're creelin' +Tam Donaldson."</p> + +<p>Soon the procession appeared, the hutch jolting along the +rough street, the men shouting and singing as they came. +The village had turned out to see the fun. Andrew and +Jamie found themselves in the midst of a crowd of women +and children, as the foremost of the men came to a halt at +the corner.</p> + +<p>Andrew quietly stepped out and addressed the men, asking +them if they would wait a few minutes—as they were idle in +any case—to have a meeting. All were agreed.</p> + +<p>"Here's Sanny Robertson," said Tam Tate, peering into the +breaking light, "he'll no' likely wait, but we'll see what he +says aboot it," and all waited in silence until Robertson approached. +He seemed to guess what was in the air, and hurriedly +tried to pass on, but Andrew stepped out with the usual +question.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied uneasily, "I'll ha'e no part in ony mair +strife. Folk just get into bother for nothing. Men'll ha'e +to keep mind that gaffers now-a-days'll no' put up wi' disobedience."</p> + +<p>"Ay, but ye maun mind," said Tam Tate hastily, "that men +maun be treated as human bein's, even by a gaffer."</p> + +<p>"I can aye get on with the gaffer," replied Robertson, "an' +I dinna see what way ither folk canna do the same."</p> + +<p>"That's a' richt," put in old Jamie Lauder, "but a' men +are no' just prepared to do as ye do," and there was a hint +of something in his voice which the others seemed to understand.</p> + +<p>"I ha'e no quarrel," sulkily replied Robertson, "an' I dinna +see what way I should get into this one. I can get plenty o' +work, an' ither folk can get it too, if they like to behave themselves."</p> + +<p>"Ye're a liar," roared Tam Tate angrily, his usual hasty +temper getting the mastery. "It's no' you that gets the work, +it's Mag!"</p> + +<p>The others laughed uproariously, for it was common knowledge +that Sanny got his good jobs because of Walker's intimacy +with his wife.</p> + +<p>"Ye leave the best man in the house every mornin' when +ye gang oot!" roared another amid coarse laughter, whilst +Andrew turned to tackle the next comer.</p> + +<p>A few refused to wait, but it was generally known that +these were the men whose houses were always open to Walker +by day or night. When they were all gathered, Andrew Marshall +stood up, and for the first time in his life spoke at a +meeting.</p> + +<p>"Weel, men," he began, "ye a' ken the position o' things. +Ye ken as weel as me that I got the sack for gatherin' for +Geordie Sinclair. Weel, I ha'e been oot o' work three months; +the Block is on against me, an' it seems I ha'e to starve. I +canna get work onywhere, an' I stopped ye a' the day to ask +ye to make my quarrel yours, an' try and put an end to this +business."</p> + +<p>That was the whole speech, but its simple sincerity appealed +to all, and many expressed approval and determination +to stand by Andrew in his fight.</p> + +<p>"I think it's a damn'd shame," said old Lauder.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell ye what it is," said Matthew Maitland, "it's a +downricht barefaced murder, an' I would smash this damn'd +cantrip o' Black Jock's. I ken that he'll get a' that is said +at this meetin', an' maybe I'll get the same dose; but I think +it's aboot time somethin' was done to put an end to his capers," +and so Matthew floundered on.</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' let us see what can be done for Geordie, too," +put in Peter Pegg, and his long neck seemed to get longer at +every syllable, while his big eye made a great attempt to +wink and to look backward, as if he expected to see someone +coming from behind. "We a' ken," continued Peter, "that +Geordie is ready for work noo', this fower week syne, but +Black Jock says he has no places, an' forby two strangers got +jobs just yesterday."</p> + +<p>"I ken for yae thing that there's fower places staunin' in +Millar's Level," said Jamie Lauder, "an' I'm telt there's five +or six staunin' in the Black Horse Dook. It's a' a bit of humbug, +an' I think we should try an' put an end to it."</p> + +<p>"Weel, I think we're a' agreed on that," said Tam Tate. +"Has ony o' you onything to suggest?"</p> + +<p>For a few minutes there was silence, while they sat or stood +deep in thought, trying to find a solution. It was an eerie +gathering, with the gray dawn just beginning to break, while +on every head the indispensable lamp burned and flickered. +Men expectorated savagely upon the ground, staring hard at +the stones at their feet, thinking and wondering how they +might serve their comrades.</p> + +<p>"It's about time we had a union," said one.</p> + +<p>"Ay," replied another, "so that some bigmouthed idiot can +pocket the money an' get a guid saft job oot o' it."</p> + +<p>"We've had plenty of unions," put in another. "The last +yin we started here—ye mind Bob Ritchie gaed aff to America +wi' a' the money. It was a fine go for him!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, ay, but let us see what can be done wi' this case," +said Jamie Lauder. "Hoo' wad it do if we appointed a deputation +to gang an' lay the hale thing afore Mr. Rundell?"</p> + +<p>Jamie was always listened to with the respect due to his +proved good sense, for everyone knew that he was a man +who would not intentionally hurt a fellow creature by word +or deed.</p> + +<p>"I believe it wad be a guid plan," agreed Tam Tate. "He +maybe disna ken the hauf that gangs on. What do ye a' +think o' it, men?"</p> + +<p>This was before the days of limited companies and coal syndicates, +and the proprietor of the pits in Lowwood, Mr. Rundell, +lived about two miles out of the village. He was not a +bad man, as men go; he was fiery and quick-tempered, but +had a not ungenerous nature withal, and was usually susceptible +to a reasoned statement. Just as they were about to +decide on a course of action, Andrew spoke: "I dinna want +ony mair o' ye than can be helped to get into bother, so, if +ye like, Jamie Lauder—if he's agreeable—could gang wi' +me and Geordie Sinclair, and we'll put the hale case afore him +an' see what he mak's o't."</p> + +<p>This was received with approval, and it was agreed that +Andrew, Jamie and Geordie should form the deputation.</p> + +<p>But Black Jock soon heard of the decision, and, as usual, +acted with alacrity; for, had the men only known it, they had +decided on a course which he did not want them to adopt. +He visited Jamie Lauder, and told him that the day before +Rundell and he had agreed that the places in the Black Horse +Dook should be started at once, and that he was angry at the +course taken by the men. He believed that Mr. Rundell would +also be very angry, and if only Andrew and Geordie had come +to him the night before, they could have been working that +day. He represented Rundell as being in an explosive mood, +and that he was furious at the men taking the idle day, and +that he had threatened that if they were not at work next +day, he would lock them out. So plausibly did he speak, and +so sincere did his concern appear, that Jamie, who was withal +a simple man, and aware that the circumstances of his comrades +would not admit of a very long fight, began to think it +might be as Black Jock had said.</p> + +<p>"I think ye'd better ca' a meetin' o' the men, Jamie, and put +the hale case afore them. Let them ken that Rundell decided +just yesterday to start the places, and that Andra and +Geordie can start the morn. I ha'e no ill wull at ony o' the +twa o' them, and I'm vexed that things ha'e been as bad as +they've been, but I couldna get the boss to start the places, and +what could I do? They can a' be back at their work the morn +if they like to look at it reasonably. Of course, ye can please +yersel'," he went on, "it's a' yin to me; but if Rundell tak's +it into his head to ha'e a fight, well—ye ken what it means, +an' I wouldna like to ha'e ony strife the noo', for times are +very hard for us a'."</p> + +<p>Simple and honest as Jamie was, Black Jock's plausibility +appealed to him, and he began to think that Walker perhaps +was not so bad as he was made to appear. Again, Jamie +knew that Rundell was a man of hasty temper and impulsive +judgments, and could not brook trouble, and he began to think +that perhaps it might be better to hold the meeting as suggested +and tell the men what he had heard, and appeal to them +to go back to work.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said to Walker, "I'll call a meeting to-night +and put the case as you have said, and ask them to go back. +But mind, you've not to go back on your promise. You'll +have to start Andrew and Geordie within twa days, or the +men will no' continue to work. Mind, I'm taking a lot on myself +to do this, and you'll have to carry out your part and +start them."</p> + +<p>"I'll fill my part, never fear," was the answer, and there +was relief in Walker's voice. "See, there's my hand," he +said, extending a big black limb as he spoke, first spitting on +his palm to ensure due solemnity. "There's no dryness about +that, Jamie. I mean it. I'll start Geordie and Andrew all +right. You get the men to go back to work to-morrow, for +I'm afraid Rundell will make trouble if you remain idle +anither day. Noo' I promise." And Jamie took the extended +hand in token of the bargain and returned to summon the +meeting, which was duly held, and, as Walker had anticipated, +the men were appeased, and returned to work the next +day.</p> + +<p>Sure enough, within two days Andrew Marshall and Geordie +Sinclair were both started to work, and matters went smoothly +for a time.</p> + +<p>But though they had had a lesson, it did not stop their +activities as agitators for the establishment of a union, for +they knew that there was no protection for any of them if +they remained unorganized.</p> + +<p>"Men never were meant to work and live as colliers do," +said Geordie, thoughtfully. "Life should be good, and free, +and happy, with comfort and enjoyment for all. Look at the +birds—they are happy! So are the flowers, or they wouldn't +look so pleased. God meant a' men and weemin to be glad, +even though they have to work. But hoo' the hell can folk be +happy and worship God on two and sixpence a day? It's all +wrong, Andrew, an' I'll never believe that men were meant +to live as we live."</p> + +<p>"That's true, Geordie," agreed Andrew soberly. "I only +wish we could get everybody to see it as we see it. There's +plenty for a' God's creatures—enough to make everybody happy, +an' there need be no ill-will in the world, if only common-sense +was applied to things; but I'm damn'd if I can see +where even the men can be happy who are making their money +oot o' our lives. They're bound to ken surely that what comes +from misery can not make happiness for them."</p> + +<p>"True, Andrew, true, and we maun just go on working for +it. Sometimes I have the feeling that we are on the point +of big changes: just as if the folk would awaken up oot o' +their ignorance, with love in their hearts, an' make all things +right for everybody. A world o' happiness for everybody is +worth workin' for. So we maun gang on."</p> + +<p>And so they talked of their dreams and felt the better for it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h2>A YOUNG REBEL</h2> + + +<p>About two years after these events little Robert Sinclair +went to school. It was a fine morning in late +spring, and Robert trudged the seemingly long road, +clasping an elder brother's hand, for the school lay about a +mile to the north-west of the village, and that seemed to the +boy a very long way.</p> + +<p>It was a great experience. Robert's clothes had been well +patched, his face had been washed and toweled till it shone, +his eyes sparkled with excitement, and his heart beat high; +yet he was nervous and awed, wondering what he would find +there.</p> + +<p>"By crikey," said wee Alec Johnstone to him, "wait till +auld Clapper gie's ye a biff or twa wi' his muckle tawse. Do +ye ken what he does to mak' them nippy? He burns them a +wee bit in the fire, an' then st'eeps them in whusky. An' +they're awful sair."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I ken what to do, Rab, if ye want to diddle him," +put in another boy. "Just get a horse's hair—a lang yin oot +o' its tail—and put it across yer haun', an' it'll cut his tawse +in twa, whenever he gie's ye a pammy."</p> + +<p>"That's what I'm gaun to do, Jamie," replied another. "I'll +get some hairs frae Willie Rogerson. He's gettin' me some +frae his father's when he's in the stable the morn, an' ye'll see +auld Cabbage-heid's tawse gaun in twa, whenever he gie's me +yin." And they all looked admiringly at this little hero who +was going to do this wonderful thing so simply.</p> + +<p>"I got four yesterday," said another, "an' I wasna' doin' +onything. By criffens! it was sair, an' gin I had only had a +horse's hair, I'd soon ha'e putten his tawse oot the road."</p> + +<p>"I got four yesterday too," said another, "an' a' because +I was looking at yon new laddie wha cam to the schule yesterday. +By! they were sair. I never heard auld Cabbage-heid +till he cam up an' telt me to put oot my haun."</p> + +<p>"It's Peter Rundell's his name," chimed in another. "He's +the Boss's laddie. My! if you just saw what fine claes he +has on. A new suit, an' lang stockings, an' a pair o' fine new +buits."</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' a white collar too," said another, "an' hundreds +o' pooches in his jacket."</p> + +<p>"He has a waistcoat wi' three pooches in it—yin for a +watch—an' a braw, black, shiny bonnet."</p> + +<p>"He had a white hankey too, an' sweeties in yin o' his +pooches."</p> + +<p>Robert felt a certain amount of resentment as he listened +to the description, and he grudged Peter Rundell his new suit +for he himself had never known anything of that kind, but +had always worn "make-downs" created by his mother's +clever fingers out of the discarded clothes of grown-ups.</p> + +<p>"Auld Cabbage-heid didna' like me looking at Peter Rundell +an' that's the way he gied me four, but I'll get a horse's +hair too, an' his tawse 'll soon get wheegh. He's awful cruel, +Rab," he said, turning to Robert, "an' ye'd better look oot."</p> + +<p>Each and all had some fearful story to tell of the cruelty +of the headmaster, and all swore they'd get even with him. +These stories filled Robert with a certain fear, for he was +an imaginative and sensitive boy. Still he knew there was +no escape. He must go to school and go through with it whatever +the future might hold for him.</p> + +<p>So far he had grown wild and free, and loved the broad wide +moor which began even at the end of the row where he lived. +It seemed to him that there never had been a time when he +did not know that there was a moor there. Nothing in it surprised +him, even as a child. Its varied moods were already understood +by him, and its silences and its many voices appealed +to and were balm to his soul. The great blue hills +which fringed it away in the far distance were for him the +ends of the world, and if he could go there some day, he would +surely look over and find—what? The thought staggered him, +and his imagination would not, or could not, construct for him +what was at the other side. All day, often, he had lain stretched +full length upon the moor, watching the great white clouds +sailing past, seeing himself sometimes sitting astride them, +proudly surveying, like God, the whole world. At times it +was so real that he bounded to his feet when by some misadventure +he slipped from the back of the cloud. He listened +to the songs of larks, the cries of curlews and lapwings and all +the other moorland birds, and became as familiar with each of +them as they were with one another.</p> + +<p>But this going to school was a break in his freedom, and it +stirred him strangely. He felt already that he would rather +not go to school. He had always been happy before, and he +did not know what lay ahead.</p> + +<p>In the schoolroom that morning, Robert was called out by +the headmistress to her desk, and while she was jotting down +in her register particulars as to his age, etc., it happened that +Peter Rundell was also on the floor. Robert looked so wonderingly +at the white collar and the shining boots, that Rundell, +to fill in the blanks and keep himself cheerful, promptly put +out his tongue. Robert, not to be behind in respectfulness, +just as promptly put out his, at the same time making a +grimace, and immediately they were at it, pummeling each +other in hearty glee before the teacher could do anything to +prevent them. It was their first fight. The whole class was in +immediate uproar and cries of—"Go on, Rob!" and "Good +Peter!" were ringing out, as the supporters on either side +shouted encouragement. Both went at it and for a couple of +minutes defied the efforts of the teacher to separate them; but +in response to calls for help, Mr. Clapper, the headmaster, +came in, and taking hold of Robert soon had him across his +knee, and was giving him a taste of the "tawse" he had heard +so much about that morning, and Robert went back to his seat +very sore, both physically and mentally, and crying in pain +and anger. Thus his first day began at school, and the succeeding +months were full of many such incidents.</p> + +<p>Life ran along in the ordinary ruts for three or four years, +but always Peter and Robert were antagonists. If Rundell +happened to get to the top of the class, Robert never rested +till he had excelled and displaced him; and then it was Peter's +turn to do likewise till he too succeeded.</p> + +<p>Robert, when in the mood, was eager and brilliant, and +nothing seemed able to stay him. At times, however, he was +given to dreaming, and lived through whole days in the classroom +quite unconscious of what was going on around him. +He worked mechanically, living in a strange world of his own +creation, usually waking up to find himself at the foot of the +class with Peter smiling at the top.</p> + +<p>Often he went hungry, for times were still hard, and the +family had increased to six. It was a bitter struggle in which +Mrs. Sinclair was engaged to try and feed—let alone clothe—her +hungry children. Patient, plodding, and terrible self-sacrifices +alone enabled her to accomplish what she did. It +was always a question of getting sufficient food rather than +aiming at any particular kind. It was quantity rather than +quality that was her biggest problem, for the children had +sharp appetites and could make a feast of the simplest material. +A pot of potatoes, boiled with their "jackets" on, tumbled +on to the center of the bare, uncovered table and a little +salt placed in small heaps at the exact position where each +person sat, a large bowl of butter-milk when it could be got, +with a tablespoon for each with which to lift a spoonful of the +milk, and thus was set the banquet of the miner's family.</p> + +<p>"Mither, Rob's taken twa sups of milk to yae bite o' tattie," +little Mary would say.</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' what did you do?" Robert would reply. "When +you thought naebody was lookin', you took three spoonfu' to +yae wee tattie. I was watchin' you."</p> + +<p>"Now that'll do," the mother would admonish them. "Try +and make it gang as far as ye can. Here you!" she would +raise her voice to another, "dinna be so greedy on it. The rest +maun get some too." At this the guilty child would frown +and look ashamed at being caught taking more than his +share.</p> + +<p>Robert's dreams, however, were always satisfying, and even +the sordid surroundings of the home were gilded by the warmth +and glow of his imagination. Some day, somewhere he seemed +to feel, there was a place for him to fill in the hearts of men. +Vague stirrings told him of great future events which no one +could dominate, save the soul that filled his body.</p> + +<p>One day, during the dinner hour, when the school children +were all at play, Robert and Peter again came into conflict. +Some girls were playing at a ring game, and Robert and a few +other boys were shamefacedly looking on. He was by this +time at the bashful age of ten, and already the sweet, shy +face of Mysie Maitland had become familiar in every dream. +Mysie's modesty and grace appealed to him and the strange +magnetic power of soul for soul was continually drawing them +together, even at this early age. No voice was like Mysie's +voice, no name like her name to him. If only she chanced +shyly to ask if he had a spare piece of pencil Robert was +happy; he'd gladly give her his only piece and forthwith proceed +to borrow another for himself. He saw that Mysie did +certain things, used, for instance, to clean her slate with a bit +of rag, and he instantly procured one, and this kept his jacket +sleeve clean and whole.</p> + +<p> +"Choose, choose wha' ye'll tak',<br /> +Wha' ye'll tak', wha' ye'll tak',<br /> +Choose, choose wha' ye'll tak',<br /> +A laddie or a lassie."<br /> +</p> + +<p>So sang the girls, as with hands joined they walked round +in a ring, with Mysie, blushing and sweet, standing in the +center—a sweet, shy, little rosebud—a joy in a cheap cotton +frock.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Mysie," urged the girls, who had now come to a +standstill with the finish of the song. "Choose an' dinna keep +us waiting." But Mysie stood still, her little heart beating +at a terrible rate, her breath coming in short, quick gasps, and +a soft, glowing light of nervous intensity in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come on, Mysie Maitland," cried one girl in hurt +tones, "choose an' dinna spoil the game."</p> + +<p>"Come on," urged another, "the whistle will be blawn the +noo."</p> + +<p>"She's feart," said one, "an' she disna need, for we a' ken +that she wants to choose Bob Sinclair."</p> + +<p>Something sang uproariously in Bob's ears at this blunt +way of stating what they all felt; a hot wave surged +over him, and his whole being seemed to fill with the +energy of a giant. He shifted uneasily, his senses all acutely +alert to pick up even Mysie's faint gasp of shame, as the hot +blood suffused her face. Would she choose him before all +these others? He hoped she wouldn't, and he tried to summon +a smile to hide his uneasiness. Still Mysie hesitated. She +wanted to choose Robert, but if she did, perhaps the other +boys and girls would tease them afterwards.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come on, Mysie. It's no' fair," cried one of the girls, +getting more and more impatient. "Choose an' be done wi' it. +It's only a game."</p> + +<p>Thus urged Mysie stepped forward, and, excited out of all +judgment, her face covered with shame, her heart thumping +and galloping, she grabbed the first hand she saw, which happened +to be Peter Rundell's, and something seemed to darken +the day for all. Robert, now that he had not been chosen, +felt murder in his heart. His body felt charged with energy, +a flood of passion poured over him and he lost all discretion. +He saw only Peter's shining collar, his fine boots and good +clothes, and above all the smile, half of shame, half of triumph, +upon his face. In passing Peter staggered against +Robert, who let drive with his fist, and there was a fight +before anyone really knew what had happened.</p> + +<p>"What are ye shovin' at? Can ye no' watch folk's toes?" +And he was on Peter like a whirlwind. There was the hatred +of years between them, and they pummeled each other +heartily.</p> + +<p>"A fight, boys!" yelled the others. "Here's a fight!" and +a crowd rapidly gathered to watch operations, while little +Mysie, who had been the cause of it all, shrank back into a +quiet corner, the tears running from her eyes and a sore pain +at her heart.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Bob! Gi'e him a jelly yin," cried Bob's supporters.</p> + +<p>"Watch for his nose, Peter," cried those who pinned their +faith to the coal-owner's son. Amid a chorus of such encouragement, +both boys belabored each other and fought like +barbarians.</p> + +<p>"Let up, Peter," cried Bob's admirers, "an' gi'e him fair +doo," as the two rolled upon the ground, with Peter, who was +much the bigger boy, on top. "Come on now, he let you up +when you was doon," and so they kept the balance of fair +play. But the fight raged on in a terrible fury of battle, sometimes +one boy on top, sometimes the other. Bob was the +more active of the two, and hardier, and what he lacked in +weight he made up in speed. One of Peter's eyes was bruised, +while Robert's lip was swelling, and each strained to plant the +decisive blow that would end the fight.</p> + +<p>"Nae kickin', Peter! Ye're bate," yelled one watchful supporter +of Bob, as he noticed the former's booted foot come +into violent contact with Bobbie's bare leg.</p> + +<p>"Big cowardie!" cried another, as Peter, crying now with +rage and vexation, hit out with his foot. "Fight fair an' nae +kickin'!"</p> + +<p>Bob managed to dodge the kick, and flinging himself in before +Peter recovered his balance, planted a heavy blow upon +his opponent's nose.</p> + +<p>"Ho! a jelly yin! a jelly yin!" roared the crowd in admiration. +"Gi'e him anither yin," and even Peter's supporters +began to desert him. Bob, thus encouraged, laid about him +with all the strengthened "morale" of a conscious victor, finding +it comparatively easy now to hit hard—and often. Peter, +blinded by tears and choking with passion, could not see, but +struck aimlessly, till one resounding smack upon his already +injured nose brought the eagerly looked for crimson blood +from it, and that of course, in schoolboy etiquette, meant the +end of the fight. Peter was now lying upon the ground, his +handkerchief at his nose, and roaring like a bull, not so much +because of his injured nose, as because of the hurt to his pride +and vanity.</p> + +<p>"Haud back yer held," advised one boy, "an' put something +cauld doon yer back."</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was silence, and everyone looked awed and +shamefaced as Mr. Clapper, the headmaster, strode into the +midst of them. He had heard the noise of the fight, and had +stolen up unobserved just in time to see Peter get the knockout +blow.</p> + +<p>"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded sternly, his +eyes traveling all over the children, till they rested finally on +Robert. No one answered, and so he proceeded to question +Peter, who had struggled to his feet. Peter, like many other +boys in similar circumstances, poured forth a great indictment +of his adversary, and Mr. Clapper then turned to Robert.</p> + +<p>"What have you to say, Sinclair?" he asked. "Speak out, +and give me your side."</p> + +<p>But Robert said nothing. His rebellious spirit was roused, +and he resented the tone of the headmaster's voice. Again +Mr. Clapper tried, but Robert remained silent.</p> + +<p>"Come now, tell me what led to the fight? Why were you +fighting with Peter?"</p> + +<p>Robert would not speak, and Mr. Clapper, being of an explosive +temperament, with little tact, was fast losing his temper. +He turned to question some of the other boys, finally +calling them all into the school, and putting Robert into the +teacher's room, so that he might "get to the bottom of it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Clapper, whatever good points he may have possessed, +was not at all fitted for the teaching profession, for he lacked +the sympathy necessary in dealing with children, and he was +a rigid believer in the doctrine of punishment.</p> + +<p>After a time he came into the room where Robert sat, and +began once more to question him. But Robert was still obdurate, +and stolidly kept silent. Mr. Clapper recognized at +once that this was a clear case of a dour nature in the wrong. +It needed correction, and that of a severe kind. That +spirit he felt must be broken, or there would be trouble +ahead in after years for Robert Sinclair. Mr. Clapper was +determined to do his duty, and he believed that Robert in +later life would probably feel grateful for this thrashing. He +thrashed the boy soundly and severely upon the most sensitive +parts of his body, so that the pain would help to break his +spirit. He saw no indignity heaped upon a high-spirited, +sensitive soul. It was all for the boy's own good, and so the +blows fell thick and heavy upon the little back and hips.</p> + +<p>Robert bit his lip to repress the roar of pain that wanted +to escape. He would not cry, and this was another spur to +the efforts of Mr. Clapper. The boy's flesh twitched and +quivered at every blow, yet never a cry came from him. It +but served to feed his rebellion, and he struggled and fought +with fury until completely exhausted.</p> + +<p>"There now," declared Mr. Clapper, flinging down the +"tawse" upon the table, panting from his exertions and wiping +his brow, "I shall leave you for a time until you decide to +speak. If you will not speak when I return, I shall thrash +you again," and he went out, locking the door, leaving the +boy, still proud and unsubdued, but aching in every muscle +and bone of his little body.</p> + +<p>Left to himself, Robert very nearly cried, but he dashed +the gathering tears from his eyes, angry at the weakness, and +resolved, as he adjusted his garments, that he would die rather +than speak now. He looked round, and seeing the window +raised a little from the bottom, sprang to it, a sudden resolve +in his heart to run away. Just as he got astride the sill he +spied a piece of chalk and the "tawse" on the table, so turning +back he put the "tawse" in his pocket, and with the chalk +wrote on the table:—</p> + +<p>"You are an ould pig and I'll not speak, and you'll never +put your hands on your tawse again."</p> + +<p>Then he was out of the window, dropped easily to the +ground, and was away to the moors. He ran a long way, until +finding that he had not been detected, he skirted a small wood, +dug a hole in the soft moss, put in the "tawse," and covered +them up. There they may be lying to this day, for no one +ever learned from him where they were buried.</p> + +<p>The spell of the moor took possession of him, and his +wounded soul was soon wrapped in the soft folds of its silence. +The balm of its peace comforted him, and brought ease and +calmed the rebellion in his blood. He was happy, forgetting +that there ever had existed a schoolmaster, or anything else +unpleasant. Here he was free, and no one ever misunderstood +him. He gave pain to no one, and nothing ever hurt him +here.</p> + +<p>He flung himself down among the rank gray grass and +heather, while the moor cock called to his mate in an agony of +pleading passion, the lapwing crooned upon a tuft of grass +as she prepared a place for her eggs, the whaup wheepled and +twirled and cried in eerie alarm, the plover sighed to a low +white cloud wandering past; while the snipe and the lark, the +"mossie," the heather lintie, and the wandering, sighing winds +among the reeds and rushes of the swampy moss, all added +their notes to soothe and satisfy the little wounded spirit lying +there on the soft moorland. Already he was away upon the +wings of fancy in a world of his own—a world full of dreams +and joys unspeakable; a world of calm comfort, where there +was no pain, no hunger, no unpleasantness; a world of smiles +and warm delights and love.</p> + +<p>Thus he dreamed as he watched the white clouds trailing +their draperies along the sky, till the shadows creeping over +the hills, and the cries of the heron returning to his haunts in +the moor, woke him to a realization of the fact that the school +was long since out, and probably another thrashing awaited +him when he got home. Sadly and regretfully he dragged his +little aching body from its soft mossy bed, felt that his limbs +were still sore, and that he was very, very hungry. Rebellion +again surging within him as he remembered all, he trudged +home, fearful yet proud, resolved to go through with the inevitable.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h2>BLACK JOCK'S THREAT</h2> + + +<p>That same day Walker intimated to Geordie, when he +was at work underground, that a reduction was to be +imposed on his ton rate, which meant for Sinclair that +it would be more difficult to earn a decent wage. Geordie had +always had it in his head to confront Walker about his very +unfair treatment of him, and on this occasion he decided to +do so.</p> + +<p>"What way are you breakin' my rate?" he asked, when +Walker told him of the reduction.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's no' me," replied Walker. "It's Rundell. He thinks +it can be worked for less than it's takin', and, of course, I've +just to do as I am tell'd."</p> + +<p>"Weel, I don't ken," said Geordie. "But I've thocht for +a lang while back that you had a hand in it. Have I done +anything to ye, for I don't ken o' it?"</p> + +<p>"Ye've never done me any harm, Geordie," replied Walker +with a show of sincerity. "What mak's ye think that?"</p> + +<p>"Weel, for a lang time noo', I've ay been kept in hard +places, or places wi' nae air, or where there was water to contend +wi'. There's ay been something, an' I ha'e come to the +conclusion that there's mair design than accident in it."</p> + +<p>"I dinna think so," was the reply. "But maybe it's because +you're ay agitatin' to have a union started."</p> + +<p>"An' what about it," enquired Geordie, getting a bit heated. +"If I ha'e been advocatin' the startin' o' a union? It seems +to me to be muckle needed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've nothing to say aboot it," replied Walker. "It's +the boss, an' I was merely givin' ye a hint for yer ain guid."</p> + +<p>"It's a' richt," exclaimed Geordie, getting still more heated. +"I can see as far through a brick wall as you can see through +a whin dyke. The boss has naething to do wi' it. It's you, +an' I'm quite pleased to get the chance to tell ye to yer face. +Ye could, many a time, ha'e given me a better place, if you +had cared. But let me tell you, if there was a union here, it +would soon put an end to you an' yer damn'd cantraips."</p> + +<p>"Very weel. Gang on an' start yin. Man, though ye were +a' in a union the morn, I could buy an' sell the majority of +them for the promise of a guid place, or a bottle of whisky—Ay, +if they jist thocht they were in wi' the gaffer, I'd get all +I wanted frae the maist o' them. A clap on the shoulder, +a smile, or even a word would do it. The one hauf o' the men +can ay be got to sell the ither. Ye daurna' cheep, man, but +I hear of it."</p> + +<p>"Damn'd fine I ken that," replied Geordie, "an' it's mair the +peety. But that's no' to say that men'll ay be like that. If +they'd be true an' stick to yin anither, they'd damn'd soon +put an end to sic gaffers as you."</p> + +<p>"Maybe ye'll be the first to be put an end to," said Walker, +rising to leave. "I might ha'e something to say to—"</p> + +<p>"You rotten pestilence o' hell," cried Geordie, now fairly +roused, and jumping over the coals on the "roadhead" after +him. "I'll cleave the rotten heart o' ye if I get my fingers +on ye, you an' yer fancy women, yer gamblin' an' yer shebeens!"</p> + +<p>But Walker was off; he did not like to hear these matters +of his private life mentioned, and so Geordie, left to himself, +lit his pipe, and sat down to cool his temper.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later Matthew Maitland came round to borrow +a shot of powder, and Geordie unburdened his mind to +him.</p> + +<p>"He's a dirty brute," said Matthew, "an' it's time we had +a union started. I hear great stories aboot how Bob Smillie's +gettin' on wi' the union that he started doon the west country."</p> + +<p>"I ken Bob fine," said Geordie. "He's a fine fellow. I +worked next wall to him doon there a while, an' a better chap +ye couldna' get."</p> + +<p>"I hear that he's gotten as muckle as tippence on the ton +to some o' the miners who ha'e joined. I'm gaun to join whenever +it can be started."</p> + +<p>Geordie agreed that it would be good to have a union, but +he knew that whoever led in the matter would very likely have +to pay for his courage. There was the "Block" to consider, +and he could not see how they might start a union just then +in such hard times.</p> + +<p>He sat and thought after Matthew had gone away, and +was still sitting when Matthew's shot went off. His lot, he +knew, was hard. He could not afford to "flit," even though +he did find work somewhere else. His six children depended +upon his readiness to swallow insult and injustice, and he +could see no way but to submit. If only his first boy were +ready for work, it would soon make a difference in the house. +It was only a few months now till that time would come, and +perhaps things might change.</p> + +<p>All day he was sullen and angry, and he tore at his work +like some imprisoned fiend, a great rebellion in his heart, +and a fury of anger consuming him. Everything seemed to +go wrong that day, and at last when "knock-off" time came, he +felt a little easier, though still silent and angry. His last +shot, however, missed fire, just as he was coming away home; +and that, added to all the other things that day, made him feel +that his whole life was clouded, and was one long trial.</p> + +<p>On the way home from the pit he heard the story of Robert's +rebellious outburst at school, and when he came into the house +his wife saw by his face that something had upset him. She +proceeded to get him water to wash himself, and brought in +the tub, while he divested himself of his clothes, flinging each +garment savagely into the corner, until he stood naked save +for his trousers. Most miners are sensitive to the presence of +strangers during this operation, and it so happened at that +particular time the minister chose to pay one of his rare visits +among his flock in the village.</p> + +<p>"Wha the hell's this noo?" asked Geordie, when he heard +the tap at the door, as he looked up through soapy eyes, his +head all lathered with the black suds. "Dammit, they micht +let folk get washed," he said angrily.</p> + +<p>When he heard the voice of the minister, he plunged his +head into the tub, and began splashing and rubbing, and lifting +the water over his head.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are busy washing, I see, Mr. Sinclair," observed +the minister, looking at the naked collier.</p> + +<p>"Ay," said Geordie shortly, "an' I dinna think you'd ha'e +thankit me for comin' in on the tap o' you, when you were +washin' yerself," he said bluntly—a remark which his wife +felt to be a bit ill-natured, though she said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am sorry," replied the minister. "I did not mean to +intrude. I'll not stay, but will call back some other time," +and his voice was apologetic and ill at ease.</p> + +<p>"I think sae," retorted Geordie, splashing away and spitting +the soap from his mouth. "Yer room's mair to my taste than +yer company the noo."</p> + +<p>"My! that was an awfu' way to talk to the meenister," said +Mrs. Sinclair when the door was again closed. "You micht +aye try to be civil to folk," and there was resentment in her +voice.</p> + +<p>"Ach, dammit, wha can be bothered wi' thae kind o' folk +yapping roun' about when yer washin' yerself. He micht ken +no' to come at this time, when men are comin' hame frae their +work," and he went on with his splashing. "Here, gi'e my +back a rub," and he lay over the tub while she washed his +back from the shoulders downward, making it clean and free +from the coal dust and grime. Then she proceeded to dry +him all over with a rough towel, after which he put on a clean +shirt, and taking off his pit trousers, stepped into the tub and +began to wash his lower limbs and make them as clean as the +upper part of the body.</p> + +<p>"Ach, folk should ha'e a place to wash in anyway," he +grumbled, as if to justify his outburst, for secretly he was +beginning to feel ashamed of it. "The folk that ha'e the +maist need o' a bath are the folk wha never get the chance +o' yin," he went on. "Look at that chap wha was in the noo. +He never needs to dirty a finger, an' look at the hoose he has +to bide in, wi' its fine bathroom an' a' things that he needs. +Och, but we are a silly lot o' blockheads!" And so he raved +on till he sat down to his frugal dinner of potatoes and buttermilk, +after which he relapsed into silence again, and sat reading +a newspaper.</p> + +<p>It was in this mood that Robert found him when he returned +from the moors. Nellie had noticed that something was +worrying her husband, and she suspected some fresh trouble +at the pit, though she asked no questions.</p> + +<p>"Where hae ye been?" asked Geordie very calmly, as Robert +entered furtively, and sat down on a chair near to the door. +The boy did not answer. He dreaded that calmness. He +seemed to feel there was something strong, cruel and relentless +behind it. But he had something of his father's nature in +him, so he sat in silence.</p> + +<p>"What kind o' conduct's this I hear ye've been up to?" was +the next question, with the same studied calm, seemingly passionless +and pliable. Still no answer from the boy, though +when he looked at his father he felt afraid. He turned his +eyes appealingly to his mother, but her face betrayed nothing, +and a feeling of hopelessness entered Robert's heart. There +was nothing else but to go through with it.</p> + +<p>"Tak' aff yer claes," quietly commanded the father, and the +boy reluctantly began to peel off his scanty garments one by +one, till he stood naked on the bare floor. He was glad that +no one except the baby was in to see his humiliation, his +brothers and sisters being all out at play.</p> + +<p>The father rose and went to the corner where his working +clothes lay in a heap. Selecting the belt he wore round his +waist at his work, he grasped it firmly, and with the other +hand took the boy by one arm, saying:—</p> + +<p>"Are ye going to answer my question noo', and tell me where +ye ha'e been?"</p> + +<p>But Robert did not answer, so down came the hard leather +belt with a horrible crack across the naked little hips, and a +thick red mark appeared where the blow had fallen. A roar +of pain broke from the boy's lips, in spite of his resolution +not to cry, as lash after lash fell upon his limbs and across +the little white back. Horribly, cruelly, relentlessly the belt +fell with sickening regularity, while the tender flesh quivered +at every blow, and an ugly series of red stripes appeared along +the back and down across the sturdy legs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dinna' hit me ony mair, faither," he pleaded at last, +the firm resolution breaking because of the pain of the blows. +"Oh, dinna hit me!" and he jumped as the blows fell without +slackening. "Oh, oh, oh! Mother, dinna' let him hit me ony +mair!" roared the boy, while the grim, set face of the parent +never relaxed, and the belt continued to lash the quivering +flesh.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sinclair, who by this time was crying too, feeling every +blow in her mother-heart, began to fear this grim, cruel look +on her husband's face. He was mad, she felt, and there was +murder in his eyes; and at last, spurred to desperation, she +jumped forward, tore at the belt with desperate strength, and +flung it into the corner, crying, as she gripped the boy in her +arms.</p> + +<p>"In the name of Heaven, Geordie, are ye gaun to kill my +bairn afore my een?"</p> + +<p>She tore the boy fiercely from his father's grasp and shielded +him from her husband, exclaiming at the same time with indignation, +"Ha'e ye nae humanity aboot ye at a'? Hit me +if ye are goin' to hit any more. It's murder, an' I'll no' stand +ony longer an' let ye do it."</p> + +<p>Geordie, surprised and amazed at her action, and the fierceness +in her voice, looked up, and immediately reason seemed +to steal back into his mind. A flush of shame overspread his +face, and he sat down, burying his face in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Wheesht, sonny. Wheesht, my wee man," crooned the +mother soothingly, as she began to help Robert to get on his +clothes, the tears falling still from her own eyes, as she saw +the ugly stripes and bruises upon his back beginning to discolor. +"Wheesht, sonny! Dinna' greet ony mair. There +noo', my wee son. Daddy's no' weel the nicht," she excused, +"an' didna' ken what he was doin'." Then breaking into a +louder tone: "I wonder what in Heaven's name puir folk are +born for at a'. There noo'. There noo'. Dinna greet, my +wee man, an' mither'll gi'e ye yer denner."</p> + +<p>Sinclair could stand it no longer, so slipping on his boots +and reaching for his cap, he went out, never in all his life +feeling more ashamed of himself.</p> + +<p>Left to themselves—for all the other children were still out +at play—Nellie soon had Robert quietened and sitting at his +dinner of cold potatoes and buttermilk. Bit by bit she drew +from him the story of the fight at school; divining for herself +the reason for Robert's attack upon Peter Rundell, she soon +was in possession of the whole story with its termination of +revolt against the headmaster and even the confession of what +he had written on the table.</p> + +<p>"An' what did ye do wi' the tawse, son?" she enquired, her +dark eyes showing pride in the revolt of her laddie. She was +proud to know that he had sufficient character to stand up to +a bully, even though he were a headmaster.</p> + +<p>"I buried them in the muir," he replied simply, "but I dinna' +want to tell naebody where they are. I'll never gi'e them +back."</p> + +<p>"Oh, weel, if ye dinna' want to tell me, dinna' do it," she +said. "I'll gang with ye to the school the morn, an' I'll see +that ye're no' meddled wi'. But, Robin, while I like to see +ye staunin' up against what is wrong, I dinna want ye to dae +wrang yerself. An' I think ye was in the wrang to strike +Peter. He staggered against ye, an' I dinna think he wad try +to tramp on yer taes. An' always when ye're in the wrang, +own up to it, an' make what amends ye can."</p> + +<p>Robin did not reply to this, but she could see that he knew +she was right. Before he could say anything she added, +"Come awa' noo', if ye ha'e gotten yer denner, son, I think +ye should gang awa' to yer bed. Ye'll be the better o' a lang +sleep. Dinna' think hard o' yer faither; he's feelin' ashamed +o' hittin' ye. There must be something botherin' him, for I +dinna' mind o' him ever leatherin' one o' ye like that."</p> + +<p>This was true, for Geordie Sinclair was rather a "cannie" +man, and had never been given to beating his children before. +She felt that something had happened in the pit, and whatever +it was it had made her husband angry.</p> + +<p>Robert again stripped off his clothes and crept into bed, +while his mother seemed to feel every pain once more as she +looked upon the soft little body with the ugly black stripes +upon it. She placed him under the rough blankets as snugly +as possible, telling him to lie well over near to the wall, for +there were five of them now who lay abreast, and there was +never too much room. He was soon asleep, and Mrs. Sinclair +put fresh coals on the fire, and began to tidy up, so as to have +everything as cheerful as possible when her husband should +return. It was no easy matter to keep a house clean, with +only a single apartment, and eight individuals living in it.</p> + +<p>The housing conditions in most mining villages of Scotland +are an outrage on decency. In Lowwood there were no sanitary +conveniences of any kind, and it was a difficult matter for +the women folk to keep a tidy house under these circumstances. +But it was wonderful, the homeliness and comfort found in +those single apartment houses. It was home, and that made +it tolerable. In such homes fine men and women were bred +and reared, but the credit was due entirely to our womenfolk; +for they had the fashioning of the spirit of the homes, and +the spirit of the homes is always the spirit of the people.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h2>THE COMING OF A PROPHET</h2> + + +<p>Another year passed, and Robert was now eleven +years of age. Though full of hardship, hunger and +poverty, yet they were not altogether unhappy years +for him. There were joys which he would not have liked to +have missed, and in later life he looked back upon them always +through a mist of memory that sometimes bordered on tears.</p> + +<p>He had grown "in wisdom and stature," and gave promise +of being a fine sturdy boy; but lately it had been borne in +upon him that no one seemed just to look at things from his +point of view. He was alluded to as "a strange laddie," and +the gulf of misunderstanding seemed to grow wider every day. +Old Granny Frame, the "howdie-wife" of the village, always +declared that he would be a great man, but others just took +it for granted that he would never see things as they saw them.</p> + +<p>He was already too serious for a boy, and his joys were not +the joys of other children. Sensitive, and in a measure +proudly reserved, he took more and more to the moors and the +hills. All day sometimes he roved over them, and at other +times he would lie motionless but happy, for the moor always +understood. If he were hurt at anything which happened, +the moor brought him solace; if he grieved, it gave him relief; +and if he were happy, it too rejoiced. He loved it in all moods, +and he could not understand how its loving silence was +dreaded by others.</p> + +<p>His parents now found that their battle, though not much +easier, certainly was no worse, and hope shone bright for them +in the future. The oldest boy was already at work and one +girl was away "in service." Robert, too, would soon be ready, +and in quick succession behind him there were three other boys. +Geordie Sinclair was often told by his workmates that he +would "soon ha'e naethin' to do but put in wicks in the pit +lamps." But Geordie merely smiled. How often before had +he heard that said of others who had families like his own +and he knew that he would never see them all working. Fifty +years was a long time to live for a collier in those days of +badly ventilated and poorly inspected pits and many men +were in their graves at forty.</p> + +<p>Walker still indulged in petty persecution, whilst Geordie +agitated for the starting of a union, and many a battle the +two had, until the enmity between them developed into keen +hatred.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what Black Jock really has against me," he had +said over and over again, unable to understand his persistent +hostility, but his wife had never dared tell him.</p> + +<p>One night, however, after he had been out of work a week, +because, as Black Jock had said, "there was nae places," she +decided to tell him the real reason of Walker's antipathy.</p> + +<p>"Man, it's no' you, Geordie, that Black Jock has the ill will +at," she ventured to say, "it's me, an' he hits me an' the bairns +through you."</p> + +<p>"You," said Geordie in some surprise, "hoo' can that be?"</p> + +<p>Bit by bit, though with great reluctance, she told her husband +how and when Black Jock had attempted to degrade +her. When she had ended, he sat in grim silence, while the +ticking of the clock seemed to have gained in loudness, and so, +too, the purring of the cat, as it rubbed itself against his leg, +first on one side and then the other, drawing its sleek, furry +side along his ankle, turning back again, and occasionally +looking up into his face for the recognition which it vainly +tried to win.</p> + +<p>The fire burned low in the grate as Nellie busied herself +with washing the dishes; while outside the loud cries of the +children, playing on the green, mingled occasionally with a +clink, as the steel quoits fell upon each other, telling of some +enthusiastic players, who were practicing for the local games. +Loud cries of encouragement broke from the supporters, and +Geordie and Nellie heard all these—even the plaintive wail +of a child crying in a house a few doors farther up the "row," +and the mother's attempts to soothe it into forgetfulness of +its temporary pain or disappointment.</p> + +<p>The little apartment seemed to have become suddenly cheerless. +Nellie felt the silence most oppressive, for she was wondering +how he was taking it all. Soon, however, he rose and +reached for his cap. Looking at his wife with eyes that set +all her fears at rest—for she saw pride in them, pride in her +and the way she had acted—he said:—</p> + +<p>"Thank ye, Nellie; ye are a' the woman I always thocht +ye was, an' I'll see that nae dirty brute ever again gets the +chance to insult ye," and he was out of the door before she +could question him further.</p> + +<p>Geordie went straight to where Walker lived and knocked +at the door. A girl of fourteen came in answer to his knock, +for Walker was a widower, his wife having died shortly after +the birth of their only child.</p> + +<p>"Is yer faither in?" enquired Geordie quietly, hardly able +to control the raging anger in his heart.</p> + +<p>"No, he's no' in," replied the girl. "Oh, is that you, +Geordie?" she asked, recognizing him in the darkness. "My +father said when he went oot that if ye cam' to the door, I +was to tell ye he had nae places yet."</p> + +<p>"That's a' richt," said Geordie, still very quietly. "Do ye +ken onything aboot where he is this nicht?"</p> + +<p>"No, unless he's up in Sanny Robertson's, or maybe in Peter +Fleming's."</p> + +<p>"Thank ye," said Geordie, turning away, "I'll go up an' +see if he is there."</p> + +<p>He knew that Peter Fleming was working that night, and +had stopped on an extra shift to repair a road, by special +instructions from Walker; so Geordie went direct to Fleming's +house and knocked at the door. After an interval a woman's +voice enquired, "Wha's that?" and Geordie thought there +was anxiety in it.</p> + +<p>"Open the door," said Geordie quietly. "What the hell are +ye afert for?" and the woman, thinking it was her husband +returned from work, immediately opened the door.</p> + +<p>"You're shairly early," she said; then suddenly recognizing +who the intruder was, she tried to shut the door.</p> + +<p>"Na, na," said Geordie, now well in the doorway, "I want +to see Black Jock."</p> + +<p>"He's no' here," she lied readily enough, but with some +agitation in her voice.</p> + +<p>"You're a liar, Jean," replied Geordie, "that's him gaun +oot at the room door," and Geordie withdrew hurriedly, determined +that Black Jock should not escape him. He hurried +to the end of the "row," and waited with all the passion of +long years raging through his whole being. He stepped out +as Walker advanced, and said: "Is that you, Walker?"</p> + +<p>"Ay," came the answer, "what do ye want?" as he came +to a halt.</p> + +<p>"Just a meenit," said Geordie, placing himself in front of +Walker, barring his way. "I want to warm yer dirty hide. +It ought to have been done years ago, but I never kent till +the nicht, and I'm gaun to dae it the noo," and the tones of +his voice indicated that he meant what he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh! What's wrang?" asked Walker in affected surprise. +"I'll get ye a place," he went on hurriedly, "just as soon as +I can—in fac' there's yin that'll be ready by the morn."</p> + +<p>"I'm no gi'ein' a damn for yer place. It's you I'm efter the +nicht. Come on, face up," and Sinclair squared himself for +battle.</p> + +<p>Thus challenged, Walker, who was like all bullies a coward +at heart, tried to temporize, but Sinclair was in no mood +for delay.</p> + +<p>"Come on, pit them up, or I'll break yer jaw for you," he +said threateningly.</p> + +<p>"Man, Geordie, what ails ye the nicht?" asked Walker in +hurried alarm, wondering wildly how he could stave off the +chastisement which he knew from Geordie's voice he might +expect. "Talk sensibly, man. Try an' ha'e some sense. +What's the matter wi' ye?"</p> + +<p>"Matter," echoed Geordie, "jist this. The wife has jist telt +me a' aboot the nicht ye cam' chappin' to the door when I +was lyin' hurt. She kent I'd break yer neck for it, and she +was feart to tell me. So put up yer fists, ye black-hearted +brute that ye are. I'm gaun to gi'e ye what we should hae +gotten seven years syne, an' it'll maybe put ye frae preyin' +on decent women. Come on."</p> + +<p>"Awa', man, Geordie, an' behave yersel'," began Walker, +trying to evade him.</p> + +<p>"Tak' that, then, ye dirty brute!" and Geordie smashed +his fist straight between Walker's eyes.</p> + +<p>Roused at last, Walker showed fight and swung at Sinclair. +He was the younger man by about two years, and had not had +the hard work and bad conditions of the other, but Sinclair +was a strong man, and was now roused to a great pitch, so +he struck out with terrific force. Then the two closed and +swayed about, struggling, cursing and punching each other +with brutal might. Sinclair's extra weight and more powerful +build soon began to tell, and he was able to send home one +or two heavy blows on Black Jock's face and body. Panting +and blowing, they separated, and as they did so, Sinclair +caught his opponent a straight hard crash on the jaw that +sent him rolling to the muddy road, and feeling as if a thousand +fists had struck him all at once.</p> + +<p>Walker lay for a short time, then gathering himself together, +he rose to his feet and set off at a quick pace in the direction +of his house, whilst Geordie, too, turned homewards, feeling +that it was useless to follow him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sinclair did not hear what had happened till a week +later, when Geordie, being in a communicative mood, told her +of the affair in simple, unaffected terms.</p> + +<p>Shortly afterwards a great event happened in Lowwood, +which made the deepest impression on Robert's mind. His +father still being out of work, had sent a letter to Robert +Smillie, who was then beginning to be heard of more and more +in mining circles. In the letter Geordie explained, to the +best of his ability, the local circumstances, and he mentioned +his own case of persecution, and his agitation for the starting +of a union. Smillie sent word in reply that he would come in +two days, and Geordie enthusiastically set to work to organize +a meeting, going round every house in the district, telling the +folks that Smillie was coming, and exhorting them to turn +out and hear him.</p> + +<p>"I dinna think it'll do any guid," said old Tam Smith, when +Geordie called upon him. "It's a' richt talkin' about a union, +but the mair ye fecht the mair ye're oppressed. The bosses +ha'e the siller, an' they can ay buy the brains to serve them."</p> + +<p>Geordie made no reply, for he knew from experience that +it was only too true.</p> + +<p>"Just look at young Jamie Soutar," continued Tam. "He is +yin o' the cleverest men i' the country. He wrocht wi' me +as a laddie when he went into the pit, an' noo' he's travelin' +manager for that big company doon the west country, an' I'm +telt he's organizin' an' advocatin' the formin' o' what he calls +a Coal Combine."</p> + +<p>"That's a' richt, Tam. I admit it a', though I dinna jist +ken what a Coal Combine means; but I ken that Bob Smillie +is makin' great wark wi' the union he has formed. I ken he +has gotten rises in wages for a' the men who ha'e joined, an' +that he is advocatin' an eight hours day. If that can be done +doon there, it can be done here; for there's naebody has ony +mair need o' a eight hours day than miners."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll turn oot a' richt at the meetin'," said Tam, who +was always credited with seeing farther than most of his workmates, +"an' I'll join the union, too, if it's formed; but ye'll +see if ye live lang enough that the union'll no' be a' ye think +it. The ither side will organize to bate ye every time." And +with this encouraging prophecy, Geordie went on to the next +house.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm no' comin' to nae meetin'. I want naethin' to +dae wi' yer unions. I can get on weel enough without them," +curtly said Dan Sellars, the inmate. He was what Geordie +somewhat expressively called a "belly-crawler," a talebearer, +and one who drank and gambled along with Walker, Fleming, +Robertson and a few others.</p> + +<p>"Man, it'll no' do muckle guid," said another, "ye mind +hoo' big Geordie Ritchie ran awa' wi' the money o' the last +union we started? It'll gi'e a wheen bigmouths a guid job +and an easy time. That's a' it will do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ay," answered Sinclair, "but that's no' to say that +the union'll ay fail. Folks are no' a' Geordie Ritchies, an' +they're no' a' bigmouths either. We're bound to succeed if +we care to be solid thegither."</p> + +<p>"I'll come to the meetin', Geordie, although I was sayin' +that, but I'll no' promise to join yer union," was the answer, +and Sinclair had to be content with that.</p> + +<p>Thus went Geordie from house to house, meeting with much +discouragement, and even downright opposition, but he was +always good-humored, and so he seldom failed to extract a +promise to attend the meeting.</p> + +<p>The night of the meeting arrived, and the hall—an old, +badly lit and ill-ventilated wooden erection—was packed to +its utmost. There were eager faces, and dull, listless ones +among the audience; there were eyes glad with expectancy, +and eyes dulled with long years of privations and brutal labor; +limbs young and supple and full of energy, and limbs stiff and +sore, crooked and maimed.</p> + +<p>Geordie Sinclair was chairman, and when he rose to open +the meeting and introduce Smillie, he felt as if the whole +world were looking on and listening.</p> + +<p>"Weel, men," he began, halting and hesitating in his utterance, +"for a lang time now there has been much cryin' for a +union here. There has been a lot of persecution gaun' on, an' +it has been lang felt that something should be done. We ha'e +heard of how other men in other places ha'e managed to start +a union, and how it has been a guid thing in risin' wages. Mr. +Smillie has come here the nicht to tell us how the other districts +ha'e made a start, and what thae other districts has +gotten. If it can be done there, it can be done here. I ha'e +wrocht aside Bob Smillie, an' I ken what kind of man he is. +He has done great wark doon in the west country, an' he +is weel fitted and able to be the spokesman for the miners o' +Scotlan'. I'm no gaun' to say ony mair, but I can say +that it gie's me great pleasure to ask Mr. Smillie to address +ye."</p> + +<p>A round of applause greeted Smillie as he rose to address +them. Tall and manly, he dominated his audience from the +very first sentence, rousing them to a great pitch of enthusiasm, +as he proceeded to tell of all the many hardships which miners +had to endure, of the "Block" system of persecution, and to +point to the only means of successfully curing them by organizing +into one solid body, so that they might become powerful +enough to enforce their demands for a fuller, freer, and a +happier life. Never in all his life did he speak with more +passion than he did that night in Lowwood.</p> + +<p>Little Robert was present in the hall—the only child there; +and as Smillie spoke in passionate denunciation of the tyrannies +and persecutions of the mine-owners and their officials, his +little heart leapt in generous indignation. Many things which +he had but dimly understood before, began to be plain to him, +as he sat with eyes riveted upon Smillie's face, drinking in +every word as the speaker plead with the men to unite and +defend themselves. Then, as his father's wrongs were poured +forth from the platform, and as Smillie appealed to them in +powerful sentences to stand loyally by their comrade, the boy +felt he could have followed Smillie anywhere, and that he could +have slain every man who refused to answer that call. Away +beyond the speaker the boy had already glimpsed something +of the ideal which Smillie sketched, and his soul throbbed and +ached to see how simple and how easy it was for life to be +made comfortable and good and pleasant for all. Bob Smillie +never won a truer heart than he did that night in winning +this barefooted, ragged boy's.</p> + +<p>Round after round of applause greeted the speaker when +he had finished, and in response to his appeal to them to organize, +a branch of the union was formed, with Geordie Sinclair +as its first president. At the request of the meeting +Smillie interviewed Black Jock next morning, and as a result +Sinclair got started on the following day.</p> + +<p>Smillie stayed overnight with Geordie. They were certainly +somewhat cramped for room, though Geordie had just lately +got another apartment "broken through," which gave them a +room and kitchen.</p> + +<p>The two men sat late into the night, discussing their hopes +and plans, and the trade union movement generally.</p> + +<p>"It's a great work, Bob, you ha'e set yersel', an' it'll mean +thenklessness an' opposition frae the very men you want maist +to help," said Sinclair as they talked.</p> + +<p>"Ay, it will," was the reply, spoken in a half dreamy tone, +as if the speaker saw into the future. "I ken what it'll mean, +but it must be done. I have long had it in me to set myself +this work, for no opposition ought to stand in the way of the +uplifting of the workers. I ... It's the system, Geordie!" +he cried, as if bringing his mind back to the present. "It is +the system that is wrong. It is immoral and evil in its foundations, +and it forces the employers to do the things they do. +Competition compels them to do things they would not have +to do if there were a cooperative system of industry. Our +people have to suffer for it all—they pay the price in hunger, +misery and suffering."</p> + +<p>"Ay," said Geordie, "that's true, Bob. But what a lang +time it'll tak' afore the workers will realize what you are oot +for. They'll look on your work wi' suspicion, and a wheen +o' them'll even oppose you."</p> + +<p>"Ay," was the reply, "I know that. It will mean the slow +building up of our own county first, bit by bit, organizing, +now here, now there, and fighting the other class interests all +the time. It will divide our energies and retard our work, +and the greatest fight will be to get our own people to recognize +what is wanted and how to get it. Then through the +county we'll have to work to consolidate the whole of Scotland; +from that to work in the English and Welsh miners, +while at the same time seeking to permeate other branches +of industrial workers with our ideas. And then, when we +have got that length, and raised the mental vision of our +people, and strengthened their moral outlook, we can appeal +to the workers of other lands to join us in bringing about the +time when we'll be able to regard each other, not as enemies, +but as members of one great Humanity, working for each +other's welfare as we work for our own."</p> + +<p>"That's it, Bob," agreed Geordie, completely carried away +with Smillie's enthusiasm. "That's it, Bob. If we can only +get them to see hoo' simple and easy it a' is ... Oh, they +maun be made to see it that way!" he burst out. "We'll work +nicht an' day but in the end we'll get them to see it that +way yet."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it won't be easy, Geordie," he replied. "Our +people's lives have been stunted and warped so long, they've +been held in bondage and poverty to such an extent, that it +will take years—generations, maybe—before they come to +realize it. But we must go on, undeterred by opposition, rousing +them from their apathy, and continually holding before +them the vision of the time we are working to establish. +Ay, Geordie,"—and a quieter note came into his voice, "I hope +I shall be strong enough to go on, and never to give heed to +the discouragements I shall undoubtedly meet with in the +work; but I've made up my mind, and I'll see it through or +dee."</p> + +<p>The talk of the two men worked like magic upon the impressionable +mind of young Robert, who sat listening. Long +after all had retired for the night he lay awake, his little mind +away in the future, living in the earthly paradise which had +been conjured up before him by the warm, inspiring sentences +of this miners' leader, and joyful in the contemplation of this +paradise of happy humanity, he fell asleep. Could he have +foreseen the terrible, heartbreaking ordeals through which +Smillie often had to pass, still clinging with tenacity to the +gleam that led him on, praying sometimes that strength would +be given to keep him from turning back; of the strenuous +battle he had, not only with those he fought against, but of +the greater and more bitter fights he too often had with those +of his own class whom he was trying to save; and of the fights +even with himself, it would have raised Smillie still more in +the estimation of this sensitive-hearted collier laddie.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h2>ON THE PIT-HEAD</h2> + + +<p>"Hooray, mither, I've passed the examination, an' I +can leave the school noo!" cried Robert one day, +breaking in upon his mother, as she was busily preparing +the dinner. She stopped peeling the potatoes to look +up and smile, as she replied: "Passed the fifth standard, +Robin?" she said, lovingly.</p> + +<p>"Ay," said the boy proudly, his face beaming with smiles. +"It was quite easy. Oh, if you had just seen the sums we +got; they were easy as winking. I clinked them like onything."</p> + +<p>"My, ye maun hae been real clever," said Mrs. Sinclair +encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"Sammy Grierson failed," broke in Robert again, too full +of his success to contain himself. "He couldna' tell what was +the capital of Switzerland! Then the inspector asked him +what was the largest river in Europe, an' he said the Thames. +He forgot that the Thames was just the biggest in England. +I was sittin' next him an' had to answer baith times, an' the +inspector said I was a credit to the school. My, it was great +fun!" and he rattled on, full of importance at his success.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but maybe Sammy was just nervous," said his mother, +continuing her operations upon the potatoes, and trying to let +him see that there might have been a cause for the failure of +the other boy to answer correctly.</p> + +<p>"Ach, but he's a dunce onyway," said the boy. "He canna +spell an easy word like 'examination,' an' he had twenty-two +mistakes in his dictation test," he went on, and she was quick +to note the air of priggish importance in his utterance.</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' you're left the school now," said Mrs. Sinclair, +after a pause, during which her busy fingers handled the +potatoes with great skill. "Your faither will be gey pleased +when he comes hame the day," she said, giving the conversation +a new turn.</p> + +<p>"Ay, I'll get leavin' the school when I like, an' gaun to the +pit when I like."</p> + +<p>"Would ye no' raither gang to the school a while langer?" +observed the mother after a pause, and looking at him with +searching eyes.</p> + +<p>"No," was the decisive reply. "I'd raither gang to work. +I'm ready for leaving the school and forby, all the other +laddies are gaun to the pit to work."</p> + +<p>"But look at the things ye micht be if ye gaed to the school +a while langer, Robin," she went on. "The life of a miner's +no' a very great thing. There's naething but hard work, an' +dangerous work at that, an' no' very muckle for it." And +there was an anxious desire in her voice, as if trying to convince +him.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but I'd raither leave the school," he answered, though +with less decision this time. "Besides, it'll mean more money +for you," he concluded.</p> + +<p>"Then, look how quick a miner turns auld, Rob. He's done +at forty years auld," she said, as if she did not wish to heed +what he said, "but meenisters an' schoolmaisters, an' folk +o' that kin', leeve a gey lang while. Look at the easy time +they hae to what a collier has. They dinna get up at five +o'clock in the mornin' like your faither. They rise aboot +eight, an' start work at nine. Meenisters only work yae day a +week, an' only aboot two hoors at that. They hae clean claes +to wear, a fine white collar every day, an' sae mony claes that +they can put on a different rig-oot every day. Their work is +no' hard, an' look at the pay they get; no' like your faither +wi' his two or three shillin's a day. They hae the best o' it," +she concluded, as she rested her elbows on her knees and +again searched his face keenly to see if her arguments had had +any effect upon him.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but I'd raither work," reiterated the boy stubbornly.</p> + +<p>"Then they hae plenty o' books," continued the temptress, +loth to give up and keen to draw as rosy a picture as possible, +"and a braw hoose, an' a piano in it. They get a lang holiday +every year, and occasional days besides, an' their pay for it. +But a collier gets nae pay when he's idle. It's the same auld +grind awa' at hard work, among damp, an' gas, an' bad air, +an' aye the chance o' being killed wi' falls of stone or something +else. It's no' a nice life. It's gey ill paid, an' forby +naebody ever respects them."</p> + +<p>"Ay, mither; but do you no' mind what Bob Smillie said?" +chipped in the boy readily, glad that he could quote such an +authority to back his view. "It's because they dinna respect +themselves. They just need to do things richt, an' things +wadna' be sae bad as they are," and he felt as if he clinched +his argument by quoting Smillie against her.</p> + +<p>"Ay, Robin," she replied, "that's true; but for it a', you +maun admit that the schoolmaister an' the meenister hae the +best o' it." But she felt that her counter was not very +effective.</p> + +<p>"My faither says meenisters are nae guid to the world, but +schoolmaisters are," said the boy, with a grudging admission +for the teaching profession. "But I dinna care. I'd raither +gang to work. I dinna want to gang ony langer to the school. +I'm tired o' it, an' I want to leave it," and there was more +decision in his voice this time than ever.</p> + +<p>"A' richt, Robin," said Mrs. Sinclair resignedly, as she emptied +the peeled potatoes into a pot and put them on the fire.</p> + +<p>There were now seven of a family, and she knew that Robert +was needed to increase the earnings, and that meant there +was nothing but the pit for him.</p> + +<p>"You maun hae been real clever, though, to pass," she said +again, after a pause. "How many failed?"</p> + +<p>"Four, mither," he cried, again waxing enthusiastic over +the examination. "Mysie Maitland passed, too. She was +first among the lasses, and I was first in the laddies."</p> + +<p>"Eh, man, Bob, learnin' is a gran' thing to hae," she said +wistfully, looking at him very tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but I'm gaun to the pit," he said decisively, fearing +that she was again going to enlarge upon the schoolmaster's +life.</p> + +<p>"Very weel," she said after a bit, "I suppose ye'll be lookin' +for a job. Your faither was saying last nicht that ye're too +young to gang into the pit. Ye maun be twelve years auld +afore ye get doon the pit noo, ye ken. So I suppose it'll be +the pithead for ye for a while."</p> + +<p>She had often dreamed her dream, even though she knew it +was an impossible one, that she would like to see her laddie +go right on through the Secondary School in the county town +to the University. She knew he had talents above the ordinary, +and, besides, her soul rebelled at the thought of her +boy having to endure the things that his father had to go +through with. She was an intelligent woman, and though she +had had little education, she saw things differently from most +of the women of her class. She had character, and her influence +was easily traced in her children, but more especially in +Robert, who was always her favorite bairn. She was wise, +too, and had fathomed some secrets of psychology which many +women with a university training had never even glimpsed.</p> + +<p>She often maintained that her children's minds were molded +before she gave them birth, and that it depended upon the +state of mind she was in herself during those nine months, as +to what kind of soul her child would be born possessing. It +may have been merely a whim on her part, but she held tenaciously +to her belief, acted in accordance with it, and no one +could dissuade her from it. Robert was her child of song, +her sunny offspring, stung into revolt against tyranny of all +kinds. His soul, strong and true as steel, she knew would +stand whatever test was put upon it. Incorruptible and sincere, +nothing could break him. Generous and forgiving, he +could never be bought.</p> + +<p>"I'll gang the nicht, mither, an' see if I can get a job. I +micht get started the morn," he said breaking in upon her +thought.</p> + +<p>"A' richt, Robin," she replied with a sigh of resignation. "I +suppose it'll hae to be done. It'll be yer first start in life, +an' I hope ye'll aye be found doin' what's richt; for guid +never comes o' ill thinkin' or ill doin."</p> + +<p>"If I get a job, mither, maybe I'll get one-an'-tippence a +day like Dick Tamson. If I do it'll be a big help to you, +mither. My! I'll soon mak' a poun' at that rate," and he +laughed enthusiastically at the thought of it. A pound seemed +to represent riches to his boyish mind. What might his +mother not do with a pound? Ever so many things could be +bought. And that was merely a start. His wages would +soon increase with experience, and when he went down the +pit, which would be soon, he'd earn more, and his mother +would maybe be able to buy new clothes for all the family.</p> + +<p>He wondered what it would be like to have a new suit of +clothes—real new ones out of a shop. Hitherto he had only +enjoyed "make downs," as they were called—new ones made +out of some one's cast-off clothing. But a real new suit, such +as he had seen the schoolmaster's boy sometimes wearing! +That would be a great experience! And so, lost in contemplation +of the things big wages might do, the day wore on, +and he was happy in his dreams.</p> + +<p>That same night Robert went to call on the "gaffer," Black +Jock, and as he neared the door he met Mysie Maitland.</p> + +<p>"Where are ye goin', Rab?" she enquired shyly.</p> + +<p>"To look for a job," he replied proudly, feeling that now +he was left school, and about to start work, he could be +patronizing to a girl. "Where are you gaun?" he asked, as +Mysie joined him in the direction of Walker's house.</p> + +<p>"I'm gaun to look for a job, too," she replied. "I'm no' +gaun back to the school, an' my mither thinks I'll be as weel +on the pit-head as at service. An' forby, I'll be able to help +my mither at nichts when I come hame, an' I couldna' do that +if I gaed to service," she finished by way of explanation. As +Mysie was the oldest of a family of six, her parents would be +glad to have even her small earnings, and so she, too, was +looking for a job.</p> + +<p>When Walker came to the door, Robert took the matter +in hand, and became spokesman for both himself and Mysie.</p> + +<p>"We've left the school the day, Mr. Walker, an' Mysie an' +me want to ken if ye can gie us a job on the pitheid?" and +Walker noted with amusement the manly swagger in the boy's +voice and bearing.</p> + +<p>"We dinna' usually start lasses as wee as Mysie," replied +Walker, eyeing the children with an amused smile, "but we +need twa or three laddies to the tables to help the women to +pick stones."</p> + +<p>Mysie's face showed her keen disappointment. She knew +that it was not customary for girls to be employed as young +as she was; and Robert noted her disappointed look as well.</p> + +<p>"Could ye no' try Mysie, too?" he asked, breaking in +anxiously. "She's a guid worker, an' she'll be able to pick as +many stanes as the weemen. Willn't ye, Mysie?" And he +turned to the girl for corroboration with assurance.</p> + +<p>As Mysie nodded, Walker saw a hint of tears in the girl's +eyes, and the quivering of the tiny mouth; and as there is +a soft spot in all men's hearts, even he had sympathy, for he +understood what refusal meant.</p> + +<p>"Weel, I micht gie her a trial," he said, "but she'll hae to +work awfu' hard," and he spoke as one conferring an especial +concession upon the girl.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she'll work hard enough," said Robert. "Mysie's a +guid worker, an' you'll see ..."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then," said Walker hurriedly breaking in upon Robert's +outburst of agreement, "ye can both come oot the morn, and +I'll try and put ye both up."</p> + +<p>"How muckle pay will we get?" asked Robert, who was now +feeling his importance, and felt that this was after all the +main point to be considered.</p> + +<p>"Well, we gie laddies one an' a penny," replied Walker, +still smiling amusedly at the boy's eagerness, "an' lasses are +aye paid less than callants. But it's all big lasses we hae, +an' they get one an' tippence. I'll gie Mysie a shillin' to +begin wi'," and he turned away as if that settled the matter, +and was about to close the door.</p> + +<p>"But if she picks as many stanes as a laddie, will ye gie +her the same pay as me?" interrupted Robert, not wishing the +interview to end without a definite promise of payment.</p> + +<p>"She's gey wee," replied Walker, "an' she canna' expect as +much as a laddie," and he looked at Mysie, as if measuring +her with a critical eye to assess her value.</p> + +<p>"But if she does as muckle work, would ye gie her the +same money?" eagerly questioned the boy, and Mysie felt +that there was no one surely so brave as Robert, nor so good, +and she looked at him with gratitude in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Very weel," said Walker, not desiring to prolong the interview. +"Come oot the morn, an' I'll gie ye both one an' a +penny."</p> + +<p>"Six an' sixpence a week," said Mysie, as they tramped +home. "My, that's a lot o' money, Rab, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, it's a guid lot, Mysie," he replied, "but we'll hae to +work awfu' hard, or we'll no' get it. Guid nicht!" And so +the children parted, feeling that the world was about to be +good to them, and all their thought of care was bounded by +six and sixpence a week.</p> + +<p>Mysie was glad to tell the result of the whole interview +to her parents. She was full of it, and could talk of nothing +else as she worked about the house that night. Her mother +had been in delicate health for a long time, and so Mysie had +most of the housework to do. Matthew Maitland and his wife, +Jenny, were pleased at the result, and gave Robert due credit +for his part—a credit that Mysie was delighted to hear from +them.</p> + +<p>The next morning the two children went to work, when +children of their years ought to have been still in bed dreaming +their little dreams.</p> + +<p>The great wheels at the pithead seemed terrible in their +never-ending revolutions, as they flew round to bring up the +loads of coal. The big yawning chasm, with the swinging +steel rope, running away down into the great black hole, was +awesome to look at, as the rope wriggled and swayed with its +sinister movements; and the roar and whir of wheels, when +the tables started, bewildered them. These crashed and roared +and crunched and groaned; they would squeal and shriek as +if in pain, then they would moan a little, as if gathering +strength to break out in indignant protest; and finally, roar +out in rebellious anger, giving Robert the idea of an imprisoned +monster of gigantic strength which had been harnessed whilst +it slept, but had wakened at last to find itself impotent against +its Lilliputian captor—man.</p> + +<p>An old man instructed them in their duties.</p> + +<p>"You'll staun here," he panted, indicating a little platform +about two feet broad, and running along the full length of the +"scree." "You'll watch for every bit stane that comes doon, +an' dinna' let any past. Pick them oot as soon as you see +them, an' fling them owre there, an' Dickie Tamson'll fill them +into the hutch, an' get them taken to the dirt bing."</p> + +<p>"A' richt," said Robert, as he looked at the narrow platform, +with its weak, inadequate railing, which could hardly prevent +anyone from falling down on to the wagon track, some fifteen +or twenty feet below on one side, or on to the moving "scree" +on the other.</p> + +<p>"Weel, mind an' no' let any stanes gang past, for there are +aye complaints comin' in aboot dirty coals. If ye dinna work +an' keep oot the stanes, you'll get the sack," and he said this as +if he meant to convey to them that he was the sole authority +on the matter.</p> + +<p>He was an old man, and Robert, as he looked at him, +wondered if he had ever laughed. "Auld Girnie" they called +him, because of his habit of always finding fault with everything +and everybody, for no one could please him. His mouth +seemed to be one long slit extending across his face, showing +one or two stumps sticking in the otherwise toothless gums, +and giving him the appearance of always "grinning."</p> + +<p>The women workers' appearance jarred upon Robert. So +far women to him had always been beings of a higher order, +because he had always thought of them as being like his +mother. But here they were rough and untidy, dressed like +goblins in dirty torn clothes, with an old dirty sack hanging +from the waist for an overall. Instinctively Robert felt that +this was no place for women. One of them, who worked on +the opposite side of the scree from Robert—a big, strong, +heavily-built young woman of perhaps twenty-five—in moving +forward tore her petticoat, which caught in the machinery, +and made a rent right up above her knee.</p> + +<p>"Ach, to hell wi' it," she cried in exasperation, as she turned +up the torn petticoat, displaying a leg all covered with coal +grime, which seemed never to have been washed.</p> + +<p>"Is that no' awfu'? Damn my soul, I'll hae to gang hame +the nicht in my sark tail," and she laughed loudly at her +sally.</p> + +<p>"I'll put a pin in it, it'll do till I gang hame," she added, +and she started to pin the torn edges together. But all day +the bare leg shone through the torn petticoat, and rough jokes +were made by the men who worked near by—jokes which she +seemed to enjoy, for she would hold up the torn garment and +laugh with the others.</p> + +<p>The women and boys never seemed to heed the things that +filled Robert and Mysie with so much amazement. The two +children bent over the swinging tables as the coal passed +before them. They eagerly grabbed at the stones, flinging +them to the side with a zeal that greatly amused the older +hands.</p> + +<p>"Ye'll no' keep up that pace lang," said one woman. "Ye'll +soon tire, so ye'd better take it easy."</p> + +<p>"Let them alone," broke in the old man, who had a penny +a day more for acting as a sort of gaffer. "Get on wi' yer own +work, an' never mind them."</p> + +<p>"Gang you to hell, auld wheezie bellows," replied one woman +coarsely, adding a rough jest at his breathlessness, whilst the +others laughed loudly, adding, each one, another sally to +torment the old man.</p> + +<p>But after a time Robert felt his back begin to ache, and a +strange dizzy feeling came into his head, as a result of his +bent position and the swinging and crashing of the tables. +He straightened himself and felt as if he were going to break +in two. He glanced at Mysie, wondering how she felt, and he +thought she looked white and ill.</p> + +<p>"Take a wee rest, Mysie," he said. "Are ye no' awfu' +dizzy?"</p> + +<p>Mysie heard, but "six and sixpence a week" was still ringing +in her head. Indeed, the monotonous swing of the tables +ground out the refrain in their harsh clamor, as they swung +backwards and forwards. "Six and sixpence a week," with +every leap forwards; "six and sixpence a week" as they receded. +"Six and sixpence" with every shake and roar, and +with each pulsing throb of the engine; and "six and sixpence +a week" her little hands, already cut and bleeding, kept time +with regular beat, as she lifted the stones and flung them aside. +She was part of the refrain—a note in the fortissimo of industry. +The engines roared and crashed and hissed to it. +They beat the air regularly as the pistons rose and fell back +and forth, thump, thud, hiss, groan, up and down, out and in: +"Six and sixpence a week!"</p> + +<p>Mysie tried to straighten herself, as Robert had advised, +and immediately a pain shot through her back which seemed +to snap it in two. The whole place seemed to be rushing +round in a mad whirl, the roof of the shed coming down, and +the floor rushing up, when with a stagger Mysie fell full length +upon a "bing" of stones, bruising her cheek, and cutting her +little hands worse than ever. This was what usually happened +to all beginners at "pickin' sklits."</p> + +<p>One of the women raised Mysie up, gave her a drink from +a flask containing cold tea, and sat her aside to rest a short +time.</p> + +<p>"Just sit there a wee, my dochter," she said with rough +kindness, "an' you'll soon be a' richt. They mostly a' feel +that way when they first start on the scree."</p> + +<p>Mysie was feeling sick, and already the thought was shaping +in her mind that she would never be able to continue. She +had only worked an hour as yet, but it seemed to her a +whole day.</p> + +<p>"Six and sixpence a week" sang the tables as they swung; +"six and sixpence a week" whirred the engines; "six and sixpence +a week" crashed the screes; and her head began to throb +with the roar of it all. "Six and sixpence a week" as the +coal tumbled down the chutes into the wagons; "six and sixpence" +crunched the wheels, until it seemed as if everything +about a pit were done to the tune of "six and sixpence a week."</p> + +<p>It was thundered about her from one corner, it squealed +at her from another, roared at her from behind, groaned at her +in front; it wheezed from the roof, and the very shed in which +they stood swayed and shivered to its monotonous song. +"Six and sixpence a week" was working into every fiber of her +being. She had been born to it, was living it, and it seemed +that the very wheels of eternity were grinding out her destiny +to its roar and its crash, and its terrible regular throb and +swing.</p> + +<p>She grew still more sick, and vomited; so one of the women +took her by the hand and led her down the narrow rickety +wooden stair out across the dirt "bing" into the pure air. +In a quarter of an hour she brought her back almost well, +except for the pain in her head.</p> + +<p>"Where the hell hae ye been, Mag?" wheezed the old +gaffer, addressing the woman with irritated authority.</p> + +<p>"Awa' an' boil yer can, auld belly-crawler," was the elegant +response, as she bent to her work, taking as little notice of +him as if he were a piece of coal.</p> + +<p>"Ye're awa' faur owre much," he returned. This was an +allusion to clandestine meetings which were sometimes arranged +between some of the men in authority—"penny gaffers," +as they were called—and some of the girls who took +their fancy.</p> + +<p>After all, gaffers had certain powers of advancement, and +could increase wages to those who found favor in their eyes, +to the extent of a penny or twopence per day, and justified +it by representing that these girls were value for it, because +they were better workers. Again, matters were always easier +to these girls of easy virtue, for they got better jobs, and +could even flout the authority of lesser gaffers, if their relations +with the higher ones were as indicated.</p> + +<p>Mag replied with a coarse jest, and the others laughed +roughly, and Mysie and Robert, not understanding, wondered +why the old man got angry.</p> + +<p>Thus the day wore on, men and women cursed while +familiarities took place which were barely hidden from the +children. Talk was coarse and obscenely suggestive, and the +whole atmosphere was brutalizing. Long, however, before +the day was ended, Robert and Mysie were feeling as if every +bone in their little bodies would break.</p> + +<p>"Just take anither wee rest, Mysie," said Robert. "I'll +keep pickin' as hard as I can, an' ye'll no' be sae muckle +missed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll hae to keep on, too," she replied, almost despairingly, +with a hint of tears in her voice. "Ye mind I promised +to work hard, an' ye said I was a guid worker, too. If I +dinna' keep on I micht only get a shillin' a day."</p> + +<p>"But I'll pick as much as the twa o' us can do," pursued +Robert, with persuasive voice. "I'll gang harder, until ye +can get a wee rest."</p> + +<p>So Mysie, in sheer exhaustion, stopped for a little, and the +dizzy feeling was soon gone again. Yet the horrible pain in +the back troubled them all day, and the dizziness returned +frequently, but the others assured them that they'd soon get +used to it. Their hands were cut, bruised and dirty, and poor +little Mysie felt often that she would like to cry, but "six +and sixpence a week" kept time in her heart to all her troubles, +and seemed to drive her onward with relentless force.</p> + +<p>With rough kindness the women encouraged the two children, +and did much to make their lot easier. But it was a +trying day—a hard, heartbreaking day, a day of tears and +pains and discouragement, a horrible Gethsemane of sweat and +agony, whose memory not even "six and sixpence a week" +would ever eradicate from their minds, though it made the +day bearable.</p> + +<p>The great wheels groaned and swished like the imprisoned +monster of Robert's imaginings, and at last came to a halt +at the end of the shift; but in the pattern which they had +that day woven into the web of industry, there were two bright +threads—threads of great beauty and high worth—threads +which the very gods seemed proud of seeing there, twisted and +twined, and lending color of richest hue to the whole design—threads +of glorious fiber and rare quality, which sparkled and +shone like the neck of a pigeon in the sunshine. These threads +in the web of industry, which had shone that day for the +first time, were the lives of two little children.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h2>THE MANTLE OF MANHOOD</h2> + + +<p>Months passed, and Robert still worked on the pithead. +Much of the novelty had passed, and he was +accustomed to the noise and clamor, though he never +lost the feeling that he was working with, or, indeed, was part +of, some giant monster, imprisoned and harnessed, it is true, +but capable of titanic labors and fall of unexpectedness. It +was ever-present, implacable and sinister, yet so long as its +fetters held, easily controlled.</p> + +<p>The warm weather had come, and the lure of the moors +called to him at his work. Away out over there—somewhere—there +were strange wonders awaiting him. He watched the +trains, long, fast, and so inevitable-looking, rushing across the +moor about a mile and a half from where he worked, and often, +he thought that perhaps some day one of those flying monsters +would bear him away from Lowwood across the moors +into the Big City. What was a city like? And the sea? How +big would it be? It was a staggering thought to imagine a +stretch of water that ended on the sky-line—no land to be seen +on the other side! What a wonderful world it must be!</p> + +<p>But a touch of bitterness was creeping into his character, +and for this his mother's teaching was responsible. Nellie +was always jealous of the welfare of the working class, and +was ever vigilant as to its interests. She did not know how +matters could be rectified, but she did know that she and +her like suffered unnecessarily.</p> + +<p>"There's no reason," she would say, "for decent folk bein' +in poverty. Look at the conditions that puir folk live in!"</p> + +<p>"Hoot ay! Nellie, but we canna' help it," a neighbor would +reply. "It's no' for us to be better."</p> + +<p>"What way is it no'?" she would demand indignantly. "Do +you think we couldna' be better folk if we had no poverty?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, but the like o' us ken no better, an' it wadna' do if +we had mair. We micht waste it," and the tone of resignation +always maddened her to greater wrath.</p> + +<p>"There's mair wasted on fancy fal-lals among the gentry +than wad keep many a braw family goin'. Look at the hooses +we live in; the gentry wadna' keep their dogs in them. The +auld Earl has better stables for his horses than the hooses +puir folk live in!"</p> + +<p>"That's maybe a' richt, Nellie, but you maun mind that +we're no' gentry. We havena' been brocht up to anything +else. Somebody has got to work, an' we canna' help it," +and the fatalistic resignation but added fuel to her anger.</p> + +<p>"Ay, we could help it fine, if we'd only try it. It's no' +richt that folk should hae to slave a' their days, an' be always +in hardships, while ither folk who work nane hae the best o' +everything. I want a decent hoose to live in; I want to see +my man hae some leisure, an' my weans hae a chance in life +for something better than just work and trouble," and her +voice quivering with anger at the wrongs inflicted upon her, +she would rattle away on her favorite topic.</p> + +<p>"There you go again. You are aye herp, herpin' at the +big folk, or aboot the union. I wonder you never turn tired, +woman," the reply would come, for sometimes these women +were unable to understand her at all.</p> + +<p>"I'll never turn tired o' that," she would reply. "If only +the men wad keep thegither an' no' be divided, they'd soon +let the big folk see wha' was the maist importance to the country. +Do you think onybody ever made a lot o' money by +their ain work? My man an' your man hae wrocht hard a' +their days. They've never wasted ony o' their hard-earned +money, an' yet they hae naething."</p> + +<p>"No, because it takes it a' to keep us," would be the reply, +as if that were a conclusive answer, difficult to counter.</p> + +<p>"Well, how do ye think other folk mak' a fortune? Do ye +think they work harder than your man does? No! It's because +our men work so hard that other folk get it aff their +labor. Do they live a better life than your man or mine? +They waste mair in yae day, whiles, than wad keep your +family or mine for a whole year. Is it because they are +honester than us? No. You ken fine your man or yoursel' +wadna' hae the name o' stealin'. But they steal every day o' +their lives, only they ca' it business. That's the difference. +It's business wi' them, but it wad be dishonest on oor pairt. +Awa', woman! It's disgraceful to think aboot. Naebody +should eat wha disna work, an' I dinna care wha hears me say +it," and the flashing eyes and the indignant voice gave token +of her righteous wrath.</p> + +<p>"That's a' richt, Nellie, but it has aye been, an' I doot +it'll aye be. We just canna help it," would come the reply.</p> + +<p>"I tell you it's everybody's duty to work for better times. +We've no richt to allow the things that gang on. There's nae +guid in poverty and disease an' ill-health, an' we should a' +try to change it; and we could if only you'd get some sense +into your held, an' no' stand and speak as if you felt that +God meant it."</p> + +<p>"Ay, Nellie, that's a' richt, but it's the Lord's will, an' +we maun put up wi' it."</p> + +<p>At this juncture Mrs. Sinclair's patience would become exhausted, +and she would flare up, while the neighbor would suddenly +break off the discussion and go off home.</p> + +<p>Her children were taught that it was a disgrace not to resent +a wrong, and Robert, though only a boy, was always +sturdily standing up against the things he considered wrong +at the pit-head.</p> + +<p>Robert dreamed and built his future castles. There was +great work ahead to do. He never mentioned his longings and +visions to anyone, yet Mysie's sweet, shy face was creeping into +them always, and already he was conscious of something in her +that thrilled him. He was awkward, and his speech did not +come readily, in her presence. Whole days he dreamed, only +waking up to find it was "knocking-off" time. There was an +hour's break in the middle of the day, and then he wandered +out on the moor. Its silence soothed him, and he would lie +and dream among the rough yellow grass and the hard tough +heather, bathing his soul in the brooding quietness of it all.</p> + +<p>He was now twelve years of age, and longing to get at work +down the pit. It was for him the advent of manhood, and +represented the beginning of his real work.</p> + +<p>One night in the late summer, after the pit had knocked off +and the "day-shift" was returning home, he and Mysie were +walking as usual behind the women. He had meant to tell +her the great news all day, but somehow she was so different +now, and besides a man should always keep something to himself +as long as possible. It showed strength, he thought.</p> + +<p>"I'm goin' doon the pit the morn, Mysie," he said, now that +he had come to the point of telling her, and speaking as casually +as he could.</p> + +<p>"Oh, are you?" said Mysie, and stopped, disappointingly, +and remained silent.</p> + +<p>"Ay. I'm twelve now, you ken, an' I can get into the pit," +feeling a bit nettled that she was silent in the face of such +a happening.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" and again Mysie stopped.</p> + +<p>"My faither has got a place a week syne that'll fit John +an' him an' me. The three o' us are a' goin' to work thegither. +If he could have gotten yin sooner, I'd hae been doon +a month syne. But he's aye been waitin' to get a place that +wad suit us a'," he said, volunteering this information to see +if it would loosen her tongue to express the regret he wanted +her to speak.</p> + +<p>But again Mysie did not answer. She only hung her head +and did not look up with any interest in his news.</p> + +<p>"It's aboot time I was in the pit now, ye ken. You used +to get doon the pit at ten. My faither was in it when he was +nine, but you're no' allowed to gang doon now till you are +twelve year auld. I'm going to draw aff my faither and John," +and he was feeling more and more exasperated at her continued +silence.</p> + +<p>Yet still Mysie did not speak, and merely nodded to this +further enlightenment.</p> + +<p>"I've never telt onybody except yoursel'," he said, hurt at +her seeming want of interest, and feeling that what he was +going to say was less manly than he intended it to be. Indeed +he was aware that it was decidedly childish of him to say it, +but, like many wiser and older, he could not keep his dignity, +and took pleasure in hurting her; for there is a pleasure sometimes +in hurting a loved one, because they are loved, and will +not speak the things one wants them to say, which if said might +add to one's vanity and sense of importance. "So ye'll just be +by yoursel' the morn, unless they put Dicky Tamson owre +aside you," he added viciously.</p> + +<p>"I dinna want Dicky Tamson aside me," she said with some +heat, and a hint of anxiety in her voice, which pleased him +a little. "He's an impudent thing," and again she relapsed +into silence, just when he thought his pleasure was going to +be complete.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they'll maybe put Aggie Lowrieson on your side o' the +table," he volunteered, glad that at last she had shown some +feeling.</p> + +<p>"They can keep Aggie Lowrieson too," she said shortly. +"I dinna' want her. I'll get on fine mysel'," and she said +no more.</p> + +<p>He talked of his new venture all the way home, and he felt +more and more hurt because she did not reply as eagerly and +volubly as he wished.</p> + +<p>"It'll be great goin' doon the pit," he said, again feeling that +he was going to be priggish. "Pickin' stanes is a' guid enough +for a laddie for a wee while, an' for women, but you're the +better to gang into the pit when you're the age. You get mair +money for it. Of course, it's hard work, but I'll be earnin' +as much as twa shillin's a day in the pit, and that'll be twelve +shillin's a week."</p> + +<p>But Mysie could not be drawn to look at his rosy prospects, +and still kept silent, so that the last few hundred yards were +covered in silence. At the end of the row where they always +parted, he could not resist adding a thrust to his usual "good-night."</p> + +<p>"Guid nicht then, Mysie. I thocht may be ye'd be vexed, +seem' that Dickie Tamson can torment you as muckle as he +likes now." And so he went home feeling that Mysie didn't +care much.</p> + +<p>But Mysie had a sore heart that night. She knew only too +well that Dick Tamson would torment her, and would be egged +on by the other women to kiss and tease her, and they would +laugh at it all. Robert had always been her champion, and +kept Dick, who was a mischievous boy, at a distance. She was +sorry that Robert was going down the pit, and it seemed to +her that she'd rather go to service now. The harsh clamor +and the dirty disagreeable work were bearable before, but it +would not be the same with Robert away. She knew that she +would miss him very much. She thought long of it when she +lay down in her bed that night. He had no right to think +that she was not vexed, and she cried quietly beneath the +blankets.</p> + +<p>"Here's Mysie greetin'," cried her little brother, who lay +beside her. "Mither, Mysie's greetin'."</p> + +<p>"What's wrang wi' her?" called the mother anxiously from +the other bed.</p> + +<p>"I dinna' ken," answered the boy, "she'll no' tell me."</p> + +<p>"What is't that's wrang with you, Mysie?" again called the +mother more sharply.</p> + +<p>"I've a sore tooth," she answered, glad to get any excuse, +and lying with promptitude.</p> + +<p>"Well, hap the blankets owre your head," the mother advised, +"and it'll soon be better. Dinna' greet, like a woman."</p> + +<p>But Mysie still continued to cry softly, choking back the +sobs, and keeping her face to the wall, so as not to disturb +the other sleeper beside her—cried for a long hour, until exhaustion +overcame her, and at last she fell asleep, her last +thought being that Robert had no right to misjudge her so.</p> + +<p>Robert, on the other hand, as is the prerogative of the man, +soon forgot all about his disappointment at Mysie's seeming +want of interest in his affairs, and was busy with his preparations +for the next day.</p> + +<p>He had a lamp to buy, for Lowwood was an open-light pit, +and was soon busy on the instructions of his father learning +the art of "putting in a wick" to the exact thickness, testing +his tea flask, and doing all the little things that count in preparing +for the first descent into a coal mine. He was very +much excited over it all, and babbled all the evening, asking +questions regarding the work he would be called upon to do, +and generally boring his father with his talk.</p> + +<p>But his father understood it all, and was patient with him, +answering his enquiries and advising him on many things, +until latterly he pleaded for a "wink o' peace," and told the +boy "for any sake" to be quiet.</p> + +<p>Geordie Sinclair knew that this enthusiasm would soon +evaporate. Only too well he knew the stages of disappointment +which the boy would experience, and for this reason +he was kindly with him.</p> + +<p>He was now looking forward with better prospects. Robert +was the second boy now started, and already matters were +somewhat easier; but he shuddered to think of the lot of the +man who was battling away unaided, with four or five children +to support, and depending on a meager three and sixpence or +four shillings of a daily wage to keep the house together. +For himself the prospect was now better, and in looking back +he realized what a terrible time it had been—especially for his +wife; for hers was the more difficult task in laying out the +scanty wages he earned.</p> + +<p>It never had seemed to strike him with such force before, +even when matters were at their worst, what it had meant to +her; and as he looked at her, sitting knitting at the opposite +side of the fire, he was filled with compassion for her, and +a new beauty seemed to be upon her lined face, and in the +firm set of her mouth.</p> + +<p>Thus he sat reviewing all the terrible struggle, when she +had slaved to keep him and the children, during the time he +was injured, and a pang shot through, as the conviction came +to him, that perhaps he had not been as helpful as he might +have been to her, when a little praise even might have made it +easier for her.</p> + +<p>Impulsively he rose to his feet and crossed to where she +sat, taking her in his arms and kissing her.</p> + +<p>"Losh, Geordie, what's wrong with you!" she enquired, looking +up with a pleased sparkle in her eyes, for he was usually +very undemonstrative.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just this, Nellie," he said with embarrassment in every +feature of his face, "I've been thinking over things, and I +feel that I havena' given you encouragement as I should have +done, for all that you have done for me and the bairns."</p> + +<p>"You fair took my breath away," said Nellie with a pleased +little laugh; then, as she looked at his glowing face, something +came into her throat, and the tears started.</p> + +<p>"There now, lassie," he said, again gathering her into his +arms, and kissing her tenderly, "it's all past now, my lass, and +you'll get it easier from this time forth. God knows, Nellie, +you are worth all that I can ever do for you to help," and +the happy tears fell from her eyes, as she patted his rough, +hairy cheek, and fondled him again, as she had done in their +courting days.</p> + +<p>"I'll wash the floor for you, lass," he said impulsively, almost +beside himself with happiness, as he realized that this +little act of his had made them both so happy. "You've been +in the washing tub all day, and I ken you'll be scrubbin' on +the floor first thing in the morning, as soon as we are away +to the pit. But I'll do it for you the nicht. The bairns are +all in bed, and I'll no' be long. You sit an' tak' a rest," and +he was off for the pail and a scrubbing brush, and was back +at the fireside pouring water from the kettle before his wife +realized it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind, Geordie," she said remonstratingly, "I'll +do it myself in the morning. You've had your own work to do +in the pit, an' you need all the rest you can get."</p> + +<p>"No," he said decisively. "You sit doon, lass. I'll no' be +lang. Just you sing a bit sang to me, just as you used to sing, +Nellie, an' I'll wash out the floor," and he was soon on his +knees, scrubbing away as if it were a daily occurrence with +him. And Nellie, pleased and happy beyond expression, sat +in the big chair by the fireside and sang his favorite ballad, +"Kirkconnel Lea."</p> + +<p> +Oh, that I were where Helen lies,<br /> +For nicht and day on me she cries,<br /> +Oh, that I were where Helen lies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On fair Kirkconnel Lea.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, Helen fair, beyond compare,<br /> +I'll mak' a garland o' your hair<br /> +Shall bind my heart for evermair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until the day I dee.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>And Nellie Sinclair never in all her life sang that song so +well as she did that night; and she never sang it again. Robert, +who was lying in the room, heard her glorious voice, and +marveled at the complete mastery she showed over the plaintive +old tune. It was as if her very soul reveled in it, as +the notes rose and fell; and it stirred the boy into tremendous +emotional excitement, as the tragedy was unfolded in the +beautiful words and the sadness of the old tune.</p> + +<p>It was a memorable night of quiet happiness for all, and +there was so much of tragedy lying behind it unseen and unknown. +But so often are the sweetest moments of life followed +by its sadness and its sorrow.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h2>THE ACCIDENT</h2> + + +<p>Next morning at five o'clock Robert leapt from his bed, +full of importance at the prospect of going down the +pit. Stripping off his sleeping shirt, he chattered as +he donned the pit clothes. The blue plaid working-shirt which +his mother had bought for him felt rough to his tender skin, +but unpleasant as it was, he donned it with a sense of bigness. +Then the rough moleskin trousers were put on and fastened +with a belt round the waist, and a pair of leg-strings at the +knees. The bundles of clothes, separately arranged the night +before, had got mixed somewhat in Robert's eagerness to +dress, with the result that when his brother John rose, with +eyes half shut, and reached for his stockings, he found those +of Robert instead lying upon his bundle.</p> + +<p>"Gie's my socks," he ordered grumpily, flinging Robert's +socks into the far corner of the kitchen. "You've on the +wrong drawers too. Can ye no' look what you're doin'?" and +the drawers followed the socks, while Robert looked at his +mother with eyes of wonderment.</p> + +<p>"Tak' aff his socks, Rob," she said, "he's a thrawn, ill-natured +cat, that, in the mornin'."</p> + +<p>"Well, he should look what he's doin' an' no' put on other +folk's claes," and immediately the others burst out laughing, +for this advocate of "watchin' what he was doin'" had in his +half sleepy condition failed to see that he had lifted his jacket +and had rammed his leg down the sleeve in his hurry and +anger.</p> + +<p>"Noo, that'll do," said Geordie, as John flung the jacket at +Robert, because he laughed. "That'll do noo, or I'll come +alang yer jaw," and thus admonished John was at once silent.</p> + +<p>Robert soon had his toilet completed, however, even to the +old cap on his head, upon which sat the little oil-lamp, which +he handled and cleaned and wiped with his fingers to +keep it bright and shiny, whilst all the time he kept chattering.</p> + +<p>"For ony sake, laddie, hand your tongue," said Geordie at +last, as he drew in his chair to the table to start upon the +frugal breakfast of bread and butter and tea. "Your tongue's +never lain since you got up."</p> + +<p>Robert, thereupon, sat down in silence at the table, though +there were a hundred different things he wanted to ask about +the pit. He could not understand why everyone felt and +looked so sleepy, nor divine the cause of the irritable look +upon each face, which in the dim light of the paraffin lamp +gave a forbidding atmosphere to the home at this time of the +day.</p> + +<p>At last, however, the meal was over, and when Geordie had +lit his pit lamp and stuck his pipe in his mouth, all three +started off with a curt "Good morning" to Mrs. Sinclair, who +looked after her boys with a smile which chased away the +previous irritability from her face.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the pit-head, they found a number of miners there +squatting on their "hunkers," waiting the time for descending +the shaft. As each newcomer came forward, the man who +arrived immediately before him called out: "I'm last." By +this means—"crying the benns,"—as it was called—the order +of descent was regulated on the principle of "First come, first +served." Much chaffing was leveled at little Robert by some +of the younger men regarding his work and the things which +would have to be done by and to him that day.</p> + +<p>At last came the all important moment, and Robert, his +father and two men stepped on to the cage. After the signal +was given, it seemed to the boy as if heaven and earth were +passing away in the sudden sheer drop, as the cage plunged +down into the yawning hole, out of which came evil smells +and shadows cast from the flickering lamps upon the heads of +the miners. The rattling of the cage sent a shiver of fear +through Robert, and with that first sudden plunge he felt as +if his heart were going to leap out of his mouth. But by the +time he reached the "bottom," he had consoled and encouraged +himself with the thought that these things were all in the first +day's experience of all miners.</p> + +<p>That morning Robert Sinclair was initiated into the art +of "drawing" by his brother John. The road was fairly level, +to push the loaded "tubs," thus leaving his father to be helped +with the pick at the coal "face." After an hour or two, Robert, +though getting fairly well acquainted with the work, was +feeling tired. The strange damp smell, which had greeted his +nostrils when the cage began to descend with him that morning, +was still strong, though not so overpowering as it had been +at first. The subtle shifting shadows cast from his little lamp +were becoming familiar, and his nervousness was not now so +pronounced, though he was still easily startled if anything unusual +took place. The sound of the first shot in the pit nearly +frightened him out of his wits, and he listened nervously to +every dull report with a strange uneasiness. About one o'clock +his father called to him.</p> + +<p>"Dinna tak' that hutch oot the noo, Robert. Just let it +staun', an' sit doon an' tak' yir piece. Ye'll be hungry, an' +John an' me will be out the noo if we had this shot stemmed."</p> + +<p>"A' richt," cheerfully replied the boy, withdrawing down +to the end of the road, where his clothes hung upon a tree, and +taking his bread from one of his pockets, he sat down tired and +hungry to await his father and John.</p> + +<p>Geordie's "place" was being worked over the old workings +of another mine which had exhausted most of the coal of a +lower seam many years previously, except for the "stoops" +or pillars, which had been left in. This was supposed to be +the barrier beyond which Rundell's lease did not go. It +would be too dangerous to work the upper seam with the +ground hollow underneath, so the "places" had all been +stopped as they came up, with the exception of Geordie Sinclair's. +Sinclair was puzzled at this, and he often wondered +why his place had not been stopped with the others. He was +more uneasy, too, when he began to find large cracks or fissures +in the metals, and spoke of this to Andrew Marshall a few +nights before; but he did not like to seem to make too much +of it, and the matter was passed over, till the day before, when +Walker visited the place for a few minutes, when Geordie accosted +him.</p> + +<p>"What way is my place going on?" he asked, and was told +that it was a corner in the barrier, which extended for one +hundred yards and must go on for that distance, and that there +was really no danger, as the ground below was solid.</p> + +<p>So, busily working away, and finding still more rents in the +floor and roof, Sinclair thought it must just be as he had seen +it in other places of a like kind, the weight of the upper metals +which were breaking over the solid ground by reason of the +hollow beneath between the stoops, though in this case it did +not amount to much as yet.</p> + +<p>The coal was easy to get; he had one boy "forrit to the +pick," with Robert as "drawer," and his prospects seemed +good, he thought, as he was busily preparing a shot, ramming +in the powder, and "stemming" up the hole. He was +busy ramming the powder in the prepared hole, while the +elder boy prepared clay, with which to stem or seal it up after +the powder had been pressed back, leaving only the fuse protruding.</p> + +<p>"Here's a tree cracking," said the boy, drawing his father's +attention to a breaking prop; but as this is a common occurrence +in all mines where there is extra weight after development, +Geordie thought nothing of it at the time, intending +merely, before he lighted his shot, to put in a fresh prop.</p> + +<p>"Bring in another prop, sonny," he said to the boy, "and +I'll put it in when I have stemmed this hole," and the boy +turned to obey his order.</p> + +<p>But suddenly a low crackling sound, caused by the breaking +of more props, was heard, then a roar and a crash as of +thunder, followed by a long rumbling noise, which left not a +moment for the two trapped human beings to stir even a limb +or utter a cry. The immensity of the fall created a wind, +which put out little Robert's lamp; the great rumbling noise +filled him with a dreadful fear, and he sprang involuntarily +to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Faither! Faither!" he called, terror in his voice and +anxiety in his little heart, but there was no reassuring answer. +He felt his breathing getting difficult; the air was thick with +dust and heavy with the smell of rotting wood and damp decaying +matter.</p> + +<p>"Faither! Faither!" he called again louder in his agony, +darting forward, thinking to go to their assistance, and knocking +his head against a boulder.</p> + +<p>"John! Faither! I'm feart," and he began to cry. Afraid +to move, unable to see, he staggered from one side to another, +bruising his face and arms against the jagged sides, the blood +already streaming from his bruises, and his heart frantic with +fear.</p> + +<p>"Oh, faither! faither! Where are ye?" and he began to +crawl up the incline, in desperate fear, while still the rumbling +and crashing went on in long rolling thunder. "Oh! oh!" he +moaned, now almost mad with terror. "Faither! John! +Where are ye! Oh! oh!" and he fell back stunned by striking +his head against a low part of the roof.</p> + +<p>Again he scrambled to his feet, certain now that some disaster +had happened, since there was no response to his appeals, +and again he was knocked to the ground by striking his head +against the side of the roadway. But always he rose again, +frantically dashing from side to side, as a caged lark, when +first caught, dashes itself against the bars of its prison; until +finally, stunned beyond recovery, he lay in a semi-conscious +condition, helpless and inert, his bruises smarting but unfelt, +and the blood oozing from his nose and mouth.</p> + +<p>Andrew Marshall, working about fifty yards away, heard +the roar and the crash, and the boy's cries, and at once ran +to Geordie's place. In his haste and anxiety he nearly stumbled +over the prostrate boy, who lay unconscious in the roadway.</p> + +<p>"Good God! What has happened?" he exclaimed, anxiously +bending over the boy and raising him up, then dashing some +cold tea from Robert's flask upon him, and forcing some between +his lips. Then, when the boy showed signs of recovery, +he plied him with anxious questions.</p> + +<p>"Where's yir faither? What's wrang?" But the boy only +clung to him in wild terror, and nothing connected could be +got from him.</p> + +<p>Andrew lighted the boy's lamp and tore up the brae, leaving +Robert shrieking in nervous fright.</p> + +<p>"Great Christ! It has fa'en in!" he cried, when he had +got as far as he could go. "Geordie! Geordie! Are ye in +there?" and as no answer came, he began tearing at the great +blocks of stone, flinging them like pebbles in his desperation, +until another warning rumble drove him back. Immediately +he realized how helpless he was alone, so he went back to +the boy and hurried him down the brae and out to where +some other men were at work. A few hasty words, and Robert +was passed on, and Andrew went back with the men, only to +find how hopeless it all was; for occasionally huge falls continued +to come away, and it seemed useless to attempt anything +till more help was procured.</p> + +<p>Andrew hurried off to the bottom and overtook Robert, +sending back others to help, and he ascended the shaft and +was off to break the news to Mrs. Sinclair; after which he +returned to the pit, determined to get out all that remained +of Geordie and the boy John.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h2>HEROES OF THE UNDERWORLD</h2> + + +<p>Matters were now much easier and more comfortable +for Geordie Sinclair and his wife. They had long +since added another apartment to their house, and the +"room" was the special pride of Nellie, who was gradually +"getting a bit thing for it" just as her means permitted. They +had two beds in each apartment, and the room was furnished. +Mrs. Sinclair had long set her mind upon a "chest of drawers," +and now that that particular piece of furniture stood proudly +in her room, much of her day was given to polishing it and +the half-dozen stuffed bottomed chairs, which were the envy +of every housewife in the village. A large oval mirror stood +upon the top of the drawers, and was draped with a piece of +cheap curtain cloth, bleached to the whiteness of new fallen +snow.</p> + +<p>This mirror was a much-prized possession, for no other like +it had ever been known in the village. The floor was covered +with oilcloth, and a sheepskin rug lay upon the hearthstone, +while white starched curtains draped the window. The getting +of the waxcloth had been a wonderful event, and dozens of +women had come from all over the village to stand in gaping +admiration of its beauty. This was always where Mrs. Sinclair +felt a thrill of great pride.</p> + +<p>"Ye see," she would explain, "it's awfu' easy to wash, and +a bit wipe owre wi' soap an' watter is a' it needs."</p> + +<p>"My, how weel aff ye are!" one woman would exclaim, "I'm +telt that ye maunna use a scrubbin' brush on't, or the pattern +will rub off."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ay," Nellie would laugh with a hint of superior wisdom +in it. "Ye'll soon waste it gin ye took a scrubber to it. An' +ye maunna use owre hot water to it either," she would add.</p> + +<p>"Oh my!" would come in genuine surprise. "Do you tell +me that. Eh, but you're the weel-aff woman now, to hae a +room like that, an' rale waxcloth on the floor!"</p> + +<p>"I thocht it was a fine, cheerie bit thing," Nellie would say. +"It mak's the hoose ever so much mair heartsome."</p> + +<p>"So it is," would come the reply. "It's a fine, but cheerie +thing. You're a rale weel-aff woman, I can tell ye," and the +woman would go home to dream of one day having a room like +Mrs. Sinclair's, and to tell her neighbors of the great +"grandeur" that the Sinclair's possessed, whilst Nellie would +set to, and rub and polish those drawers and that mirror, and +the stuff-bottomed chairs till they shone like the sun upon a +moorland tarn, and she herself felt like dropping from sheer +exhaustion.</p> + +<p>She even took to telling the neighbors sometimes, when they +came on those visits that "working folk should a' hae coal-houses, +for coal kept ablow the beds makes an awfu' mess o' +the ticks."</p> + +<p>"Oh, weel," would be the reply, made with the usual sigh of +resignation, "I hae had a house a gey lang while now, an' I +dinna think I've ever wanted ony sic newfangled things as +that."</p> + +<p>"That's what's wrang," Mrs. Sinclair would reply. "We +dinna want them. If we did, we'd soon get them. What way +would the gentry hae a' thae things, an' us hae nane?"</p> + +<p>"That's a' richt, Nellie," would be the reply. "We wadna +ken what to do wi' what the gentry has got. They're rich an' +can afford it, an' forby they need them an' we don't. I think +I'm fine as I am."</p> + +<p>"Fine as ye are!" with bitter scorn in her tones. "Ye'll +never be fine wi' a mind like that."</p> + +<p>"Wheesht, woman Nellie! You're no feart. Dinna talk like +that. We micht a' be strucken doon dead!"</p> + +<p>This usually ended the discussion, for Scots people generally—and +the workers especially—are always on very intimate +terms with the Deity, and know the pains and penalties of too +intimate allusions to His power.</p> + +<p>Yet, with all her discontent, Mrs. Sinclair found life very +much easier than it had been, for now that she had some of +the boys started to work, she had made her house "respectable," +and added many little comforts, besides having a "bit +pound or twa lyin' in the store." So she looked ahead with +more hope and a more serene heart. Her children were well-fed +and clothed, and the old days of hunger and struggling +were over, she thought. Geordie was now taking a day off +in the middle of the week to rest, as there was no need for +him to slave and toil every day as he had done in the past. +After all it would only be a very few years till he would no +longer be able to work at all.</p> + +<p>Rosy looked the future then, as Mrs. Sinclair, on the day on +which young Robert went down the pit, showed off her room +"grandeur" to an admiring neighbor.</p> + +<p>"My, what braw paper ye hae, Nellie. Wha put it on for +ye? Was it yirsel'?" asked the visitor with breath bated in +admiration.</p> + +<p>"Ay, it was that. I just got the chance o' the bargain, +an' I thocht I'd tak' it," she replied, with subdued pride.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my! it's awful braw, an' sae weel matched too! I +never saw anything sae well done. You're rale weel-off, do +ye ken."</p> + +<p>"My God! What's wrang?" cried Nellie suddenly, gazing +from the window with blanched cheeks.</p> + +<p>"I doot there's been an accident. I heard the bell gang for +men three tows a' rinnin', an' I see a lot o' men comin' up the +brae. I doot the pit's lowsed."</p> + +<p>Both of them hurried to the door, and found that already +a crowd of women had flocked to the end of the row, and +were standing waiting anxiously on the men, in order to learn +what had happened. They did not talk, but gazed down the +hill, each heart anxious to know if the unfortunate one belonged +to her. The sickening fear which grips the heart of +every miner's wife, when she sees that procession from the pit +before the proper quitting hour, lay heavy upon each one. +The white drawn faces, the set firm lips, and the deep troubled +breathing told how much the women were moved.</p> + +<p>Wives and mothers, sweethearts and sisters, oh, what a hell +of torture they suffered in those few tense moments whilst +waiting for the news, which, though to a great extent it may +relieve many, must break at least one heart. No man, having +once seen this, ever wants to witness it again. Concentrated +hell and torture with every moment, stabbing and pulling at +each heart and then—then the sad, mournful face of Andrew +Marshall as he steps forward slowly past Mag Robertson, past +Jean Fleming, past Jenny Maitland, past them all, and at last +putting a kindly hand on the shoulder of Nellie Sinclair, he +says, with a catch in his voice that would break a heart of +granite: "Come awa' hame, Nellie. Come awa' hame. Ye'll +need to bear up."</p> + +<p>Then it is whispered round: "It's Geordie Sinclair killed +wi' a fa'." And hope has died, and dreams have fled, and +the world will never again look bonnie and fresh and sweet +and full of happiness, nor the blood dance so joyously, nor +the eyes ever again sparkle with the same soft loving glance.</p> + +<p>No more happy evenings, such as the night before had been, +when the glamor and romance of courtship days had come +back, and they had found a new beauty of love and the glory +of life, in the easier circumstances and rosy hopes ahead.</p> + +<p>Misery and suffering, and the long keen pain, the sad cheerless +prospect, and over all the empty life and the broken heart.</p> + +<p>Lowwood was plunged into gloom when the news of the accident +was known, and every heart went out in sympathy to +Nellie Sinclair and her young family. It was indeed a terrible +blow to lose at one and the same time her husband and her +eldest boy.</p> + +<p>It was two days later, and the bodies had not yet been recovered. +Men toiled night and day, working as only miners +fighting for life can work, risking life among the continually +falling débris to recover all that remained of their comrades.</p> + +<p>"It couldna ha'e been worse," said Jenny Maitland sorrowfully +to her next door neighbor. "It's an awfu' blow."</p> + +<p>"Ay," rejoined her neighbor, applying the corner of her +apron to her eyes. "It mak's it worse them no' bein' gotten +yet. I think I'd gae wrang in the mind if that happened to our +yin," and then, completely overcome, she sat down on the +doorstep and sobbed in real sorrow.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's an awfu' big fall. He had been workin' on +the top o' some auld workin's, an' I suppose they wadna ken, +an' it fell in. It maun hae been an awfu' trial for wee Rob, +poor wee man. His first day in the pit, an' his father an' +brither killed afore his een!"</p> + +<p>"Hoo has Nellie taken it, Jenny?" enquired the neighbor, +after a little, when her sobs had subsided.</p> + +<p>"Ye'd break yir heart if ye could see her," replied Jenny +sorrowfully. "I gaed owre when oor yin gaed out wi' the +pieces—he cam' hame at fower o'clock to get mair pieces, for +they're goin' to work on to ten the nicht—an' I never saw +onything sae sad-lookin' as her face. She has never cried the +least thing yet. Never a tear has come frae her, but she'd be +better if she could greet."</p> + +<p>"Do ye tell me that! Puir Nellie! It's an awfu' hand fu' +she is left wi', too," commented the neighbor.</p> + +<p>"Ay, she jist looks at ye sae sad-like wi' her big black een; +never a word nor a tear, but just stares, an' she's that thin an' +white lookin'. I look for her breakin' doon a'thegither, an' +when she does I wadna like to see her. The bits o' weans gang +aboot the hoose wonderin' at her, and she looks to them too, +but ye'd think she'd nae interest in onything. She jist looks +out o' the window an' doon the brae to the pit. It's awesome +to look at her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, puir body!" and again the kindly neighbor was overcome, +and Jenny joined her tears too in silent sympathy.</p> + +<p>"The minister was owre last nicht," said Jenny after a little, +"but I dinna think she ever spoke to him. He cam' in just +when I was comin' oot, an' I dinna like to leave her. He +talked away a wee while an' then put up a prayer; but there +was nae consolation in't for onybody. I think the sicht o' her +face maun hae been too muckle for him. He didna stay very +lang, and gaed awa' saying he'd come back again. Nellie +has everything ready—the bed a' made, wi' clean sheets an' +blankets on them—an' there she stan's always at that window, +lookin' doon the brae. It would break yer heart to see her, +Leezie, she's that vexed lookin'." So they wept and sorrowed +together.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Down in the pit, Andrew Marshall, Matthew Maitland, +Peter Pegg, and a number of others toiled like giants possessed. +Their naked bodies streamed with sweat and glistened in the +light of their lamps. Timber was placed in position, and driven +tight with desperation in every blow from their hammers; +blocks of rock were tossed aside, and smashed into fragments, +ere being filled into the tubs which were ever waiting ready +to convey the débris to the pit-head. Few words were spoken, +except when a warning shout was given, when some loose rubble +poured down from the great gaping cavern in the roof, and +then men jumped and sprang to safety with the agility of +desperation, to wait till the rumbling had ceased, only to leap +back again into the yawning hell, tearing at the stones, and +trying to work their way into the place where they knew Geordie +and the boy were lying. It seemed impossible that human +efforts would ever be able to clear that mountain away.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute, callans," said Andrew, almost dropping +with exhaustion, and drawing his hands across his eyes to +wipe the sweat from them, whilst he "hunkered" down, his +back against a broken tree which stood jutting out from the +building, supporting a broken "baton" (cross-tree), which bent +down in the center, making the roadway low and unsafe. "Let +us tak a minute's thocht, and see if we can get a way o' chokin' +up that stuff fear fallin' doon. We'll never get it redd up goin' +like this."</p> + +<p>So they sat down, tired but still desperate, to listen to each +one suggesting a way of stopping the débris from continuing +to fall. Baffled and at their wits' end, they could think of +nothing.</p> + +<p>At last in came a number of other men to relieve them—men +equally anxious and desperate as they, burning with the +desire to get to grips with this calamity which had come upon +two of their comrades.</p> + +<p>"I'm no' goin' hame," said Andrew decisively, "till I see +Geordie out." He was almost dropping with exhaustion, but +he could not think of leaving his dead friend in there. So at +last it was agreed that he should stay, and at least give the +benefit of his advice. The others, more tired than ever they +had been before in all their experience of the mines, where +hard work is the rule, trudged wearily home, to be met by the +waiting groups of women and children, who at all times stood +at the corners of the village eagerly asking for news, "If +they'd been gotten yet."</p> + +<p>After a few minutes' deliberation a plan was decided on by +Andrew and his comrades of trying to choke up the hole in +the roof with timber, and the work went on desperately, silently, +heroically. Time and again their efforts were baffled by +new falls, but always the same persistent eager spirit drove +them back to their toil. So they worked, risking and daring +things of which no man who never saw a like calamity has any +conception, and which would have appalled themselves at any +other time.</p> + +<p>"Look out, boys," called Tam Donaldson, springing back to +the road as the warning noise again began, and great masses +of rock came hurtling down, filling the place with dust and +noise.</p> + +<p>A cry of pain and horror broke upon them as they ran, and +brought them back while the crumbling mass was still falling.</p> + +<p>"Great God! It's wee Jamie Allan," roared one man +above the din. "He's catched by the leg! Here, boys, hurry +up! Try an' get this block broken afore ony mair comes doon. +God Almichty! Are we a' goin' to be buried thegither? +This bit, boys! Quick!" And they tore at the great masses of +stone, the sweat streaming from every pore of their bodies, +cursing their impotence as they smashed with big hammers the +rock which lay upon Jamie's leg.</p> + +<p>"Mind yersel's, laddies!" warned Jamie, as again the trickling +noise began, heralding another fall. "Leave me, for God's +sake, an' get back!" But not one heeded. Desperate and +strong with the strength of giants, they toiled on, the sight +of suffering so manifest in Jamie's eyes, as he strove not to cry +out, spurring them onward.</p> + +<p>"Ye'll never lift that bit, Tam," said Jamie, as four of them +tore at the block which lay upon his leg. "It's faur too big. +Take an ax an' hack the leg off. I doot it'll be wasted anyway. +Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" And unable longer to endure +the pain, he roared aloud in agony, and tore at the stone himself +with his fingers, like an imprisoned beast in a trap.</p> + +<p>"Here, boys, quick!" cried Andrew, getting his long pinch +in below the stone, upon a fine leverage. "Put yir weight +on this, Tam, an' Jock an' Sanny'll try an' pull Jamie out. +Hurry up, for she's working for anither collapse. A'thegither!" +and so they tugged and tore, and strained and pulled, +while the roars of the imprisoned man were deafening.</p> + +<p>"A'thegither again, laddies!" encouraged Andrew. "This +time!" and with a tremendous effort the stone gave way, and +Jamie was pulled clear, his leg a crushed mass of pulpy blood +and shattered bones. They dragged him back clear of any +further falls, and improvised a stretcher on which to carry +home his now unconscious body.</p> + +<p>"That was a hell o' a narrow shave," quietly observed Tam +Donaldson, as they panted together, and tried to collect themselves. +"His leg's wasted, I doot, an' will need to come off." +When they had their stretcher ready, the wounded man was +tenderly placed upon it, carefully covered up with the jackets +of the others; whilst half-a-dozen of them carried him to the +pit bottom, and finally bore him home, where the doctor was +ready waiting to attend to him.</p> + +<p>Andrew and a few others worked away, and at last managed +to get the running sore in the roof choked up with long bars +of timber, and even though it continued to rumble away above +them, the heavy blocks of wood held, and so allowed them to +work away in comparative safety.</p> + +<p>Peter Pegg and Matthew Maitland returned at six o'clock +next morning, bringing with them another band of workers to +relieve those who had worked all night, but still Andrew Marshall +would not leave the scene of the disaster. He worked +and rested by turns, advising and guiding the younger men, +who never spared themselves. They performed mighty epics +of work down there in the darkness amid the rumbling, falling +roof. It was a great task they were set, but they never +shirked the consequences. They never turned back. Risks +were taken and accepted without a thought; tasks were eagerly +jumped to, and the whole job accepted as if it were just what +ordinarily they were asked to do.</p> + +<p>Crash went the hammers; thump went the great blocks of +material into the tubs, and the men quietly got away the tubs +as they were filled. Night and day the great work went on, +never ceasing, persistent, relentless. If one man dropped out a +minute to breathe and rest when exhausted, another sprang +into his place, and toiled and strove like an engine.</p> + +<p>There was something great and inspiring even to look on +at those mighty efforts—something exhilarating and elevating +in the play of muscles like great long shooting serpents under +the glistening skins of the men. Arms shot out, tugged and +tore, jerked and wrenched, then doubled up and the muscles +became knots, bulging out as if they would break through the +skin, as the great blocks were lifted; and then the blocks were +cast into the tub, the knots untied themselves, and slipped +elastically back into their places, and the serpents were momentarily +at rest until the body bent again to another block. +Out and in they flew, supple and silent, quick as lightning +playing in the heavens; they zig-zagged and shot this way and +that, tying and untying themselves, darting out and doubling +back, advancing and retiring in rhythmic action, graceful and +easy, powerful and inevitable. Bending and rising, the swaying +bodies gleamed and glistened with greasy dust and sweat, +catching the gleams from the lamps and reflecting them in +every streaming pore. Straining and tearing, the muscles, at +every slightest wish, seemed to exude energy and health, glowing +strength and power.</p> + +<p>It was all so natural and apparently easy—an epic in moleskin +and human flesh, with only the little glimmer of oil-lamps, +which darted from side to side in a mad mazurka of toil, crossing +and recrossing, swinging and halting, the flames flattening +out with every heave of their owners' bodies, then abruptly +being brought to the steady again. Looked at from the road-foot, +it was like a carnival of fireflies engaged in trying how +quickly they could dart from side to side, and cross each +other's path, without coming into collision.</p> + +<p>Who shall sing in lyrical language the exhilaration of such +splendid men's work? Who shall catch that glow of strength +and health, and work it into deathless song? The ring of the +hammers on the stone, the dull regular thud upon the timber, +the crash of breaking rock, and the strong, warm-blooded, generous-hearted +men; the passionate glowing bodies, and above +all, the great big heroic souls, fighting, working, striving in a +hell of hunger and death, toiling till one felt they were gods +instead of humans—gods of succor and power, gods of helpfulness +and strength.</p> + +<p>So the work went on hour after hour, and now their efforts +were beginning to tell. No more came the rumbling, treacherous +falls; but perceptibly, irresistibly was the passage gradually +cleared, and the way opened up, until it seemed as if these +men were literally eating their way into that rock-filled passage.</p> + +<p>"Can ye tell me where Black Jock is a' this time?" enquired +Andrew, as Peter and Matthew and he sat back the road, resting +while the others worked. "Rundell has been here twa or +three times, for hours at a time, but I hae never seen Walker +yet."</p> + +<p>"I hae never seen him either, an' I was hearin' that he was +badly," returned Peter, and his big eye seemed to turn as if +it were looking for and expecting some one to slip up behind +him.</p> + +<p>"Ay," broke in Matthew, "badly! I wadna say, but it +micht be that he's badly; but maybe he's not."</p> + +<p>"Do ye ken, boys," said Andrew quietly, taking his pipe out +of his mouth, and speaking with slow deliberation, "I'm beginnin' +to think Black Jock is guilty o' Geordie's death. +Geordie, as we a' ken, had ay something against Walker. There +was something he kent aboot the black brute that lately kept +him gey quiet; for, if ye noticed, whenever Geordie went to +him about anybody's complaint, the men aye won. I ken +Walker hated him, an' I'm inclined to think that he has deliberately +put Geordie into this place, kennin' that the lower +seam had been worked out lang, lang syne. His plans wad +tell him as muckle about the workin's, and I ken, at least, +he's never been in Geordie's place since it was started, an' +there's nae ither places drivin' up sae far as this. They're a' +stoppit afore they come this length; an' forby, frae what Rundell +has let drap the day, he never kent that the coal was +being worked as far up as this. By ——! Peter, gin I could +prove what I suspect, I'd murder the dirty brute this nicht! +I would that!"</p> + +<p>"Would Nellie no' ken, think ye, what it was that Geordie +had against Black Jock that kept him sae quiet?" enquired +Peter.</p> + +<p>"I couldna' say," answered Andrew, "but some day when I +get the chance I'll maybe ask her, an' if it is as I think, then +there'll be rows."</p> + +<p>"Let me ken, Andrew," broke in Matthew. "Let me ken if +ever ye discover onything; an' ye can count on me sharin' the +penalties o' hell alang wi' ye for the murder o' the big black +brute."</p> + +<p>"I heard," said Peter, "that he was boozin' wi' Mag Robertson +and Sanny. But we'll no' be long in kennin', for ill-doin' +canna hide."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After three frantic days of fighting against calamity, during +which Andrew never left the fight except for that brief journey +to tell Nellie the news, at last they came upon the crushed +mass of bloody pulp and rags, smashed together so that the +one could not be told from the other—father and son, a heap +of broken bones and flesh and blood.... And no pen can +describe accurately the scene.</p> + +<p>The light had gone out from one woman's heart, the hope +had been crushed from her life. The rainbow which had promised +so much vanished. The lust and urge had gone out +of eager life. Never again would the world seem fair and +beautiful. Instead, all the weary fight and desperate battle +with poverty and privation over again; the dull misery and +the drab gray existence, and always the pain—the heavy, dragging +pain of a broken life. With a woman's "Oh! my God!" +the world for one heart stood still, and the blind fate of things +triumphed, crushing a woman's soul in the process.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h2>THE STRIKE</h2> + + +<p>A week had passed, and Geordie Sinclair and his boy, +or at least all that could be gathered up of them, had +been laid to rest.</p> + +<p>Nellie was very ill, and was now in bed. The reaction had +been too much for her. But, as Jenny Maitland had said: +"She's never cried yet, an' it would hae been better gin she +had. She jist looked at ye wi' her big black e'en sae vexed-like +and faraway lookin', an' never spoke hardly. When they +carried out the coffins, she sprang up gin she wad follow them, +but was putten back to bed again. It was heart-vexin' to look +at her."</p> + +<p>Robert suffered, too. The sympathy of everyone went out +to him. At night when he went to bed the whole scene was +reënacted before him in all its horror. Those tense moments +of tragedy had so powerfully impressed his boyish mind that +he could never forget them.</p> + +<p>At the end of the week Andrew Marshall visited them to +talk over matters. A collection had been made at the pay-office +by the men employed at the pit, and a beautiful wreath +purchased and placed upon the grave. A substantial balance +had been handed over to Mrs. Sinclair, and this defrayed the +expenses of the funeral. After Andrew had spoken of various +things, he broke on to the object of his errand that night.</p> + +<p>"I hae been thinkin', Nellie," he began nervously, "that I +could tak' Rob in wi' me. Ye see, I ha'e no callans o' my ain, +and I ha'e aye to get yin to draw off me. So, gin ye're agreeable, +I could tak' Rob, an' I'll be guid to him. He can come +an' be my neighbor, an' as he'll hae to get work in ony case, +he micht as weel work wi' me as wi' ony ither body. Forby +I'll maybe be able to pay him mair than plenty ithers could +pay him, an' that is efter a' the point to be maist considered. +What do ye think?"</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Sinclair could not think; she merely indicated to +him that he might please himself and make his own arrangements +with the boy, which Andrew did, and Robert went to +work with him the following week. He was a mass of nerves +and was horribly afraid—indeed, this fear never left him for +years—but, young as he was, he recognized his responsibility, +to his mother and the rest of the family. He was now its head, +and had to shoulder the burden of providing for it, and +so his will drove him to work in the pit, when his soul revolted +at the very thought of it. Always the horror of the +tragedy was with him, down to its smallest detail; and sometimes, +even at work, when his mind wandered for a moment +from his immediate task, he would start up in terror, almost +crying out again as he had done on the day of the accident.</p> + +<p>Andrew kept his word and was good to the boy now in his +care. Indeed, he took, as some said, more care of the boy than +if Robert had been his own, for he tried to save him from every +little detail that might remind him of the accident.</p> + +<p>"That's yours, Robin," he said, when pay-day came, as he +handed to the boy the half of the pay earned.</p> + +<p>"Na, I canna' tak' that, Andrew," replied Robert, looking +up into the broad, kindly, honest face of the man. "My mither +wouldna' let me."</p> + +<p>"Would she no'?" replied Andrew. "But you are the heid +o' the hoose, Robin, sae just tak' it hame, an' lay it down on +the dresser-head. We are doin' gey weel the noo, an' forby, +ye're workin' for it. Noo run awa' hame wi't, an' dinna say +ocht to yir mither, but just put it doon on the dresser-head." +And so the partnership began which was to last for many years.</p> + +<p>About this time there happened one of those tremendous upheavals, +long remembered in the industrial world, the great +Scottish Miners' Strike of 1894. The trade union movement +was growing and fighting, and every tendency pointed to the +fact that a clash of forces was inevitable. The previous year +had seen the English miners beaten after a protracted struggle. +They had come out for an increase in wages, and whilst it was +recognized that they had been beaten and forced to go back +to work suffering wholesale reductions, yet a newer perspective +was beginning to appear to the miners of Scotland.</p> + +<p>"We'll never be able to beat the maisters," said Tam Donaldson, +when the cloud first appeared upon the industrial horizon. +"The English strike gied us a lesson we shouldna forget."</p> + +<p>"How's that?" enquired Peter Pegg, as he sat down on his +hunkers one night at the end of the row, while they discussed +the prospects of the coming fight.</p> + +<p>"Weel, ye saw how the Englishmen fought unitedly, an' yet +they were beaten, an' had to gang back on a reduction. We'll +very likely be the same, for the maisters are a' weel organized. +What we should do is to ha'e England an' Scotland coming out +together, an' let the pits stan' then till the grass was growin' +owre the whorles. That would be my way o' it, and I think +it would soon bring the country to see what was in the wind."</p> + +<p>"That's richt, Tam. It would soon bring the hale country +to its senses; for nae matter what oor fight is, we are aye in +the wrang wi' some folk; so the shock o' the hale country +comin' out would mak' them tak' notice, an' would work the +cure."</p> + +<p>So they talked of newer plans, while Smillie toiled like a +giant to educate and organize the miners. He had taken hold +of them as crude material, and was slowly shaping them into +something like unity. A few more years and he would win; +but the forces against him knew it, too, and so followed the +great fight which lasted for seventeen weeks.</p> + +<p>Singularly enough, while there was undoubtedly much privation, +there was not very much real misery, as the strike had +started early in a warm, dry summer.</p> + +<p>Communal kitchens were at once established throughout the +country. Everybody did his best, and the womenfolk especially +toiled early and late. A committee was appointed in +each village to gather in materials. Beef at a reasonable price +was supplied by a local butcher. A horse and cart were borrowed, +which went round the district gathering a cabbage or +two here; a few carrots or turnips there, parsley at another, +and so on, returning at night invariably laden with vegetables +for the next day's dinner. Sometimes a farmer would give a +sheep, and the local cooperative society provided the bread at +half the cost of production. Those farmers who were hostile +gave nothing, but it would have paid them better had they +concealed their hostility, for sometimes, even in a single night, +large portions of a field of potatoes would disappear as by +magic.</p> + +<p>Robert worked in this fight like a man. He helped to cut +down trees and saw them into logs, to cook the food at the +soup kitchen. Everything and anything he tried, running errands, +and even going with the van to solicit material for the +following day's meals.</p> + +<p>All were cheerful, and no one seemed to take the fight bitterly. +Sports were organized. Quoiting tournaments were got +up, football matches arranged, games at rounders and hand-ball—every +conceivable game was indulged in, with sometimes +a few coppers as prizes but more often a few ounces of tobacco +or tea or a packet of sugar. Dances in the evenings were +started at the corner of the row to the strains of a melodeon, +and were carried on to the early hours of the morning. It +was from these gatherings that the young lads generally raided +the fields and hen runs of the hostile farmers, returning with +eggs, butter, potatoes, and even cheese—everything on which +they could lay their hands.</p> + +<p>At one of these gatherings Robert related his experience with +"auld Hairyfithill." Robert had been round with the van that +day, and calling at Wilson's, or Hairyfithill Farm, to ask if +they had any cabbage to give, he heard the old man calling to +the servant lass: "Mag! Mag! Where are ye? Rin an' bring +in the hens' meat; there's thae colliers coming."</p> + +<p>Nothing daunted, Robert had gone into the kitchen to ask +if they had anything to give the strikers.</p> + +<p>"Get awa' back to yer work, ye lazy loons, ye!" was the +reply from old Mr. Wilson. "Gie ye something for your soup +kitchen! Na, na! Ye can gang an' work, an' pay for your +meat. Gang awa' oot owre, and leave the town, an' dinna +come back again." And so they had drawn blank at Hairyfithill.</p> + +<p>"It wad serve him richt, if every tattie in his fields was ta'en +awa'," said Matthew Maitland, after the story had been told +and laughed over.</p> + +<p>"It wad that," agreed a score of voices; but nothing was +done nor anything further said, so the dancing proceeded.</p> + +<p>About two o'clock in the morning while the dancing was +still going on and a fire had been kindled at the corner in +which some of the strikers were roasting potatoes and onions +a great commotion was suddenly caused, when Dickie Tamson +and two other boys drove in among them old Hairyfithill's sow +which he was fattening for the market. Some proposed that +the pig be killed at once.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, dinna kill it," said Matthew Maitland, with real +alarm in his voice. "Ye'd get into a row for that. Ye'd better +tak' it back, or there may be fun."</p> + +<p>"Kill the damn'd thing," said Tam Donaldson callously, "an' +it'll maybe a lesson to the auld sot. Him an' his hens' meat! +I'd let him ken that it's no' hens' meat the collier eats—at +least no' so lang as he can get pork."</p> + +<p>"That's jist what I think, too, Tam," put in another voice. +"I'd mak' sure work that the collier ate pork for yince. Come +on, boys, an' mum's the word," and he proceeded to drive the +pig further along the village, followed by a few enthusiastic +backers. They drove it into Granny Fleming's hen-house in +the middle of the square, put out the hens, who protested +loudly against this rude and incomprehensible interruption of +their slumbers, and then they proceeded to slaughter the pig.</p> + +<p>It was a horrible orgy, and the pig made a valiant protest, +but encountered by hammers and picks, knives and such-like +weapons, the poor animal was soon vanquished, and the men +proceeded to cut up its carcass. It was a long and trying +ordeal for men who had no experience of the work; yet they +made up in enthusiasm what they lacked in science, and by +five o'clock the pig was cut up and distributed through a score +of homes. Every trace of the slaughter was removed, and the +refuse buried in the village midden, and pork was the principal +article on the breakfast table that morning in Lowwood.</p> + +<p>"I hear that auld Hairyfithill has offered five pound reward +for information about his pig," said Tam Donaldson a few +mornings later.</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' it's a gran' price for onybody wha kens aboot it," +said auld Jamie Lauder. "Pork maun hae risen in price this +last twa-three days, for I'm telt it was gaun cheap enough +then."</p> + +<p>"That is true," said Tam, "but it was a damn'd shame to +tak' the auld man's pig awa', whaever did it. But I hear them +saying that the polisman is gaun to the farm the nicht to +watch, so that the tatties 'll no' be stolen," he went on, as +some of the younger men joined them, "an' I suppose that +the puir polisman hasna' a bit o' coal left in his coal-house. It's +no' richt, ye ken, laddies, that a polisman, who is the representative +o' law and order in this place, should sit without a +fire. He has a wife an' weans to worry aboot, an' they need +a fire to mak' meat. Maybe if he had a fire an' plenty o' +coal it wad mak' him comfortable, an' then he'd no' be sae +ready to leave the hoose at nicht an' lie in a tattie pit to watch +thievin' colliers. If a man hasna' peace in his mind it'll mak' +him nasty, an' we canna' allow sic a thing as a nasty polisman +in this district!"</p> + +<p>"That's richt, Tam," said one of the younger men. "It +would be a shame to see a woman an' twa-three weans sittin' +withoot a fire an' a great big bing o' coal lyin' doon there at +the pit. We maun try an' keep the polisman comfortable."</p> + +<p>That night the policeman without in any way trying to +conceal his purpose walked down through the village and across +the strip of moor and took up his position at the end of Hairyfithill's +potato field. At once a group of young men led by +Tam Donaldson set off with bags under their arms after it was +dark for the pit at the other end of the village and were soon +engaged in carrying coal as if their lives depended on it.</p> + +<p>"Noo, lads, the first bag gangs to the polisman, mind," said +Tam, shouldering his load and walking off.</p> + +<p>"A' richt, Tam. If we a' gang wi' the first bag to him +that'll be nine bags, then we can get two or three bags for +hame. Dinna hurry; we ha'e a' nicht to carry, an' we can get +in a fine lot afore daylicht breaks."</p> + +<p>"That's richt," said Tam, "but mind an' no' tire yersels too +much, for ye've a nicht at the tatties the morn. The polis'll +be at the bing the morn's nicht efter this carry-on, an' when +he is busy watchin' for coal thieves, we maun see that we get +in a denner or twa o' tatties. I heard him sayin' he could not +be everywhere at yince, an' couldna' both watch coal thieves +an' tattie stealin' at yin an' the same time."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>All this time matters went very smoothly. The men were +very firm, having great trust in Smillie. After about six weeks, +however, from various causes a suspicious atmosphere began +to be created. Hints had been appearing from time to time in +the newspapers that matters were not altogether as the miners +thought they were. Then vague rumors got afloat in many +districts and spread with great rapidity, and these began to +undermine the confidence of the strikers.</p> + +<p>"What think ye o' the fecht noo, Tam?" enquired Matthew +Maitland one night as they sat among the others at the "Lazy +Corner," as the village forum was called.</p> + +<p>"I dinna ken what to think o' it," replied Tam glumly. +"Do ye think there's any truth in that story aboot Smillie +havin' sell't us?"</p> + +<p>"It wad be hard to ken," replied Matthew Maitland, taking +his pipe out of his mouth and spitting savagely upon the +ground. "But I heard it for a fact, and that a guid wheen +o' men doon the country hae gaen back to their work through +it. An' yet, mind ye, Smillie seemed to me to be a straight-forret +man an' yin that was sincere. Still, ye can never tell; +an' twa-three hunner pound's a big temptation to a man."</p> + +<p>"Ay," said Tam dryly, "we hae been diddled sae often wi' +bigmoothed men on the make, that it mak's a body ay suspicious +when yin hears thae stories. I heard Wiston, the coal-maister, +had gien him five hunner pounds on the quiet."</p> + +<p>"I heard that too," replied Matthew, "but, like you, I'm loth +to think it o' Smillie. I'd believe it quicker aboot yon ither +chiel, Charlie Rogerson. He comes oot to speak to us ay +dressed in a black dress-suit, wi' white cuffs doon to his finger +nebs, his gold ring, his lum hat, an' a' his fal-de-lals."</p> + +<p>"Weel, I dinna believe a word o' this story aboot Bob," +said Robert quietly, who had "hunkered" down beside the two +men who sat so earnestly discussing matters while the others +went on with their games and dancing.</p> + +<p>"Do ye no', Rob?" said Tam.</p> + +<p>"No, I do not," was the firm reply, "for nae matter what +happens in a fight, it's ay the opeenion o' some folk that the +men ha'e been sell't."</p> + +<p>Robert, though young, took a keen interest in the fight. +While other lads of his age looked upon it as a fine holiday, +the heavy responsibilities he had to face gave him a different +outlook, and so the men seemed to recognize that he was different +from the other boys, and more sober in his view-point.</p> + +<p>"This story is set aboot for the purpose o' breakin' oup the +men," he continued. "We hear o' Smillie haein hale rows o' +cottages bought, an' a lot ither rubbish, but I wouldna believe +it. It's a' to get the men to gang back to their work; an' if +they do that, it'll no' only break the strike, but it'll break up +the union, an' that's what's wanted mair than anything else. +I've heard Smillie an' my faither talkin' aboot a' thae things +lang syne, an' Smillie says that's what the stories are set aboot +for. We should ha'e sense enough no' to heed them, for I +dinna think Smillie has sell't us at a'."</p> + +<p>There was a fine, firm ring in the boy's voice as he spoke +which moved the two older men, and made them feel a little +ashamed that they had been so ready to doubt.</p> + +<p>"Ah, weel, Rob," said Tam, "maybe you are richt, but a +lot o' men ha'e gaen back to their work already, an' it'll break +up the strike if it spreads. But we'll ha'e to get some tatties +in the nicht; the polisman's goin' to be watchin' auld Burnfoot's +hen-hoose, sae it'll be a grand chance for some tatties," +and the talk drifted on to another subject.</p> + +<p>About the eighth week of the strike the news went round the +village that Sanny Robertson and Peter Fleming were "oot at +the pit."</p> + +<p>"I wad smash every bone in their dirty bodies if I had my +way o' it. I would," said Matthew Maitland, with emphasis. +Matthew was always emphatic in all he said, though seldom so +in what he did.</p> + +<p>"But we'll ha'e to watch hoo we act," said Andrew Marshall +more cautiously. "It's agin the law, ye ken, to use force."</p> + +<p>"I wadna' gi'e a damn," said Peter Pegg, his big eye making +frantic efforts to wink. "I wad see that they blacklegged nae +mair."</p> + +<p>"Sae wad I," promptly exclaimed half a dozen of the younger +men.</p> + +<p>"We maun see that they don't do it ony mair."</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' I hope we'll mak' sure work that they sleep in for +twa-three mornin's."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell ye what," said old Lauder, "let us get a few weemin' +and weans thegither, an' we'll gang doon to the pit an' wait +on them comin' up frae their shift. The bairns can get tin cans +an' a stane for a drumstick, an' we'll ha'e a loonie band. We +can sing twa or three o' thae blackleg sangs o' Tam Donaldson's, +an' play them hame."</p> + +<p>"That's the plan, Jamie," replied Tam, who had suddenly +seen himself immortalized through his parodies of certain popular +songs. "Let us get as mony women an' callans as possible, +and we can mak' a damn'd guid turnout. We'll sing like +linties, an' drum like thunder, an' the blacklegs'll feel as if +they were goin' through Purgatory to the tune o':"</p> + +<p> +Tattie Wullie, Tattie Wullie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tattie Wullie Shaw,</span><br /> +Where's the sense o' workin', Wullie?—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faith, ye're lookin' braw.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>or</p> + +<p> +Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peter, man, I say,</span><br /> +Ye've been workin', ye've been workin',<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye've been workin' the day.</span><br /> +<br /> +Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If ye work ony mair,</span><br /> +Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your heart will be sair.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>With little difficulty a band of men, women and children was +organized and proceeded to the pit to await the coming up of +the culprits. Hour after hour they waited patiently, determined +not to miss them, and the time was spent in light jesting +and singing ribald songs.</p> + +<p>"I wadna' like if my faither was a blackleg," observed Mysie +Maitland to the girl next her.</p> + +<p>"No, nor me, either!" quickly agreed the other. "It wad +be awfu' to hear folk cryin' 'Blackleg' after yir faither, wadna' +it, Mysie?"</p> + +<p>"Ay," was the reply. "I wadna' like it."</p> + +<p>"They should a' be hunted oot o' the place," put in +Robert, who was standing near. "They are just sellin' the +rest o' the men, an' helpin' to break up the strike. So ye +mind, Mysie, hoo Tam Graham's lass aye clashed on the rest +o' us on the pit-head? She's just like her faither, ay ready to +do onything agin the rest, if it would gi'e her a wee bit favor."</p> + +<p>"Ay, fine I mind o' it, Rob," Mysie replied eagerly. "Do ye +mind the day she was goin' to tell aboot you takin' hame the +bit auld stick for firewood? When I telt her if she did, I'd +tell on her stealin' the tallow frae the engine-house an' the +paraffin ile ay when she got the chance. She didna say she'd +tell then."</p> + +<p>"Ay, Mysie. Maybe I'd ha'e gotten the sack if she had telt. +But she was aye a clashbag. But here they come!" he shouted +animatedly, as the bell signaled for the cage to rise, and presently +the wheels began to revolve, as the cage ascended.</p> + +<p>"May the tow break, an' land the dirty scums in hell," +prayed one man.</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' may the coals they howkit the day roast them +forever," added another. Though they prayed thus, yet once +again they found that the "prayer of the wicked availeth +naught." Buckets of water, however, and even bits of stone +and scrap iron were surreptitiously flung down the shaft; and +when the blacklegs did appear, they were nearly frightened out +of their senses. It would have gone hard with them as they +left the cage, but someone whispered, "Here's the polis!" and +so the crowd had to be content with beating their tin cans; +and keeping time to the songs improvised by Tam Donaldson, +they escorted the blacklegs to their homes.</p> + +<p>Next morning a large number of the strikers gathered at the +Lazy Corner, enjoying themselves greatly.</p> + +<p>"They tell me," said Tam Donaldson, "that our fren's ha'e +slept in this morning."</p> + +<p>A laugh greeted this sally, which seemed to indicate that +most of them knew about the sleeping-in and the reason for it.</p> + +<p>"Ay, they'd be tired oot efter their hard day's work yesterday," +replied another.</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' they dinna seem to be up yet," said a third, "for +I see the doors are still shut, an' the bairns are no' awa' to +the school. They maun ha'e been awfu' tired to ha'e slept sae +lang."</p> + +<p>"Let's gang doon and gi'e them a bit sang to help to keep +their dreams pleasant," suggested Tam Donaldson, as they +moved off down the row and stopped before Jock Graham's +door. Tam, clearing his throat, led of:</p> + +<p> +Hey, Johnnie Graham, are ye wauken yet,<br /> +Or is yer fire no' ken'lt yet?<br /> +If you're no wauken we will wait,<br /> +An' tak' ye to the pit in the mornin'.<br /> +<br /> +Black Jock sent a message in the dark,<br /> +Sayin': Johnny Graham, come to your wark,<br /> +For tho' ye've been locked in for a lark,<br /> +Ye maun come to the pit in the mornin'.<br /> +<br /> +You an' Fleeming, an' Robertson tae,<br /> +Had better a' gang doon the brae,<br /> +An' you'll get your pay for ilka day<br /> +That ye gang to your work in the mornin'.<br /> +</p> + +<p>Then, leading off on to another, Tam, with great gusto, +swung into a song that carried the others along uproariously:</p> + +<p> +O' a' the airts the win' can blaw,<br /> +It canna blaw me free,<br /> +For I am high an' dry in bed,<br /> +When workin' I should be;<br /> +But ropes are stronger faur than is<br /> +Desire for work wi' me,<br /> +An' sae I lie, baith high an' dry—<br /> +I'll hae to bide a wee.<br /> +<br /> +I canna say on whatna day<br /> +I'll gang again to work,<br /> +For sticks an' stanes may break my banes,<br /> +As sure's my name's McGurk.<br /> +Gie me the best place in the pit,<br /> +Then happy I shall be,<br /> +Just wi' yae wife to licht oor life,<br /> +Big dirty Jock an' me!<br /> +</p> + +<p>After a round or two of applause and some shouts from the +children, Tam broke out in a new air:</p> + +<p> +This is no' my ain lassie,<br /> +Kin' though the lassie be,<br /> +There's a man ca'd Black Jock Walker,<br /> +Shares this bonnie lass wi' me.<br /> +She's sweet, she's kin', her ways are fine,<br /> +An' whiles she gies her love to me.<br /> +She's ta'en my name, but, oh, the shame,<br /> +That Walker shares the lass wi' me.<br /> +<br /> +This is no' my ain lassie,<br /> +She is changefu' as the sea,<br /> +Whiles I get a' her sweet kisses,<br /> +Whiles Black Jock shares them wi' me.<br /> +She's fat and fair, she's het and rare,<br /> +She's no' that trig, but ay she's free,<br /> +It pays us baith, as sure as daith,<br /> +That Walker shares the lass wi' me.<br /> +</p> + +<p>This sent the crowd wild with delight, and cries of "Good +auld Tam!" were raised. "Damn'd guid, Tam! Ye're as guid +as Burns." All of which made Tam feel that at last his genius +was being recognized. The explanation of the joke was to be +found in the fact, as one song had hinted, that the strikers had +securely fastened the doors of all the blacklegs' houses with +ropes, and jammed the windows with sticks, so that the inmates +could not get out. Even the children could not get out +to go to school. It was late in the afternoon before the police +heard of it, and came and cut the ropes, and so relieved the +imprisoned inmates.</p> + +<p>This happened for a morning or two, and then the practice +stopped, for the police watched the doors throughout the +whole night. This preoccupation of the police was taken advantage +of to raid again old Hairyfithill's potato field, and also +to pay a visit to the bing for coal, and a very profitable time +was thus spent by the strikers, even though the blacklegs were +at their work in a few days.</p> + +<p>What was happening in Lowwood was typical of almost all +other mining villages throughout the country. Everywhere +high spirits and cheerfulness prevailed among the men. As +for the leaders, the situation proved too big for some of them +to cope with it, the responsibility was too great; and so they +failed at the critical moment. The demand of an increase of +a shilling a day, for which the men had struck, had been conceded +by some of the owners, whilst others had offered sixpence. +Some of the leaders were in favor of accepting these +concessions, and allowing the men at the collieries concerned +to resume work, and so be able to contribute considerably to +help keep out those whose demands had not been met. Others +of the leaders refused to agree to this, and insisted that as all +had struck together, they should fight together to the end, +until the increase was conceded to all. This difference of +opinion was readily perceived and welcomed by the coalmasters, +and stiffened their resolution, for they saw that disagreement +and divisions would soon weaken the morale of the men, +and such proved to be the case.</p> + +<p>No one can imagine what Smillie suffered at this time, as +he saw his splendid effort going to pieces; but being a big +man, he knew that it was impossible to turn back. His plans +might for the moment miscarry; but that was merely a necessary, +yet passing, phase in the great evolution of Industrialism, +and his ideals must yet triumph.</p> + +<p>As the result of the differences among the leaders, the strike +collapsed at the end of seventeen weeks. The men were forced +to return to work on the old terms. In some cases a reduction +was imposed, making their condition worse than at the start. +The masters sought to drive home their victory in order to +break the union. In many parts of the country they succeeded, +while in others the spirit of the men resisted it. Generally it +ended in compromise; but, so far as the Union was concerned, +it was a broken organization; branches went down, and it was +many years afterwards before it was again reestablished in +some of the districts.</p> + +<p>Though at the time it might have seemed all loss, yet it +had its advantages, and especially demonstrated the fact that +there was a fine discipline and the necessary unity among the +rank and file. The next great work was to find out how that +unity could be guided and that discipline perfected—how to +find a common ideal for the men. This was Robert Smillie's +task, and who shall say, looking at the rank and file to-day, +that he has failed?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h2>THE RIVALS</h2> + + +<p>Eight years passed, and Robert grew into young manhood. +One of his younger brothers had joined him +and Andrew Marshall in the partnership. It had been +a long, stiff struggle, and his mother knew all the hardness and +cruelty of it. In after years Robert loved his mother more +for the fight she put up, though it never seemed to him that +he himself had done anything extraordinary. He was always +thoughtful, and planned to save her worry. On "pay-nights," +once a fortnight, when other boys of his age were getting a +sixpence, or perhaps even a shilling, as pocket-money, so that +they could spend a few coppers on the things that delight a +boy's heart, Robert resolutely refused to take a penny. For +years he continued thus, always solacing himself with the +thought that it was a "shilling's worth less of worry" his mother +would have.</p> + +<p>Yet, riches were his in that the enchantment of literature +held him captive, and his imagination gained for him treasures +incomparably greater than the solid wealth prized by worldly +minds. His father had possessed about a dozen good books, +among others such familiar Scottish household favorites as +"Wilson's Tales of the Borders," "Mansie Waugh," by "Delta," +"Scots Worthies," Allan Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd," Scott's +"Rob Roy" and "Old Mortality," and the well-thumbed and +dog-eared copy of Robert Burns' Poems.</p> + +<p>"Gae awa', man Robin," his mother would say sometimes +to him, as he sat devouring Wilson's "Tales" or weeping over +the tragic end of Wallace's wife Marion as recounted in Jean +Porter's entrancing "Scottish Chiefs."</p> + +<p>"Gang awa' oot an' tak' a walk. Ither laddies are a' oot +playin' at something, an' forby it's no' healthy to sit too long +aye readin'."</p> + +<p>"Ach. I canna' be bothered," he would answer. "I'd raither +read."</p> + +<p>"What is't you're readin' noo?" she would enquire. "Oh, +it's the 'Scottish Chiefs,' an' I'm jist at the bit aboot Wallace's +wife being murdered by Hazelrig. My! It's awfu' vexin'."</p> + +<p>"Ay, it's a fine book, Robin. Ye might read that bit oot +to me."</p> + +<p>"A' richt," and he would start to read while Nellie sat down +to listen. Soon both were engrossed in the sad story, so powerfully +told, and the tears would be running from the mother's +eyes as her fancy pictured the sorrows of Wallace, while Robert's +voice would break, and a sob come into his throat, as he +proceeded. When finally the passage was reached where the +brutal blow was struck, the book would have to be put down, +while mother and son both cried as if the grief depicted were +their own.</p> + +<p>"It's an awfu' gran' book, Rob," she would say after a +time, while she strove to subdue the sobs in her breast. "Puir +Wallace! It maun ha'e been an awfu' blow to him, when he +heard that Marion was killed. But you maun read on a bit +far'er, for I'm no' gaun tae work ony mair till I see that dirty +beast Hazelrig get his deserts. He has wrocht for it, sae jist +gang on noo till you feenish the bit aboot him gettin' killed +wi' Wallace. He deserves it for killin' a woman."</p> + +<p>Thus Robert would have to go on, until the incident in +question had been reached in the story, and as it unfolded +itself his voice would grow firmer and stronger as he became +infected with the narrative, while his mother's eyes would +glow, and her body be tense with interest, and an expectant +expression would creep over her face, betraying her excitement. +In the interview between Wallace and Hazelrig in the house in +the Wellgate in Lanark, when Wallace dramatically draws his +sword in answer to the supplication for mercy, and says: "Ay, +the same mercy as you showed my Marion," Robert's voice +would thunder forth the words with terrible sternness, while +Nellie would gasp and catch her breath in a quick little sob +of excitement, as the feeling of satisfied justice filled her heart. +And when the blow fell that laid the English governor low, +she would burst out: "Serves him richt, the dirty tyrant. +He's got what he deserved, an' it serves him right!"</p> + +<p>On another occasion Robert would suddenly burst out laughing, +when reading Delta's chronicle of the adventures of +Mansie Waugh, the Scottish "Handy Andy."</p> + +<p>"What are you laughing at, Robin?" Nellie would enquire, +a smile breaking over her face also.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's Mansie Waugh, mither. Oh, but it's a gran' bit. +Listen to this," and he would begin to read the passage, where +Mansie, simple soul that he was, was described as going into +the byre in the morning to learn if the cow had calved during +the night, and finding, on opening the door, the donkey of +a traveling tinker, he turned and ran into the house, crying: +"Mither! Mither! The coo has calved, an' it's a cuddy!"</p> + +<p>Whenever he reached this part of the story, his mother would +go off into a fit of uncontrollable laughter which left her helpless +and crumpled up in a heap upon the nearest chair. Her +laugh was very infectious; it began with a low, mirthful ripple, +well down in the throat, and rose in rapid leaps of musical joy +till it had traveled a whole octave of bubbling happy sounds, +when it culminated in a peal of double forte shakes and trills, +that made it a joy to hear, and finally it died out in an "Oh, +dear me! What a callan Mansie was!"</p> + +<p>As Robert approached manhood, he took more and more to +the moors, wandering alone among the haunts of the whaup +and other moor birds, wrestling with problems to which older +heads never gave a thought, trying to understand life and to +build from his heart and experience something that would be +satisfying. Silent, thoughtful, "strange" to the neighbors, a +problem to everyone, but a bigger one to himself, life staggered +him and appalled his soul.</p> + +<p>Earnestly he worked and tested his thought against the +thought of others, sturdily refusing everything which did not +ring true and meet his standard. Old religious conceptions, +the orthodoxy of his kith and kin, were fast tested in the crucible +of his mind and flung aside as worthless. The idea of Hell +and the old Morrisonian notion of the Hereafter appeared crude +and barbarous. His father's fate and the condition of the family +left to welter in poverty, the cruelty of life as it presented +itself to the great mass of the working class, could not be reconciled +with the Church's teaching of an all-loving and omniscient +Father.</p> + +<p>With the audacity of youth, he felt that he could easily have +constructed a better universe. He felt that Hell could have no +terrors for people condemned to such hardship and suffering +as he saw around him. Life was colorless for them; stinted +of pleasure and beauty, with merely the joys of the "gill-stoup" +on a Saturday night at the local "store" to look forward to, +there was in it no real satisfaction either for the body or the +mind. Would he, indeed, have to wait till after death before +knowing anything of real happiness or comfort? His mind +refused to accept this doctrine so frequently expounded to +working class congregations by ministers, who were themselves +comparatively well endowed with "treasures upon earth."</p> + +<p>Life was good, life was glorious if only it could be made as +he dreamed it. This fair earth need be no vale of tears. There +were the blue skies, the white tapestry of cloudland ever varying; +there was the wind upon his face and the sweet rain; +there was the purl of mountain brook, the graceful sweep of +the river, the smile of the flowers, the songs of the birds; the +golden splendor of the day and the silver radiance of the +night.</p> + +<p>But above and beyond all there was an ever-increasing love +of his fellows, there were noble women like his mother to +reverence, and there were sweet children to cherish. Surely life +was good, and never was meant to be the mean, sordid thing +that too often was the lot of people like himself. Heaven could +and should be realized here and now. At twenty, he finished +by accepting Humanity as it is, to be understood and loved, +to be served, and, if necessary, to die for it.</p> + +<p>Though thus naturally reserved and meditative, yet he was +not unloved. There was no more popular lad in the village. +Everyone in a tight corner came to him for help and advice. +He was private secretary to half the village and father confessor +to the other half. He served everyone, and in return +all loved him more or less. In the course of time he came to +occupy the place his father had held before him as president +of the local branch of the Union, which had been recently revived. +His duties as a Union official forced him more and +more into mixing with others, and into taking a larger interest +in the affairs of the locality.</p> + +<p>Gradually with the activities of public life his moodiness +gave place to a healthy cheerfulness, and his enthusiasm soon +led him into taking part in nearly every form of sport which +gave life more zest. His interest being roused, he was wholehearted +in his application, whether as a member of the executive +of any local sports association, or as a participant in the +game itself. He was elected to the committee responsible for +organizing the Lowwood Annual Games, but resigned because +having taken up racing as his pet pastime for the time being, +he wanted to compete in some of the items.</p> + +<p>At last the "Sports" day arrived. The pits were idle, for +this was one of the recognized holidays. Everyone looked +forward eagerly to this day, and prepared for it, each in his +or her own way. For weeks before it the children practiced +racing, and trained themselves in jumping, football, quoiting +and such sports. Young men stole away to secret places in +the moor to train and harden themselves, timing their performances +and concentrating on the strenuous day ahead when they +would compete with one another in fair tests of speed, strength, +skill and endurance.</p> + +<p>One event was always a special attraction, even to professional +racers all over the country. This was known as the +"Red Hose Race," about which many legends were told. The +most popular of these was to the effect that the stockings were +knitted each year by the Laird's wife, and if no one entered +for the race, the Laird must run it himself, or forfeit his extensive +estate to the Crown. In addition to the Red Hose, +there was a substantial money prize. To win the race was +looked upon as the greatest achievement of the year, for it was +one of the oldest sporting events and had been run for so many +years that its origin seemed lost in the mists of antiquity. +Robert made up his mind to win the Red Hose in this particular +year. Mrs. Graydon, of Graydon House, had intimated +that she herself would be present and would hand over the +stockings to the proud winner in person, but it was not by any +means on this account that Robert was so keen to win. It was +the older lure that brought every year athletes of fame to run +in the historic race.</p> + +<p>"So you are going to run in the Red Hose," said a voice +behind Robert while the people were all gathering to watch +the preliminary races of the boys and girls. Robert turned +from the group of young men who had been discussing the +event with him, and met the smiling face of Peter Rundell, +dressed in immaculate style and looking as fresh and fine a +specimen of young manhood as anyone could wish to see.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said with a smile, "and I intend to win it."</p> + +<p>"Do you?" returned Peter light-heartedly. "I have also +entered for it, though I had no intention of doing so when I +came over; but Mr. Walker, who, as you know, is on the committee, +pressed me to go in, and so I consented."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Robert, in surprise, "I thought after last year's +success you were not going to run again." Then, in a bantering +tone, and with a smile upon his lips, "I suppose we'll be +rivals in this, then; but I gi'e you fair warning that I'm gaun +to lift the Red Hose if I get a decent chance at all."</p> + +<p>"Well, I have set my mind on winning it, too," replied Peter. +"I'd like to lift it, just to be able to say in after years that +I had done so."</p> + +<p>"That's just hoo I feel aboot the matter too," lightly answered +Robert. "I'd like jist to be able to say that I had won +the Red Hose. I feel in good form for it, so you'd better be +on your mettle."</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall give you the race of your life for it," said +Peter, entering into the same light spirited boasting. "I hear +Mair and Todd and Semple are also entered, but with a decent +handicap I won't mind these, even with their international +reputation."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Robert. "I suppose I shall have the greater +pleasure in romping home before you all. Are the handicaps +out yet?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw the list just before I spoke to you. Semple and +Mair are scratch, with Todd at five yards. You start at +twenty-five, and I get off at the limit forty.'</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Robert, a note of surprise in his voice. "Walker +has surely forgotten who are the runners! Why, last year you +won nearly all the confined events, and you were second in +the Red Hose with twenty-five yards. He means you to romp +home this year!" and there was heat in Robert's voice as he +finished.</p> + +<p>"Well, I daresay it is a decent handicap," said Peter, "and +even though Semple is among the crowd, I should manage, I +think, to pull it off with anything like luck."</p> + +<p>"I should think so," said Robert. "Walker has just +made you a present of the race. But I suppose it can't be +helped, though it isn't fair. Anyhow, I'll give you a chase +for it."</p> + +<p>"All right. Half an hour and we shall be on," and Peter +went on round the field, exchanging greetings with most of the +villagers.</p> + +<p>He was finishing his education at a Technical College in +Edinburgh, and at present was home on holidays. He was a +well set up young man, and though popular with most people, +yet he brought with him an air of another world among the +villagers, which made them feel uncomfortable. They recognized +that his life was very different from their own, and while +they talked to him when he spoke to them, and were agreeable +enough to him, they felt awed and could not break down the +natural reserve they always had towards people of another +station of life. He was perhaps a little too thoughtless and impulsive, +though generous-hearted enough. He drifted into +things, rather than shaped them to his own ideas, and was often +not sufficiently careful of the positions in which he found himself +as a consequence of thoughtless acts.</p> + +<p>The week before he had caught and kissed Mysie Maitland, +who was now serving at Rundell House, merely because he +was taken with her pretty face. From that Peter already believed +himself in love with her, because she had not resented +his action. He had even walked over with her from the village, +when she had been home visiting her parents one night, and +had felt more and more the witchery of her pretty face and +the lure of her fine little figure.</p> + +<p>Up to this time Mysie had always believed herself in love +with Robert—Robert who was always so strange from the rest +of young men. He had always been her hero, her protector; +but there was something about him for which she could not +account and which she could not have defined. Such was her +admiration that she believed it was in his power to do anything +he cared to attempt; it was just possible that it was this +strange sense of unknown power which fascinated her. They +had never been lovers in the accepted sense of the word. They +had never "walked out" as young people in their social station +usually do, but yet had always felt that they were meant for +one another.</p> + +<p>Only once had Robert kissed her, and that moment ever +lived with her a glowing memory. She had been home and +was returning through a moorland pass, when she came across +him lying upon the rough heather, his thoughts doubtless full +of her, for he had seen her in the village, and knew she must +return that way.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rob!" she cried, her face flushing with excitement as +she saw him. "Ye nearly frichted me oot o' my wits the noo."</p> + +<p>"Did I, Mysie?" he answered, springing to his feet. "I +didna mean to dae that. Ye'll be getting back, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Ay," she returned simply, and a silence fell upon them, in +which both seemed to lose the power of speaking.</p> + +<p>Robert looked at her as she stood there, her full, curved +breasts rising and falling with the excitement of the unexpected +meeting, the long lashes of her eyes sweeping her +flushed cheeks, as she stood with downcast eyes before him. +The last rays of the setting sun falling upon her brown hair +touched it with a rare strange beauty. Her red lips like dew-drenched +roses—luscious, pure, alluring, were parted a little +in a half smile. But it was the fascinating movement of the +breast, full, round and sensuous, that stirred and made an +overpowering appeal to every pulse within him. It seemed so +soft, so tender, so wonderfully alluring. At the moment he +could not understand himself or her. There was a strange, +surging impetus raging through him that he felt absolutely +powerless to subdue, and he swayed a little as he stood.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mysie!" he cried, leaping forward and clasping her in +his strong, young arms, and crushing her against him, holding +her there, gasping, powerless but happy.</p> + +<p>"You are mine, Mysie. Mine!" and he kissed her budded +lips in an ecstasy of passion and warm-blooded feeling, while +a thousand fevers seemed to course through him as he felt the +contact of her body and her warm, eager lips on his. Blinded +and delirious, he kissed her again and again in an impassioned +burst of fervor, passion scorching his blood and filling his +whole heart with the enjoyment of possession. She closed her +eyes, and her head touched his shoulder, while the faint scent +of her hair and its soft caressing touch upon his cheek maddened +him to a fury of love.</p> + +<p>"Say you are mine, Mysie! Say you are mine!" he cried, +and his voice was strange and hoarse and dry with the desire +within him. He felt her body yielding as it relaxed in his +arms, as if in answer to some unspoken demand, and in a moment +he realized himself and started back, hot shame surging +over his face and conquering the passion in his blood. In +that strange mad moment he had felt capable of anything—powerful, +overmastering, relentless in his desires; and now—weak, +shame-stricken and helpless. Ere he could say anything, +Mysie had come to herself with a shock, and started away over +the moor as if possessed by something that was mysterious and +terrible.</p> + +<p>That had happened a year ago, and though Robert sought +to learn when she was in the village, and often watched her +from a safe place where he was not seen, delighting his eyes +with the sight of her figure, and feeling again the same hot +shame come over him, as he had known that day on the moor, +yet he had never met her near enough to speak to her, but had +worshiped her at a distance and grown to love and desire +her more and more with every day that passed.</p> + +<p>He dreamed dreams around her, but was afraid to encounter +her again. This strange mad love burned in his blood, until +at times he was almost sick with desire and love. Every moor-bird +called her name; every flower held the shyness of her face; +the clouds of peaceful sunsets showed the glory of her hair, and +the quiet, steadfast stars possessed the wonder of her eyes. +The madness of the passionate moment of possession on the +moor was at once his most treasured memory and his intensest +shame.</p> + +<p>As for Mysie, since she had not heard any more from Robert +nor even seen him for almost a year, she felt quite flattered by +the attentions of Peter Rundell. It was not that she was in +love with either of the young men. Her nature was of the +kind that is in love with love itself, and was not perhaps capable +of a great love, such as had frightened her, when Robert, +taken off his guard, had let her glimpse a strong, overmastering +passion and a soul capable of great things. Already she +dreamed of a grand house of which she would be mistress as +Peter's wife, as she stood in the silence of her own room, +pirouetting and smirking, and drawing pictures of herself in +fine garments and stately carriage, playing the Lady Bountiful +of the district.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h2>THE RED HOSE RACE</h2> + + +<p>"All competitors for the Red Hose, get ready!" called the +bell-man, who announced the events at the sports, and +immediately all was stir and bustle and excitement.</p> + +<p>"Wha's gaun to win the day, Andrew?" enquired Matthew +Maitland, as they stood waiting for the runners to emerge from +the dressing tent.</p> + +<p>"I dinna ken," answered Andrew Marshall. "That's a +damn'd unfair handicap anyway. My neighbor is no' meant +to lift it seemingly. Look at the start they've gi'en him, an' +young Rundell starts at the limit."</p> + +<p>"Ay!" said Matthew. "It's no' fair. It's some o' Black +Jock's doings. He's meanin' young Rundell to wun it."</p> + +<p>"Ay, it looks like it; but it's fashious kennin' what may +happen. Rab's a braw runner," and Andrew spoke as one who +knew, for he was the only person who had seen Robert train.</p> + +<p>"Weel, it's harder for him to be a rinner than for young +Rundell, a man wha never wrocht a day's work in a' his life, +while Rab's had to slave hard and sair a' his days.... +Though Rundell can rin too," he added, with ungrudged admiration.</p> + +<p>"Ay, he ran weel last year, but they tell me he'd like to +get the Red Hose to his credit, though for my pairt they'd +been far better to ha'e presented it to him, than to gi'e him it +that way. Man, he's a dirty brute o' a man, Black Jock!" +and there was disgust in his voice. "Jist look at Mag Robertson +there, flittering aboot quite shameless, and gecking and +smirking at him, an' naebody daur say a word to her. She's +a fair scunner!"</p> + +<p>"If she belonged to me, I'd let her ken a different way o't."</p> + +<p>"Ay, Andra," was the reply. "But ye maun mind that Mag +mak's mair money than Sanny does. Jist look at her, the +glaikit tinkler that she is. Black Jock's no' ill to please when +that pleases him."</p> + +<p>Mag Robertson, the subject of their talk, was quite oblivious, +apparently, of the many remarks that were being passed +about her, and she continued to follow Walker, who as a committee +member, was busily arranging matters for the race.</p> + +<p>"She's gie weel smeekit, Andra!" observed Matthew in a +whisper, as Mag passed close by. "Did ye fin the smell o" +her breath?"</p> + +<p>"Ay!" replied Andrew. "She can haud a guid lot before +ye see it on her. She's—" but a shout from the crowd cut +his further revelations short.</p> + +<p>"Here they come!" cried Matthew excitedly, as the tent +opened, and young Rundell came out with confident bearing, +leading the other half-dozen athletes to the starting place. +"Let's gae roon' to the wunnin' post so as to see the feenish."</p> + +<p>The competitors lined up, each on his separate mark, ready +for the signal to start. Rundell, in a bright-colored costume +of fine texture, showed well beside the other racer who started +along with him at forty yards. Peter was slimly built, but +there were energy and activity in his every movement; his legs +especially, being finely developed, showed no superfluous flesh; +his chest alone indicated any weakness, but withal he looked a +likely winner.</p> + +<p>Robert, on the other hand, while not carrying a great amount +of flesh, was well built. The chest was broad and deep, the +shoulders square and the head held well up, his nose being +finely adapted for good respiration. The legs, by reason of +heavy work in early life, were a little bent at the brawn, but +were as hard as nails; they showed wonderfully developed +muscles, and gave the impression of strength rather than +speed.</p> + +<p>They presented a fine picture of eager, determined young +manhood, clean and healthy, and full of life and mettle. Each +face betrayed how the mind was concentrated on, the work +ahead, every thought directed with great intensity towards the +goal, as they bent their bodies in preparation for the start.</p> + +<p>The pistol cracked and rang out upon the midday air with +startling suddenness, and immediately they were off on a fine +start to the accompaniment of the cheering of the crowd which +lined the whole track in a great circle. The first round ended +with the runners much as they had started, the interval between +each being fairly equally maintained. Semple, however, +dropped out, not caring to overstrain himself as he had +some heavy racing next day at another gathering, where a +much higher money prize was the allurement.</p> + +<p>Round the others went, the excitement growing among the +crowd, who kept shouting encouraging remarks to the racers +as they passed.</p> + +<p>"Keep it up, Robin!" cried Andrew Marshall. "Keep it up, +my lad. Ye're daein' fine."</p> + +<p>"Come away, Rundell, the race is yer ain," shouted an enthusiastic +supporter of Peter.</p> + +<p>"Nae wonner!" answered Matthew Maitland, heatedly. +"They've gi'en him the race in a present. Look at the handikep!"</p> + +<p>"An' what aboot it?" enquired the other, not knowing what +to answer.</p> + +<p>"Plenty aboot it," replied Matthew. "If it hadna' been +he was Peter Rundell, he wadna' ha'e gotten sic a start. Black +Jock means him to get the race, an' it's no' fair. I wadna' +ha'e the damn'd thing in that way, an' if he does win it he'll +hae nae honor in it."</p> + +<p>"But Rab's runnin' weel," Matthew continued, as he followed +the runners with eager eyes, and stuck the head of his +pipe in his mouth in his excitement, burning his lips in the +process. "Dammit, I've burned my mooth," he ejaculated, +spluttering, spitting and wiping his mouth. "But the laddie +can rin. He's a fair dandie o' a rinner."</p> + +<p>"He couldna' rin to catch the cauld," broke in Rundell's +admirer, glad to get in a word. "Look at him. Dammit, ye +could wheel a barrow oot through his legs. He jist rummles +alang like a chained tame earthquake."</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked Matthew, somewhat nettled at this +manner of describing Robert's slightly bent legs. "He canna +rin, ye say! Weel, if he couldna' rin better than Peter Rundell, +he should never try it. Look at Rundell!" he went on +scathingly, "doubled up like a fancy canary, and a hump on his +back like a greyhound licking a pot. Rinnin'! He's mair like +an exhibition o' a rin-a-way toy rainbow. He's aboot as souple +as a stookie Christ on a Christmas tree!" And Matthew glared +at the other, as if he would devour him at a gulp.</p> + +<p>"Look at him noo," he cried, as Robert began to overtake +the young miner who had started equal with Rundell. +"He's passed young Paterson noo, an' ye'll soon see him get +on level terms wi' Rundell. Go on, Rob!" he yelled in delight, +as Robert shot past. "Go on, my lad, you're daein' +fine!"</p> + +<p>Excitement was rousing the crowd to a great pitch, and +yells and shouts of encouragement went up, and cheers rang +out as the favored one went past the various groups of supporters.</p> + +<p>All during the race as the competitors circled the course, +excitement grew, until the last round was reached, when every +one seemed to go mad. Only three remained to compete now +for the prize, the others having given up.</p> + +<p>But the shouts and cheers of the crowd seemed strangely +far away to the racers, as each rounded the last corner for the +final stretch of about one hundred yards. They were both +spent, but will power kept them at it. They were not breathing, +they were tearing their lungs out in great gulping efforts, +and their hearts as well. Tense, determined, inevitability +seemed to rest upon them.</p> + +<p>Louder roared the crowd, hoarser and deeper the cheers, +closer and closer the multitude surged to the winning post, +yelling, shouting, crying and gesticulating incoherently as the +two men sprinted along with great leaping strides, panting and +almost breaking down under the terrible strain of the mile +race.</p> + +<p>Nearer and nearer they came, still running level, with hardly +an inch to tell the difference; but in a pace like this Robert's +greater strength and hard training were bound to tell. Fifty +yards to go, and they came on like streaks of color, fleeting +images of some fevered brain, and one girl's smile each knew +was waiting there at the far end.</p> + +<p>The prize for which both were now striving was that for +which men at all times strive, which keeps the world young +and sends the zest of creation wandering through the blood—a +pair of dancing eyes, lit by the happy smile of love; for +Mysie Maitland had smiled to them, each claiming the smile +for himself, just before the race started.</p> + +<p>And now the last ounce of energy was called up, but the +mine-owner's son failed to respond. Dazed and stupid, his +mind in a mad whirl, his legs almost doubling under him, +he found his powers weaken and his strength desert him, and +he staggered just as Robert was about to shoot past him; but +in staggering he planted his spiked shoe right upon Robert's +foot, and both men went down completely exhausted, Rundell +unable to rise for want of strength and Sinclair powerless because +of his lacerated foot.</p> + +<p>"Guid God! He's spiked him!" roared Andrew in a terrible +rage. "The dirty lump that he is—spiked him just when he +was gaun to win, too!"</p> + +<p>A howl of execration went up from Sinclair's supporters +as he lay and writhed in agony, while Rundell lay still except +for the heaving of his chest. For one tense moment they lay +and the crowd was silent, whilst each man's heart was almost +thumping itself out of place in his body, stretched upon the +rough cinder track.</p> + +<p>Then a low murmur broke from the crowd as they saw young +Paterson coming round the track, almost staggering under the +strain, but keenly intent on finishing now that his two formidable +opponents were lying helpless. He had kept running during +the last round merely to take the third prize. Now here +was his chance of the coveted Red Hose, and he sprinted and +tore along as fast as he was able, calling up every particle of +effort he could muster, and intent on getting past before the +two men could gather strength to rise.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Rob!" roared Andrew Marshall, "get up an' +feenish, my wee cock! Paterson's comin' along, an' he'll win. +Get up an' try an' feenish it!"</p> + +<p>Stirred by the warning, Robert tried to rise. He raised himself +to his knees, but the pain in his injured foot was too great, +and he fell forward on his face unconscious, and the race ended +with Paterson as winner. It was an ironical situation, and soon +the crowd were over the ropes, and the two opponents were +carried to the dressing tent, where restoratives were applied +under which they soon came round.</p> + +<p>It was a poor ending to such a fine exhibition. A terrible +anger smoldered in Robert's breast against the mine-owner's +son for his unconscious action, an action which Robert, blinded +by anger at losing, was now firmly convinced was deliberate, +and he felt he would just like to smash Rundell's face +for it.</p> + +<p>Robert went home to have his injured foot attended to. +He was too disgusted to feel any more interest in the games +that day, and so he remained in the house, nursing his foot +for the rest of the day, which passed as such days usually do. +Everyone talked about his misfortune and regretted in a casual +way the accident which had deprived him of the coveted +honor.</p> + +<p>It was in late June, and that night Peter Rundell, as he +was returning from the games after every event had been decided, +overtook Mysie on her way to Rundell House, after +having spent the evening at her parents' home.</p> + +<p>"It's a lovely evening, Mysie," he said, as he walked along +by her side. "What did you think of the games to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no' bad," replied Mysie, not knowing what else to say. +"It was a gran' day, an' kept up fine," she continued, alluding +to the weather.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Didn't I make a horrible mess of things in the Red +Hose?" he asked. Then, without waiting, he went on: "I +was sorry for Sinclair. He's a fine chap, and ought to have +won. It was purely an accident, and I couldn't help myself. +I was beaten and done for, and it was hard lines for him to +be knocked out in the way he was, just as he was on the point +of winning, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but ye couldna' help it," Mysie returned. "It was an +accident."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and I would rather Sinclair had got in, though. It +was a good race, and Sinclair ought to have got the prize. It +was rotten luck. I'm sorry, and I hope the poor beggar does +not blame me. We seem always to be fated to be rivals," he +continued, his voice dropping into reminiscent tones. "Do you +remember how we used to fight at school? I've liked Sinclair +always since for the way he stood up for the things he thought +were right. I believe you were the cause of our hardest battle, +and that also was an accident."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Mysie, her face flushing slightly as she remembered +the incident, and how Peter had been chosen, when +her heart told her to choose Robert.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Peter, "I suppose we can't help these things. +Fate wills it. Let's forget all about such unpleasant things. +It's a lovely night. We might go round by the wood. It's +not so late yet," and putting Mysie's arm in his, he turned +off into the little pathway that skirted the wood, and she, +caught by the glamor of the gloaming, as well as flattered by +his attentions, acquiesced.</p> + +<p>Plaintive and eerie the moor-birds protested against this +invasion of their haunts. The moon came slowly up over the +eastern end of the moor, flinging a silver radiance abroad, and +softening the shadows cast by the hills. A strange, dank smell +rose from the mossy ground—the scent of rotting heather and +withered grass, mixed with the beautiful perfume from beds +of wild thyme.</p> + +<p>A low call came from a brooding curlew, a faint sigh from +a plover, and the wild rasping cry of a lapwing greeted them +overhead. Yet there was a silence, a silence broken for a +moment by the cries of the birds, but a silence thick and heavy. +Between the calls of the birds Mysie could almost hear her +heart's quickened beat. Blood found an eager response, and +the magic of the moonlight and the beauty of the night soon +wrought upon the excited minds of the pair. Mysie looked in +Peter's eyes more desirable than ever. The moonlight on her +face, the soft light within her eyes, her shy, downcast look, +and the touch of her arm on his charmed him.</p> + +<p>"There are some things, Mysie, more desirable than the +winning of the Red Hose," he said after a time, looking sideways +at her, and placing his hand upon hers, which had been +resting upon his arm. "Don't you think so?"</p> + +<p>"I dinna ken," she answered simply, a strange little quiver +running through her as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Isn't this better than anything else, just to be happy with +everything so peaceful? Just you and I together, happy in +each other's company."</p> + +<p>"Ay," she answered again, a faint little catch in her voice, +her heart a-tremble, and her eyes moist and shining. Then +silence again, while they slowly strayed through the heather +towards the little wooded copse, and Mysie felt that every +thump of her heart must be heard at the farthest ends of the +earth. Chased by the winds of passion raging within him, +discretion was fast departing from Peter, leaving him more and +more a prey to impulse and the unwearying persistence of the +fever of love that was consuming him.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Mysie, I read a song yesterday. It's the sort of +thing I'd have written about you:</p> + +<p> +"In the passionate heart of the rose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which from life its deep ardor is feeing.</span><br /> +And lifts its proud head to disclose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its immaculate beauty and being.</span><br /> +I can see your fine soul in repose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With an eye lit with love and all-seeing,</span><br /> +In the passionate heart of the rose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All athrob with its beauty of being."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>He quoted, and Mysie's pulse leapt with every word, as the +low soothing wooing of his voice came in soft tones like a +gentle breeze among clumps of briars.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it a beautiful song, Mysie?" he said. "The man who +wrote that must have been thinking of someone very like you," +and as he said this, he gave her hand a tender squeeze. Mysie +thrilled to his touch and her heart leapt and fluttered like a +bird in a snare, her breath coming in short little gasps, which +were at once a pain and a joy.</p> + +<p>"Dinna say that," she said, a note of alarm in her voice as +she tried to withdraw her hand.</p> + +<p>But he only held it closer, and bent his lips over it, his manner +gentle but firm.</p> + +<p>"Ay, it is true, Mysie; but I am so stupid I can't do anything +of that kind. I'm merely an ordinary sort of chap."</p> + +<p>Mysie did not answer, and once again silence fell between +them, broken only occasionally by the cry of the birds or the +bleating of a sheep.</p> + +<p>"I believe I'm in love with you, Mysie," he said at last. +"You've grown very beautiful. Could you care for me, Mysie?" +he asked, looking at her in the soft moonlight, a smile +on his lips, his voice keeping its seductive wooing tone, and +his eyes kindling.</p> + +<p>Mysie's experience of life had been gleaned from the love +stories of earls and lords marrying governesses and ladies' +maids after a swift and very eventful courtship. Already she +saw herself Peter's wife, her carriage coming at her order, +everyone serving her and she the queen of all the district. +Illiterate but romantic, she was swept off her feet at the first +touch of passion, and the flattery of being recognized!</p> + +<p>She did not answer. She did not know what to say; and +Peter stole his arm about her waist, so tempting, so sweet to +touch, and they passed beneath the shadow of the trees as +they entered the little wooded copse. The moonlight filtered +down through the trees, working silvery patterns upon the +pathway. The silence, heavy and scented, was broken only +by the far-away wheepling of a wakeful whaup and the grumbling +of the burn near by, which bickered and hurried to be +out in the open again on its way to the river.</p> + +<p>Mysie heard the sounds, felt the fragrance of young briars +and hawthorn mingled with the smell of last year's decaying +leaves which carpeted the pathway. She noted the beauty of +the foliage against the moon, heard the swift scurry of a +frightened rabbit and the faint snort of a hedge-hog on the +prowl for food.</p> + +<p>"What have you to say to me, Mysie?" Peter persisted, his +hot breath against her cheek, his blood coursing through his +veins in red-hot passion. "Could you care for me, Mysie? I +want you to be mine!"</p> + +<p>"I dinna ken what to say," she at last answered, distress +in her voice, yet pleased to be wooed by this young man. +"Wad it no' be wrang to ha'e onything to dae wi' me? I'm +only your mither's servant." She felt it was her duty to put +it this way.</p> + +<p>"No, you are my sweetheart," he cried, discretion all gone +now in his eager furtherance of his pleading. "I want you—only +you, Mysie," and he caught her in his arms in a strong +burst of desire for her. "Mine, Mysie, mine!" he cried, his lips +upon hers and hers responding now, his hot eyes greedily devouring +her as he held her there in his strong young arms. +"Say, Mysie, that you are mine, that I am yours, body and +soul belonging to each other," and so he raved on in eager +burning language, which was the sweetest music in Mysie's +ears.</p> + +<p>His arms about her, he made her sit down, she still unresisting +and flattered by his words, he fondling and kissing her, +his hands caressing her face, her ears, her hair, her neck, his +head sometimes resting upon her breast.</p> + +<p>Maddened and scorched by the passion raging within him, +lured by the magic of the night, and impelled by the invitation +of the sweet dewy lips that seemed to cry for kisses, he +strained her to his breast.</p> + +<p>He praised her eyes, her hair, her voice, whilst he poured +kisses upon her, his fire kindling her whole being into response.</p> + +<p>Then a thick cloud came over the face of the moon, darkening +the dell, blotting out the silvery patterns on the ground, +chasing the light shadows into dark corners; and a far-off protest +of a whaup shouting to the hills was heard in a shriller and +more anxious note that had something of alarm in it; the burn +seemed to bicker more loudly in its anxiety to hurry on out +into the open moor; and the scents and perfumes of the wood +sank into pale ghosts of far-off memories.</p> + +<p>When passion, red-eyed and fierce for conquest, had driven +innocence from the throne of virtue the guardian angels wept; +and all their tears, however bitter, could not obliterate the +stains which marked the progress of destruction.</p> + +<p>At the end of the copse, when Mysie and Peter emerged, +they neither spoke nor laughed. There was shame in their +downcast faces, and their feet dragged heavily. His arm no +longer encircled her waist, he did not now praise her eyes, her +hair, her figure. Lonely each felt, afraid to look up, as if +something walked between them. And far away the whaup +wheepled in protest, the burn still grumbled, and the perfumes, +and the sounds of the glen and all its beauty were as if they +had never existed, and the thick cloud grew blacker over the +face of the moon.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h2>THE AWAKENING</h2> + + +<p>Night after night for a week afterwards, Mysie lay +awake till far on into the morning. She seemed to be +face to face with life's realities at last. The silly, shallow +love stories held no fascination for her. The love affairs +of "Jean the Mill Girl" could not rouse her interest. Often +she cried for hours, till exhaustion brought sleep, troubled +and unrefreshing.</p> + +<p>She grew silent and avoided company. She sang no more +at her work, and she avoided Peter, and kept out of his way. +She often compared Robert with him now, and loved to let +her mind linger on that one mad moment of delirious joy a +year ago, when he had crushed her to his breast, and cried +to her to be his. Thus womanhood dawned for her, and its +great responsibilities frightened her.</p> + +<p>Robert, on the other hand, spent a week nursing his injured +foot, but apart from the week's idle time, he suffered +very little. He felt sore at losing the race, but was able now +to look upon it as an unfortunate accident. But that smile +which he had seen on the face of Mysie made him strangely +happy, and it helped him to get over his disappointment. He +was impatient to be out upon the moor again. He would wait +for Mysie some night, he concluded, and tell her calmly that +he wanted her to marry him.</p> + +<p>His mother's prospects were fairly good now. The youngest +boy would soon be working; besides, two other brothers were +at work, while Jennie, his eldest sister, was in service, and +Annie, the younger one, was helping in the house. He waited, +night after night, after his injured foot was better—lingering +on the moor by the path which Mysie must travel. He lay +among the heather and read books, or dreamed of a rosy future, +with her the center of his dreams; but no Mysie came +along, and he began to grow anxious.</p> + +<p>He wanted to make enquiries about her, but feared to arouse +suspicion of having too keen an interest in her. By various +ways he sought information, but never heard anything definite.</p> + +<p>"I see Matthew Maitland's ither lassie has started on the +pit-head," he said to his mother, as one night they sat by the +fire before retiring.</p> + +<p>"Ay," answered Mrs. Sinclair. "Matthew has the worst o' +it by noo. Wi' his twa bits o' laddies workin', an' Mysie in +service, an' Mary gaun to the pit-head, it should mak' his +burden a wee easier."</p> + +<p>"I dinna like the idea o' lasses gaun to work on the pithead," +he said simply. "I aye mind of the time that Mysie +an' me wrocht on it. It's no' a very nice place for lasses or +women."</p> + +<p>"No," his mother said. "I dinna like it either. Nae guid +ever comes o' lasses gaun there. They lose a' sense o' modesty +an' decency, after a while, an' are no' like women at a' +when they grow aulder. Besides, it mak's them awfu' coorse."</p> + +<p>"I wad hardly say that aboot them a'," he ventured cautiously. +"Mysie's no' coorse, an' she worked on the pithead."</p> + +<p>"No, Mysie's no' coorse," admitted his mother; "but Mysie +didna work very lang on the pit-head. An' forby, we dinna +ken but what Mysie micht hae been better if she had never +been near it, or worse if she had stayed langer. Just look +at Susan Morton, an' that Mag Lindsay. What are they but +shameless lumps who dinna ken what modesty is?" and there +was a spark of the old scorn in her voice as she finished.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I wadna gang as faur as you, mither," he said, +"wi' your condemnations. I ken that baith Susan Morton an' +Mag Lindsay are guid-hearted women. They may be coarse +in their talk, an' a' that sort o' thing; but they are as kind-hearted +as onybody else, an' kinder than some."</p> + +<p>"Oh; I hae nae doot," she answered relentingly. "I didna +mean that at a'; but the pit-head doesna make them ony better, +an' it's no' wark for them at a'."</p> + +<p>"I mind," said Robert reminiscently, "when Mysie an' me +started on the pit-head, Mag Lindsay was awfu' guid to Mysie; +an' I've kent her often sharin' her piece wi' wee Dicky Tamson, +whiles when he had nane, if his mother happened to be +on the fuddle for a day or twa. There's no a kinderhearted +woman in Lowwood, mither, than Mag Lindsay. She'd swear +at Dicky a' the time she was stappin' her piece into him. It +was jist her wye, an' I think she couldna help it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ay, Mag's bark is waur then her bite. I ken that," +was the reply. "An' wi' a' her fauts a body canna help likin' +her."</p> + +<p>"Speakin' of Mysie," said Robert with caution, "I hinna +seen her owre for a while surely. Wull there be onything +wrang?" and then, to hide the agitation he felt, "she used +to come owre hame aboot twice a week, an' I hinna seen her +for a while."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there canna be onything wrang," replied Nellie, "or +we wad hae heard tell o' it. But t' is time we were awa' to oor +beds, or we'll no' be able to rise in time the morn," and rising +as she spoke, she began to make preparations for retiring, and +he withdrew to his room also.</p> + +<p>Still, day after day, he hung about the moorland path, but +no Mysie, so far as he knew, ever came past. She had visited +her parents only once since the games and her mother was +struck by her subdued and thoughtful demeanor. But nothing +was said at the time.</p> + +<p>Robert grew impatient, and began to roam nearer to Rundell +House, in the hope of seeing her. Always his thoughts +were full of Mysie and the raging passion in his blood for her +gave him no rest. He loved to trace her name linked with his +own, and then to obliterate it again, in case anyone would +see it. All day his thoughts were of her; and her sweet, shy +smile that day of the games was nursed in memory till it +grew to be a solace to his heart and its hunger.</p> + +<p>He saw likenesses to her in everything, and even the call +of the moor-birds awakened some memory of an incident of +childhood, when Mysie and he had, with other children, played +together on the moors. Even the very words which she had +spoken, or the way she had acted, or how she had looked, in +cheap cotton frock and pinafore, were recalled by a familiar +cry, or by the sudden discovery of a bog-flower in bloom.</p> + +<p>It was a glorious afternoon in late July. The hum of insect +life seemed to flood the whole moor; the scent of mown hay +and wild thyme, and late hawthorn blossom from the trees +on the edge of the moor, was heavy in the air, and the sun was +very hot, and still high in the heavens. The hills that bordered +the moor drowsed and brooded, like ancient gods, +clothed in a lordly radiance that was slowly consuming them +as they meditated upon their coming oblivion.</p> + +<p>The heather gave promise, in the tiny purple buds that +sprouted from the strong, rough stems, of the blaze of purple +glory that would carpet the moors with magic in the coming +days of autumn. Yet there was a vague hint, in the too deep +silence, and in the great clouds that were slowly drifting along +the sky, of pent-up force merely awaiting the time to be set +free to gallop across the moor in anger and destruction. The +clouds, too, were deeply red, with orange touches here and +there, trailing into dark inky ragged edges.</p> + +<p>Far away, at the foot of the hills a crofter's cow lowed lazily, +calling forth a summons to be taken in and relieved of its burden +of milk. The sheep came nearer to the "bughts," and the +lambs burrowed for nourishment, with tails wagging, as they +drew their sustenance, prodding and punching the patient +mothers in the operation of feeding. Robert, noting all, with +leisured enjoyment strolled lazily into the little copse, and lay +down beneath the cool, grateful shelter of the trees.</p> + +<p>Drugged by the sweetness and the solitude, he fell asleep, +and the sun was low on the horizon when he awoke, the +whole copse ringing with the evening songs of merle and +mavis, and other less musical birds, and, as he looked down +the glade, he saw, out on the moorland path, coming straight +for the grove, the form of Mysie—the form of which he had +dreamed, and for which he had longed so much.</p> + +<p>The hot blood mounted to his face and raced through his +frame, while his heart thumped at the thought that now, in +the quietness of the dell, he would meet her and speak to her. +He would speak calmly, and not frighten her, as he had done +on that former occasion; and he braced himself to meet her.</p> + +<p>Impatiently he waited, and then, as he saw her about to +enter the grove, he rose as unconcernedly as he could, trying +hard to assume the air of one who had met her by accident, +and stepped on to the path when Mysie was within ten yards +or so of him.</p> + +<p>The color left her face, and her limbs felt weak beneath +her, as she recognized him, and he was quick to note the +change in her whole appearance.</p> + +<p>She was paler, he thought, and thinner, and the bloom of +a few weeks ago was gone. Her eyes were listless, and the +soft, shy look had been replaced by an averted shame-stricken +one. She was plainly flurried by the meeting, and looking +about trying to find if there were not, even yet, a way of +evading it.</p> + +<p>"It's a fine nicht, Mysie," he began, stammering and halting +before her, "though I think it is gaun to work to rain."</p> + +<p>"Ay," she responded hurriedly, her agitation growing, as +she was forced to halt before him.</p> + +<p>"I've come oot on the muir a wheen o' nichts noo, to try +an' meet you," he began, getting into the business right away, +"an' I had begun to think you had stopped comin' owre."</p> + +<p>But Mysie answered never a word. Her face grew paler, +and her agitation became more evident.</p> + +<p>"Mysie," he began, now fully braced for the important +matter in view, "I want you to marry me. I want you to +be my wife. You've kenned me a' my life. We gaed to the +school together, and we gaed to work together, an' I hae aye +looked on you as my lass. I canna keep it ony langer noo. +I hae wanted to tell you a lang time aboot it, an' to ask you +to be my wife. My place at hame is easier noo. My mother +has the rest o' the family comin' on to take my place, and +her battle is gey weel owre, an' I can see prospects o' settin' +up a hoose o' my ain, if you'll agree to share it with me. I +haven't muckle to offer you, but I think you'll ken by this time +that I'll be guid to you. Mysie, I want you. Will you +come?"</p> + +<p>For answer, Mysie burst into tears, her shoulders heaving +with the sobs of her grief, her breast surging and falling, while +her little hands covered her eyes, as she stood with bent head, +a pitiable little figure.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mysie?" he enquired, his hands at once going +tenderly over her bent head, and caressing it as he spoke, +"What is it, Mysie? Tell me. Hae I vexed you by speakin' +like that? Dinna greet, Mysie," he went on soothingly, his +voice soft and tender, and vibrant with sympathy and love. +"Dinna greet. But tell me what's wrang. I'm sorry if it's +me that has done it, Mysie. Maybe I hae frightened you; +but, there now, dinna greet. I didna mean ony harm!" and he +stroked and caressed her hair softly with his hands, or patted +her shoulders at every word, as a mother does with a fretful +child.</p> + +<p>"There noo, Mysie, dinna greet," he said again, the soft, +soothing note of vexation in his voice growing more tender and +husky with emotion. "Look up, Mysie, for I dinna like to see +you greetin'. It maun be something gey bad, surely, to mak' +you greet like this," and his hands seemed to stab her with +every tender touch, and his soft words but added more pain +to her grief.</p> + +<p>But still Mysie never answered. Her tears instead flowed +faster, and her sobs grew heavier, until finally she moaned like +a stricken animal in pain.</p> + +<p>"Mysie! Mysie! my dochter, what is it?" unable to control +himself longer. "Surely you can tell me what ails you? What +is it, Mysie? Look up, my dear! Look up an' tell me what +ails you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" moaned Mysie, the floodgates of her +grief now wide, and her soul in torture.</p> + +<p>"Mysie," he cried, taking her head between his hands and +raising it up, "what is it that's wrang with you? Is it me +that is the cause o' you being vexed?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, no," she moaned, trying to avert her face. "Oh, +dinna, Rob!" she pleaded, and the old familiar name smote +him and thrilled him as of old.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what is the matter," he said, a stronger note in +his voice, the old masterful spirit asserting itself again. "What +is wrang wi' you? I can't understand it, an' I wish to try an' +help you."</p> + +<p>But still she sobbed and there was no answer.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said. "Tell me plainly if I have been the +cause of this."</p> + +<p>"No; oh, no," she sobbed, again hiding her eyes with her +hands.</p> + +<p>"Very weel, then," he went on. "Will you no' tell me what +is wrong? I canna understand it unless you tell me. Are +you in ony trouble o' ony kind? Speak, Mysie." Then, his +voice becoming more pleading in its tones, "Wad you be feart +to be my wife, Mysie? I aye thocht you cared for me. I +hae loved you a' my days. You maun ken that, I think. Speak +up, Mysie, an' tell me if you care for me. I want you, an' I +maun ken what you think o' it. Come, Mysie, tell me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dinna ask me, Rob," she pleaded. "Dinna ask me!"</p> + +<p>"What is the matter then?" he cried. "There's something +wrong, an' you'll no' tell me. Very well, tell me what you +mean to do. I hae asked you a fair question. Are you going +to marry me? I want yes or no to that," and there was a +touch of impatience creeping into his voice.</p> + +<p>"Come on," he urged, after a short silence, broken only by +Mysie's sobs, "gie me an answer. Or, if you wad raither wait +a wee while, till this trouble has blawn by that is bothering +you, I'm quite agreeable to wait."</p> + +<p>"It'll never blaw by, Rob," she sobbed. "Oh, dinna ask me +ony mair. I canna be your wife noo, an' I jist want to be left +alane!"</p> + +<p>The pain and despair in her voice alarmed him. It was +so keen and poignant, and went to his heart like a knife.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" he gasped in surprise, as he strove to call his pride +to his assistance. It was so unlike what he had anticipated +that it amazed him to have such a disappointing reply. Then, +recovering somewhat:—"Very well!" with great deliberation, +while his voice sounded unnaturally strained. Then the effort +failing, and his pride breaking down: "Oh, Mysie, Mysie," +he burst out in poignant agony again relapsing into the pleading +wooing tones that were so difficult to withstand, "How I +hae loved you! I thocht you cared for me. I hae built mysel' +up in you, an' I'll never, never be able to forget you! Oh, +think what it is! You hae been life itsel' to me, Mysie, an' +I canna think that you dinna care! Oh, Mysie!"</p> + +<p>He turned away, his heart sore and his soul wounded, and +strode from the copse out on to the moor, a thousand thoughts +driving him on, a thousand regrets pursuing, and a load of +pain in his heart that was bearing his spirit down.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear God!" moaned Mysie, kneeling down, her legs +unable to support her longer, "Oh, dear God, my heart'll +break!" and a wild burst of sobbing shook her frame, and her +grief overpowering flowed through the tears—a picture of utter +despair and terrible hopelessness.</p> + +<p>Robert tore away from the dell, his whole calculation of +things upset. To think that Mysie could not love him had +never entered his head. What was wrong with her? What was +the nature of her terrible grief?</p> + +<p>He kicked savagely at a thistle which grew upon the edge +of the pathway, his pride wounded, but now in possession of +the citadel of his heart; and on he strode, still driven by the +terrible passion raging within him; resolving already, as many +have done under like circumstances, that his life was finished. +Hope had gone, dreams were unreal and vanishing as the mist +that crawled along the bog-pools at night.</p> + +<p>At the crest of the little hill, just where it sloped down to +the village, he stood and looked back.</p> + +<p>Good God! Was he seeing aright! The figure of a man, +who in the gray gloaming looked well-dressed, was approaching +Mysie, and she was slowly moving to meet him. A few +steps more, and the man had the girl, he thought, in his arms, +and was kissing her where they stood.</p> + +<p>Was he dreaming? What was the meaning of all this? +"Oh, Christ!" he groaned. "What does it all mean?" and he +rubbed his eyes and looked again, then sat down, all his pride +and anger raging within him as he watched, kindling the jungle +instinct within him into a raging fire, to fight for his mate—his +by right of class and association. He doubled back, as the +two figures turned in the direction of the copse—the resolve +in his mind to go back and forcibly tear Mysie from this unknown +stranger. He would fight for her. She was his, and he +was prepared to assert his right of possession before all the +world.</p> + +<p>In a mad fury he started forward, a raging anger in his +heart, striding along in quick, determined, relentless steps, +his blood jumping and his energy roused, and all the madness +of a strong nature coursing through him; but after a few +yards he hesitated, stopped, and then turned back.</p> + +<p>After all, Mysie must have made an appointment with this +man. She evidently wanted him, and that was her reason for +asking to be left alone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, God!" he groaned again, sitting down. "This is hellish!" +and he began to turn over the whole business in his +mind once more.</p> + +<p>Long he sat, and the darkness fell over the moor, matching +the darkness that brooded over his heart and mind. He heard +the moor-birds crying in restlessness, and saw the clouds piling +themselves up, and come creeping darkly over the higher +ground, bringing a threat of rain in their wake. The moan +in the wind became louder, presaging a storm; but still he sat +or lay upon the rough, withered grass, fighting out his battle, +meeting the demons of despair and gloom, and the legions of +pain and misery, in greater armies than ever he had met them +before.</p> + +<p>Again he groaned, as his ear caught the plaintive note of a +widowed partridge, which sat behind him upon a grassy knoll +of turf, crying out on the night air, an ache in every cry, the +grief and sorrow of his wounded, breaking heart.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Robert that there was a strange sort of kinship +between him and the bird—a kinship and understanding which +touched a chord of ready feeling in his heart. The ominous +hoot of an owl in the wood startled him, and he rose to his feet. +He could not sit still. Idleness would drive him mad. He +strode off on to the moor, away from the track, his whole being +burning in torture, and his mind a mass of unconnected fancies +and pains.</p> + +<p>Over the bogs and through the marshes, the madness of +despair within him, he heeded not the deep ditches and the +bog-pools. They were the pits of darkness, the sty-pools, +which his soul must either cross, or in which he must perish. +He tore up the hills into the mists and the rising storm, the +thick clouds, full of rain, enveloping him, and matching the +terrible fury of his breast.</p> + +<p>On, ever on, in the darkness and the mire, through clumps +of whin and stray bushes of wild briar. On, always on, driven +and lashed into action by the resistless desire to get away +from himself. He knew not the direction he had taken. He +had lost his bearings on the moor; the darkness had completely +hidden the landmarks, and even had he been conscious of his +actions, he could not have told in which part of the moor he +was.</p> + +<p>"Oh, God!" he groaned again, almost falling over a bush +of broom; and sitting down, he buried his face in his hands, +and, forgetful of the wind and the rain, which now drove down +in torrents, sat and brooded and thought, his mind seeking to +understand the chaos of despair.</p> + +<p>What was the meaning of life? What was beyond it after +death? Would immortality, if such there were, be worth having? +Men in countless, unthinkable millions, had lived, and +loved, and lost, and passed on. Did immortality carry with it +pain and suffering for them? If not, did it carry happiness +and balm? To hell with religions and philosophies, he +thought; they were all a parcel of fairy tales to drug men's +minds and keep them tame; and he glared impotently at the +pitiless heavens, as if he would defy gods, and devils, and +men. He would be free—free in mind, in thought, and unhampered +by unrealities!</p> + +<p>No. Men had the shaping of their own lives. Pride would +be his ally. He would lock up this episode in his heart, and +at the end of time for him, there would be an end of the +pain and the regret, when he was laid among the myriad millions +of men of all the countless ages since man had +being.</p> + +<p>This was immortality; to be forever robed in the dreamless +draperies of eternal oblivion, rather than have eternal life, +with all its torments—mingling with the legions of the past, +and with mother earth—the dust of success and happiness +indistinguishable from the dust of failure and despair. Time +alone would be his relief—the great physician that healed all +wounds.</p> + +<p>The wind blew stronger and the rain fell heavier, the one +chasing, the other in raging gusts, and both tearing round and +lashing the form of the man who sat motionless and unaware +of all this fury. The wind god tried to shake him up by rushing +and roaring at him; but still there was no response. Then, +gathering re-inforcements, he came on in a mad charge, driving +a cloud of rain in front of him as a sort of spear-head to +break the defense of fearlessness and unconcern of this unhappy +mortal. Yet the figure moved not.</p> + +<p>Baffled and still more angry, the wind god retired behind +the hills again to rest; then, driving a larger rain-cloud before +him, with a roar and a crash he tore down the slope, raging +and tearing in a wild tumult of anger, straight against the +lonely figure which sat there never moving, his head sunk +upon his breast.</p> + +<p>Beaten and sullen, the god again retired to re-collect his +strength. He moaned and growled as he retired, frightening +the moor-birds and the hares, which lay closer to earth, their +little hearts quivering with fear. Young birds were tucked +safely under the parent wing, as terror strode across the moor, +striking dread into every fluttering little heart and shivering +body. Low growled the wind, as he ran around his broken +forces, gathering again new forces in greater and greater multitudes.</p> + +<p>Just then, with an oath, the figure rose and faced the storm, +striding again up the slope, as if determined to carry the war +into the camp of the enemy.</p> + +<p>A low growl came rumbling from the hills, as the wind god +rushed along, encouraging his legions, threatening, coaxing, +pleading, commanding them to fight, and so to overcome this +figure who now boldly faced his great army.</p> + +<p>The advance guard of the storm broke upon him in wild desperation, +rushing and thundering, howling and yelling, sputtering +and hissing, spitting and hitting at him, and then the main +body struck him full in the face, all the bulk and the force +of it hurled upon him with terrible impetuous abandon, and +Robert's foot striking a tuft at the moment, he went down, +down into a bog-pool among the slush and moss, and decaying +heather-roots, down before the mad rush of the wind-god's +army, who roared and shouted in glee, with a voice that shook +the hills and called upon the elements to laugh and rejoice.</p> + +<p>And the widowed partridge out upon the moor, creeping +closer to the lee side of his tuft of moss, cried out in his pain, +not because of the fury of the blast, but because of the heart +that was breaking under the little shivering body for the dead +mate, who had meant so much of life and happiness to him—cried +with an ache in every cry, and the heart of the man +responded in his great, overpowering grief.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h2>PETER MAKES A DECISION</h2> + + +<p>Peter Rundell often wondered what had become of +Mysie. For a day or two after the evening of the day +of the games, he had shunned the possibility of meeting +her, because of the shame that filled his heart.</p> + +<p>His face burned when his thoughts went back to the evening +in the grove on the moor. He wondered how it had all happened. +He had not meant anything wrong when he suggested +the walk. He could not account for what had occurred, and so +he pondered and his shame rankled.</p> + +<p>Then an uneasy feeling took possession of him and he felt +he would like to see Mysie.</p> + +<p>A week slipped away and he tried to find a way of coming +in contact with her, but no real chance ever presented itself.</p> + +<p>A fortnight passed and he grew still more uneasy. He grew +anxious and there was a hot fear pricking at his heart. Then +at last, one day he caught a glimpse of her, and his heart was +smitten with dread.</p> + +<p>She was changed. Her appearance was altered. She was +thinner, much thinner and very white and listless. The old +air of gayety and bubbling spirits was gone. Her step seemed +to drag, instead of the bright patter her feet used to make; +and his anxiety increased and finally he decided that he must +talk with her.</p> + +<p>There was something wrong and he wanted to know what +it was. He tried to make an excuse for seeing her alone but +no chance presented itself, and another week went past and he +grew desperate. Then luck almost threw her into his arms one +day in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Mysie," he whispered, "there is something I want to +discuss with you. Meet me in the grove to-night about ten. +I must see you. Will you come?"</p> + +<p>She nodded and passed on, not daring to raise her eyes, +her face flaming suddenly into shame, and the color leaving it +again, gave her a deeper pallor; and so he had to be content +with that.</p> + +<p>All day he was fidgety and ill at ease, torn by a thousand +dreads, and consumed by anxiety, waiting impatiently for the +evening, and puzzling over what could be the matter. He +felt that for one moment of mad indiscretion, when allowing +himself to be cast adrift upon the sea of passion, the frail +bark of his life had set out upon an adventure from which +he could not now turn back. He was out upon the great ocean +current of circumstances, where everything was unknown and +uncharted, so far as he was concerned. What rocks lay in +his track, he did not know; but his heart guessed, and sought +in many ways of finding a course that would bring his voyage +to an end in the haven of comfort and respectability. Respectability +was his god, as he knew it was the god of his +parents. Money might save him; but there was something repugnant +in the thought of leaving the whole burden of disgrace +upon Mysie. For, after all, the fault was wholly his, and it +was his duty to face the consequences. Still if a way could be +found of getting over it in an easy way it would be better. +But he would leave that till the evening when he had learned +from Mysie, whether his fears were correct or not, and then +a way might be found out of the difficulty.</p> + +<p>But the day seemed long in passing, and by the time the +clock chimed nine he was in a fever of excitement, and pained +and ill with dread.</p> + +<p>Yet he was late when it came the hour, and Mysie was there +first and had already met Robert before he reached the grove.</p> + +<p>When Robert had gone away, and she sat crying upon the +moor, she felt indeed as if the whole world was slipping from +her and that her life was finished. Only ruin, black, unutterable, +stared her in the face. Oh, if only Robert had spoken +sooner, she thought. If only that terrible beautiful night with +its moonlight witchery had not been lived as it had been! If +only something had intervened to prevent what had happened! +And she sobbed in her despair, knowing what was before her +and learning all too late, that Robert was the man she loved +and wanted.</p> + +<p>Then when her passionate grief had spent itself, she rose +as she saw Peter coming hurriedly to meet her.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Mysie?" he asked with real concern in +his voice, noting the tear-stained face and her over-wrought +condition. "What is it, Mysie?"</p> + +<p>But Mysie did not answer just then, and they both turned +and passed into the grove, walking separately, as if afraid of +each other's touch, and something repellent keeping them +apart.</p> + +<p>They sat down, carefully avoiding the place where they had +sat on that other fateful occasion, nearly a month before, and +a long silence elapsed before words were again spoken.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mysie," said Peter at last breaking the silence, and +bracing himself to hear unpleasant news, "I want to know +what is wrong. What is the matter?" and he feared to hear +her tell her trouble.</p> + +<p>But again only tears—tears and sobs, terrible in their intensity +as if the frail little body would break completely under +the strain of her grief.</p> + +<p>"Mysie," he said, and his voice had a note of tender anxiety +in it, "what is it, dear? Tell me."</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't need to ask," she replied between her sobs. +"You shouldn't need to ask when you should ken."</p> + +<p>Again a long silence, and Peter felt he had got a heavy blow. +A sickening feeling of shame smote his heart at the knowledge +hinted at—a knowledge he had feared to learn.</p> + +<p>"Is it—is it—am I the cause of it, Mysie? Is—is it—?" +and his voice was hoarse and dry and pained.</p> + +<p>She nodded, and Peter knew beyond all doubt that he was +the cause of the misery.</p> + +<p>Again a long silence fell between them, in which both seemed +to live an eternity of silence and pain. Then clearing his +throat, Peter spoke.</p> + +<p>"Mysie," he said, "there is only one thing to be done +then," and there was decision in his voice and a desire which +meant that he was going to rise to a height to which neither +he nor Mysie ever expected he would rise. "We must get +married."</p> + +<p>She looked at him, with eyes still wet, but searching his face +keenly.</p> + +<p>"Ay. It's a' richt sayin' that now, efter the thing's done," +she said bitterly.</p> + +<p>"But it is the only thing, Mysie, that can be done," he replied +quickly. "I can't think of anything else."</p> + +<p>"You should hae thought aboot that afore. It's nae use +now," she said bluntly.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mysie," he asked in surprise. "Why is it no use? +Wouldn't you like to marry me?"</p> + +<p>"No," she replied firmly. "I would not! Do you think +I have no thought o' mysel'? If nothing had happened, you +would never hae thought aboot me for your wife. But now +that you've done something you canna get oot o' you'd like +to mak' me believe you want to help me bear the disgrace, +while a' the time you don't want to. But it's no' my disgrace," +and there was heat creeping into her voice. "It is yours, an' +you should hae thocht aboot a' that afore," and her voice +was very angry as she finished.</p> + +<p>"You are wrong, Mysie," he replied mollifyingly. "I love, +you and I told you that before it happened, and I also hinted +that I wanted to marry you."</p> + +<p>"Ay, but that was just at the time. Maybe if nothing had +happened, an' I had never been in your company again, you'd +soon hae forgotten."</p> + +<p>"No, Mysie, you are wrong. I love you, and I've brought +you to this, for which I am sorry, so we must be married," +he said decisively.</p> + +<p>"Why?" she asked, and her eyes met his honestly and fairly.</p> + +<p>"Because it is the right thing to do," he replied quietly.</p> + +<p>"Is that a'?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Is it not enough? What else is there to do?" Mysie was +silent, and after a while Peter went on;—"It is a duty, dear, +but I am going to face it, and shoulder the responsibility. It +is the right thing to do, and it must be done."</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' you are gaun to dae it, just as a bairn tak's medicine; +because you are forced. I asked if that was a', and it +seems to be. But what if I don't have onything mair to dae +with you?"</p> + +<p>"You would not do that, Mysie," he said hurriedly, and +incredulously. It had never entered his mind that she would +refuse to marry him, and he looked upon his offer as a great +service which he was doing her. "Why, what could you do +otherwise?" he asked looking blankly at her.</p> + +<p>"I could work as I hae always done," she said sharply. +"You surely think you are a catch. Man, efter what has happened +I feel that I wudna care than I never saw you again. +You hae little o' rale manliness in you. You thocht it was gran' +to carry on wi' a workin' lassie, maybe," and there was bitter +scorn in her voice, "an' now when you hae landed yourself into +a mess you are grinning like a bear with the branks an' +wantin' to dae what is richt as you call it," and Mysie was +now really in a temper.</p> + +<p>"Mysie, you must not speak like that," he broke in, in +earnest tones. "You know I love you, and loving you as I do, +I want to shield you as much—"</p> + +<p>"Ay, but you want to shield yourself first," she said.</p> + +<p>"No, dear, it is only of you I am thinking. I love you +very much and want to do what is right. Even although this +had not happened, I was going to ask you to be my wife. Will +you marry me, Mysie?"</p> + +<p>"What'll your folks say?" she asked bluntly. "You ken +that I'm no' the wife you would have gotten nor the yin your +folk would like you to get," she said, searching his face with a +keen look. "I'm no' born in your class. I'm ignorant an' +have not the fine manners your wife should have, an' I doot +neither your faither nor your mither wad consent to such a +thing."</p> + +<p>"But I won't ask them," he replied. "I am a man for myself, +and do not see why they should be asked to approve my +actions in this."</p> + +<p>"Ay, that's a' richt; but what aboot your ain feelings in the +matter? Am I the lass you wad hae ta'en, Peter, if this hadna +happened?" and there was a world of hungry appeal in her +voice as she finished. It was as if she wanted to be assured +that it was for herself alone that he really wanted to marry +her.</p> + +<p>"Why should you not?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"That's no' the question," she said, noting the evasion. +"You ken as weel as I dae that it wad be an ill match for you. +You've been brought up differently. You've had eddication, +an' an easy life. You've been trained faur differently, an' you +canna say that you'd no' tire o' me. I have not as muckle +learning as wad make me spell my ain name, an' I could never +fill the position o' your wife with the folk I'd have to mix +with."</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Mysie," he said, ready to counter her +argument. "You have not been educated, that is true, but it +is only a question of having you trained. If one woman can +be educated and trained so can another. This is what I propose +to do: I go back to Edinburgh in a fortnight to finish +my last year. My father has put the colliery into a company, +and he has a large part of the management on his shoulders. +He expects when I come home next year to gradually retire. +I shall be the controlling power then, and he will slip out of +the business and end his days in leisure."</p> + +<p>"Ay, but you are thinking a' the time aboot the disgrace," +she said. "Your whole thought is about your position, an' +you hae never a real thought aboot me." She was somewhat +mollified; but there was still a hard note in her voice, and not a +little distrust too. "Are you sure you are no' proposin' this +just because o' the trouble? I don't want peety! I am pairtly +to blame too," this with a softer note creeping into her voice, +and making it more resigned. "If it's no' oot o' peety for me, +I could bear it better. But I'll no' hae peety. I can look after +mysel' an' face the whole thing, even though I ken it'll break +my mither's heart."</p> + +<p>"I know what it is for you, Mysie," he said. "I am trying +to look at the whole thing from your point of view. That's +why I have planned to give you some sort of a training, and +make it as easy for you as possible. It is for your position +I am worrying and when I come into my father's place I will +be able to put all things right for you, and make you really +happy."</p> + +<p>"But you have not faced the main bit yet," she said as +he ceased speaking. "Where do I come in? You hae got this +to face now, an' it'll no' wait a' that time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," he replied, "I'm just coming to that. At +first it won't perhaps look too nice to you, but remember, +Mysie, I want to face the matter honestly and you'll have +to help me. Very well," he went on. "As I said, I go back to +Edinburgh in three weeks at most—I'll try and go in a fortnight, +and you must go with me—not traveling together. We +must keep all our affairs to ourselves, and not even your parents +or mine must know. When I go away you'll come the day +after. You can travel over the moor to Greyrigg station, take +the 4:30 train from there and I can meet you at Edinburgh. +I'll get a house next week when I go to arrange for my term. +I shall tell no one. You can live in the house I get and I can +continue perhaps in lodgings, and I shall come and visit you +as often as I can."</p> + +<p>He stopped for a little and then resumed:—"I shall buy +books for you and come and teach you the things you'll need +to learn, or I can get someone to do it, if you'd like that +better. Then when you are thoroughly trained, I can bring +you home to Rundell House and all will be well."</p> + +<p>"An' what aboot—what aboot—" she paused, averting +her face. "Are you no' forgettin' that it'll tak' a lang time +for me to learn a' I'll need; for I'm gey ill to learn."</p> + +<p>"No, Mysie," he replied reassuringly. "When you arrive +in Edinburgh, we can go next day to be married before the +Sheriff. It's all right, Mysie dear," he assured her as he saw +the questioning look in her eyes. "Don't think I'm trying to +trap you. I want to make what amends I can for what has +happened. You'll be my wife just as surely as if the minister +married us. If you are not content with that we can easily +get married with a minister after we decide to come back here."</p> + +<p>"But wad that be a true marriage?" she asked, scarcely able +to credit what he told her. "Wad I get marriage lines?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. It would be legal, and you'd get marriage lines. +Now what do you say?"</p> + +<p>"I dinna like the thocht o' no' tellin' my mither. Will I +hae to gang away, an' no' tell her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you must not tell anyone," he replied quickly. "No +one must know or all our plans will go crash, and we'll both +be left to face the shame of the whole thing. So you must not +tell."</p> + +<p>"Mither will break her heart," she broke in again with a +hint of a sob. "She'll wonder where I am, an' worry aboot +me, wi' nae word o' me! Am I just to disappear oot o' everybody's +kennin' altogether? Oh, dear! It'll break my mither's +heart," and she cried again at the thought of the pain and +anxiety which her parents would experience.</p> + +<p>So they sat and talked, he trying to soothe and allay her +anxiety and she, at first openly skeptical, and then by and by +allowing herself to be persuaded.</p> + +<p>All this time they had been too engrossed in their own +affairs to notice how the wind had risen and that a storm +was already breaking over the moor. Then suddenly realizing +it, they started for home.</p> + +<p>It was nearing midnight, and the clouds being thick and +low made the mossy ground very dark. The rain was coming +down heavily and everything pointed to a wild night.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry I did not bring a coat with me," said Peter, +taking the windward side of Mysie, so as to break the storm +for her. "I had no idea that it was going so rain when I +came away," and they plowed their way through the long +rough grass, plashing through the little pools they were unable +to see, while the wind raged and tore across the moor in a +high gale.</p> + +<p>He had a key in his pocket and when they arrived at Rundell +House he noiselessly opened the door, and they entered, +slipping along like burglars.</p> + +<p>When Mysie reached her room, she sat down to think +matters over for herself, forgetful of the fact that she was wet. +She sat a long time pondering in her slow untrained way +over the arrangements which had been come to, her mind +trying to get accustomed to the thought that she was going +to be Peter's wife and to leave Lowwood.</p> + +<p>But somehow the thought of being his wife did not appeal +to her now, as it had done when she had pictured herself the +lady of the district with her dreams of everything she desired, +and fancying herself the envy of every woman who knew her.</p> + +<p>The secrecy of the business she did not like; but she told +herself it would all come right; that it was necessary under +the circumstances and that afterwards when she had been +taught and trained in the ways of his people she would come +back and all would be well.</p> + +<p>Then in the midst of all this looking into the future with +its doubts and promises, came the thought of Robert, and her +pulses thrilled and her blood quickened; but it had come +too late.</p> + +<p>Would she rather be at Rundell House as Peter's wife or +sitting in a one-roomed apartment sewing pit clothes perhaps, +or washing and scrubbing in the slavery in which the women +folk of her class generally lived? Ah, yes, as Robert's wife +that would have been happiness. But it was all too late now. +She had turned aside—and she must pay the penalty of it all.</p> + +<p>Long she sat, and cried, and at last realizing that she was +cold and shivering, she took off her clothes and crawled off +to bed, her last thought of Robert as he had left her, the +pain in his eyes and the awful agony in his voice: "Oh, Mysie, +how I hae loved you! An' I thocht you cared for me!" +rang in her ears as she lay and tossed in sleepless misery.</p> + +<p>In the morning she was in a high fever and unable to rise +out of her bed. She had a headache and felt wretched and ill. +In her exhausted state, weakened by worry and her resistance +gone, the drenching, the chill and the long sitting in her +lonely room had overmastered her completely.</p> + +<p>She raved about Robert, crying to him in her fevered excitement, +and he, all unconscious, was at that time at his +work, tired also and exhausted by his terrible night upon the +moor.</p> + +<p>When he stumbled and fell into the mossy pool, his mind +became more collected and, scrambling out, he stood to consider +where he was, trying to find his bearings in the thick +darkness.</p> + +<p>The low whinnying of a horse near by gave him a clew and +he started in the direction of the cry, concluding that it was +some of the horses sheltering behind a dyke which ran across +the moor from the end of the village.</p> + +<p>He crawled and scrambled along, and after going about +twenty yards he came to the dyke, at the other side of which +stood the cowering horses.</p> + +<p>"Whoa, Bob," he said soothingly, and one of them whinnied +back in response as if glad to know that a human being was +near. He moved nearer to them, and began to stroke their +manes and clap their necks, to which they responded by rubbing +their faces against him and cuddling an affectionate return +for the sympathy in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Puir Bob," he said, tenderly, as he patted the neck of the +animal which rubbed its soft nose against his arm. It seemed +so glad of the companionship and reached nearer as Robert +put out his other hand to stroke sympathetically the nose of +the other horse, as he also drew near.</p> + +<p>"Puir Rosy," he said. "Was you feart for the wind and +the rain? Poor lass! It's an awfu' nicht to be oot in!" and +they rubbed themselves against him and whinnied with a low +pleased gurgle, grateful for his kindness and company as he +patted and stroked the soft velvet skins, and they rubbed +themselves against him as if each were jealous lest his attentions +be not equally divided.</p> + +<p>He stood for a short time, thus fondling and patting them, +then keeping to the dyke, he made his way along it and he +thus came out right at the end of the village, and knowing his +way now with confidence, he was soon at the door of his +home. Cautiously opening it, afraid he would awaken the +inmates, whom he concluded must all be asleep, he slipped +in quietly, bolting the door behind him, and reached the +fire.</p> + +<p>"Dear me, Rob," said his mother. "Where in the name o' +goodness hae you been the nicht! I sat up till after midnight +aye expectin' you'd be in, sae I gaed awa' to my bed +to lie wauken till you should come in. You are awfu' late."</p> + +<p>He did not answer but stooped to take off his boots, and +Mrs. Sinclair was soon out of bed and upon the floor.</p> + +<p>"Michty me, laddie! You are wringin' wet! Where have +you been? Rain and glaur to the e'en holes! Get thae wet +claes off you at yince, an' I'll get dry shirts for you, an' +then awa' till your bed!" she rattled on, running to the chest +in the room and coming back with dry clothes in her arms. +"My, I never kent you oot o' the hoose as late as this in a' +your life! Have you been oot in a' that rain?"</p> + +<p>"Ay," he answered, but venturing nothing more, as he went +on changing.</p> + +<p>"It's been an awfu' nicht o' wind and rain," she again observed, +glancing at his dripping clothes, and conveying a hint +that explanations were desirable.</p> + +<p>"I canna understand at a' what way you hae bidden oot +in a' that rain, Lod's sake? It's enough to gie you your +daeth o' cauld. You are wet to the skin, an' there's no a +dry steek on you? Hae you been oot in it a'?" and her +curiosity she felt was too crudely put to be answered.</p> + +<p>Robert knew that she was bent on having an explanation, +and that if he gave her any encouragement at all she'd soon +have the whole story out of him.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said curtly, "but I'm no' gaun to talk ony the +nicht. I'm gaun to my bed for an oor before risin' time."</p> + +<p>"You'll never gaun till your work the day," she said in +warm concern. "You'll never be able. You'd better tak' a +rest, my laddie. A day will no' mak' muckle difference noo. +We're no sae ill aff, an' I wadna like to hae onything gaun +wrang. Gang away till your bed, an' dinna bother aboot +your work. A guid rest'll maybe keep you frae getting the +cauld."</p> + +<p>"I'm a' richt, mither," he replied as airily as he could. +"Dinna worry; an' be sure an' wauken me for my work. I'm +na gaun to bide in when there is naething wrang. You gang +awa' to your bed," and she knowing that was the last word, +did not speak further, and as he withdrew to his room, she +went back to bed wondering more and more at the mystery +of it all.</p> + +<p>But he did not sleep. Torn by worry and in spite of his +earlier resolution to think no more about it he lay and thought +and wondered about Mysie, and the man he saw, joining her +at the end of the grove; and when Nellie opened the door to +call him that it was "rising time," Robert answered to the +first cry, and his mother was more amazed than ever; for +he generally took a good many cries, being a heavy sleeper. +But being sensible she kept her wonder to herself, knowing if +it were anything which she had a right to know he'd tell her +in his own good time.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h2>A STIR IN LOWWOOD</h2> + + +<p>"My! Div you ken what has happened?" asked Mrs. +Johnstone, bursting in upon Mrs. Sinclair one day +about two weeks later. "My, it's awfu'!" she continued +in breathless excitement, her head wagging and nodding +with every word, as if to emphasize it, her eyes almost +jumping out with excitement, and her whole appearance +showing that she had got hold of a piece of information which +was of the first importance. "My, it's awfu'," she repeated +again lifting her hands up to a level with her breast, and then +letting them fall again, "Mysie Maitland has ran away frae +her place, an' naebidy kens where she has gane to. An' Mrs. +Rundell, mind you, has been that guid to her too, givin' +her her caps an' aprons, an' whiles buyin' her a bit dress length +forby, an' she gi'ed her boots and slippers, an' a whole lot o' +ither things to tak' hame for the bairns—things that were owre +wee for the weans at Rundell Hoose but were quite guid to +wear. My, it's awfu'! Isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Mysie Maitland!" exclaimed Mrs. Sinclair in astonishment. +"When did this happen? Where has she gane? Are you sure +you hinna made a mistake?" and Mrs. Sinclair was all excitement, +hanging in breathless anxiety upon the tidings her +neighbor brought.</p> + +<p>"I hae made nae mistake, Nellie Sinclair," returned Leezie, +"for it was her ain mother wha telt me the noo. I was at the +store, an' when I was comin' hame I met Jenny hersel' gaun +awa' tae Rundell Hoose. She was greetin' an' I couldna' get +oot o' spierin' at her what was wrang, an' she telt me her ain +self."</p> + +<p>"You dinna mean tae tell me that Mysie Maitland has +disappeared? In the name o' a' that's guid, what has happened +to bring aboot sic news?"</p> + +<p>"Aye, it's true, Nellie," replied Mrs. Johnstone, feeling very +important now that she knew Mrs. Sinclair had not heard the +news.</p> + +<p>"When did this happen?" asked the latter, still incredulous. +"Are you sure that's true? Dear me! I dinna ken what the +world's comin' to at a'!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, it's awfu'! But it's true. You never ken what thae +quate kin' o' modest folk will dae. They look that bashfu' +that butter wadna' melt in their mouths; an' a' the time they +are just as like to gang wrang as ither folk."</p> + +<p>"But wha said Mysie Maitland has gang wrang?" enquired +Mrs. Sinclair, flaring up in Mysie's defense. "I wadna' believe +it, though you went down on your bended knees to tell +me. A modester, weel-doin' lassie never lived in this place!"</p> + +<p>"Weel, I dinna ken whether she has gane wrang or not; +but she has ran awa', an' it is gey suspeecious conduct that +for ony lassie that is weel-doin'. She is jist like the rest of +folk."</p> + +<p>"It canna' be true," said Mrs. Sinclair, still unable to believe +the news. "I canna' take it in."</p> + +<p>"Ay, but it is true," persisted her neighbor with assurance. +"For I tell you, it was her ain mother what telt me hersel'. +It seems she has been missing since the day afore yesterday. +She gaed awa' in the afternoon to see her mither, an' as she +hadna been keepin' very weel for a day or two an' no comin' +back that night, Mrs. Rundell jist thought that Jenny had +keepit her at home for a holiday. But she didna turn up +yesterday, an' thinkin' maybe that the lassie had turned worse, +Mrs. Rundell sent owre word jist the noo, to ask how she was +keepin'; an' Jenny was fair thunder-struck when the man +came to the door to ask. Puir body! Jenny's awfu' puttin' +aboot owre the matter. I hope," she added, with the first show +of sympathy, "that naething has happened to the lassie. That +wad be awfu'!"</p> + +<p>"Dear keep us!" exclaimed Nellie. "I hope nothing has +happened to her."</p> + +<p>"God knows!" replied Mrs. Johnstone piously, for want of +something else to say. "It's awfu'!"</p> + +<p>"Do they ken naething at a' aboot her at Rundells'?" again +enquired Mrs. Sinclair.</p> + +<p>"No' a thing they ken, ony mair than you or me. She left +her bits o' claes, jist as if she meant to come back. Her new +frock was in her drawer jist as she had put it by efter tryin' +it on. An' a braw frock it is. She has nothing except what +she was wearin' at the time she gaed oot. Her guid boots +jist yince on her feet are in her room, a' cleaned jist as she +took them off the last time she had them on. I canna' believe +it yet. My! it's awfu'! It'll be a sair, sair heart her faither'll +hae when he hears about it. He had aye an' awfu' wark wi' +Mysie, an' thought the world o' her. If he got Mysie richt +he ay seemed to think that a' else was richt. I hope nae harm +has come to her. I dinna ken what the world's comin' to at +a', I'm sure? My, it's awfu', isn't it?" and Mrs. Johnstone +went out to spread the news, leaving Mrs. Sinclair more mystified +and astonished than ever she had been in her life.</p> + +<p>Mysie missing! She could not understand it, and always +she tried to crush back the suggestion which was plainly evident +in Leezie's statement that Mysie had "gang wrang." It +could not be that, for Mysie was never known to have dealings +with anyone likely to betray her like that. It was a +hopeless puzzle altogether, and she could not account for it.</p> + +<p>It was nearing "lousing time" and Mrs. Sinclair was busy +getting the dinner ready, and water boiled to wash the men +coming in from the pit, and she wondered how Robert would +take the news.</p> + +<p>She knew, having guessed, as most mothers do guess, that +Mysie held a sacred corner in Robert's heart; though noticing +the silence during the last two weeks, and his renewed attention +to books and study, she wondered if anything had come +between Mysie and himself. Had he at last spoken to her +and been discouraged? She could hardly harbor that thought, +for she felt also that Mysie's heart enshrined but one man, +and that was Robert. Yet what could be the meaning of all +this mystery?</p> + +<p>It was true Mysie and Robert had never walked out as +young men and women of their class do; but she knew in their +hearts each regarded the other with very warm affection, and +thinking thus she worked about the house preparing things and +running occasionally over to Maitland's house, to see that the +dinner was cooking all right, and giving little attentions wherever +they were needed, in Mrs. Maitland's absence.</p> + +<p>She did not mention the news to Robert when he came in, +but she watched him furtively as she worked about the house +getting the water into the tub for him to wash, before placing +the dinner on the table; but she guessed from his face +that he must have already heard of it on his way home.</p> + +<p>He was silent as he pulled off his rough blue flannel shirt +and stooping over the well-filled tub of hot water, he began +to lave the water over his arms, and the upper part of his +body.</p> + +<p>At last, Mrs. Sinclair could hold herself in no longer, and +looking keenly at the half-naked young man as he straightened +himself, having washed the coal-dust from his hands and arms, +he began to rub his breast and as much of his back as he could +reach, she said, "Did you hear aboot Mysie, Rob?"</p> + +<p>"Ay," he returned simply, trying to hide his agitation and +his blanching face. "I heard that she had disappeared frae +her place, an' that nae news o' her could be got. Is it true, +mither?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, it's true, Rob," she replied. "But I hinna got ony +richt waye o' it yet. Jenny's awa' owre to Rundell Hoose, an' +we'll no' ken onything till she comes back. It's an awfu' +business, an' will pit her faither an' mither a guid lot aboot. +I wonder what'll hae ta'en her."</p> + +<p>"It's hard to ken," he replied in a non-committal voice. +"Hae you ony idea, mither, as to what has brought this aboot?"</p> + +<p>"No, Rob, I canna' say; but folks' tongues will soon be +busy, I hae nae doot, an' there will be a lot o' clip-clash, an' +everybody kennin' nothing, will ken the right way o't, an' +every yin will hae a different story to tell."</p> + +<p>"Ay, I hae nae doot," he said, again stooping over the tub +flinging some water over his head, and beginning to rub +the soap into a fine lather upon his hair. "Everybody will +ken the right wye o' it, and will claver and gossip, when they +wad 'a be better to mind their ain affairs, an' let ither folk +alane."</p> + +<p>His mother did not speak for a little, but went on with her +work. There was something on her mind about which she +wanted to speak, and she bustled about and washed, and clattered +the dishes; and every plate and spoon, as they were laid +dripping from the basin of warm water, plainly indicated that +something troubled her.</p> + +<p>Finally, when the last steaming dish had been laid upon the +table, and she had begun to wipe them dry, she cleared her +throat, and in a somewhat strained sort of voice asked, "Dae +you ken, Rob, onything aboot Mysie?"</p> + +<p>"No, mither," he replied at once, as he ceased rubbing the +white foaming lather on his hair, and again straightened +himself up to look at her, as she spoke; his head looking as if +a three inch fall of snow had settled upon it, giving the black +dirty face and the clean eyes shining through the dust, a weird +strange appearance. "What makes you ask that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dinna ken, Rob, but jist thought you micht hae kent +something," she answered evasively.</p> + +<p>"No, I dinna ken onything at all aboot her, mither," he +said. "If I had kent onything, dae you think I'd hae kept +quiet?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dinna mean that, Rob," she replied with relief in +her voice, "but I thought that you might hae heard something. +That Leezie Johnstone was in here the day, an' you +ken hoo she talks. She was makin' oot that Mysie had gane +wrang, and had ran awa' tae hide it."</p> + +<p>"Leezie Johnstone had little to do sayin' onything o' the +kind," he said with some heat in his voice. "There never +was a dirty coo in the byre but it liket a neighbor. I suppose +she'll be thinkin' that a' lasses were like her. These kind +of folk hae dam'd strange ideas aboot things. They get it +into their heads it is wrang to do certain things when folk +are no married, but the cloak of marriage flung aboot them +mak's the same things richt. They hinna the brains o' a sewer +rat in their noddles, the dam'd hypocrites that they are!"</p> + +<p>"Dinna swear, Rob!" said Mrs. Sinclair, interrupting him. +"Do you ken," she went on, her astonishment plainly evident +in her face and voice, "that is the first time I ever heard you +swear in a' my life!"</p> + +<p>"Well, mither, I am sorry; but I couldna' help it. Folk like +that get my temper up gey quick; because they get it into +their heids that marriage makes them virtuous, even though +they may be guilty o' greater excesses after than they were +before marriage."</p> + +<p>"Ay, that's true, Rob!" she agreed. "But it is a sad business +a' thegether. I wonder what has come owre the bit lassie. +God knows where she may be?"</p> + +<p>But Robert was silent, and no matter how much she tried +to get him to speak, he would not be drawn into conversation, +but answered merely in short grunts; but she could see that +he was very much disturbed at what had happened. After +a few days the sensation seemed to pass from the minds of +most of the villagers, who soon found something new to occupy +them, in connection with their own affairs.</p> + +<p>About this time much interest was being manifested in mining +circles. The labor movement was beginning to shape itself +into solidarity towards political as well as industrial activity. +Robert Smillie and the late J. Keir Hardie, and many other +tireless spirits, had succeeded in molding together the newly +created labor party, infecting it with an idealism which had +hitherto not been so apparent, and this work was making a +deep impression upon the minds of the workers, especially +among the younger men.</p> + +<p>The Miners' Union had been linked up into national organizations; +and a consolidating influence was at work molding +the workers generally, and the miners particularly, imbuing +them with a newer hope, a greater enthusiasm and a wider +vision.</p> + +<p>About a fortnight after the news of Mysie's disappearance, +Keir Hardie paid a visit to Lowwood, and a large crowd gathered +to hear him in the village hall. Smillie also was advertised +to speak, and great interest was manifested, and much criticism +passed by the miners.</p> + +<p>"I don't give in wi' this dam'd political business," said Tam +Donaldson, who was frankly critical. "I've aye stood up for +Smillie, but I dinna' like being dragged intae this Socialist +movement. A dam'd fine nest o' robbers an' work-shy vermin. +Trade Union officials should attend tae Trade Union affairs. +That's what we pay them for. But it looks to me as if they +were a' that dam'd busy trying to get intae Parliament, thet +they hinna time to look after oor affairs."</p> + +<p>"I'm kind o' suspeecious aboot it mysel', Tam," said Robert +quietly, as they made their way to the hall that night. "I'm +no' sure jist yet as to what this Socialism is, it looks frae the +papers to be a rotten kind o' thing an' I'm no' on wi' it. But +I'll wait an' hear what Hardie an' Smillie say aboot it, afore +a' make up my mind."</p> + +<p>"To hell wi' them an' their Socialism," said Tam with some +heat. "I want a shillin' or twa on my day. It's a' yin damn +to me hoo mony wives they gie me. I canna' keep the yin I +hae. What the hell wad a workin' man dae wi' three wives? +An' they tell me they're goin' to abolish religion too. Not +that I'm a religious man mysel', but I'm damn'd if I'd let +them interfere wi' it. If I want religion I've a guid richt to +hae it; an' forby, if they abolish religion, hoo wad folk do +wi' the funerals? I can see hoo they'll do wi' marriages, for +there's to be nane. You've to get your wife changed every +two-three years, an' the weans brought up by the State as they +call it. But the puirhouse is a dam'd cauld step-mother, an' +I'd be up against that."</p> + +<p>Thus discussing the subject, they reached the hall to find +it packed, everyone being keen to see and hear this man, +who was making such an uproar in the country with his +advocacy of Socialism.</p> + +<p>Robert was chairman, and had labored hard to prepare a +few remarks with which to open the meeting. He wanted to +be non-committal, and his reading and self-teaching had been +of immense service to him. His mother's influence in the +molding of his character, unconsciously to himself, had made +his mind just the sort of soil for the quick rooting of the seed +to be sown that night.</p> + +<p>It was certainly a great occasion. Robert thought as he +looked at this man, that he had never seen anyone who so +typefied the spirit of independence in his bearing. His figure +was straight, the eyes fearless, yet kindly and gentle; but the +proud erect head, the straight stiff back which seemed to say +"I bend to no one" impressed Robert more than anything else +in all his make up.</p> + +<p>Yet there was nothing aggressive about him with it all; +but on the contrary, an atmosphere of kindliness exuded from +him, creating a wonderful effect upon those with whom he +came in contact. The wild stories of this turbulent agitator, +which everyone seemed to hear, and be acquainted with, +made the audience hostile to begin with. It was not a demonstrable +hostility; but one felt it was there, ready to break +out, and overwhelm this stormy petrel of the political world.</p> + +<p>Yet they patiently waited for Hardie to begin, tolerating +Smillie, and even applauding his ringing denunciations of the +wrongs they suffered, but critically waiting on his attempts to +switch them on to Socialism. Then came Hardie, halting and +stammering a little as he began his address. The audience +thinking this was due to his searching for a way to delude +them, became more suspicious and critical, and ready to stop +him, if he tried any tricks upon them; but broad-minded +enough and fair enough to give him a hearing, until he trespassed +upon them too much.</p> + +<p>So it was in this atmosphere that Socialism first was heard +in Lowwood; but soon the speaker became less halting as he +warmed to his subject, until not only was he fluent, but eloquent, +and powerful, winning his audience in spite of themselves.</p> + +<p>They sat and listened, and were soon under his sway, watching +his every gesture and thawing under his spell, as they +watched the fine head thrown back with its inimitable poise, +the back straight and stiff, the eyes aglow with the light of +the seer, and the hands gracefully rising and falling to emphasize +some point.</p> + +<p>What a change soon came over them! Gradually as the +speaker developed his subject the faces changed, and they +were soon responsive to his every demand upon them. The +clear ringing voice, insistent, strong, yet catching a cadence +of gentleness and winsomeness that moved them to approval +of everything he said.</p> + +<p>There was deep humanity about him, that was strangely in +contrast with the monster he had been to their fancy before +they saw and heard him. This was not the politics of the +vulgar kind, of which the newspapers had told; on the contrary, +every man in the hall felt this was the politics to +which every reasonable man subscribed. It was the politics +of the fireside, of sweetness and light, of justice and +truth, of humanity and God.</p> + +<p>In burning words he denounced the wrongs under which +the people suffered, winning them by his warm-blooded championship +of their cause, appealing to them to forsake the other +parties, form an independent party for themselves; and sketching +in glowing words the picture of the world as it might be, +if only a saner and more human view were taken by those +who ruled.</p> + +<p>It made an indelible impression on Robert's mind. The +way was so simple, so clear, so sure, that if only men like +Hardie could go round every town and village in the land, +he believed that a Utopia might be brought into being in a +very few years; that even the rich people, the usurpers, would +agree that this state of affairs might be brought about, and +that they'd gladly give up all they had of power over the +lives of others, to work cooperatively for the good of all; +and already he was deciding in youth's way, he would give his +life, every moment of it, to help Hardie and Smillie, and all +those other great spirits to win the world to this state of +affairs. Body and soul he would devote to it, and so help to +make the world a brighter and happier place for all human +beings.</p> + +<p>His was the temperament that having found an ideal would +storm the gates of Heaven to realize it; or wade through hell, +suffering all its penalties to gaze upon the face of that he sought.</p> + +<p>So the meeting ended in great enthusiasm, and the audience +was amazed and pleased to find that this man Hardie was not +the vulgar-minded, loud-mouthed ignorant agitator of which +the press had told them; but was just one of themselves, burning +with a sense of their wrongs, with ability to express their +thoughts in their own words, and with an uncompromising +hatred of the system which bred these wrongs in their lives.</p> + +<p>Tam Donaldson and Robert compared notes after the meeting +was over in the following conversation:</p> + +<p>"What do you think o' it, Tam?"</p> + +<p>"Christ! but it was great," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"What aboot the three wives noo, Tam?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, for ony sake, dinna rub it in, Rob. I feel that small +that I could hide myself in the hole of my back tooth. Man, +do you ken, I jist felt as if we were a' back in the Bible +times again, wi' auld Isaiah thundering oot his charges and +tellin' the oppressors o' the people what he thought of them. +The white heid o' Hardie maun hae been gey like Isaiah's. +Or sometimes it was like John the Baptist, comin' to tell us +o' the new world that was ready to dawn for the folk! Man, +it was hellish guid, and frae this day I'm a Socialist. I've +always been fightin' the oppressors o' the workers, an' only +wish I had a tongue like Hardie, so that I could gang roon' +the hale country tellin' folk the rale God's truth aboot things. +Guid God! Rob, it was better than goin' to the kirk!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, it was gran', Tam. I'm goin' to read up this Socialism; +for it seems to me to be worth it."</p> + +<p>"So will I. I hae got twa or three bits o' books that I +bought, an' I'll swallow them as quick as I can. Lod! It +seems as if a new world had opened up a' thegether the night. +I'm that dam'd happy, I could rin roon' an' tell everybody +aboot it! But I suppose we maun gang awa' hame to bed; +for we'll hae to gang to oor work the morn, though it's dam'd +cauld comfort to think o' gaun oot to the pit, when we could +hae better conditions to work in if only folk had the sense +to do right."</p> + +<p>Thus they parted, full of the subject which had stirred +them so much that night.</p> + +<p>Robert went home, full of vision of an emancipated world, +his whole heart kindled and aglow with the desire to be a +spokesman like Hardie on behalf of the workers, and thoroughly +determined to devote the rest of his life to it.</p> + +<p>"There's nae word o' Mysie yet," said Nellie, when he +came in, and her words seemed to shock him with their unexpectedness.</p> + +<p>"Is there no'?" he replied, trying hard to bring his mind +back to the realities. "What kind o' word did Jenny get frae +the polis?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they ken naething aboot her," said Nellie. "A' that +is kenned is jist what we heard already. The polis hae +been searchin' noo for a fortnight an' nae trace o' her can be +got. Mr. Rundell has pit it in the papers; but I hae my +doots aboot ever seeing her again. Mysie wasna' the lassie +that wad keep her folk in suspense. She wad ken fine that +they'd be anxious. Matthew an' Jenny are in an awfu' way."</p> + +<p>"Ay. I believe they will," he replied, and a deep silence +followed.</p> + +<p>After a time, as the silence seemed to become oppressive, +and for the sake of saying something, Mrs. Sinclair said: +"What kin o' a meetin' had you the night?"</p> + +<p>"My! we had an awfu' meeting, mither," he said in reply, +his eyes kindling with enthusiasm at the memory of it. "Smillie +was askin' for you, an' he's comin' owre to see you the morn +afore he goes awa'."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he had mind o' me then," she said, pleased at this +information.</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' he talked rale kindly aboot my faither to Hardie, +mither. Smillie's a fine man, an' I like him," he said with +simple enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"He is that, Rob. I've aye liked Bob for the way he has +had to fecht. Lod, I dinna ken hoo he has managed to come +through it a'. He's been a gran' frien' to the miners. What +kin' o' a man is Hardie?"</p> + +<p>"He's yin o' the finest men I ever met," he answered in +quick enthusiasm. "You would hae enjoyed hearin' him, +mither. It's an awfu' peety that the weemin dinna gang to +the meetin's. I'm shair there's no' a woman in the place but +wad hae liket him. My! if you had jist heard him, strong, +sturdy, and independent. Efter hearin' him, it fair knocked +the stories on the heid aboot him bein' oot to smash the +hame, an' religion an' sic like. He's clean and staunch, an' +a rale man. Nae sham aboot him, but a rale human bein', +an' after listenin' to him tellin' what Socialism is, it mak's +you feel ashamed that you ever believed things that you did +believe aboot it. It's that simple an' Tam Donaldson is fair +carried awa' wi' it the night."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you had a guid meetin'," she said, her interest +kindled too. "Tell me a' aboot it," and Robert told her, +sketching the fine picture which Hardie had given to his memory +to carry, as long as life lasted for him.</p> + +<p>"I've been appointed delegate to the Miners' Council," he +said after a while. "I'll hae to gang to Hamilton once a month +to attend the conferences."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said in surprise, and with pride in her voice. +"What way hae they sent you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't ken," he answered, "but I was a wee bit feart to +take it. It's only the very best men that should be sent +there to represent the branches, an' I thought they might hae +sent an older man, wi' mair kind o' thought about him, an' +mair experience."</p> + +<p>"Oh, weel, Rob," she said with pride, "ye are maybe as +guid as ony o' them, and a hantle better than some o' them. +I hope you'll dae well and aye act fair."</p> + +<p>"I'll dae my best," he said simply. "Mony a time we hae +been selt wi' place-seekers, an' maybe there are some still at +it," he went on, "but I can say this, mither, if ever I get an +inklin' o' it, I'll expose them to every honest man. We want +men who can look at things withoot seem' themsel's as the +center o' a' things. My, if you had only seen Hardie," he +broke off. "He was grand."</p> + +<p>Thus they talked for an hour before retiring, but all the +time Robert's mind occasionally kept wondering about Mysie, +and he went to bed, his heart troubled and aching to know +the fate that had overtaken the girl he had loved and lost.</p> + +<p>All night long he tossed unable to sleep, as he tried to think +what had happened to her, his mind and heart pained at the +thought of something that boded no good to her.</p> + +<p>He again lived over in his mind all that had happened that +night upon the moor, when he saw the man going to meet +her after his own meeting with Mysie.</p> + +<p>He was pained and puzzled what to do. Had the stranger +any connection with her disappearance, he asked himself? +Should he tell of that? And yet she had been to her father's +house since then, so that it would be of little value to mention +it, he thought.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she had run away with the man. That was quite +a likely thing to happen, and if Mysie wanted him no one else +had anything to do with it. Still, she might have told her +people, he thought. But perhaps she might do that later on.</p> + +<p>But Mysie and her fate would not be banished from his +mind, and he lay and tumbled and tossed, a terrible anxiety +within him, for youth is apt to pity its own sufferings, and +give them a heroic touch under the spell of unrequited love.</p> + +<p>Thus the night passed and morning came, and he had not +slept, and he went to his work debating as to whether he should +inform the police or not about the man he had seen in the +company of Mysie. But no decision was ever come to.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h2>MYSIE RUNS AWAY</h2> + + +<p>It was a gray, sultry summer night, with one small patch +of red near the western horizon when Mysie, making the +excuse of going to the village to visit her parents, had stolen +over the moorland path on her way to join the evening train +for Edinburgh at a neighboring village station.</p> + +<p>She had left early, so as to have plenty of time on the way, +and also because she was really ill, and could not hurry.</p> + +<p>She had forced herself to work, so as not to attract attention +to her weak state during the past few weeks. Peter, who had +already gone some days before, had now everything ready for +her, and this was her final break with the old life.</p> + +<p>She knew she was ill, but thought that when she got to +Edinburgh, with good medical attention and treatment, she +would soon be all right again. Perhaps a rest and the change +would help her as much as anything; and she'd soon get well +and strong, and she would work hard to fit herself for the +position she was to occupy as Peter's wife.</p> + +<p>But her legs did feel tired, as she trudged over the moor, +and her steps dragged heavily. She sank down for a few +moments upon a thyme-strewn bank to rest; the scent of the +wild moorland bloom brought back the memory of that evening +in the copse. She shut her eyes for a moment, and heard +again the alarmed protest of the whaup, and the grumble of +the burn; saw again the moonlight patterns upon the ground, +as it flittered through the trees, like streams of fairy radiance +cast from the magic wand of night and, above all, heard Peter's +voice, praising her eyes, her hair, her figure.</p> + +<p>Her cheeks burned again, and her heart throbbed anew—she +heard his tones, hoarse, vibrant and warm, as his breath +scorched her cheek. She felt his arms about her, the contact +of his burning lips upon her own.</p> + +<p>Then the calm which follows the wake of the storm, the +consciously averted eyes, and the very conscious breathing, +which had in it something of shame; the almost aversion to +speak or touch again, and over all, the deep silence of the +moor, broken only by the burn and the whaup, and the thick +cloud, kindly dark, that came over the moon.</p> + +<p>But, behind it all, the remorse and the agony that would +never die; the anxiety and uncertainty, and the secret knowledge +for which each had paid so high a price.</p> + +<p>She rose from the bank and went slowly along the lovely +moorland path. Her breath was labored and the cough +troubled her. She was hot, and besides the tired sensation in +her limbs, there was a griping feeling about her chest that +made breathing difficult.</p> + +<p>She reached the station just a minute before the train was +due, and entered an almost empty compartment, glad to be +seated and at rest.</p> + +<p>The train soon moved out of the station, and an intense +desire took hold of her to go back. The full consciousness +of her action only seemed to strike her now that she had cut +the last tie that bound her to the old life, and involuntarily +she rose to her feet, as if to get out. A man sitting in the +opposite corner, thinking she was going to close the carriage +window, laid a restraining hand upon her.</p> + +<p>"Don't close it," he said, "fresh air is what we all need, +though we may not in our ignorance think so. But you take +it from me, miss, that you can't get too much fresh air. Let +it play about you, and keep it always passing through your +room, or the railway carriage when traveling, and you'll never +be ill. Look at me," he continued aggressively, almost fiercely, +and very pompously, "the very picture of health—never had a +day's illness in my life. And what is the reason? Why, fresh +air. It is the grand life-giver. No, miss, leave the window +open. You can't get too much of it. Let it play about you, +draw it deeply into your lungs like this," and he took a great +deep draught, until Mysie thought he was going to expand +so much that he might fall out of the carriage window, or +burst open its sides. Then, he let it out in a long, loud blast, +like a miniature cyclone, making a noise like escaping steam; +while his eyes seemed as if they had made up their minds +to jump out, had the blast and the pressure not eased them at +the last critical moment.</p> + +<p>Then he stood panting, his shoulders going up and down, +and his chest going out and in, like a pair of bellows in a +country blacksmith's shop.</p> + +<p>"Nothing like fresh air, miss," he panted. "You take my +tip on that. I've proved it. Just look at me. I'm health itself, +and might make a fortune by sitting as an advertisement +for somebody's patent pills, only I feel too honorable for that; +for it is fresh air that has done it. Fresh air, and plenty of +it!" and he turned his nose again in the direction of the window, +as if he would gulp the air down in gallons—a veritable +glutton of Boreas.</p> + +<p>Mysie could not speak. She was overwhelmed by the blast +of oratory upon air, and a woman who sat on the far side +of a closed window, with tight-drawn lips and smoldering +eyes, looked challengingly at this fresh air fanatic, observing +with quiet sarcasm: "A complexion like that might make a +fortune, if done with colors to the life, in advertising some +one's 'Old Highland'!"</p> + +<p>The fresh air apostle gasped a little, looking across at the +grim set mouth and the quiet, steady eyes, as if he would like +to retort; but, finding no ready words, he merely wiped his +forehead, and then subsided helplessly in his corner seat, as +the lady rose, and, going over to the window, said to Mysie, +as she closed it: "It is a little cold to-night, after the scorching +heat of the daytime, and one is apt to catch cold very +readily in a draught at an open carriage window. There, +we'll all feel more comfortable now, I fancy. It is a little +chilly." The poor worm who had always lived and thrived +upon fresh air felt himself shriveling up in the corner, and +growing so small that he might easily slip through the seam +at the hinges of the carriage door.</p> + +<p>Mysie merely lay back in her corner without speaking. She +had never traveled much in the train; and this journey, +apart from its eventfulness, was sufficient in itself to stupefy +her with its newness and immensity. She had never before +had a longer journey than to the county town, which cost sixpence; +and here she was going to Edinburgh! a great city, +of which she had all the dread of the inexperienced, unsophisticated +country girl. A slight shiver soon began to creep down +her back, and gradually she became cold; but she sat never +speaking, and the other two occupants were so engrossed +in thinking out maledictions against each other, that they had +no thoughts to bestow upon her.</p> + +<p>The wild, bleak moors rolled past, as the train rushed onward, +and the telegraph poles seemed to scamper along, as if +frightened by the noise of the train. She gazed away to the +far horizon, where the sun had left a faint glow upon the +western clouds, and she tried to think of something that +would not betray her nervousness, but her mind was all chaos +and excitement, and strange expectation.</p> + +<p>What would be waiting for her at the end of the journey? +Suppose Peter failed to be at the station, what would she +do in a strange city? What if he were ill, and would not +come? Or if he was doing this deliberately, and did not mean +to meet her? Thus, torn by anxiety, and worried almost to +death by nameless other fears, she spent the hour-long journey +which seemed like a day, making herself ill, so that she +could scarcely leave the carriage when the train steamed into +Princes Street Station.</p> + +<p>"Have you any luggage that I can assist you with?" asked +the fresh air man, as Mysie seemed reluctant to get out, now +that she had arrived at her destination.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied simply, forgetting to thank him for his +kind consideration, and rising slowly to her feet, she followed +the stream of passengers down the platform, keeping a keen +look-out for Peter.</p> + +<p>"Here we are, Mysie," he said cheerily, striding towards +her, with real welcome in his voice, and she clung to him like +a child, so glad that he had been true to his word. "I have a +cab waiting," he rattled on brightly. "Just come along, and +we'll soon be at your digs, and we'll talk as we drive along," +and he piloted her to a waiting cab; and getting in beside +her, it moved off, as she heard him say "Grassmarket" to +the driver.</p> + +<p>But she had little interest in anything, now that Peter was +here. She felt a sense of security in his company that she +had never felt before. She trusted him, now that all her +bearings were lost. The fear of the city, and the strangeness +of her experiences, made her turn to him as her only prop +upon which she could lean; and she clung to his arm as they +drove along, the cab rattling over the stones and through +what seemed to Mysie interminable streets of houses.</p> + +<p>"Did you manage to get away all right, without anyone +knowing?" he asked, as he felt her trembling hands upon his +arm.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think sae," she replied. "I never saw onybody. +I jist let on that I was gaun hame, an' gaed owre the muir, +an' got the train. I didna see onybody that I kent."</p> + +<p>"That was right, Mysie," he said. "I was afraid you might +decide at the last moment not to come."</p> + +<p>"I did feel awfu' frightened," she confessed, "an' I could +fain hae bidden at hame; but I can never gang hame noo," +she added with a slight tremor in her voice, at the realization +of all it meant. "I can never gang hame noo!" and the tears +gathered in her eyes as she spoke.</p> + +<p>What a noise, and what a multitude of houses, she thought. +She would never be able to go out and find her way back. She +would get lost in all this noise and hurry and confusion.</p> + +<p>"I have taken a little house for you, Mysie," said Peter, in +explanation of his plans. "I have also a woman engaged to +help you for a time, to look after you till you get acquainted +with the place; and I'll come home to you every evening, +and spend as much of my time with you as I can, superintending +your lessons. I am going to teach you myself for a while, +and we'll live together and be as happy as we can. But first +of all, you must get better," he said, as a fit of coughing +seized her. "You've got a bad cold. Luckily, the old man +allows me plenty of money, so that we need not worry."</p> + +<p>Mysie sat lost in wonder at it all, and presently the cab +stopped, and Peter helped her out, paid the fare and, taking +her arm, led her up a long flight of stairs—stairs that seemed +to wind up and up till she felt dizzy, before he came to a +halt at one of the many doors opening on the landing, entering +which she found herself in a neat little room and kitchen, +simply furnished, but clean and tidy.</p> + +<p>"This is Mrs. Ramsay, my landlady," he said as they +entered, leading Mysie forward to where a middle-aged woman +of kindly demeanor stood with a smile of welcome for them. +Mrs. Ramsay stepped forward and began to help Mysie to +take off her hat. With a few words she soon made the girl +feel more at ease, and then left them to get tea ready.</p> + +<p>"Is that the woman you stay wi'?" asked Mysie, as Mrs. +Ramsay went to the other room.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she's my landlady," he replied.</p> + +<p>"An' does she bide here too?"</p> + +<p>"Well, she'll stay just as long as you think necessary. +Whenever you think you can get on without her, let me know. +Her daughter is looking after her own house till she returns. +She's a good, kindly soul, and will do anything to help you."</p> + +<p>"Are you gaun to stay here now, too?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that is for you to say, Mysie," he said seriously. +"Certainly I should like to stay with my wife, for we'll be +married to-morrow. But if you would rather stay alone, I +can easily remain in my digs, and just attend to your lessons +In the evening."</p> + +<p>"If you stay here, will she need to stay too?"</p> + +<p>"Of course that will all lie with you, Mysie," he replied. +"Perhaps it might be better for her to stay and help you for +a few weeks, and by that time your cold may be better. But +you can think it over to-night and tell me your decision in +the morning."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ramsay's return cut short any further conversation, +and they all sat down to tea, a strange little party. Mysie +did not eat much. She was too tired, and felt that she would +rather go to bed. She looked ill and very wretched, and at +last Peter went out, leaving the women together.</p> + +<p>"I'll be round for you by half-past ten in the morning, +Mysie," he said, as he was going. "So you must be up, and +be as bright as you can. So take a good long sleep, and you'll +feel ever so much better in the morning. Mrs. Ramsay will +see you all right," and he was off before Mysie realized he +was going.</p> + +<p>It was all so strange for Mysie. She was lost in wonder at +it all, as she sat quietly pondering the matter while Mrs. +Ramsay washed the dishes and cleared the table. The noises +outside; the glare of the street, lamps, the tier upon tier of +houses, piled on top of each other, as she looked from the +window at the tall buildings, and the Castle Rock, grim and +gray, looking down in silence upon the whole city, but added +to Mysie's confusion of mind.</p> + +<p>Shouts from a drunken brawl ascended from the street; the +curses of the men, and the screams of women, were plainly +audible; while over all a woman's voice, further down the +street, broke into a bonnie old Scots air which Mysie knew, +and she could not help feeling that this was the most beautiful +thing she had heard so far.</p> + +<p>The voice was clear, and to Mysie very sweet, but it was +the words that set her heart awandering among her own moors +and heather hills.</p> + +<p> +Ca' the yowes tae the knowes,<br /> +Ca' them where the heather grows,<br /> +Ca' them where the burnie rows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">My kind dearie, O!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>This was always the song her father sang, if on a Saturday +night he had been taking a glass. It was not that he was +given to drinking; but sometimes, on the pay night, he would +indulge in a glass with Andrew Marshall or Peter Pegg—just +a round each; sufficient to make them happy and forgetful of +their hard lot for a time. She had seen her father drunk on +very few occasions, as he was a very careful man; but sometimes, +maybe at New Year's time, if things were going more +than usually well, he might, in company with his two cronies, +indulge in an extra glass, and then he was seen at his best.</p> + +<p>On such occasions Mysie's mother would remonstrate with +him, reminding him with wifely wisdom of his family responsibilities; +but under all her admonishings Matthew's only +reply was:</p> + +<p> +As I gaed doon the water side,<br /> +There I met my bonnie lad,<br /> +An' he rowed me sweetly in his plaid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">An' ca'd me his dearie, O!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>and as he sang, he would fling his arms around Mysie's mother +and turn her round upon the floor, in an awkward dance, to +the tune of the song, and finally stopping her flow of words +with a hug and a kiss, as he repeated the chorus:</p> + +<p> +Ca' the yowes tae the knowes,<br /> +Ca' them where the heather grows,<br /> +Ca' them where the burnie rows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My kind dearie, O!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>So that, when the words of the old song floated up through +the noise of the street, Mysie's heart filled, and her eyes +brimmed with tears; for she saw again the old home, and all +it meant to her.</p> + +<p>"There now," said Mrs. Ramsay, noticing her tears, and +stroking her hair with a kindly hand. "Mr. Rundell has told +me all about it, and I am your friend and his. I deeply sympathize +with you, my dear, for I know how much you must +feel your position; but Mr. Rundell is a good-hearted young +man, and he'll be good to you, I know that. Don't cry, dearie. +It is all right."</p> + +<p>Thus the words of an old song, sung by a drunken street +singer, brought a stronger and deeper stab to the heart of this +lonely girl, than to the exile in the back-blocks of Maori-land, +or on the edge of the golden West, eating his heart out over a +period of years for a glint of the heather hills of home, or the +sound of the little brook that had been his lullaby in young +days, when all the world was full of dreams and fair romance.</p> + +<p>In a sudden burst of impulsiveness, Mysie flung her arms +round the neck of the older woman, pouring out her young +heart and all its troubles in an incoherent flood of sorrow and +vexation.</p> + +<p>"There now, dearie," said Mrs. Ramsay, again stroking +Mysie's hair and her soft burning cheek. "Don't be frightened. +You must go to your bed, for you are tired and upset, and +will make yourself ill. Come now, like a good lass, and go +to your bed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, I wonner what my mither will say aboot it," +wailed the girl, sobbing. "She'll hae a sair, sair heart the +nicht, an' my faither'll break his heart. Oh, if only something +could tell them I am a' richt, an' safe, it would mak' +things easier."</p> + +<p>"There now. Don't worry about that any more, dearie. +You'll only make yourself ill. Try and keep your mind off +it, and go away to bed and rest."</p> + +<p>"But it'll kill my mither!" cried Mysie wildly. "Her no' +kennin' where I am! If she could only ken that I am a' +richt! She'll be worryin', an' she'll be lyin' waken at nicht +wonderin' aboot me, an' thinkin' o' every wild thing that has +happened to me. Oh, dear, but it'll break her heart and +kill my faither."</p> + +<p>It needed all Mrs. Ramsay's tact and patience to quieten +and allay her fears; but gradually the girl was prevailed upon +to go to bed, and Mrs. Ramsay retired to the next room. But +all night she heard Mysie tossing and turning, and quietly +weeping, and she knew that despair was torturing and tearing +her frightened little heart, and trying her beyond endurance.</p> + +<p>Mysie lay wondering how the village gossips at home would +discuss her disappearance. She knew how Mag Robertson, and +Jean Fleming, and Leezie Johnstone and all the other "clash-bags," +as they were locally called, would talk, and what stories +they would tell.</p> + +<p>But her mother would be different—her mother who had +always loved her—crude, primitive love it was, but mother +love just the same, and she felt that she would never be able +again to go back and take up her old life—the old life which +seemed so alluring, now that it was left forever behind.</p> + +<p>Thus she tossed and worried, and finally in the gray hours +of the morning her thoughts turned to Robert, who had loved +her so well, and had always been her champion. She saw +him looking at her with sad eyes, eyes which held something +of accusation in them and were heavy with pain—eyes that +told he had trusted her, had loved her, and that he had always +hoped she would be his—eyes that told of all they had been +to each other from the earliest remembered days, and which +plainly said, as they looked at her from the foot of her bed: +"Mysie! Oh, Mysie! What way did you do this!"</p> + +<p>Unable to bear it any longer, she screamed out in anguish, +a scream which brought good Mrs. Ramsay running to her +bedside, to find Mysie raving in a high fever, her eyes wildly +glowing, and her skin all afire. The good lady sat with her +and tried to soothe her, but Mysie kept calling on Robert and +her mother, and raving about matters of which Mrs. Ramsay +knew nothing; and in the morning, when Peter arrived expecting +to find his bride ready, he found her very ill, and his +good landlady very much frightened about the whole matter.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h2>MAG ROBERTSON'S FRENZY</h2> + + +<p>"I want to ken what has gone wrong with you?" said Mag +Robertson, speaking to Black Jock, whom she had called +into her house one morning as he returned from the pit +for his breakfast.</p> + +<p>"There's naething wrang wi' me," he said with cool reserve. +"What dae you think is wrang?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, it's a' right, Jock," she said, speaking as one who +knew he understood her question better than he pretended. +"I can see as far through a brick wall as you can see through +a whinstone dyke."</p> + +<p>"Maybe a bit farther, Mag," he said with a forced laugh, +eyeing her coolly. "But what are you driving at?"</p> + +<p>"You'll no' ken, I suppose?" she retorted. "Sanny has told +me a' aboot it this morning afore he gaed to his work. My! +I'd hardly hae looked for this frae you," she went on, her +voice suddenly becoming softer and more soothing as if she +meant to appeal to his sense of gratitude if any remained +within him. "Efter what we've been to yin anither, I never +expected you'd dae this. I aye thocht that you'd be loyal +as we hae been tae you. We hae made oursel's the outcasts +o' the district for you, an' noo you wad turn on us like this. +No, I never thocht it o' you at a'!"</p> + +<p>"What are you ravin' at this morning?" he asked, in a +quiet voice, as if he meant to force her into being more definite. +"I don't ken I'm sure what you are drivin' at."</p> + +<p>"Dae you no?" she broke in quickly, loosing hold of herself +as she saw that her method of attack was not going to +succeed. "I hae been suspectin' something for a while. You +hinna been in owre my door for three weeks an' that's no +your ordinar. But I have seen you gaun in tae Tam Granger's +nearly every nicht in that time. An' I can put twa +an' twa together. Dae you think we dinna ken the reason +that Sanny has lost his contracts an' the reason why Tam +Granger has stepped into them? Oh, ay," she cried, her voice +rising as she continued. "I can see hoo things are workin'! +I ken a' aboot it. Wee Leebie, I suppose, will be afore some +o' us noo. The stuck-up limmer that she is. She gangs by +folk as brazened as you like, wi' her head in the air, as if +she was somebody. You wad think she never had heard o' +Willie Broonclod, the packman, that she sloped when she left +doon the country. Nae wonder she has braw claes to glaik +aboot in; for they were gey easy paid. The dirty glaiket +limmer that she is. I wonder she disna think shame o' hersel'."</p> + +<p>"What the hell's a' this to me?" asked Walker abruptly +breaking in upon her tirade.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it'll no' mean onything to you," she returned. +"But I just wanted to tell you, that you're no her first, for +Willie Broonclod gaed to her lang afore she cam' here, an' +she's left him wi' a guid penny that he'll never get. But her +man's a contractor noo, makin' big money, an' Jock Walker +ca's in to see her whenever he's needfu' an' there's naething +sae low as a packman noo for her. The brazen-faced stuck-up +baggage that she is. Does she think I dinna ken her? Her, +with her hair stuck up in a 'bun' an' her fancy blouses an' +buckled shoon, an' a'!" Mag was now very much enraged +and she shouted and swore in her anger.</p> + +<p>"Ach, gang to hell," he said with brutal callousness. "You're +no' hauf a woman like Leebie. She's a tippy wee lass, an' has +a way wi' her. She has some spirit, an' is aye snod and nate," +and there was a tantalizing smile about his lips that was +plainly meant to irritate Mag.</p> + +<p>"I was guid enough a gey lang while, an'—"</p> + +<p>"Ay, but you've haen a damn'd guid innins," he interrupted. +"A dam'd guid innins, an' I canna see what the hell +you hae to yowl at."</p> + +<p>"A guid innins, you muckle black-hearted brute!" she cried. +"By heavens, an' I'll see that you get yours afore I hae done +wi' you. Dinna think though I hae been saft wi' you a' +along, that I'll ay be like that. Oh, no, I can stand a lot; but +you'll find oot that Mag Robertson hasna selt her a' tae you, +without driving a hard bargain afore she lets you alone. You +can gang back to your tippy wee baggage! Gang to hell, baith +you an' her, an' joy be wi' you baith! But I'll put a sprag +in your wheel afore you gang far. Mind that! By —— I +will! She'll nae toss her heid as she gangs past me as if +I was dirt. Her, an' her fine dresses that she never payed +for wi' money an' her fal-lals. By heaven! But you hae +a fine taste!" She finished up exasperated beyond all control +by his coolness.</p> + +<p>"Ay, it wad seem so," he laughed brutally. "When I look +at you, I begin to wonder what the hell I was lookin' at. +You're like a damnationed big lump o' creesh," and he laughed +in her face, knowing this would rouse her more than ever. +Then as she choked and spluttered in her anger he said: "But +what the hell odds is't to you, you baggage?" and his eyes +and voice were cold and brutal beyond expression. "Leebie +Granger is young," he went on insultingly, in a collected even +voice which he strove to make jaunty in tone. "She's as fresh +an' young. An' you're auld, an' fat an' as ugly as hell, an' +if I dae gang to Leebie you hae damn all to dae wi' it. As +I said, you've had your innin's, an' been gey well paid for it, +an' I dinna gie a damn for you."</p> + +<p>"Dae you no'?" she cried now livid with anger and losing +all control over her words and actions, her eyes flashing with +maddened rage and the froth working from her lips. "I'll let +you ken or no'. I'll tear the pented face off your new doll; +and I'll sort you too, you dirty black brute that you are."</p> + +<p>"Gang to hell!" he shouted, starting out of the door so +suddenly that he almost ran into the next door neighbor who +hearing the noise had crept noiselessly on tiptoe to the door +the better to hear all that was going on.</p> + +<p>"What the hell's wrang wi' you?" he demanded turning in +rage upon the eavesdropper. "Have you naething else to dae +than that? Gang in an' get your dirty midden o' a hoose +cleaned an' I'll see that you don't stay lang in Lowwood to +spy on ony mair folk!" and cowering in shame the poor +woman backed into the door and shut it, making up her mind +that her man would be sacked that day, and wondering where +they would flit to, so as to find work and a house.</p> + +<p>Walker strode up the row with Mag Robertson shouting behind +him and the neighbors all coming to the doors as they +passed, and craning their necks, while keeping their bodies +safe hidden within the doorways of their homes.</p> + +<p>"We're surely gettin' an entertainment the day," observed +one fat old woman to another woman two doors away, as they +both looked after Mag as she followed Walker up the row, +shouting her worst names at him, and vowing what she'd do +with Leebie Granger, when she got hands on her.</p> + +<p>"Ay," replied the other woman stealing along the wall to +the doorway of the older woman, and slipping inside as if she +were afraid of being detected. "It's a hell o' a business when +blackguards cast oot."</p> + +<p>"Wheest, Annie, dinna swear," remonstrated the old woman. +"I dinna like to hear folk swearin' at a'. I wonner the Lord +disna open the grun' to swallow the half o' the folk noo-a-days; +for I never heard sic swearin' a' my life."</p> + +<p>"Och, there's nae harm meant," returned Annie, taken aback +by the old woman's admonition. "It's jist a habit that folk +get into an' they canna help it. But listen to her," she broke +off, alluding to Mag Robertson again. "She micht think shame +o' hersel', the shameless lump that she is. She'd hae been faur +better to hae keepit her mouth shut, Phemie."</p> + +<p>"That's true, Annie," replied Phemie. "Listen to her. My, +she's no' canny an' she's fairly givin' him a bellyfu'. But +they're a' yae swine's pick an' no' yin o' them decent. I +wadna be in her shoon for a' the money that ever was made in +Lowwood. She micht hae kent hoo it wad end. Hark at +her. My, but it's awfu'."</p> + +<p>"Keep in, Annie," Phemie admonished as they both craned +their necks to look up the row as she saw Walker turning to +face Mag. "Dinna let him see you or your man will get the +sack. My! but she's layin' it in tae' him. What a tongue."</p> + +<p>"Lord bless us! He's strucken her, Phemie," said Annie, +clutching her neighbor's shoulder as she spoke. "My, he's +gaen her an awfu' blow on the mouth an' knocket her doon. +Come inside for as sure as daith it'll end in a coort case, an' +I'm no wanting to be mixed up in it," and they went inside +and shut the door, looking at each other with frightened eyes. +Then Annie, stealing to the window and lifting the curtain a +little at the side, gazed sideways up the row, reporting to +Phemie everything that happened.</p> + +<p>"He's kicking her, Phemie. Eh, the muckle beast that he +is. My God, he'll kill her afore he's finished wi' her. He's +hitting her on the face every time she tries to rise an' gaein' +her anither kick aye when she fa's doon again. Oh! my God, +will naebody interfere. He'll kill her as sure as death," and +she stepped back with blanched face sickened at the spectacle +she had described.</p> + +<p>"Here she comes, Annie," said her neighbor after a few +moments. "My! what a face. Dinna look you at her," cried +Phemie in alarm pushing back Annie who had moved near to +the window to get a better view. "In God's name, woman, +dinna you look at her. You shouldna ha' looked at onything +that has taken place. If onything is wrang wi' your bairn +when it is born I'll never forgi'e' mysel' for lettin' you look +at this business at a'. Gang awa' back an' sit down an' try +an' forget a' aboot what you hae seen. Dinna look up till +she gangs back intae the hoose," and the old woman kept +Annie sitting back at the bedside in the corner farthest from +the window until Mag staggered to her home, her face streaming +with blood.</p> + +<p>Not a soul was in sight as Mag returned; but many a pair +of eyes watched her from behind curtained windows, and expressions +of sympathy were common even though her relations +with Walker were common knowledge in the village, and +had been censured by everyone in consequence for her misdeeds. +They all knew why Mag had "opened out" on Walker +that morning and the reason she had been set aside for another +who pleased his fancy.</p> + +<p>Tam Granger and his wife had recently come into the district +from a neighboring village, where Leebie's name had +been coupled with a local draper's or packman's in some +scandal. Black Jock had soon got into contact with them and +finding them willing tools he had deserted Sanny and Mag +Robertson. All the contracts were taken from Sanny and given +to Tam, and it was this that had made Mag watch for Walker +coming in for his breakfast, determined to have it out with +him, with the result which is chronicled above.</p> + +<p>The encounter between Mag and Black Jock was the talk +of the village. Mag was mad with rage, and having washed +her bruised face, she ramped out and in all day, washing the +floor, clattering among dishes and scouring pots and pans. +She was working off her anger and swearing and threatening, +until most of the other women in the row grew afraid, and +kept as much as possible within doors the rest of the day.</p> + +<p>When the men returned from work the whole episode had +to be gone through and described to them by their wives.</p> + +<p>When Sanny Robertson came home that afternoon, he found +Mag with swollen lips and half closed eyes and a face bruised +all over. He did not have to wait long for explanations. She +railed and swore and raged until one wondered from where +she got all the energy, and all the strength. It was amazing +why she did not collapse altogether.</p> + +<p>Sanny sat quietly listening without comment, then washed +himself and sat smoking by the fire for a time. He was a quiet +go-as-you-please man, not given much to talking. But finally +he could stand it no longer, and he took hold of his wife by the +shoulder, saying.</p> + +<p>"Noo, jist you listen, an' for God's sake shut your mooth. +It'll no dae a bit o' guid ravin' like that. We are in a bigger +hole noo than ever we hae been in a' oor lives, an' mind that. +I've made up my mind what I am gaun tae dae. Sae listen. +I'm gaun straucht awa' ower to Rundell's the morn, at the +time when Mr. Rundell gangs hame frae the office for his +breakfast, an' I'll tell him everything aboot the contracts. +Then I'm gaun awa' doon the country tae look for work, an' +I'll flit oot o' here an' tae hell wi't. Noo shut up an' gae me +peace and quateness for an hoor, so that I can think oot things. +You get awa' tae bed. Maybe by richt I should gang doon +tae Black Jock an' stap a knife in him—if for nae ither thing +than the way he has treated you the day, I should dae that. +But I'm no gaun to dae it the noo. I'm no' blaming you for +what has happened; for I'm mair to blame than you are. +But I'll be even wi' that black beast, an' put an end to his +rotten career, someway or another. Sae aff you gang to your +bed, an' gie me a quate hoor tae mysel'," and there was such +a quiet authoritative ring in his voice that Mag dared not +disobey it, and she went quietly off to bed while he sat by +the fireside smoking and thinking, and feeling that his home +that night must surely be the most unhappy place on God's +earth.</p> + +<p>About midnight he knocked the ashes from his pipe, and +placing it on the mantelpiece, went to bed and soon fell +asleep, but Mag, an insane decision taking shape in her brain, +lay and brooded and tossed till well on in the morning, when +she rose, kindled the fire, "redd up" the house, prepared the +breakfast and awoke her husband to partake of the meal she +had prepared.</p> + +<p>Never a word was spoken between them, and at last Sanny, +after washing and dressing, walked out without a word, but +fully determined in his heart to get equal with Walker before +the day was over.</p> + +<p>He went straight to Rundell House, and ringing the bell +asked to see the mine owner.</p> + +<p>He was shown into a room and Mr. Rundell came to him +almost before he had been comfortably seated.</p> + +<p>"Well, Sanny," he began genially. "What brings you here +this morning?"</p> + +<p>"A business that I'd rather no' been comin' on," replied +Sanny uneasily shifting on his chair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing serious, I hope, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, it's serious enough," returned Sanny. "Mair serious +than you think, Mr. Rundell; an' I dinna ken what you'll think +o' me after I hae telt you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, in that case," said the mine owner, becoming +serious, and speaking with slow deliberation. "Just let me +hear what it is all about, and we'll see how matters stand +after you have told me," and he sat down in a chair opposite +Robertson as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I hae lost my contracts, sir," began Sanny, not knowing +how else to open up the subject. "But I'm gaun to tell you +the hale story just in my ain way, so I want you to sit quate +and no' interrupt me; for I hinna jist the knack of puttin' +things maybe as they should be put. But I'll tell you the +hale story an' then leave you to do as you like, an' think what +you like."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Sanny. Just go on. I did not know you had +lost them. But just let me hear about the trouble in your +own way."</p> + +<p>"For gey near twenty year," began Sanny, "I've had maist +feck o' the contracts in your pits back and forrit—me an' +Tam Fleming. Walker an' us were aye gey thick, an' though +it maybe was putten doon to you that oor offer to work ony +special job was the cheapest, I may tell you that I never put +in an offer in my life for yin o' them. Walker an'—an'" +here Sanny stammered a little, "Walker an' oor Mag were gey +thick, an' I'm ashamed o' this part o' the story; for I should +hae been man enough to protect her frae him. But the money +was the thing that did it, Mr. Rundell, an' I'm no' gaun to +mak' excuses noo aboot it. But every bargain I had, I had +to share the pay, efter the men was payed, penny aboot, wi' +Walker. That was ay the bargain. He gaed us the job at +his ain feegure, an' we shared the profits wi' him.</p> + +<p>"Noo, jist keep yoursel' cool a bit," he said, holding up his +hand as Rundell made to speak. "We did gey well," he resumed +in his even monotone, like a man who was repeating +something he had learned by heart. "But gey soon I found +that I was expected to spend a good share o' my pay in +drink, while Walker took a', an' never spent a penny. So +it was, that for a' the money we made we've been gey little +the better o't, an' very much the worse o' it. Without exception +we shared penny aboot with Walker on every bargain we +got, an' I ken he has a guid bank balance, while I hae nane.</p> + +<p>"Noo, this is a rotten story frae end to end o't," he went +on after a short pause to wipe his face with a handkerchief. +"I allowed him to ruin my wife's character. I kent it was +gaun on a' the time; but like mony mair I hae kent, a manager's +favor was mair to me than the honor o' a wife. I let +him tak' a share o' the money I made, an' spent my ain to +keep him up on drink. But noo it's ended a'. A wheen o' +weeks syne, a man ca'd Tam Granger came to the place and +his wife being young an' fresh, an' guid-looking, besides being +free, Walker's fancy was ta'en wi' her. So you ken what it +means, when a gaffer carries on like that, an' the man is saft +enough as weel as the woman being willin'. Tam got my +contracts this week, an' I have to gang back into a common +place and howk coals.</p> + +<p>"Weel, the wife couldna' stand being slighted like thet, +an' Granger's wife had been tantalizin' her too, you ken hoo +women rave when they are slighted. So she opened oot on +Walker yesterday mornin' an' followed him up the row, the +hale place being turned oot to hear her exposure o' him. She +fair gaed mad wi' anger I think, an' lost a' control o' hersel' +an' she followed him shouting so that a' the neighbors could +hear her tauntin' an' jibin' at him, till he could staun it nae +langer, an' he turned an' struck her, knockin' her doon on +the green, an' then kickin' her, till she's a' bruised ower the +body. She has an' awfu' lookin' face too, an' she came in +bleeding like a sheep.</p> + +<p>"So that's the hale ugly story, Mr. Rundell. As I said I'm +gaun to mak' nae excuses. There's nane tae mak'; an' I'm +cheap served for it a'. I should hae stood by the wife and +protected her. But I'll dae it noo. She's mine, an' if she's no +guid it is me that is to blame. I'm leavin', an' I'm gaun awa' +doon the country the morn to look for work; but I thocht I'd +tell you the whole rotten story first, then I'll get Walker, an' +hae a reckonin' wi' him an' be off the morn. I'll pay off that +black-hearted brute this day afore I leave Lowwood an' then +my conscience will be easier."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rundell sat stupefied and amazed at the story just told +him by Robertson, and just as both men sat staring at each +other and before another word could be said, a miner burst +into the room, almost exploding with excitement, crying:—</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Rundell, you've to come to the pit at once. A woman +has flung herself doon the shaft."</p> + +<p>"Guid God! That'll be oor Mag," cried Sanny, starting +up and out at the door, running in the direction of the pit and +stumbling every few yards in his excitement.</p> + +<p>When Sanny had left the house that morning to go and +interview Mr. Rundell, Mag, with the insane decision she +had made overnight still holding her mind, dressed herself in +her best clothes, and without hesitation set off to the pit.</p> + +<p>On her way down the row she stepped into Leebie Granger's +house very excited though she had been fairly quiet all morning; +so quiet in fact that Phemie Grey and Annie Watson +could not help remarking upon it.</p> + +<p>"She's been awfu' quate a' mornin', Phemie," said Annie, +going into her neighbor's house. "She has worked away there +as if she was gaun to clean the hale place, scrubbing oot the +floor, although she washed yesterday; an' noo, she has on her +Sunday best, wi' her new hat on too, an' she's awa' into +Leebie Granger's. I wonner what'll hae ta'en her noo."</p> + +<p>"Guid kens," replied Phemie, "but she's fair off her heid. +Dae ye ken she's just like a daft body. Did you see the look in +her e'en?" and so they discussed poor Mag, who had drawn +their attention by the strangeness of her behavior.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dinna be feart, Leebie," began Mag as she saw Leebie's +apprehensive look. "I'm no' gaun to meddle wi' you, although +I swore yesterday that I would. You've only done what +I did before you. You are young, an' mair pleasin' than +I am noo, an', as he said, I hae had a good innins. But, Leebie, +you'll hae to look for another fancy man. He'll no' be lang +yours. I'll see to that. Him an' me will gang oot thegither, +if I can manage it. We've baith been rotten, an' it's richt that +we should gang baith at once, an' rid the place o' a dam'd bad +sore. Guid day, Leebie. It's a dam'd puir life to leave, an' +while it maybe is a woman's lot in life to sell hersel' for ease +and comfort, it's a' bad for her when she does it in a way that +the world says is a wrang way; for she soon finds that her life +isna worth a tinker's curse. She sells hersel' an' it's no worth +while complainin' if the bargain turns oot a rotten yin.</p> + +<p>"If every woman had plenty of honest work, there wad be +nae fancy women, for they wadna ned do it. Guid day, Leebie. +Maybe you'll think I'm strange a wee an' maybe so I am. +You micht think I'm daft; an' maybe so I am. But after +a while when you get time to think, you'll maybe feel that +you hae heard mair soond sense oot o' Mag Robertson when +she was mad than ever she spoke when she was supposed to +be wise. Guid day, Leebie. Think ower a' I have said. I'm +no gaun to hurt you; but I'm gaun to tak' Black Jock oot o' +your clutches as shair as daith. You've had your innins too; +but it has been a dam'd short yin. I've had mine, an' the +game is feenished noo. It's time the hale thing was totaled up +so that we can see wha is the winner. I've been maybe playin' +a losin' game, Leebie, but noo we'll ken afore lang. Guid +day, Leebie. I'm off," and she was out of the door leaving +Leebie speechless with fear and amazement.</p> + +<p>Mag flew down the brae to the pit almost running, while +Leebie and other neighbors looked after her with a strange +dread at their hearts.</p> + +<p>When Mag arrived at the pit she asked a boy if Walker +was up the pit yet for his breakfast.</p> + +<p>"I dinna' think so," replied the boy. "He's kind o' late +this mornin'; but there's the bell chappit three," he said as +the signal was made from the bottom that men were about +to come up. "That'll likely be him coming up."</p> + +<p>The boy had no sooner spoken, than with a mad rush Mag +darted forward, and opening the gates at the "low scaffold," +where no one was near, being situated below the pit-head +proper, with a loud scream she hurled herself down the shaft.</p> + +<p>"God Almichty!" roared the engineman who saw all from +the engine house, as he rushed out of the door, calling to +the pit-head workers. "Mag Robertson has flung hersel' doon +the shank!" and immediately all was consternation.</p> + +<p>The engine keeper had just been in the act of signaling +down to Walker, who was ready to ascend when he saw the +flying figure dart forward and fling herself into the yawning +abyss.</p> + +<p>Walker, standing at the foot of the shaft waiting for the +answering signal from above, heard the noise and the rush of +Mag's body as it bumped from side to side in its mad descent, +and starting back, he was just in time to get clear as the mangled +mass of rags and blood and pulpy flesh fell with a loud +splashy thud at the bottom, the blood spattering and "jauping" +him and the bottomer, and blinding their eyes as it flew all +over them.</p> + +<p>"In the name o' Heavens what's that?" yelled Walker, +screaming in terror and jumping aside from the bloody upturned +face, with the wide, staring eyes, which he seemed to +recognize, as the other parts of the body lay about, still quivering +and twitching, and a horrible sickness came over him and +terror flooded his mind.</p> + +<p>"Bell, three, quick!" cried Walker, frantic with desperation +in his voice. "Bell three, dammit. An' let us up out o' here. +Hurry up, hell to you," and he drew the bell himself, and without +waiting on the signal back from above, jumped into the +cage, averting his face from those horrible eyes, which lay +staring at him out of the darkness.</p> + +<p>"Chap it awa', man!" he yelled at the bottomer, his voice +rising to a scream. "Chap it, an' let us up to hell oot o' this," +and the bottomer, no less frightened than he, tore at the bell, +and jumping in himself just as the cage began slowly to ascend, +clung to the bar, shivering with terror.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h2>BLACK JOCK'S END</h2> + + +<p>When Walker reached the surface, he was like a madman. +He raved and swore and frothed like a churn, +running here, there and everywhere nearly collapsing +with rage, which sprang from terror.</p> + +<p>Usually cool and calculating, steady and active-minded, he +seemed to have lost all grip upon himself. He had been drinking +heavily the night before and was none too sober in the +morning when he was called upon to go to work. Mag Robertson's +attack the night before had sent him to the drink, and +being a heavy drinker he was in a bad state the following +morning. Mr. Rundell found him swearing and raving in a +great passion, sacking men and behaving like a maniac.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Walker," he began at once, his quick temper +rising anew as he thought of the story Sanny Robertson had +told him. "I'll give you twenty-four hours to get out of here +and away from the place; and if you are not gone in that time +I shall inform the police. I know the whole story regarding +the setting of the contracts. Sanny has told me, and if I was +doing right I would not give you a single minute."</p> + +<p>Walker seemed to calm down all at once, and his eyes became +cringing as those of a kicked cur as he stood before the +angry mine-owner.</p> + +<p>"But I hinna telt you a' he has done," said Sanny Robertson, +who came up just then in time to hear Mr. Rundell's words. +"The dirty black-hearted brute murdered Geordie Sinclair. +He telt me himsel' one nicht at the time when we were drinkin' +together. He kent a' aboot Geordie workin' on the boss ground +an' sent him to his death to get rid of him because in a soft +moment I had telt Geordie hoo the contracts were set. He was +feart Geordie wad tell you. He's a black-hearted murderer, +an' noo he has added Mag's death to his list o' damnation. +Tak' that! an' that! you dirty villain! I'll save the hangman +the bother o' feenishin' you!" and Sanny was upon Walker +tearing at him like a cat, and clawing his face with his nails, +punching, biting and kicking him as hard as he could drive his +hands and feet.</p> + +<p>The attack was so sudden that Walker went down, and +Sanny was on top of him before anyone could intervene.</p> + +<p>"I'll tear the thrapple oot o' you, you dirty swine!" he +squealed, as he tugged at Black Jock's throat.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rundell and a couple of laborers soon pulled Sanny up, +though he struggled to maintain his hold upon the throat of +his adversary.</p> + +<p>"Let me at him," he yelled, striving to get free. "Let me at +him, an' I'll save the hangman a guid lot o' bother stretchin' +his dirty neck! Oh, you swine! You dirty murderin' beast!" +he shrieked, as he tried to break away from the restraining +hands which held him.</p> + +<p>But Sanny was soon overpowered, and Walker, bounding +to his feet, was off up the railway towards his home, terror filling +his heart, and his mind reeling with fear.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rundell quickly organized a band of men to descend +the shaft and recover Mag's body, and soon the whole village +was in possession of the news, and the excitement was intense.</p> + +<p>They gathered her up, a mass of dirty, pulpy flesh, scraping +the remains together and shoveling them into a rude improvised +box, the head and eyes being the only part of the body +that resembled anything like a human being.</p> + +<p>"Hell to my sowl, but this is the warst job that ever I got," +said Archie Braidhurst, as he scraped a mass of blood and +bones, mud and rags, together. "It's a hell o' a daith to +dee."</p> + +<p>"Ay, puir lassie," replied Adam Lindsay. "She's made a +splash at the hinner end. Mag ay cried that it was best to +mak' a splash aboot the things you did; but, by sirs, she has +made yin this time. What an awfu' mess!"</p> + +<p>"Splash!" echoed Archie with a grim laugh. "She's gane +a' into jaups. She maun hae thocht she was a juck-pool. I +would like to dee like a Christian when I dee, and no' shuffle +oot like a scattered explosion, or a humplick o' mince."</p> + +<p>"Oh, for Heaven's sake shut your mooth, an' let us get +her gathered up an' get oot o' here. Dammit, hae ye nae +common sense, swearin' an' jokin' about sic a thing! It's +enough to tempt Providence, an' had it no' been for the +tumblerful o' whisky that Mr. Rundell gied us I dinna think +I could hae faced it. It's awfu'!"</p> + +<p>"What the hell are ye girnin' at?" asked Archie, turning +round on him. "Are ye feart Mag bites ye? Man, she's got +a' her bitin' by noo, although I admit she's made a hell o' a +mess at the end. Pit your shovel in here an' lift this pickle, +an' no' stand there gapin' like a grisly ghost at the door o' +hell! Fling it into her gapin' mouth, if you think she's goin' +to bite you!" and the others laughed uneasily at Archie's sardonic +humor.</p> + +<p>It was a nerve-trying experience for most of them, and +they felt sick with horror of it, in spite of the whisky and their +grim jokes. The pit was put idle, and the men went home. +A gloom brooded over the whole place.</p> + +<p>Black Jock saw Mag Robertson's eyes staring at him, as +he hurried over the moor. He had not even stopped to wash +himself, but merely stowing some money into his pocket, was +off, not deigning to answer his daughter's enquiries as to what +was wrong, or where he was going. Every wild bird upon the +moor seemed to shout at him in accusation; every living thing +seemed to scream out in terror as he approached.</p> + +<p>He laughed a harsh laugh, like the cry of a wild beast, and +the sheep scampered away in fear. The wind moaned out of +the gray clouds, which lay thick upon the hidden hills, and +there was an early iciness in its breath as it groaned past; +A soft, slushy sound rose from the moor at every step, until +it seemed that even earth protested. Eerie and sad the moor +was, gray and threatening the hills. Laughing at intervals that +low gurgle which sprang from fear, as some wild bird would +start up at his approach, he plodded on.</p> + +<p>He did not know where he was going. He had no particular +objective. He did not know what line he would pursue. He +only wanted to get away from the scene of the tragedy, and +those terrible eyes staring, which seemed to follow him from +behind every bush or clump of heather, till in the gray mist +it seemed as if the moor were alive with them.</p> + +<p>Eyes everywhere. Eyes that never winked or moved. Eyes +that never trembled with recognition or glimmered with life. +Dead eyes, cold eyes, immovable and clear—horribly clear they +were—eyes that simply stared, neither showing accusation nor +denunciation; but there they were at every tuft of yellow +grass, behind every moss-hag, and staring like pools of clear +silent death, which struck horror to his heart. He bounded +sideways as a partridge on whirring wing flew away at his +approach, and almost dropped dead with fright as a muircock, +with loud protesting voice, seemed to scream: "'way back! +'way back! 'way back!" and then, drawing out into a low +grumbling command, as it came to earth a few hundred yards +away, still muttering its orders to him, as he momentarily +stood to recover from his fright.</p> + +<p>The whinny of a horse upon the hillside, the low cry of a +young cow, the bleat of a sheep, all added to his feeling of +dread, until the sweat streamed down his body, as he swung +along the moor.</p> + +<p>At last he came to a little village, about six miles from +Lowwood, and, entering the inn, he called for a supply of +whisky.</p> + +<p>"It's kind o' cauld the day," the landlady said in an affable +way, as he stepped into the bar.</p> + +<p>"Warm enough where I have been," he replied bluntly. +"Gie's something to drink in whusky!"</p> + +<p>"So it wad seem," she said in reply, noting his beaded forehead, +as he wiped it with a colored handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"You've surely been gey hard ca'd wherever you hae been," +and there was a note of curiosity in her voice.</p> + +<p>"I want a drink," he broke in abruptly, "an' it doesna matter +a damn to you whether I hae been hard ca'd or no'. You're +surely hellish keen to hae news. Dis a' your customers get the +Catechism when they come in here?" he queried. "If they +do, I may as well tell you to begin with, that I came in for +whusky, an' no' to staun' an examination."</p> + +<p>She saw at once that he resented her leisurely way and her +attempt at affability, and she hastened to apologize.</p> + +<p>"Look dam'd sharp," he growled, as she attended to his order. +"I want whusky and plenty o' it."</p> + +<p>"You are in an unco' hurry," she replied, getting nettled, as +she filled a glass. "It doesna' do to be so snottery as a' +that."</p> + +<p>"Well, dammit, look alive. I'm dying for a drink. Bring in +a bottle," as she placed a glass before him filled with whisky, +"an' tak' the price o' your dam'd poison aff that!" and he +flung down a sovereign upon the table.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said the landlady, "I'll tak' nane o' your snash, +so mind that. If folk come in here to be served, they've got +to be ceevil."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's nae harm," he said apologetically, with a forced +laugh, "but I'm in a hurry, and I want a drink."</p> + +<p>"Weel, I maun hae ceevility. So if you don't gi'e the yin, +you'll no' get the ither."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," he said. "Keep the sovereign. I may +need more. Tell me when it is all spent," and he filled a +bumper and drained it without a halt.</p> + +<p>"Weel, ye may be dirty at many a thing," she observed, as +she noted his action, "but you're a gey clean drinker o' whusky +anyway," and she left him with his bottle to fuddle alone.</p> + +<p>"A gey queer body that," she mused, as she returned to the +bar. "Lod! he's like a wannert thunder-storm, growlin' and +grumblin', as if he had got lost frae the rest o' his company. +But he seems to hae plenty o' siller anyway," she concluded, +"an' he can drink whusky wi' anybody I ever seen try it."</p> + +<p>By and by a village worthy came in, and he was at once +hailed by Black Jock, and invited to have a glass.</p> + +<p>"What are you drinkin', chappie?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Same as you," was the reply, while a smile of pleased anticipation +hovered round the worthy's face at this unexpected +good fortune. "I jist ay tak' a moothfu' o' whusky. As a +maitter o' fact, I was brocht up on the bottle, and I hae never +been spained yet."</p> + +<p>"Right you are, cocky! Drink up! You're the man I am +lookin' for to help me to spend an hour or twa."</p> + +<p>"That'll suit me a' to bits," was the reply, "an' you are jist +the man I hae been lookin' for. It's a guid thing we hae met, +or we'd baith hae been unhappy."</p> + +<p>So the hours passed, and each newcomer was invited to join +the company, until it grew so large that the "big room" was +requisitioned, and it soon held a laughing, joking, drinking, +good-natured set of as drouthy individuals as ever met together +in company. Every worthy for miles around seemed to get +the news of the free drinks, and whisky and beer flowed like +water, and the company grew more and more cheerful and +happy.</p> + +<p>Bottle after bottle of drink was consumed, and as the company +got hilarious, a song was sung or a story was told, until +the whole place had the air of a fair day about it.</p> + +<p>Jock spent his money freely, and his company drank his +health as freely as he paid for the drinks. So the merry hours +went past, and the darkness came on. Yet for all the whisky +that Walker consumed, he never seemed to get drunk. He was +certainly a bit intoxicated, but was in that condition described +by one of the company next day as being "sensibly drunk."</p> + +<p>"Come on, damn you, you son of a tinkler," he urged. +"Drink up, an' let us mak' a nicht o't," and thus urged they +drained their glasses, and had them refilled again and again.</p> + +<p>"Gie's a sang, Geordie," cried one of the company across +the room to an old shaggy-faced individual, who sat and +laughed and drank with happy demeanor, rubbing his bristly +chin, which resembled the back of a hedgehog, with dirty +gnarled fingers which seemed made for lifting glasses, having +a natural crook in them, into which the glass as naturally fitted. +"You hinna sung anything yet. Gie's yin o' your ain makin'."</p> + +<p>"Lodsake, I canna sing," said Geordie, with the air of a +man who wanted to be told he could sing.</p> + +<p>"Ach, you can sing fine," was the chorused reply from +nearly everyone in the company.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Geordie, you ken you can sing fine. Man, there's +no' a better singer in the place, auld and a' as ye are."</p> + +<p>"Och, I canna sing noo, Charlie," replied Geordie, clearing +his throat, "but I'll confess that I hae seen the day when I +could lilt it wi' the best o' them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but we a' ken fine that you can sing. Man, it's a treat +to hear him," said Charlie, turning to Black Jock. "He could +wile the bird aff the bush. Gie's yin o' your ain, Geordie. +It's aye best to hear you at yin o' your ain."</p> + +<p>"Oh, weel," said Geordie with a show of reluctance, as he +rose to his feet, making a noise in his throat, like the exhaust +pipe of an engine, "seein' that you are all so pressin' on the +maitter, I'll gi'e ye a bit verse or twa."</p> + +<p>A roar of applause greeted Geordie as he sat down, and +words of appreciation broke from everyone in the room.</p> + +<p>"Dam'd guid, Geordie! Fill up your glass. That deserves +a richt guid dram!" cried Black Jock, as he reached across the +table and poured a bumper for Geordie. "Wha's gaun to sing +next? Come on, chaps; let us mak' a nicht o't!"</p> + +<p>"Hear, hear," said Geordie. "I'm just feelin' in gran' fettle +for a nicht. Tammas Fairly will gie's a bit verse maybe. He +can sing a fair guid song."</p> + +<p>"Me sing!" exclaimed Tam. "Gae awa'! Ye ken fine I +canna sing like you, Geordie," and there was a hint of assumed +bashfulness in Tam's voice as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Tam. There's to be nae jookin' oot o' it. It's +to be a sang roon' aboot, so you micht as weel begin noo, an' +get your turn by."</p> + +<p>"Ay, come on," chimed in Walker. "Let us enjoy oorsel' +the nicht, when we are in a mood for it. Guid kens when we +may ever spend a nicht thegither again. Come on, Tam, +get up!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, weel," said Tam with bashful reluctance, "I'll do my +best," and clearing his throat, Tam sang.</p> + +<p>"Hear, hear!" roared Black Jock. "That deserves a bumper +too, Tammas. Fill up your glass. An honest dram's afore a' +the simperin' Judies that ever held up their gabs to be kissed!" +and filling another round, they drank, and roared, and cried +their appreciation.</p> + +<p>The fun waxed fast and furious, as song after song was +sung, which sometimes were capped by a rough story or a questionable +joke from someone in the company.</p> + +<p>"But you havena gi'en us a sang yoursel'!" observed Charlie, +turning to Black Jock, after most of the company had obliged +with an effort.</p> + +<p>"No, I havena gi'en you a sang," he replied with a coarse +laugh, "but I hae paid for a' the drinks, an' I suppose that'll +please the maist o' you better than a dizzen sangs frae me."</p> + +<p>"Quite true," said Geordie. "You're a gentleman, an' I +never met a better. I only hope we'll hae the pleesure o' +meetin' you here again afore lang. It's been yin o' the best +nichts I hae spent for a lang time."</p> + +<p>"That's true, Geordie," said Charlie. "He has gi'en us yin +o' the best nichts I hae ever spent. In fact I never min' o' +haein' a better, an' to celebrate it, if nane of you hae ony objections, +I'll sing anither sang."</p> + +<p>"Hear, hear," cried Walker heartily. "Order for the sang," +and he tapped the table loudly with a bottle, as he called for +quietness amid the din.</p> + +<p>"Order for the sang, boys!" bawled Geordie, "Charlie is gaun +to favor the company," and as the noise immediately ceased, +Charlie sang a song about the fascinating women.</p> + +<p>"That's a guid yin, Charlie," roared Walker, thumping the +table as he roared. "I hae had a lang experience o' weemin' +bodies," and he winked across to Geordie as he spoke, "an' +I can say they are rale blood-suckers. They're like whisky, +gran' at the time, but you sing sorry next day, an' fin' oot what +a fool you hae been. They hing on to you like leeches, an' +mak' a mess o' things at the en'. Though you had a face like +a crocodile as long as you had plenty of cash, they'd lick your +feet; when your money's done, they're awa' like swallows at +the first nip o' autumn frost!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, it's a dam'd funny world," he went on in a lower tone, +as if half speaking to himself. "A fu' purse an' you've plenty +o' frien's, an' a woman when you need her, but if your purse +is toom, your heart may grien a hell o' a lang while afore yin +wad ever come near you."</p> + +<p>Thus the evening passed till some were lying below the +table, unable to sit up and take their round; and finally the +closing hour arrived, and all had to disperse.</p> + +<p>Black Jock, again left to himself, deserted by all his company, +and in spite of all the drink he had consumed walking +fairly steadily, stepped out upon the country road, neither +caring nor knowing in which direction he went. His head bent +forward upon his breast, or rolling occasionally from side to +side, seemed too heavy for his neck to support, as he swayed +from the center of the road to its margin.</p> + +<p>The horrible staring eyes began again to infest his journey, +and seemed to accompany him wherever he went. He could +not get away from them. Out in the lonely night, the whole +sky merry with stars, was alive with staring eyes, that glared +down upon him from above with a cold sinister light. They +looked at him from the hedgerows; they glared at him from +behind every bush or knoll by the wayside; they glowered at +him from behind the trees; and they even perched upon his +shoulders and peeped at him in accusation.</p> + +<p>"Damn you!" he growled, striking at them as if he would +brush them from his sight; but still they followed and accused +no matter where he turned. He grew more and more irritated +and alarmed, as they seemed to multiply with every minute +that passed; and he quickened his pace, but in spite of his +speed, they still pursued and multiplied.</p> + +<p>Driven mad by the persistence of their stare, he rushed from +side to side of the road, striking at them, hitting out with his +hands, and kicking with his feet; but still they grew in numbers +and in immensity.</p> + +<p>He shook himself as if to free his body from them; he rushed +ahead, swearing and muttering; he growled and shouted, sometimes +pleading to be let alone, and sometimes roaring defiance +to the night air; but still the eyes held him relentlessly, implacably, +and ever growing in numbers, until it seemed as if +the whole countryside were alive with them. They came nearer +and receded again; they swarmed round him in legions, then +withdrew behind the hedges to stare at him with wide-open +lids. They drew him onward, and he advanced cautiously. +Then they rushed at him, and retired again, as if driven back; +but still they were there, just round the bend of the road, +just behind that bush, just over that hedge, and behind that +tree, glaring and looking at him, and ready to rush forth again +as soon as they thought he was sufficiently off his guard.</p> + +<p>"Back!" he roared again, striking out with his fist as they +rose only a couple of yards ahead. "Back! an' be damned to +you," as a whole swarm larger and larger, so that they lighted +up the night, came rushing round him.</p> + +<p>They were hissing and roaring at him this time. They had +hitherto been silent, and he seemed to hear at first a low +murmuring whisper, as if they consulted together as to the +best way to attack him. Then the whisper grew to a louder +swishing sound like the noise Mag had made as her body +hurtled from side to side on falling down the shaft. It grew +louder and louder, like the wind coming through far-off trees, +gradually swelling to a roar. The eyes grew in numbers and +got larger with the noise; and finally, with terror clutching at +his heart and an oath upon his lips, he turned to run back, +only to find that they had all merged into two wide, horribly +glaring fiery eyes which were bearing down upon him with the +speed and noise of an express train. They were on him before +he could turn, as if they now realized that he was fully at +their mercy, and with the courage of desperation he flung himself +bodily upon them and went down crushed beneath the +heavy mass of a motor driven with reckless speed by a young +man rushing to catch a train.</p> + +<p>Walker was down before the young man realized what had +happened and the hoot of the horn had merely spurred Black +Jock to the last desperate leap to death, the lights of the +motor having taken on the shape of all the pursuing eyes that +had followed him that night.</p> + +<p>When he was taken from beneath the wheels, his neck broken +and his body smashed, Black Jock had paid the last penalty, +and the eyes which destroyed him flashed out accompaniment +to his departing soul. And the winking skies, still merry with +the stars of night, looked down unmoved, while the night-birds +on the moor answered one another in their flight, and called +a last farewell to the spirit of Black Jock.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h2>THE CONFERENCE</h2> + + +<p>The storm which had been brewing in the industrial +firmament grew more threatening and the clouds grew +blacker until it seemed as if nothing could prevent a +commotion on a big scale.</p> + +<p>The demand for a fuller life and more security was being +made by the miners all over the country. Organization was +proceeding apace, and a new idea was being glimpsed by the +younger men especially, which filled their hearts and fired +their imagination.</p> + +<p>"Do you think the time has come now, Bob?" asked Robert +Sinclair, speaking to Smillie one day, as they proceeded by rail +to a conference together, "when the whole Federation can try +its power in a demand for something real?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by something real, Robert?" asked +Smillie, with a keen look at the young, eager face turned towards +him.</p> + +<p>"Some guarantee of comfort in our lives," was the reply. +"You know that we have none now. You and others of us +have been teaching the miners to work towards the day when +a standard of ease and comfort will be assured to all. We have +worked for it, and the miners now are looking for something +tangible."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know; but do you think, Robert, that the time has +come to put it to the test?" and Smillie had gone on to tell of +some of the difficulties they were faced with.</p> + +<p>So they talked and discussed, exchanging opinions and +hopes; and all over the mining world their dreams were being +voiced, and had helped to make the coming crisis.</p> + +<p>Conferences were held, and the whole matter threshed out +from every angle. The miners were united as they had never +been before and the whole of the British miners were determined +to use their organization to enforce their demands.</p> + +<p>It was a triumph for Smillie's genius, the climax of his +dream, to have them united as one body to fight what he called +their real enemies. One federation linked together by common +ideals, with common interests bound by common ties, +united by traditions, by creed, by class, by common tastes +shared, by suffering and hardship. It was his monument, and +perhaps he regarded it with no little pride.</p> + +<p>When Robert was appointed delegate to the council of his +Union from his branch, he set himself to master thoroughly, +in every detail, its machinery, and very soon his voice was +raised in the debates, and it amazed even himself to find what +a power he seemed to possess over his fellows. He soon learned +to state his case in simple unaffected language which took a +marvelous hold upon his hearers, while at times his warm +glowing imagination would conjure up a living picture that +hit with irresistible force, and made a lasting impression upon +those who listened.</p> + +<p>He gradually became more fluent, and studied how best to +impress his comrades. His earnestness and enthusiasm were +unquestioned, and sometimes were even found to be a serious +obstacle to the older type of leader, men for the most part +lacking imagination, and whose older and more prosaic outlook +could not understand the younger man, whose zeal they regarded +with impatience.</p> + +<p>But Smillie soon recognized Robert's talent and his worth, +and gave him more scope than he otherwise might have done.</p> + +<p>Robert's admiration for his chief was unbounded, though +it did not keep him from differing from Smillie at times on +matters of detail. On principles they were generally at one +with each other and while it was rarely that they differed, +the occasions upon which they did so were remembered by all +who heard. Smillie soon realized that there was an unshakable +will behind the young man, and watched him under every difficult +occasion with a certain amount of pride, as he grew in +individuality and resource. Robert was not a frequent speaker, +but was always listened to with respect when he did speak.</p> + +<p>An industrial crisis was upon the country and everyone +was expectant, and wondering how it would all end. Keir +Hardie's preaching of the working class gospel was a big factor +in Robert's development and the latter was soon in demand +for platform lectures, stirring up the workers and pleading +with them to organize, and teaching them economics through +historical allusion and industrial evolution until he soon became +recognized as one of the coming forces in the working-class +movement. He was as yet very impulsive, and while +such a trait had generally a powerful appeal on the average +audience of the working class type, it often put him into somewhat +compromising situations, when dealing with the more +sober and serious work of the organization. Still he was showing +up well, and only time and experience were needed to +cure his defects. So the year ended, and the cloud grew more +and more threatening.</p> + +<p>January brought the crisis to a head, and the Government, +recognizing that nothing could avert a strike and as the foreign +situation was passing through a critical period, requested that +a conference should be called in London, and invited the +miners and the mine-owners to come together so that the +Prime Minister and other statesmen could be present to try +and adjust the grievance. It was a historic gathering and one +that marked an epoch in the history of the industrial movement.</p> + +<p>Delegates were present from almost every Miners' Lodge in +Great Britain, while the owners were also fully represented.</p> + +<p>The Prime Minister acted as chairman of the gathering and +he was supported on the platform by other members of the +Government, while Smillie and other well-known leaders represented +the men and a number of the owners represented +the Coal Masters' Association.</p> + +<p>The platform party was an imposing one. Men of big reputation +were there, and Robert felt himself wondering, as he +looked at them, how ordinary they looked after all, and he +began to speculate as to the qualities they possessed which +had given them such importance.</p> + +<p>"That's the Chancellor o' the Exchequer," said one of the +delegates to Robert, pointing out the individual named. "He's +a wee eatin'-an'-spued' lookin' thing when you see him sittin' +there, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Ay," answered Robert casually, as he surveyed the group. +"I was just wondering how it was they had a' gained such +reputations. In appearance they are not much to boast about."</p> + +<p>"Ach, they're jist a lot o' oily tongued wheedlers," was the +reply, "an' that wee ferrit-eyed yin is the worst o' them a'. +Just wait till he begins to speak, an' you'll think he's a showman. +He can fairly pit on the butter, an' he'll send us a' +away hame in the belief that we're the finest set o' men he +ever met, an' mak' us feel that if we decide to do anything +against what he recommends, the hale country will gang to +ruin."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Robert, as his fellow delegate paused, "I've +read aboot him."</p> + +<p>"Ay, but wait till you hear him. We can a' come up here +as angry as hell, ready to string him up to the nearest lamp-post; +but after he has spoken an' slaivered ower us for a while, +we begin to feel differently, an' finally gang awa hame wi' our +minds made up that we are the salt o' the earth. Man, it tak's +a' the sting oot o' bein' dune, to be dune sae well an' sae completely."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but when you know that why do you allow yourselves +to be wheedled?"</p> + +<p>"Ach, man; it's a' right askin' that question; but efter thae +chaps get round aboot you, wi' their greasy tongues, an' their +flatterin' ways, you jist begin to think that it's nae use to +bother ony mair aboot resistin'. Look at that auld fermer-collier +lookin' chiel, wi' his white heid an' his snipe-nose an' +a smile on his face that wad mak' you believe he was gaun to +dae you some big service. That's the smile that has made him +Prime Minister. You'd think frae his face that he was just +a solid easy-gaun kindly auld fermer, who took a constant joy +in givin' jeelie-pieces to hungry weans. But when he speaks, +and gets a grip o' you, he's yin o' the sooplest lawyers that +ever danced roun' the rim o' hell withoot fallin' in. He'd do +his faither, that yin. He wad that."</p> + +<p>Robert looked at the various individuals as they were described, +keenly interested and feeling that this comrade of his +was describing much of what he himself had felt about these +men, and wondered more and more as to what it was that +had given them their power.</p> + +<p>"They're a fine rogues' gallery when you see them a' sittin' +there," went on the other. "They ken we are up here the +day determined to demand our terms, an' that's the way they +are a' turned out. Just you wait till they begin, an' you'll see +a fine bit o' play actin'. They'll play us aboot as auld Tom +Tervit wad play a trout in the Clyde. They hae ony amount o' +patience, an' they'll gae you onything but the thing you want. +They'd promise us the kingdom o' Heaven; an' they'll give us +plenty o' line to run wi'; but a' the time they'll be lookin' for +a chance to land us. An' they'll do it. Jist you wait."</p> + +<p>"Well, it will be our own fault if we let them," said Robert, +shortly, as he listened. "I would not let any of them do that. +If we have our minds made up on what we want, I can't see +why we should be wheedled like that."</p> + +<p>"Neither do I," was the reply. "But it is aye done for all +that. Then there's that ither chiel—I think he's on the Local +Government Board or something. He's a corker, wi' a face +like yin o' they pented cupids that the lasses send to the young +men on picture postcards. Look at his nice wee baby's mooth, +an' the smile on it too. It wad dazzle a hungry crocodile +lookin' for its denner. His e'en are aye brighter than ony I +ever saw—an' speak! Guid God! He could speak for a hale +June day. He's gran' at makin' your flesh creep. He blinds +you wi' sparks, an' fire-works, his words are that hot an' +glowin', an' he fair dumbfounders you wi' fine soundin' sentences +an' lang words. He's a corker I can tell you! But +here, they are gaun to begin," he broke off hurriedly as the +Prime Minister rose to his feet. Then in a sly whisper, he +added:—"Just you pay attention, an' tell me after if you can +tell how we hae been dune. They are here to do us the day, as +sure as daith."</p> + +<p>The Prime Minister's speech was a masterly plea for compromise; +but through it all, it seemed as if he was laying the +blame upon the miners for the critical stage which had been +reached. He appealed and cajoled, asked them to take long +views, and talked fine platitudes about self-sacrifice, and the +spirit of brotherhood, which could alone bring peace and contentment. +The country was in danger, and it would be a terrible +crime if the miners forced a strike; for only upon the +great white solitudes of self-sacrifice and mutual help, whose +peaks towered away into the realms of eternity, could real +satisfaction be gained, and much more of a like kind.</p> + +<p>Then followed other ministers, who took their cue from +their chief; but there was no hint that any of them had ever +made a serious attempt to understand the problem which has +arisen to confront them so seriously.</p> + +<p>They talked, or so at least it seemed to Robert, who sat in +the body of the hall with the rest of the delegates, to the +miners as if they were children, naughty and spoilt; and of +course such an attitude could never bring about any form of +agreement to sensible men, who deal every day with the life +at the rough, raw edges of things.</p> + +<p>So it was, when four of them had spoken after the Prime +Minister, and none of them had shown any attempt to grapple +with the subject under dispute, Robert felt more and more +the truth of his fellow-delegates' description. It was all a +masterly bit of wheedling and the Chancellor's effort especially +was designed to win them over to a compromise settlement.</p> + +<p>He began jocularly with a broad jest which set the delegates +all rocking with laughter, telling how glad he was to be there +to talk over with them the difficulties which had arisen. It +always gave him pleasure to meet them and to get to know +their point of view; because usually their good sense and their +large stock of prudence made them amenable to listening to +a reasoned argument.</p> + +<p>He was glad they always recognized there were two sides +to most disputes, and he felt sure whatever the outcome of +this conference might be they would not allow their good sense +to stand in the way of a possible settlement. Gradually he +worked into more serious lines, and with vivid language, putting +the case for the opposite side, gently bringing their minds +by degrees further and further away from the point—the real +point of issue.</p> + +<p>Then finally when sufficiently developed, he gathered all +the threads together, and in a great burst of poetic eloquence +and fiery fervor he swept along like a tornado in a grand +burst of superb oratory, his eyes rolling and flashing, his hands +and head poised into beautifully effective gesture, and appealed +to them in great rolling, fiery sentences that completely swept +the conference like a whirlwind, and sat down amid a great +burst of applause which broke with splendid spontaneity from +the assembled delegates, and the winning golden smile upon his +face which Robert's companion had described earlier in the +day.</p> + +<p>Robert could hardly analyze his feelings. He felt he did +not know whether to admire or condemn, but all the time he +felt a slow rising indignation within him, and that the Conference +was being swung away from what they had met to discuss. +Perhaps it was his companions' conversation that did it. +He could not tell; but unable to contain himself longer his +impulsive nature getting the upper hand, he bounced to his +feet, pale and excited, though trying hard to curb and control +himself, and in a low tense voice, which at first halted a little, +electrified the gathering by a speech wrung from his very soul.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Chairman," he began, in this unexpected incident, "I +have listened very attentively to the speeches just delivered +by yourself and the other honorable gentlemen."</p> + +<p>Here some of the other delegates intervened to tell him +that he was not expected to speak, but the Prime Minister, for +some reason unknown, told him to go on and so he proceeded.</p> + +<p>Then Robert proceeded to pour out his soul, stating the +miners' grievances and their rights as men. How they were +always put off with promises, and defeated in dialectics and the +game of wits. As he spoke he felt the assembly gradually +thaw, then become liquid, finally it seemed to join the torrent +of his eloquence, and sweep on, blotting out all resistance.</p> + +<p>When at last he sat down a wild burst of applause rent the +air, as he sat down pale and excited; but glad that he had got +the chance at last of speaking what he felt to the enemies of +his class.</p> + +<p>For fully five minutes the delegates went wild in their cheering +and applause. Again and again it broke out afresh, when +it had spent itself a little, and seemed to be dying down, but +the memory of it always stirred them to fresh outbursts until +at last, taking advantage of a lull, the Prime Minister suggested +that he and his colleagues would prefer that the conference +should stand adjourned till the next day, and this was +agreed to by the delegates, who were not averse to the holiday.</p> + +<p>Congratulations were showered upon Robert from all sides. +Even men who differed from him on most things grasped his +hand and shook it, and told him how proud they were of his +little speech.</p> + +<p>Robert heard and saw all their pleased enjoyment but was +vaguely troubled in his heart, wondering how Smillie would +have taken it, and this pained him more than the pleasant +things the other delegates said to him.</p> + +<p>"Man, Sinclair," said the one who had sat next to Robert +in the Conference, when they got out on to the street, "you've +fairly upset the hale jing bang o' them the day. Lod! But I +was like a balloon in a high wind, fair carried away wi' you. +I never thocht you could have done that. I was in the opinion +that Smillie was the only yin that could stand up to that set +o' rogues. It was great. It was that."</p> + +<p>Robert laughed uneasily and bashfully as he answered, "I +couldn't help it, Davie," then adding as an afterthought, +"Maybe I hae put my fit in it. I wonder how Smillie took +it a'."</p> + +<p>"Ach, well, it disna matter a damn, onyway. You did fine, +an' I canna see how Smillie has onything ado wi' it. However, +we hae a hale day to oorsel's now, what dae you say to gaun +to the length of Kew Gardens? It's a gran' place, an' I hae +a sister oot there in service."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mind. I don't know onything aboot London +and as you are nae stranger, I might as well gang wi' you, as +bother onybody else to show me roun'."</p> + +<p>"There's some of thae chaps'll fairly enjoy this," said Davie, +nodding in the direction of some of the delegates. "That's the +way they agreed to adjourn sae already. They jist leeve for +the conferences. It's the time they like. They booze and get +their horns oot for a day or two, an' I can tell you, Rab, it's +maybe jist as well that they dinna bring their weemin folks +wi' them. However, it tak's a' kinds of folk to mak' a world, +I suppose, so let's off, and see as muckle o' London as possible," +and they set off and were soon swallowed up in the +great Metropolis.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h2>THE MEETING WITH MYSIE</h2> + + +<p>When the London Conference ended, the delegates hurried +back to put the terms of the suggested agreement +before the men, and as they journeyed the whole +topic of conversation was of the Conference, and of the terms +which had been suggested as a basis for settlement of the dispute.</p> + +<p>"Well, you can a' say what you like," put in Davie Donaldson, +who had sat beside Robert in the Conference, "but in my +opinion we hae been diddled again. The wee showman wi' +the ferret een was too mony for us, an' he jist twisted us round +his wee finger as he liked."</p> + +<p>"Ach, but you are never content," replied another who was +of an opposite opinion. "It doesna matter what kind o' terms +you get, you're never content."</p> + +<p>"I'm no' content wi' thae terms ony way," persisted Davie +stubbornly. "What the hell's the use o' makin' a demand for +something, an' sayin' afore you gang that you mean to hae +it, an' then to tamely tak' the hauf o' it, an' gang awa' hame +as pleased as a wheen weans wha have been promised a penny +to tak' castor oil? I'd be dam'd afore I'd tak' that."</p> + +<p>"You're owre ill to please," said the other. "You're never +satisfied wi' a fair thing. Didn't you hear as weel as me that +there was a danger o' war breakin' oot at the present time, an' +we couldna possibly hae a strike at a time like this."</p> + +<p>"War!" retorted Davie, heatedly. "They'll aye hae a war +or something else to fricht you wi', when you show that you +mean business. Wha the hell hae we to quarrel wi' onyway, +I'd like to ken?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it micht be France, or Germany, or Russia, or some +ither o' thae cut-throat foreign nations."</p> + +<p>"An' what are you gaun to quarrel aboot?" yelled Davie +still more heatedly.</p> + +<p>"What the hell do I ken?" was the answer.</p> + +<p>"Then, if you don't ken, why the damn should you quarrel? +It's a dam'd silly thing to fecht at ony time, but it's a dam'd +sicht sillier to fecht withoot haein' a quarrel at a'," cried +Davie, now fairly roused. "That's jist hoo they diddle us. +They diddle the workers o' France an' ither countries in +the same way. Maybe the French Government is telling the +French colliers that there is a danger o' a war wi' Britain at +this minute, to keep them quate; an' if they are, do you an' me +ken anything aboot what the war will be for? No' a thing +does yin o' us ken. Wars are no' made by workin' folk at all! +They are made wi' the ither crowd, an' they laugh in their +sleeves when they hae sent us awa' back to our work an' oor +hames as quate as mice," and Davie looked round in triumph, +asking with his eyes, and in the tones of his voice, for confirmation +of his views from the others.</p> + +<p>Thus they talked and discussed, exchanging opinions about +all things in strong but expressive language, as the train sped +northwards bearing them home. District meetings were organized, +and the leaders put persuasively the arguments for +the acceptance of the terms laid down. All through the crisis +the men had behaved admirably, for they had learned to trust +Smillie, even when they felt doubtful of his policy. Robert +took a big share in the organizing of these meetings and in addressing +them. He flung himself into this work whole-heartedly. +The terms certainly did not please him; but, as the +majority at the London Conference had decided to recommend +them to the men, he thought it his duty to sink his personal +opinions, and in the interests of discipline and the unity of the +organization—as he had already had his say and had been +found in the minority—he put all his efforts into trying to get +the men to accept the suggested terms, and go forward as one +united body. His persuasive powers of appeal, and his straight, +direct way of argument, commended him to his comrades. By +the time that the ballot had been carried through in the various +districts, it was mid-February, and the Scottish delegates +met in Edinburgh to give the result of the voting among the +rank and file.</p> + +<p>Robert attended the Conference, and while he had appealed +to the men to accept the terms of the London Conference, he +secretly hoped that the ballot vote of the men would decide +to fight; for, like Davie Donaldson, he believed they had again +been side-tracked. He wondered how Smillie regarded the +matter. He had not had an opportunity of talking with Smillie +to learn his opinion, but he felt sure that his leaders did not +like the terms either.</p> + +<p>If, however, the men had agreed on acceptance, he could +not help matters; but a direct refusal from the rank and file +would, he thought, be an intimation to the more reactionary +leaders that the spirit of revolt was growing, and would give +the rebels the chance for which they were looking. But he +would soon know, he thought, as he hastened to the Synod +Hall, where the Conference was to be held; for the result +of the ballot was to be announced at the end of the first part +of the Conference.</p> + +<p>There was some routine business to get over when it opened, +and after a while the President rose and gave the result of +the ballot, which showed a considerable majority for acceptance, +and this brought the adjournment for dinner.</p> + +<p>Robert felt that he wanted to spend a quiet five minutes or +so before the Conference resumed; so he hurried through with +his dinner and then strolled out into Princes Street Gardens, +which attracted him very much. His mind seemed to want +peace and quietness, and as he walked along, turning over the +situation and examining it from all points of view, the fluttering +of early mating birds among the shrubs soon shifted his +thoughts to other things; and, as they romped and courted, +and fought among the bushes, his thoughts went back to the +moor at home, and the little wood, and the memories of other +things.</p> + +<p>The vague stirrings of power within him had become more +pronounced during the last six months, and he felt conscious +of a growing sense of importance. It was not that he was conceited, +but his mental muscles, as it were, seemed to have +gained in power from the strenuous exertions which they had +lately undertaken.</p> + +<p>He knew that he possessed talents far above the average +of his class. He was sensible of a certain superiority, yet it +was not from the contemplation of this that he drew his elation. +He saw the issue quite clearly and knew the pathway +which must be trodden. He was not personally ambitious for +the sake of making an impression or gaining power. He knew +that in too many cases men had in the past made their position +a sinecure in the Labor Movement and he condemned their +action. The Movement must be served and not lived on. Not +personal betterment, but the betterment of the whole lot. +Whatever it demanded of service from anyone should be given +willingly, no matter in what direction the call were made.</p> + +<p>Musing thus, he strolled along among his hopes of the future. +His life's work lay here, working for his own class—for +humanity. There was nothing else to win him; for like +most young men in like circumstances he had already concluded +that now, since Mysie was not to be his, there was +nothing else to which he could better devote his life.</p> + +<p>Where was Mysie, he wondered? What had happened to +her? She had completely gone out of everybody's knowledge, +and no one seemed to know anything about her.</p> + +<p>He moved slowly along and at the thought of Mysie his +former decision seemed a cold one and he felt that she still +held a big place in his life. Moving towards a seat a little +way ahead so that he might enjoy this mood, the figure of a girl +started up as if to go, and immediately he rushed forward, all +his pulses afire, and his whole being stirred beyond words.</p> + +<p>"Mysie!" he exclaimed, jumping forward, "Guid God! +where have you come from? Where have you been?" and +his hands were holding hers, and his eyes greedily scanning her +face as if he would look into her very soul, and read the story +of the last few months.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rob," she said, with a gasp, "I didna think I wad +meet you here."</p> + +<p>"Sit down," he said hurriedly, as he recovered himself. "Sit +down and rest. You're ill. What's the matter? Where have +you been? Tell me all about it!" There were tears in Mysie's +eyes too, as she weakly sat down, unable to do anything else. +She had recognized him as he approached, and had started up +to get away; but he had also recognized her, and she was too +late.</p> + +<p>"Hoo is my mither an' my faither?" she enquired, after a +short silence, as she tried to recover herself. "Hoo are they a' +at hame?" the greedy heart hunger for loved ones drove her +to the impatient enquiry. "Did they miss me muckle, Rob? +Were they awfu' vexed at what I did? Tell me a' aboot it +then, I want to ken."</p> + +<p>"But you must tell me first aboot yoursel', Mysie," he replied +evasively, searching in his mind the best way to adopt in +telling her of the things he knew would wound her. "Come, +Mysie," he urged, "you surely can trust me. I have always +been your friend, and I only wish now to hear all about you. +Why did you go away?"</p> + +<p>She saw him look at her, and a quick flush overspread her +thin, pale cheeks as she detected his look. He had no need to +ask further.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rob, I wish—I wish I had died a year syne!" and a +wild burst of sobbing came over her as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Dinna greet, Mysie," he said, as his hand reached out and +began to stroke her hair tenderly. Then after a short pause, +"Wha was he, Mysie? Tell me, an' I'll tear the black heart +oot o' him!"</p> + +<p>But Mysie only cried, uncontrollably, and hid her face in +her hands; for the homely doric on Robert's tongue touched +her and it came readier to him in moments like these, and the +tender touch of his hand upon her head gave her comfort, +soothing her, and staying her grief, as a child is quieted by the +loving hand of a mother.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you a' aboot it, Rob," she said at last after a short +time. "An' I hope you'll no' tell onybody. There's naebody +to blame but mysel' for a' that has happened, an' I maun bear +the punishment if there is punishment gaun," and bit by bit, +with many an effort to compose herself as she spoke, she told +him the whole sad story from beginning to end.</p> + +<p>"There was naebody to blame, Rob—naebody but mysel'! +I should hae kent better. But I never thocht it wad hae turned +oot as it has done. I hae been gey ill, an' I maun say that +Peter has been awful guid to me. He's done his best to get +me better, so that he can marry me afore it happens. I lay +for nearly six months, an' I wasna carin' whether I died or +no'! I was fair heartbroken, an' didna mind what happened. +This is the first day I hae been oot. He cam' this mornin' +frae his lodgings tae ask me tae gang oot a wee while in the +sunshine, seein' that it was sic a guid day, and Mrs. Ramsay +brocht me oot here, and warned me to sit till she cam' back. +When I saw you comin' I got up to run awa', but I dinna +ken whaur to run to; for this big toon is a' strange to me, an' +I'm feart."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I had only kent! You maun keep yoursel' as free +frae worry as possible, an' try an' get better," he went on, +trying to speak as lightly as possible. "Keep up your spirits, +an' you'll maybe soon be a' better."</p> + +<p>"Aye, Rob," she said, "but it's no' easy. An' I hae been +gettin' waur instead o' better. I ken mysel' that I'm no' improvin', +an' I often think it wad hae been better if I had died. +When folk don't want to live—when they've nothing to be +happy aboot they are better to dee!"</p> + +<p>"But you maunna talk like that, Mysie," he said again. +"You'll get better yet, an' be as happy as ever you were. It +is only because you are ill noo an' you sae weak, that mak's +you talk like that. An' forby you maun mind that there are +ither folk wha'll be vexed if you dinna get better. Your +faither and your mither wad like to see you weel an' happy, +an' oh, Mysie, Mysie, I want you to get weel!" he broke out +passionately—pleadingly, the misery in his voice going to her +heart as it cried to her, ached for her, and suffered for her. +"Wad you hae married me, Mysie, if I had asked you afore +you went awa'?" and his hands were again stroking tenderly +the brown hair and patting the thin cheeks as he spoke and +plead.</p> + +<p>"Ay, Rob," she answered simply, "I wad hae married you. +I sometimes think yet that I'll never marry onybody else. As +a lassie I aye dreamed in my ain mind that I'd be your wife. +It's awfu' hoo the things that folk want maist are aye the +things they never get!"</p> + +<p>"Mysie, wad you marry me yet?" he asked, impulsively. +"Jist this minute? An' I'll tak' you hame, an' naebody will +ken onything. I'll take a' the blame, an' you can say that it +was me. I'll nurse you back to health again wi' my mither's +help an' naebody need ken the richt wye o' it!"</p> + +<p>"No, Rob," she said after a short pause. "I couldna dae +that. It wad neither be fair to you or me, nor to onybody +else."</p> + +<p>"But, Mysie," he went on in the low tender voice that was +so difficult to withstand, "you don't like Peter weel enough +to be his wife. You say you never intended to be onybody's +wife but mine; an' what wye should you no' do as I propose? +You ken I'll never do onything else but love you. You ken +that, Mysie!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, Rob," she answered, "I ken a' that. Naebody kens +it better than me noo; and that's what mak's it sae awfu' hard +to refuse. But it wadna be richt at a', an' that's a' that can +be thocht aboot it. You maunna ask me ony mair."</p> + +<p>"But I will ask you," he cried in another burst of passion, +"an' I'll keep on askin' you. You ken you are mine, an' naebody +else has a richt to you. I love you, Mysie! Oh, can you +no' see, lassie, that it wad be a' richt if you'd do as I want +you?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, Rob. Dinna say that. It wadna be richt at a', +an' I'd be doin' anither wrang thing if I did."</p> + +<p>"But you said jist the noo, that you sometimes thocht you +wadna marry onybody else?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I ken I said that," she replied. Then with pain in her +voice as it grew more pitiful, "Dinna ask me, Rob, to do that. +I ken it wadna be richt, an' you munna ask me ony mair; for +though I said that I sometimes thocht I wadna marry onybody +else, I canna marry you noo. Oh! if only my mither kent, it +would break her heart, an' my faither wad dee o' the disgrace! +What do they think o' me, Rob? Tell me a'—hoo are +they, an' if they miss me very much."</p> + +<p>"Your faither and mither nearly broke their hearts," he +said simply, "an' at nicht your mother lies an' thinks an' wonders +what has come owre you. You ken hoo a mither grieves +an' worries aboot her bairns. She never thocht o' sic a thing +happening in her family. She was aye sae prood o' them a'. +I heard her say ane day to my mither that she dootit you +maun be deid, or you wad hae sent her word; and that you +wadna hae gane wrang. She never, she said, kent o' you takin' +up wi' men, an' was sure that naething o' that kind had happened."</p> + +<p>"Did she really think that, Rob?" asked Mysie, glad to +know that her mother had believed in her virtue, yet pained. +"Rob, if only mithers wad be mair open wi' their lassies an' tell +them o' the things they shouldna' do, an' the dangers that lie +afore them. But tell me aboot them a'. What did my faither +say aboot it? How are they a' keepin'?"</p> + +<p>This was the question which Robert had feared most, for +although Matthew Maitland had said very little, everybody +knew that he grieved sorely over his daughter's disappearance, +and at the time was lying very ill. He was fast nearing the +end, which most colliers of the day reached—cut off in middle +life, made old by bad ventilation in the mines, and black +damp. His condition was almost despaired of by the doctor, +and when Robert left Lowwood that evening for Edinburgh, he +was in a very critical state. Two months before, the oldest +boy, who was some two years younger than Mysie, had been +taken suddenly ill, and had died after a few days' illness.</p> + +<p>How was he to tell Mysie of this? How tell her that John +was dead, and her father perhaps dying? How tell of her +mother eating out her heart in the hungry longing for news +of the missing girl, and killing herself with work and worry?</p> + +<p>"Your faither's no' very weel, Mysie," he began evasively, +his eyes turned away from her, in an attempt at hiding what he +felt.</p> + +<p>"What's wrang wi' him, Rob?" she asked, the quick alarm +in her voice cutting his heart as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"He hasna been workin' for fully a fortnicht," he replied.</p> + +<p>"But what's wrang?" she persisted. "Is he ill?"</p> + +<p>"Mysie, I'd raither onything than be the means o' painin' +you, for you are no' in a fit state to be worried."</p> + +<p>"You maun tell me, Rob," she cried fiercely, her face showing +excitement. "What is it that is wrang? Is he awfu' ill?"</p> + +<p>"He's lyin' gey bad, Mysie, an' when I cam' awa' this +mornin', I didna like the look o' him at a'. He was kind o' +wanderin' in his mind, an' speakin' to you an' John, jist as he +used to speak when we were a' bairns thegither. He was liltin' +some o' thae auld sangs he used to sing to us. But dinna +greet, Mysie, you'll mak' yoursel' waur. You are no very +strong, you ken, an' if you worry it'll mak' you waur. You +should raither try an' bear up, an' get strong, an' maybe gang +an' see him. He'd be awfu' prood to see you, an' so wad your +mither."</p> + +<p>"No, no," she cried. "I canna gang. It wad kill them to +see me noo, an' I couldna bear't, if they should be angry wi' +me. I couldna face their anger, Rob."</p> + +<p>"Weel, Mysie," he said, drawing a long breath, as if to face +a stiff proposition, "there is no other way out of it, but that +you'll hae to marry me now—just this minute, an' gang back +wi' me. If you do that, I can tak' you back wi' me, an' gang +to your faither an' say that it was me that was responsible. +It can be done, Mysie, if only you'll agree to it. Come, +Mysie!" he cried in a burst of passionate pleading. "I want +you. Mysie, Mysie! Say that you'll come."</p> + +<p>Robert looked at her pale, thin, emaciated face with greedy +pleading in his eyes. He saw the thin-looking, hungry body as +it shook with her sobs, and that terrible cough, which seemed +as if it would carry her away before his eyes. "Say you'll +come, Mysie!" he pleaded, his hands held out appealingly. +"Say you'll come, an' it'll be so easy."</p> + +<p>"No, no," she sobbed vehemently, "I canna do that. Dinna +ask me ony mair, Rob, I canna do that. It wadna be fair."</p> + +<p>A hopeless look came into his eyes as he listened to her +words, for he knew that Mysie could never consent to his proposal. +Frail as she was, and torn by her wish to agree, yet he +knew she meant it, when she said no.</p> + +<p>"Where do you live, Mysie?" he enquired at last, thinking +to find some way of helping her. "Wad you gie me your address, +so that I'll ken where you bide?"</p> + +<p>"No, I dinna want to tell you, Rob. You'd better gang +awa' noo. Mrs. Ramsay will soon be comin' for me. Gang +awa' an' leave me. I want to be a wee while by mysel'. Oh, +dear! Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' leave it a'!"</p> + +<p>Robert stole away on tiptoe, as if he were afraid longer to +intrude upon her grief—his mind in a whirl, and his heart +heavy with sorrow. He returned to the Conference to find +that the debate was in full swing, and that Davie Donaldson, +was laying about him in vigorous style, denouncing the leaders +for recommending the terms to the men, and telling them that +the "wee chocolate-moothed Chancellor had again diddled +them."</p> + +<p>But he felt no interest in Davie's denunciation, and could +not smile at his picturesque language. His mind would revert +to the gardens in Princes Street, and he saw the thin white +figure on the seat, the picture of hopeless misery, her frail +form torn with sobs; and heard the wail in her voice as she +moaned, "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' leave +it a'!"</p> + +<p>Some of the young delegates wondered why Sinclair remained +silent in such an important debate. They had succeeded +in raising a question which at any other time would +have brought him to his feet; but he sat impassive and silent, +and above all the clash and glamor, above the applause and the +interruptions, above all the witty sallies which brought unexpected +laughter, he saw only the thin, white lonely figure—the +dejected and outcast, the poor plaything of fate, and heard +the heart-breaking cry, "Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' +leave it a'!" and in every syllable there was a stab of pain.</p> + +<p>The Conference ended, and the delegates made homeward. +The terms had been agreed to, so far as Scotland was concerned, +and all pointed to peace.</p> + +<p>"You didna speak the day, Sinclair, and I fairly thocht you +wad hae been into the fecht," said one delegate to Robert, as +the train moved away from the station.</p> + +<p>"No, I wasna feelin' up to the mark," he returned, in a +tone that hinted that he did not want to be troubled, and he +sat back in his corner in silence. In the gray quick gloaming +the moors and the hills, viewed from the train, seemed to him a +country without hope. There was sadness in it, and pain, and +the gray wintry sky brooded of sorrows to come.</p> + +<p>Occasionally a few sheep would start away from where they +had been grazing close to the railway, startled by the noise of +the train. Thin wisps of gray ragged clouds hung low, as if +softly descending upon the hills, in fateful sinister storms, and +a fiery flash of yellow left a strip of anger on the western horizon, +where the sun had gone down a short time ago.</p> + +<p>Gray mists and grayer moors, with occasionally a solitary +tree standing out in the distance, as if to accentuate the loneliness +and the sorrow of the world in their ragged branches, +which seemed ready to pierce the sky in defiance of the anger +of the, as yet, unleashed storm.</p> + +<p>On rushed the train, and through the mists there kept coming +before his eyes the white lonely figure, moaning in fatal +grief—grief inexorable and unrelenting, while the flying wheels +groaned and sobbed and clicked, with the regular beat of a +breaking heart, as if they were beating out the sorrows of the +world, and over all they sang the dirge of the broken life of +a maid. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' leave +it a'!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h2>MYSIE'S RETURN</h2> + + +<p>When Mrs. Ramsay returned she found Mysie in a +fainting condition, thoroughly exhausted, and on the +point of collapse. Mrs. Ramsay saw, by her red swollen +eyes, that she had been weeping. With the help of her +daughter the kind woman, who had done so much for Mysie +during the past few months, got her to the street, and procuring +a cab, got her back to the house, much alarmed by the +patient's condition.</p> + +<p>All night Mysie tossed and raved in a high fever and delirium, +while Mrs. Ramsay sat by her bedside, trying to soothe +and quieten the stricken girl. As she seemed to get no better +the older woman grew more alarmed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my puir faither!" moaned the girl. "Oh, mither, I +am vexed at what has happened. Oh, dear, I wonder what I'll +do!"</p> + +<p>"There now, dearie!" said Mrs. Ramsay in warm sympathetic +tones, as she stroked the burning hands and brow. "Try +and quieten down and go to sleep. You were getting on very +well, you know, and making fine progress, but you'll make +yourself worse than ever if you carry on like that. There now, +dearie! Try and get to sleep, and you'll soon be better again!"</p> + +<p>But Mysie was silent only for a moment, and the low +moan soon broke from her lips again, like the wail of some +stricken thing at night upon the moor, and still she tossed +and tumbled feverishly in her bed.</p> + +<p>In the morning the doctor came and shook his head. Mysie +was ill, very ill. Her condition was serious, and it was little +he could do. Only care and good nursing and try to keep +her from worrying. He left a prescription, and Peter soon +had the necessary medicine, and later the patient grew calmer, +and finally sank into a deep sleep; and so the old fight had +to be fought over again, to get her strength restored and her +vitality increased.</p> + +<p>Mysie did not mention another word of home. She lay +quiet, hardly even moving and seldom speaking; but the burning +fire that consumed her was apparent in her hectic cheeks +and glowing eyes, and one could see that her mind was away, +never dwelling upon her surroundings, but was wandering +among the heather hills and quiet valleys, where the call of the +curlew and the shout of the lapwing stir the primitive impulses +of those who love the haunts of the moorland life, and weave +so much romance into the lives and souls of the country bred +people, who never grow to love the ugly towns, but whose +hearts remain with their first love—the moors, and the hills, +and the mountain brooks for ever.</p> + +<p>She seemed to grow a little stronger as the days passed. +She took her medicines regularly and without protest; but +deep down in her heart she felt that she would never get +better, and her only desire, that had been shaping itself ever +since Robert had told her of her father's condition, was to be +strong enough, to go home to Lowwood, just to see her parents, +her brothers and sisters, once more; then she could die in +peace. If only she could do that, she would not care what +happened. Nothing else mattered; but she must get home. +Nothing would prevent her from doing that.</p> + +<p>It was the instinct of the wounded animal, dragging itself +home to die—home to its home in the kindly earth, away +from contact with other things—just to be alone, to nurse its +suffering and its misery, till the last shred of strength had +gone, and the limbs stiffened out, while the glazing eyes looked +forward as the pain increased, across the barriers of other +worlds to a land of plenty—a land of green shrubs, and sweet +waters bubbling from scented hillsides, overhung with blue +skies which never brewed storms. A land of bud and bloom +and blossom, scented and sweet, with every desirable weed +and tasty herb—a land of life full and beautiful, of warm +suns, calling up dreams from a blossoming mist of bluebells, +creating the freshness and the happiness of youthfulness in +every living thing. A land where far vistas and wide horizons, +bounded by green hills, brought visions from the inner +self, with joyous abundance through lusty life, and glorious +passionate being—a land sweet and fruitful, and never-ending +in its beauty and its means of happiness!</p> + +<p>Slowly the days passed, and her strength gradually increased +little by little, until a month had gone past, and she was able +to be about the house again; but this determination in her +heart to go home grew stronger with every day that passed, +and it seemed to give her strength and vitality, and her hope +became more definite and more sure.</p> + +<p>She pictured her home again, as she had known it; the +little kitchen, with its white scrubbed floor and a few newspapers +spread over its newly washed surface to keep it clean +from muddy feet; the white-washed jambs of the fireside, +and the grate polished with blacklead; the clear-topped fender, +with its inscription done in brass in the center, "Oor ain fireside"; +the half-dozen strong sturdy, well-washed chairs; the +whitewood dresser, with its array of dog ornaments and cheap +vases, and white crocheted cover; and the curtains over the +two beds in the kitchen. All these things she loved to think +about, and she saw them pictured in her mind as real as +they'd ever been to her when her own life was centered in +them, and her fancy took delight in these secret joys. It was +her home she saw always, the humble "but and ben" with the +primitive conditions of life, the crude amenities, the sweet joys +of simple unaffected people; but it was her home.</p> + +<p>One day, Mrs. Ramsay had gone out on an errand that +detained her some time, Mysie seized suddenly again in a more +intense form by her desire to go home, feverishly dressed herself, +and hastily scribbling a note of thanks to her good friend +and nurse, she stole out on to the street, a poor, forlorn, weak +girl, but thoroughly determined to go home to where her +heart called her.</p> + +<p>Out upon the street, she grew frightened. She did not +know anything about the city, nor in which direction to turn. +She had no idea how far it was to the station. She was helpless +and alone, and very much excited.</p> + +<p>A boy passed her, whistling as she had often heard her +own brothers whistling, and hastily calling to him she accosted +him thus:</p> + +<p>"Could you tell me hoo far it is to the station?"</p> + +<p>"Whit station?" asked the boy, and she suddenly remembered +it was Princes Street, and mentioned it. "Oh, ay; it's +no' faur," he said airily, as he pointed in the direction of it. +"Jist gang alang that way," and he turned away as if to leave +her.</p> + +<p>"Wad you tak' me to it, an' I'll gie you a shillin'?" she +asked, and he eagerly turned at once to close the bargain.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ay," he agreed, "I'll soon tak' you there," and the +two set off; and guided by the boy, whose knowledge of the +city seemed to her wonderful in one so young, they arrived +at the station, with Mysie very tired and half-fainting with +excitement.</p> + +<p>"Hae you a ticket?" asked the boy, judging from her appearance +that she needed to be reminded of such things.</p> + +<p>"No, I forgot I hadna got yin," replied Mysie. "I wonder +where I'll hae to gang to get yin. Hoo much will it be, think +you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dinna ken," said the boy. "Come alang here to the +bookin' office, an' ask a ticket for the place you want to +gang to, an' the clerk will soon tell you the price o't."</p> + +<p>Luckily Mysie had a few pounds in a purse which Peter +had given her some time ago, in case she might want to go +out, he said, and buy something she might want. Going to +the booking office, and guided by her little friend, she timorously +made known her wants, and a ticket was given her; +and she returned under her youthful escort, who enquired the +time of the trains leaving of a porter, and conducted her to +the platform, and helped her into the train, which soon started +off on the homeward journey.</p> + +<p>"Thenk you," said the boy, his eyes glowing with pleasure +at the two shining half-crowns which Mysie had given him, +and he waved his hand to her as the train steamed out of the +platform.</p> + +<p>"Going home, going home," sang the wheels as the train +rushed along. "Going home," with every beat of her heart +they answered her with their cheery monotone. "Going home," +they gurgled, as they freely ran down the gradients. "Going +home, going home," as they ran along the flat moor. "Going +home, going home," they panted up the inclines, but still joyous +in the thought of getting there.</p> + +<p>Home, aye, home, they were taking her. Home to the +cheery fireside, with the homely fare and the warm hearts! +To the cosy corner by the fender at her father's feet, to the +music of her mother's clicking needles as she knitted; to the +sweet comfort of the love and kindness of brothers and sisters; +to the warmth of glowing smiles and loving hearts. Home! +Home! Oh, God! Comfort of weary and battered humanity, +dragging its wounded and broken life to the shelter and the +sanctity of love. So rose her hopes, and her heart sang as +the brooding night lowered and the wind rose, bringing the +rain lashing from the spring clouds to burnish the moor with +storms. Home to the hearts that loved her first, and would +love her to the end.</p> + +<p>At last the train steamed into the little station from which +she had first gone to the great city, and everything looked +just the same as upon that night, when she had stolen across +the moor to run away where she expected to hide her shame, +and try and redeem that one mistaken impulse, which had +been so thoughtlessly indulged, and so terribly paid for in +suffering and tears. The station-master looked at her keenly +as she passed. She seemed so frail and weak looking to be +abroad in such a night; but she passed on and out upon the +country road that ran across the moor, where the darkness +always lay thickest, and where the terrors of the timid were +greatest, and the storms raged fiercest.</p> + +<p>On she battled, already feeling weak and tired; but always +the thought of home waiting for her impelled her onward. +Home was waiting over there—waiting just two miles off, +where she could see the twinkling of the lights from the pithead +at which she had worked, and where she had been so +happy at the dreams conjured by six and sixpence per week. +Down rushed the wind from the hills, careering along the wide +moor, driving the rain and hail in front, as if he would burst +the barriers of the world and go free.</p> + +<p>She halted and turned her back upon the blows, as if she +would fall; but there were light and warmth, and love and +cheerfulness over there, if only she could hold out till she +reached them.</p> + +<p>She turned again, and a sheep scampered across the moorland +path just in front, and the soft bleat of an early lamb +soothed the quick excited leap in her heart. The rain ceased, +and a pale glitter of the rim of a moon, like the paring of a +giant's nail in the sky, glinted from behind the dark cloud, +and flung a silver radiance over the bog-pools around, +which glittered like patches of fairy silver upon a land of +romance.</p> + +<p>She was wet, but not cold. The fever in her blood raged +and she staggered forward again, slowly and tottering. A +smile was playing about her lips and eyes. Her lips were +parted, and her breast rose and fell like the heaving beat of +an engine. But home beckoned and lured her onward, and +the hope of a long dream filled her soul. Again a sharp scurry +in front drove her heart to her mouth, as two hares battled +and tore at each other for the love of the female which sat +close by, watching the contest.</p> + +<p>The sharp swish of the wings of lapwings, as they dived +towards her, filling the moors with their hard rasping double +note, and also battling for possession of a mate, stirred her +frightened blood; and at every step some new terror thrilled +her, and kept her continually in a state of fear.</p> + +<p>Still she plodded on, and another squall of rain and hail +followed, giving place soon to the glory of the cold moon, and +again obscuring it in a quick succession of showers and calm +moonshine. But there was home in front, and she was always +drawing nearer. Just a little while now, a few hundred yards +or so, and she would be there.</p> + +<p>Weak and exhausted, stumbling and rising again, driven +by that unrelenting, irresistible desire, this poor waif of humanity, +impelled by sheer force of will, staggered and crawled +towards its hope, forward to its dream, and at last stood by +the window of the home it had sought.</p> + +<p>Panting and utterly worn out, she stood holding on to the +window ledge, her will now weakened, her strength of mind +gone, and her desire forsaking her now that she was there.</p> + +<p>The wind fell to a mere whisper, and she stooped to look in +at a chink in the shutter, the tears running in hot, scalding +streams from her eyes and blinding her vision. The soft +stirring of little limbs beneath her heart brought back the +old desire to hide herself from everyone she had known.</p> + +<p>Oh, God! It was terrible thus to be torn; for she had sung +the song of all motherhood in her own simple way—the song +of the love that recreates the world. The same song that +enables motherhood to commune with God. "I will walk in +the pure air of the uplands, so that your life shall be sweet +and clean. I shall bathe my body in the sweet waters of the +earth, so that you shall be pure; I shall walk in meditation +and solitude, so that your thoughts shall be worthy thoughts; +I shall dwell on the hillsides, so that your mind shall be lofty; +I shall love all living things, so that you shall be godly in the +love of your kind; I shall be humble, so that you shall not be +proud; I shall be tender, wandering among the sweet flowers, +so that you shall never be rough or unkindly; I shall serve, +so that you shall be kingly in your service to others.</p> + +<p>"Down in the valleys I shall linger, drinking in the music +of sweet streams; and the songs of the morning and the eventide +shall make you gentle and happy. The tender grass shall +be my couch upon the moor, so that you can know the restfulness +and comfort of love. The grateful trees shall shade me +from the fierce heat of the sun, so that you shall be restful, +yet active in kind deeds. Oh, I shall clothe me in the sweetest +thoughts, and sing the sweetest songs, speak the kindliest +words, and do the friendliest deeds—I shall lie down in gratitude +for all that has ever been rendered to me, and shall keep +faith with love, so that you—you who are me, you who are +my heart and mind, my body and soul shall be ushered into +the world as a savior of the race; and the lyrics of the dawn +and the dayfall, of the golden, glorious day, and the silver +radiant night, shall all be thine to interpret, in spirit and in +word and service."</p> + +<p>Thus had motherhood sung in all ages, weaving the dreams +of hope about the soul which she had called from eternity, +after having gone upon that long perilous journey into the +land of Everywhere to bring back a new life to the world. +Mysie dashed the warm tears from her eyes, and looked again +through the chink in the shutter.</p> + +<p>She had a full view of the kitchen. It was the same cosy, +bright place it had always been, when she had sat there on +the corner of the fender o' nights, her head against her father's +knee, as he read out the news from the evening paper, while +her mother sewed, or darned, or knitted.</p> + +<p>Her father sat in the easy chair, pale and thin and weak. +He looked ill, and it seemed as if he were merely out of his +bed, so that her mother might change the linen, for she was +busy pulling off pillow-cases and putting clean ones on, and +turning the chaff-filled tick to make it easier for his poor bones +to lie on.</p> + +<p>He lay back in his chair, his eyes half closed, as if tired.</p> + +<p>"The wind has surely gane doon noo," Mysie heard her +mother observe, as she spread out the clean white sheet upon +the bed.</p> + +<p>"Ay, it seems to hae quietened," returned Matthew weakly. +"It has been an awfu' nicht, and gey wild."</p> + +<p>"Ay, it has that. Peety ony puir body that has been oot in +it," said her mother, with a deep sigh, as she folded back +the blankets. "It's an awfu' nicht for the homeless to be oot +in."</p> + +<p>Silence reigned for a short time, and only the whisper of +the wind outside prevented the sobs of the poor waif at the +window being heard.</p> + +<p>"You are lookin' a wee better the nicht, Matthew," said +Mrs. Maitland after a long thoughtful pause, as she drew in +her chair beside his.</p> + +<p>"Ay, I'm feelin' no' sae bad," he answered feebly. Then, +as if having made up his mind about something, he went on, +as he looked into the glowing fire, "Do you ken, wife, I +hae been thinkin' a lot aboot oor Mysie a' day. I wonder +what'll be the cause o't? But a' day she has been in my +mind, an' I only hope naething has come to her."</p> + +<p>"I dinna ken, Matthew," she said; for this was the first +time he had spoken about their missing daughter since the +day they had learned of her disappearance. He had always +remained silent when she had given expression to her thoughts +regarding Mysie; but thinking this an encouragement, she +spoke about her, and he too, in a way that made her wonder; +for he was never talkative at any time, and it seemed as if +his heart was hungering to talk of their bairn.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what wad hae come owre her, that nae spierin's +o' her could be got. Puir Mysie! I liket that wean, wife—liket +her maybe owre weel; an' my heart has been sair for +her mony a time, wonderin' what has come o' her!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Maitland lifted a corner of her rough apron and wiped +her eyes, as she cried softly at hearing her husband thus speak +of their missing daughter.</p> + +<p>"Do you think she'll be living, Matthew?" she asked looking +through her tears at her husband anxiously.</p> + +<p>"That's hard to say, wife," he replied, a break in his voice. +"Sometimes I think she maun be deid, or she wad hae come +back to us in some way. I think we liket her weel enough, +an' she kent it, and she was ay a guid lassie at a' times."</p> + +<p>"Ay, she was," replied the mother, "a guid bairn, an' a clever +yin aboot the hoose; an' I never had an angry word frae her +a' my days. Oh, Matthew," she cried out, again bursting into +tears, and sobbing pitifully, "what is't we hae done to be +tried like this? Mysie gane, an' guid kens where she is, an' +John ta'en awa' jist when oor battle was beginnin' to get +easier. Noo you hae been laid aside yoursel', an' God kens +hoo we are to do, for hinna a penny left in the hoose! Oh, +dear, but it's a hard lot we hae to suffer!" and she sobbed in +silence, while her husband stroked her pale, thin, toil-worn +hands that hid her weeping eyes.</p> + +<p>"Wheesht, lassie!" he said brokenly. "Dinna you break +doon noo, for you hae been the mainstay o' us a', when we +wad hae lost heart often. I used to think that oor lot couldna +be harder, when the bairns were a' wee, an' we were struggling +frae haun' to mooth, to see them fed an' cled. But wi' a' +the hardships, thae days were happy. We were baith young, +an' I was aye fairly healthy an' when we locked the door +at nicht, we were satisfied that a' that belanged to us were +inside, an' in safety, even though their wee stomachs maybe +werena' ower fu'. But noo we canna do that, wife. Some hae +gane to where want an' poverty canna hurt them, an' that is +a consolation; but where will oor lassie be, that never gi'ed +us a wrang word a' her days? Is she in want this nicht, +the same as we are oorsels? Will she be hungry an' homeless, +ill clad, an' oot in the storm? If she is, then God peety +her. If only we had her aside us, hunger wad be easier tholed +for us a'," and Matthew, unable to control himself longer, +completely broke down and wept, mingling his tears with those +of his wife, because of their misery and poverty and suffering.</p> + +<p>The girl outside could hardly restrain herself at thus hearing +her parents speak. She sobbed and held on to the +window ledge, her eyes fixed greedily upon the open chink in +the shutter, listening to, and looking at her parents in their +misery, as they sat and talked so kindly and anxiously about +her—talked so that every word was a stab at her heart; for +she had never heard them open their hearts like this before.</p> + +<p>"Ay, wife," he said after a time, "it was a sair blow to +me. I could hae fain dee'd at the time; I was fair heartbroken. +It's a gey queer world that brings the keenest pangs +frae them that yin likes best. I could hae dee'd gladly to +hae saved that bairn frae the slightest hurt!"</p> + +<p>"Matthew," said the mother, speaking with all her soul in +her eyes, as she looked at him, "if by ony chance it should +turn oot that Mysie gaed wrang an' fell into disgrace, wad +ye tak' her back, if she should come hame again?" and there +was a world of pleading in the mother's voice as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Tak' her back! Oh, God, I'd dae onything to hae her +here at this meenit, nae matter though it should be proved +that she was guilty o' the warst sin under the sun. Tak' her +back! Oh, wife! my heart is breakin' for her!" and he lifted +his thin worn hand to his eyes and sobbed in his grief.</p> + +<p>"Weel, Matthew," returned the wife, "if ever she does come +back, nae matter when it may be, or hoo it may be, I'm glad +you'll no be harsh wi' her. You'll just speak to her as if +naething had happened; for I ken she'll be mair feart to face +you than onybody else. Jist try an' mak' her believe, when +you speak, that she had gane awa' to the store a message, or +to the well for watter, an' that she had bidden owre lang, as +she an' ither weans used to do when they got started the +play, an' forget to come hame. Jist speak to her that way, +Matthew, an' the hame-comin', if ever it comes, will no' be +sae hard for the puir bairn. For God knows, it micht be hard +enough for her!"</p> + +<p>The girl outside, listening eagerly to every word, tried to +cry out with the pain of all this talk by her parents, but +her tongue clove to her parched mouth, and her lips were stiff +and dry.</p> + +<p>"I'll never be harsh wi' a bairn o' mine, wife," he replied +brokenly. "I liket Mysie owre weel ever to be harsh wi' her. +Oh, if only I could see her afore me this nicht, I wad gie a' +I ever had in the world. To hae her sittin' here, as she used +to sit, her wee heid wi' its soft hair against my knee, an' my +haun clappin' it, an' her bonnie een lookin' up at me, as if +I was something she aye looket up to, as bein' better than ony +living being she ever kenned, wad be mair pleasure for me +this minute than if I got a' the money in the world. I'd swap +heaven and my chances o' salvation, wife, jist to hae her sittin' +here on the fender, as she used to sit. Hunger an' a' the rest +wad be easy borne for that."</p> + +<p>There was a soft rustling sound at the window as he spoke, +and a slow step was heard, which seemed to drag along towards +the door, then a fumbling at the sneck, the handle lifted, and +the door opened slowly inwards, as if reluctant to reveal its +secret.</p> + +<p>It was a tense poignant moment for all; for both the father +and mother, weak as the former was, rose to their feet expectantly, +their eyes searching the slowly opening door, as a thin +pale draggled figure entered and staggered forward with a +low pitiful cry of "Faither! Mother! I've come hame!" and +tottering forward, fell at Matthew's feet, clasping his knees +with the thin fragile hands, while the tears of a heart-breaking +sorrow flowed from the appealing eyes, upturned to the +amazed parents.</p> + +<p>"Mysie! Mysie!" he sobbed, clasping her to his thin worn +knees, and kissing the bent head, as she sobbed and cried. +"Oh, Mysie! Mysie! but you hae been a lang time at the +store!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h2>HOME</h2> + + +<p>"Oh my puir wean! My bonnie bairn!" crooned Mrs. +Maitland, as she bent over the figure of her daughter +who, clinging to Matthew's knees, was looking up into +his face, as he lay back in his chair where he had fallen, when +Mysie fell at his feet. "Oh, my puir lamb, you're wet to the +skin, an' fair done; for God knows its an' awfu' mess you +hae cam' hame in."</p> + +<p>"Puir thing," she wailed and crooned, again breaking out +after having kissed and fondled Mysie's wet face. "We hae +lang hungered for you—hungered for you for a gey lang time, +an' noo you hae cam' hame, near to daith's door. But we'll +nurse you back. We'll mak' you strong and healthy again. +Oh, Mysie, my puir lassie. What ails you? Where hae you +been? What has happened to you a' this time? But what am +I thinking aboot," she broke off, "sitting here, when I should +be gettin' some dry claes for you, an' a bed ready."</p> + +<p>She rose and began to busy herself shaking up a bed and +diving into drawers, bringing clean clothes forth and hanging +them over a piece of rope which stretched across the fireplace, +so as to air and heat them, the tears streaming from her eyes +and occasionally a low moan breaking from her as if forced +by some inward pain; while Matthew, nearly overcome with +excitement, could only lie back in his chair, his eyes closed and +his hands stroking tenderly the wet young head that lay +against his knee.</p> + +<p>"Faither," murmured Mysie, brokenly and weakly, "oh, +faither, I've come back. Jist let me lie here near you. I +jist want you to clap my held, to lean against you, an' gang +to sleep. Are you angry wi' me, faither? Are you—" and +Mysie's eyes closed in a faint, as she lay limp against his knee.</p> + +<p>Just then the door opened and Mrs. Sinclair came in. She +always came in, after she had got everyone in the house +to bed, to see how Matthew felt. It was her first errand in +the morning and her last before retiring at night. She was +generally the last visitor, and the door was always locked +and barred when she went away.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Nellie, come awa' in," said Matthew. "You're a God's +send this nicht. I'm glad to see you. Mysie's jist cam' back, +an' she has fented. Gie's a bit haun' wi' her to get her into +bed. Puir thing. She's fair done up," and Matthew tried to +raise up the prostrate figure of his bairn; but sank back too +weak, and too overcome to do anything.</p> + +<p>"Dinna you trouble yourself, Matthew," said Mrs. Sinclair, +gathering the prostrate girl in her arms and raising her up +on her knee like a child. "Bring some dry claes. Jenny, an' +get some warm watter bottles in the bed. Puir thing, she's +in an awfu' state. She's a' tremblin' an' maun hae been awfu' +ill," and she worked with and stripped the wet clothes from +the girl and soon had her in bed, but in spite of all her efforts +Mysie remained unconscious. She then left to get the doctor +summoned, leaving the sorrowing parents to look after the girl +till she returned.</p> + +<p>When she did come back, Matthew was in bed and his condition +very much worse. The excitement had been too much +for him in his weakened state and he lay exhausted, crying +like a child.</p> + +<p>Soon the doctor came and did all in his power. At the end +of an hour Mysie's eyes opened and she looked about her.</p> + +<p>"Where's my faither?" she asked weakly. "Oh, I'm gled +I'm hame."</p> + +<p>"He's in bed," answered Mrs. Sinclair. "An' you're no' to +talk the nicht, Mysie. Jist lie still, like a good lass, an' drink +this, an' in the mornin' you'll may be a bit better." And +Mysie drank, and with a sigh of happy contentment, she +turned her face to the wall, glad she was now at home—home +with her wounded spirit and broken life.</p> + +<p>The soft easy chaff bed gave her more of rest and satisfaction +than if it had been eiderdown. She traced as of old +the roses upon the cheap paper with which the box bed was +papered, and which had been her mother's pride when it was +put on. Mysie watched the twining and intertwining of the +roses, as they reached upward toward the ceiling through a +maze of woodbine and red carnations, and noted that the curtains +upon the bed were the same as they were when she had +last slept there.</p> + +<p>The old wag-at-the-wa' clock which had belonged to her +grandfather, wheezed wearily from the corner and the shrill +eerie call of a courting cat outside broke familiarly upon her +ear. Thus surrounded by the sights and sounds of old, a glad +contentment in her heart, she soon dozed off into a deep sleep.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Sinclair went home just as midnight was striking +she found Robert sitting by the fire wondering at her +absence. He had just returned from a meeting at a neighboring +village, and finding his brothers and sisters all in bed +and his mother not in the house with his tea ready for him as +usual, he wondered what was the matter.</p> + +<p>"I was owre at Matthew's," she replied in answer to the +question she knew he was going to ask.</p> + +<p>"Is he waur the nicht?" he asked quickly.</p> + +<p>"Weel, it's no' him, although he's gey upset too; but Mysie +has cam' hame the nicht, an' puir lassie she is in an awfu' +state," and she was quick to note the soft blanching of his +cheek as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Mysie hame," he echoed with quick interest.</p> + +<p>"Ay, puir lassie; but I doot if I'm no' cheated that Mysie'll +no' be lang anywhere. The doctor says she's to be keepit +quate; for she's gey low. In fact he felt me at the door that +he dinna think she could last a week."</p> + +<p>Robert sat a long time looking into the fire, while his +mother got ready his tea, and described to him all that she +knew of Mysie's return and of her sad condition.</p> + +<p>"You'd hardly ken her," she went on. "She's that thin +and white and faur gane lookin', forby havin' a boast that +wad fricht you. Puir lassie, I was vexed for her an' Matthew +too is gey upset aboot it. Dae you ken, Rob, I believe they +mun be gey hard gruppit. Wi' Matthew being off work, and +John deein' an' a' the ither troubles they had this while, I +think they canna be ower weel off."</p> + +<p>"Ay," he said, "they canna be ower weel off; for they hae +had a lot to dae this while. You micht look to them, mither. +We are no sae ill off noo, an' we can afford tae help them."</p> + +<p>"Weel, Rob, I've been aye givin' them a bit hand, buying +beef for soup an' that' an' daein' a' I could. But I'm awfu' +puttin' aboot ower puir Mysie. She's gey faur gane, an' +wherever she has been she's been haein a bad time of it."</p> + +<p>"I saw her at Edinburgh," he said quietly, as she paused +to pour out the tea.</p> + +<p>"In Edinburgh?"</p> + +<p>"Ay," he replied. "Last month when I was at the conference," +and Robert told his mother the whole story of his +meeting with Mysie and of her disappearance and all that +had happened to her from the time she had gone away.</p> + +<p>"But you never telt yin o' us, Rob," she said after he had +come to the end of the story.</p> + +<p>"No, I never telt ony o' you; for Mysie made me promise +no' to tell; an' forby she wadna' gi'e me her address. But +I was that upset that day that I couldn't collect mysel' an' I +minded o' a lot o' things I should hae done an' said after I +left her. It was terrible," and he relapsed into silence again, +as he went on with his supper.</p> + +<p>His mother saw all the pain in his heart that night, though +neither spoke much of the state of his feelings for Mysie; +but it was evident to her who saw all the cross currents of fate, +perhaps more clearly than Robert knew.</p> + +<p>She looked at him with furtive pride. There was no showy +parading of what he felt, but only the set of the mouth was +a little firmer perhaps than usual and the eyes a little softer +and glistening. That was all.</p> + +<p>"Ay, Robin," she said brokenly, unable to hide her pride +and weakness. "I ken a' that you hinna telt me. I guessed +it years syne; but I'm sure noo. An' I'm awfu' vexed, laddie; +ay, I'm awfu' vexed," and with that he withdrew to his room, +more touched with her simple words of sympathy than anything +she had ever said to him in all her previous life.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sinclair went to bed, but she knew her laddie had +not done so. She heard him in his room and knew that in +the silence of the night and in the privacy and secrecy of his +own room he was fighting out his battle with fate, and she +knew that no one could help him—that only the fiber of his +own soul could help him through.</p> + +<p>In the morning he rose early and went for a walk, for it +was Sunday. Returning, he found his mother with the latest +news of Mysie's condition. She waited until the other members +of the house had gone out, and then with a sigh observed +very quietly but with a world of tender sympathy in her voice:</p> + +<p>"Mysie's sinkin' fast, Robin. I think you should gang ower +and see her. She canna' last very lang, puir thing, an' she +was askin' aboot you when I was ower. I think she wad like +to see you. You'll gang ower and see her, Rob," she entreated, +a sob in her throat as she spoke. "She'll be awfu' +pleased to see you."</p> + +<p>"Ay, I'll gang ower, mither," he replied simply. "I'll gang +ower efter a wee while."</p> + +<p>But it was drawing near to the darkness when he managed +to summon sufficient resolution to face the ordeal.</p> + +<p>Mysie was lying in the room and he went in to see her—her +whom he would have given his own life to restore to activity +and health again. A low moan occasionally escaped +her as she panted and battled for breath and the color came +and faded from her cheeks in quick fleeting waves.</p> + +<p>Oh God! Was this Mysie—this faint apparition of the girl +whom he had loved? Even in the short month when he had +seen her in Edinburgh a very great change had been wrought +upon her. The eyes, softly glowing with a quiet radiance as +they rested upon his face, were sunk, and the voice faint and +weak. A thin white hand lay upon the coverlet and the great +waves of brown hair which had been his pride, were tumbled +about the thin face framing it in a tangled oak brown frame +of deepest beauty.</p> + +<p>She lifted her hand as he approached, a sweet smile breaking +through her pain, caught him in radiance of love. "I'm +glad you've come, Rob," she panted. "I jist wanted to see +you again—an'—an' tak' good-by wi' you," and the quick +catch in her words gripped his heart as he knelt beside the bed, +taking the thin hand between his while the tears started from +his eyes and fell upon the white bed cover.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mysie," he said brokenly. His voice refused to go +further and he bent his head upon the bed, trying hard to control +himself and keep from breaking down before her.</p> + +<p>"I'm awfu' vexed, Rob," she said, after a while. "It was +a' a mistak' an' naebody's to blame. I ought to hae kent +better mysel'," and she paused again for breath. "I—I should +hae kent better, that nae guid could come—oot o' it—I was +just carried awa'. Dinna ever blame lasses—nor men either, +when things happen. They—they canna help themsel's—" +and here again she paused for breath, gasping and fighting at +every word.</p> + +<p>"It's a' a mistake, Rob, an' I think it's a' in the way folk +look at thae things." Another pause, while her chest heaved +and panted. "Maybe we dinna look at thae things richt," +she again resumed. "We—we mak' mistak's and canna help +oorsel's; but God dinna mean it as—as a mistak'. It's a' because +we think it is. Everything's richt—but we mak' them +wrang in the way we look at them. It wad hae—been a' richt—in +oor mind, if I had been married afore—afore it happened—but +because we werena married—it was wrang. It's a' a +mistak' Rob, a' a—" and a burst of coughing nearly choked +her and a flood of blood began to gurgle in her mouth.</p> + +<p>Robert grew alarmed and lifting a cloth began to wipe the +blood from her mouth, looking on her so concerned and anxious +that she tried to smile to him to reassure him.</p> + +<p>Presently she lay back with eyes closed and her hand limp +in his. A wild fear took possession of him as he looked upon +the scarcely moving breast, a fear which seemed to communicate +itself to the sufferer, and she opened her eyes again, but +the voice was weak and very far away.</p> + +<p>"Dinna be angry wi' onybody, Rob. It was you I liket, it +was you I wanted—but it was a' a mistake."</p> + +<p>"I'm no' angry, Mysie," he said stifling his sobs, his tears +falling upon the white thin face. "Oh, Mysie, I'm only vexed. +I'm only vexed aboot the hale sad business. There now, +dearie," he said bending low over her and kissing and stroking +the pallid brow and caressing the face so dear to him. "There +noo, I'm no' angry. You're mine, Mysie. You've always +been mine, an' I'm no' angry. But oh, I love you, Mysie, +an' it's breaking my heart to part frae you. Oh, God!" he +groaned in agony. "What does it a' mean? I canna' bear +it,—I canna' bear't," and a wild burst of grief swept over him +as he flung his head and arms upon the bed in a vain attempt +to control his sobbing sorrow.</p> + +<p>A long pause—then the white hand was raised and crept +slowly over his shoulder, working its way among the thick +shaggy hair of his head as the fingers strayed from curl to +curl, patting him and soothing him as a child is soothed by +a mother's hand. It rested upon his bent head and the eyes +opened again.</p> + +<p>"Ay, Rob, I'm vexed for your sake—but it was a' a mistake." +She went on halting and very weak. "It was a' a +mistak'—an' naebody is to blame. We are just—driven alang, +an'—we canna help oorsel's—it's awfu' to hae—sic feelin's—an'—an' +no' hae any poo'er—to guide them richt—it's ay +the things we want maist—that we dinna get. Kiss me, Rob—kiss +me, as you kissed me—yon—nicht on the muir. Haud +me like you—an' I think I can—gang content. Oh, Rob,—ay +liket you—it was you I wanted a' the time!"</p> + +<p>He clasped her tenderly in his arms as he kissed her mouth, +her eyes, her brow, her hair, stroking her and fondling the +dear face, catching hungrily the smile that came to the pale +lips, and lingered there like a blink of sun upon a hillside +after the rest of the landscape is clothed in shadow.</p> + +<p>Again there was a pause while he searched the pale face +with the lingering smile, noting the veined, almost discolored +eyelids, transparent and closed over the tired suffering eyes. +Then a burst of coughing again and the blood in thick clots +gurgled up from the throat. Then after a little she spoke +again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rob, you hae made me very happy. But I'm vexed +aboot you—an'—an' Peter. He tried to dae what was richt; +but it wasna to be—I hope you'll—no'—be angry wi' him. He +was like me—he couldna' help it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mysie, I'm no' angry wi' him," he replied brokenly, +trying hard to make his voice sound dearly. "I'm no' angry +wi' onybody."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad o' that, Rob," she said, her hand caressing his +head. "You was ay a guid hearted laddie—I'm awfu' glad." +Then her mind began to wander and she was back in Edinburgh +speaking of her father and John.</p> + +<p>"Oh, faither," she rambled on. "Dinna be angry wi' me. +There's naebody to blame. Dinna be angry."</p> + +<p>Then Robert was conscious that others were in the room, +and looking up he beheld his mother and Jenny Maitland and +behind them with anxious face and frightened eyes stood Peter +Rundell, the picture of misery and despair.</p> + +<p>"She's kind o' wanderin', puir thing," he heard the mother +say in explanation to the others. "She's kind o' wanderin' +in her mind."</p> + +<p>It was a sad little group which stood round the dying +girl, all anxious and alarmed and watchful. Then after a +while she opened her eyes again and there was a look of +startled surprise as if she were looking at something in the +distance. Then she began to recognize each and all of them +in turn, first Robert, who still held her hand, then her mother +and Nellie, and Peter. A faint smile came into her eyes and +he stepped forward. Her lips moved slowly and a faint sound +came falteringly from them.</p> + +<p>"Dinna be angry wi' onybody," she panted. "It was a'—a—mistake."</p> + +<p>Then raising her hand she held it out to Peter, who advanced +towards the bedside and placing his hand on Robert's +she clasped them together in her own. "There noo—dinna +be angry—it was a' a mistake. It was Rob I liket—it was +him—I wanted. But it—was—a' a mistak'. Dinna be—" +and the glazed sunken eyes closed forever, never to open again, +a faint noise gurgled in her throat, and the dews of death +stood out in beads upon the pale brow. A tiny quiver of the +eyelids, and a tremor through the thin hands and Mysie—poor +ruined broken waif of the world—was gone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my God! She's deid," gasped Robert, clasping the +thin dead hands in a frenzy of passionate grief. "Oh, Mysie! +Mysie! Oh God! She's deid," and his head bent low over +the bed while great sobs tore through him, and shook his young +frame, as the storm shakes the young firs of the woods. Then +suddenly recollecting himself as his mother put her hand upon +his bent head saying: "Rise up, Robin, like a man. You +maun gang oot noo." He rose and with tears in his eyes that +blinded him so that he hardly saw where he was going, he +stumbled out into the darkness under the pale stars—out into +the night to the open moor, his grief so burdening that he felt +as if the whole world had gone from his reckoning.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my poor Mysie," he groaned. "It was all a horrible +mistake," and the darkness came down in thick heavy folds +as if the whole world were mourning for the loss of the young +girl's soul, but it brought no comfort to him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h2>A CALL FOR HELP</h2> + + +<p>It was a quiet night in early April, full of the hush which +seems to gather all the creative forces together, before the +wild outburst of prodigal creation begins in wild flower +and weed and moorland grasses, and Robert Sinclair, who had +walked and tramped over the moors for hours, until he was +nearly exhausted, his heart torn and his mind in an agony of +suffering, sat down upon a little hillock, his elbows on his knees +and his hands against his cheeks.</p> + +<p>The moor-birds screamed and circled in restless flight around +him. They were plainly protesting against his intrusion into +their domain. They shrilled and dived in their flight, almost +touching the bent head, with swooping wing, to rise again, +cleaving the air and sheering round again; but still the lonely +figure sat looking into darkness, becoming numbed with cold, +and all unconscious of the passage of time.</p> + +<p>Gradually the cold began to tell upon him, and he started +to his feet, plodding up the hill, through the soft mossy yielding +soil. Back again he came after a time, his limbs aching +with the long night's tramping; but yet he never thought of +going home or turning towards the village.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mysie!" he groaned again and again, and all night +long only these two words escaped his lips. They came in a +low sad tone, like the wind coming through far-off trees; but +they were vibrant with suffering, and only the moor-birds +cried in answer.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mysie!" and the winds sighed it again and again, as +they came wandering down out of the stillness between the +hills, to pass on into the silence of the night again, like lost +souls wandering through an uncreative world, proclaiming to +other spheres the doom that had settled upon earth.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mysie!" groaned a moorland brook close by, which +grumbled at some obstruction in its pathway, and then sighed +over its mossy bed, like a tired child emerging exhausted +from a long fever, to fall asleep as deeply as if the seal of +death had been planted upon the little lips. Occasionally he +shifted his position, as his limbs grew cramped, or rose to pace +the moor again to bring himself more exhaustion; but always +he came back to the little knoll, and sat down again, groaning +out the sad plaintive words, that were at once an appeal and +a cry, a defiance and a submission. By and by the first gray +streaks of dawn came filtering through the curtains of the +cloudy east, touching the low hills with gray nimble fingers, +or weaving a tapestry of magic, as they brightened and grew +clearer, over the gray face of the morn.</p> + +<p>Soon the birds leapt again from every corner, climbing upon +the ladders of light and tumbling ecstasies of mad joy to welcome +the day, as if they feared to be left in the darkness +with this strange figure, which merely sat and groaned softly, +and looked before it with silent agony in its eyes; and now +that the light had again come, they shouted their protest in +a louder, shriller note; they mounted upon the waves of light +and swooped down into the trough of the semi-darkness, expostulating +and crying, not so much in alarm now, as in anger. +For with the light comes courage to birds as well as men, and +fear, the offspring of ignorance, which is bred in darkness, +loses its power when its mystery is revealed.</p> + +<p>But even with the coming of the day the still silent figure +did not move. It continued to sit until the birds grew tired +of protesting, and even the mountain hare wandered close by, +sniffing the breeze in his direction, and cocking its ears and +listening, as it sat upon its hind legs, only to resume its leisurely +wandering again, feeling assured that there was nothing +to fear in the direction of this quiet, bent figure of sorrow, +that sat merely staring at the hills, and saw naught of anything +before him. The things he saw were not the things +around him. He was moving in a multitude again. He was +walking among them with pity in his heart—a great pity for +their ignorance, their lack of vision; and he was giving them +knowledge and restoring light to their eyes, to widen their +range of vision, so that they could take things in their true +perspective. He was full of a great sympathy for their shortcomings, +recognizing to the full that only by sowing love could +love be reaped, only in service could happiness be found—that +he who gave his life would save it.</p> + +<p>The great dumb mass of humanity needed serving—needed +love. It passed on blindly, wounding itself as it staggered +against its barriers, bruising its heart and soul in the darkness, +and never learning its lessons. Saviors in all ages had lifted +the darkness a bit, and given knowledge, and sometimes it +had profited for a while till false prophets arose to mislead.</p> + +<p>It was a seething feverish mass, stamping and surging +towards every blatant voice which cried the false message to +it, rousing it to anger, and again misleading, until it often +rose to rend its saviors instead of those who had duped it so +shamelessly.</p> + +<p>All the tragic procession filed past, and he gave them peace +and knowledge. By and by they grew to a long thin stream, +feverish and agitated, seemingly all converging towards a point—pain +and anxiety in every quick movement, and suffering +in every gesture. He looked with still more and more compassion +upon them, with a greater love in his breast, but it +did not calm them as before, and at last in desperation he +stretched out his hands in appealing pity for them, his whole +being aglow with the desire to help and pity and love, and +he found that the scene changed. He was on the moor, and +there was the discomfort of cold in his limbs; but—yes, he +was looking at the pit, and there was a long stream of men, +women and children, principally women and children, running +frantically across the moor towards the pit, and he could hear +the faint sound of their voices, which clearly betokened suffering, +anxiety and alarm. Something had happened. He must +have been looking at that procession for a long time, he realized, +and pulling himself together, he bounded to his feet and +was off in a long striding race through the moor towards the +pit, his heart telling him that something had happened which +was out of the ordinary kind of accident that regularly happened +at a coal mine. He bounded along, knowing as he +went that there was something more of sorrow for his mother +in this, whatever it was. He felt so, but could not account +for the feeling, and as this thought grew in intensity in his +mind, he changed his course a bit, and made for home, to +ascertain what had really happened. It was something big, +he felt, but whatever it was, his mother must again be called +upon to suffer, and his alarm grew with his pace, until he +arrived breathless at the house. One look at her face, and +he knew his instincts had told him the truth.</p> + +<p>She was white and strained, though tearless, but her eyes +were full of an awful suffering.</p> + +<p>"What has happened, mother?" he demanded, as if he could +hardly wait for her to answer.</p> + +<p>"The moss has broken in, an' twenty-three men are lost. +Jamie an' Andra are among them. They gaed oot themselves +this morning, telling me they could work fine, even though +you werena there. Oh, Rob! What will I do! Oh, dear! +Oh, dear! My bonnie laddies!" and with a sob in her voice +she turned away, and Robert was again out of the house, and +running through the moor to the pit, as hard as desperation +could drive him. His two brothers were down there, and they +must be got out. Even as he ran he wondered what strange +freak of fate it was, that had kept him out there on the moor +all night and so saved him from this terrible fate.</p> + +<p>He could understand how his brothers would feel at the +chance of working one day by themselves. He had always +been their guide and protector. They had gone into the pit +with him when they left school, and had just continued working +with him since, learning their trade from his greater experience, +and trusting always to his better judgment when +there was danger to avoid. They would go out that day with +the intention of working like slaves to produce an extra turn +of coal. Even though it were but one extra hutch, they would +fill it, and slave all day with never a rest, so that they could +have the satisfaction of seeing approval in his eyes, when they +told him at night how many they had turned out, and how +well things had gone generally with them in his absence.</p> + +<p>He reached the pit, to find that the moss was already rising +in the shaft, and that there was no possibility of getting down +to try and save these twenty-three men and boys who were +imprisoned in the darkness beneath.</p> + +<p>He came across Tam Donaldson, who was the last to get up.</p> + +<p>"Tell me aboot it, Tam," he said. "Is there no chance of +getting down? Do you think any of them will be safe so far?" +and a whole lot of other anxious questions were rattled off, +while Tam, dripping wet from having to wade and fight the +last fifty fathoms toward the pit bottom, through the silent, +sinister, creeping moss that filled the roadways and tunnels, +stood to give him an account of what had taken place.</p> + +<p>"They were a' sitting at their piece, Rob—a' but James +and Andra. They were keen to get as muckle work done as +possible, an' they had some coal to get to fill oot a hutch, +when a' at yince we heard Andra crying on us to rin. Had +they a' ran doon the brae we'd a' hae been safe, for we could +hae gotten to the bottom afore the moss; but some ran into +the inside heading, an' hadna time to realize that their outlet +was cut off, an' there they are; for the moss was comin' doon +the full height of the road when I ran back to try an' cry on +them to come back. So I had to rin for't too, an' jist got oot +by the skin o' my teeth.</p> + +<p>"I kent fine it wad happen," he went on, as Robert stood, +the tears in his eyes, as he realized how hopeless the position +was of ever being able to restore these men and boys again +to their homes. There was anger in Tam's voice as he spoke. +"It's a' to get cheap coal, an' they ought to hae known, for +they were telt, that to open oot that seam into long well workings +so near the surface, an' wi' sic a rotten roof, was invitin' +disaster, wi' as muckle rain as we hae had lately. They are +a lot o' murderers—that's what they are! But what the hell +do they care, sae lang as they get cheap coal!"</p> + +<p>Robert turned away sick at heart. It was certainly a foolish +thing, he had thought at the time, for the management to +change their method of working the coal; for even though the +seam had grown thinner, he felt that it could have still been +worked at a profit under the old system. He knew also that +the men were all upset at the time by this change, but the +management had assured them that there was no danger, and +that it would mean more money for the men, as they would +be enabled to produce more coal.</p> + +<p>This certainly had happened for a week or two, but the rates +were soon broken, because they were making too high wages; +and the men found, as usual, that their increased output had +merely meant increased work for them, and increased profits +for the owners.</p> + +<p>Was there nothing to be done? Robert wondered, as he +paced restlessly back and forth, his mind busy, as the mind +of every man present, and anxious to make any sacrifice, to +take any risk, if by so doing they might save those imprisoned +in the mine. Even while his mind was working, he could not +help listening to the talk of those around him. There were +strange opinions expressed, and wild plans of rescue were suggested +and discussed and disputed. Everyone condemned the +coal company for what had happened, but over all there were +the white-faced women and the silent children; the muffled +sobs, the tears, and the agony of silent wet eyes that spoke +more pain than all the tragedies that had ever been written.</p> + +<p>Robert could not help listening to one man—a big, raw, +loosely-built fellow, who stood in the midst of a group of +women laying off his idea of a rescue.</p> + +<p>"I'm rale glad to be out of it," he said, "for Jean's sake, +an' the bairns; but for a' that I'd gang doon again an' try an' +get them oot if there was ony chance o' doin' it."</p> + +<p>"Hoo is Jean?" one woman interposed to enquire about his +wife, who had been ill a long time.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's gettin' on fine noo, an' the doctor has a hopeful +word o' her," he answered. "In fact, I was just feeding the +birds the last time he was in, an' asked him hoo she was +doin'."</p> + +<p>This man, Dugald McIntosh, had one god—his canaries. +He read all he could get to read about them, and studied the +best conditions under which to rear them, sacrificed everything +he could to breed better birds, and this was always a topic +for him to discourse upon.</p> + +<p>"I was just busy feedin' them when he cam' in, and after +he had examined her, I asked him hoo she was gettin' on."</p> + +<p>"Fine," he said, "gi'e her plenty o' sweet milk noo, and +fresh eggs, an' she'll sune be on her feet again. Fresh eggs! +mind you, an' me canna get yin for my canaries! I thocht +it was a guid yin!"</p> + +<p>Robert turned away; but there was working in his mind +an idea, and he ran round to the colliery office to the manager, +who was nearly mad with grief and anxiety at what had +happened.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Sinclair," he said simply. "Can you suggest anything +to help us? Whatever is done, it can only be done +quickly; for the moss is rising rapidly in the shaft, and even +though some of the men are safe in the upper workings, it is +only a question of a very short time till the moss will rise +and suffocate them, or until the black damp does so. If you +have any idea that can help, out with it and let us make a +trial, for the inactivity is killing me."</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking, Mr. Anderson," replied Robert, "that +we might go down the old air-shaft over in the moss there, +and run along the top level, which is not far from the surface, +and try and blast it through on the heading into which the +moss broke."</p> + +<p>It might be full of moss too, for no one knew the extent +of the breakage in the metals, and even though it were clear, +the damp would be lying in it; but surely they might make an +attempt on it. Robert remembered working this level to within +about nine feet from going through on the heading. If he +had plenty of hands, just to go down and drill a hole in anywhere, +and blast out the coal with a shot or two wherever he +could best place them, he might succeed in getting through +to the men. It might be that after the first rush filling the +roadways, the flood of moss had drained off, and was not now +running so thickly down the heading.</p> + +<p>"Let me go and try, sir," he pleaded eagerly. "I think I +can manage, if the level is still unbroken. We can work +in short turns, so as not to be overcome with the damp. Will +you let me have a try? I believe it's the only chance we +have, and if we do succeed, look what it will mean to the +women in the village. Will you let me try?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Anderson, reaching for his lamp, "and I shall +be one of the triers too. Go out and pick seven or eight +men. I'll get the necessary tools and get off over the moor +to the old air shaft. It may still be open. It is a pity we +let it go out of repair, but we can have a trial."</p> + +<p>Robert ran out, a hope filling his heart, telling his news to +those round about, and the first man to step forth, before he +had finished, was Dugald McIntosh, the man who had put +more value on his canaries than on his wife's health, who +quietly lifted up the drills the manager had brought, and +slinging them lightly over his shoulder, was off across the moor +at a run, with a dozen men at his heels, all eager to get to +grips with the danger, and try to rescue their imprisoned +comrades.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h2>A FIGHT WITH DEATH</h2> + + +<p>Robert Sinclair seemed to be the one man who +knew what to do—at least, he seemed to be the only +one who had a definite aim in view and as if by some +natural instinct everyone was just ready to do his bidding. +He was the leader of the herd towards whom everyone looked +ready for a new order to meet any new situation which might +arise. Initiative and resource were a monopoly in his hands. +He was silent, and worked to get ready to descend the old air-shaft, +with grim set lips. Yet there seemed to be no sense of +bustle, only the work was done quickly and orderly, his orders +being issued as much by signs as by speech, and soon a windlass +was erected with ropes and swing chair fastened, into +which he at once leaped, followed by another man. Tools and +explosives were packed in and lamps lit and the order given +to lower the chair.</p> + +<p>Robert felt a queer sort of feeling as he stood waiting on +the first motion of the little drum round which the rope wound. +He was cool and clear brained—in fact he wondered why he +was so collected. He felt he was standing out of all this maelstrom +of suffering and terror. Not that he was impervious to +anxiety for the men below, not that he was unmoved by all +that it meant to those standing round; but after that first +wild throb of terror that had clutched at his heart when his +mother had told him the dread news and that his two brothers +were imprisoned in the mine, something seemed suddenly to +snap within him, the load and the intensity of the pain lifted, +and from that moment he had been master of the situation.</p> + +<p>He glanced round him as he waited quietly in his swinging +seat. He felt as he looked, no sense of fear or impending +doom. He knew that black damp probably lay in dense +quantities down in that yawning gulf below him, he knew that +the sides of the shaft were in a bad state of disrepair, and +that they might give way at any time as the swinging rope +must inevitably touch them, and bring the whole thing in +upon him, with hundreds of tons of débris and moss.</p> + +<p>Yet it was not of these things he thought. Perhaps he did +not think of anything particularly, but a far-off lilt of a children's +game which was played at school, kept iterating and +reiterating through his brain, and everything seemed done to +that tune.</p> + +<p> +"Don't take a laddie, oh,<br /> +Laddie oh, laddie oh,<br /> +Don't take a laddie oh,<br /> +Take a bonnie wee lassie."<br /> +</p> + +<p>It sang continually within him and men seemed to move +to its regular beat, as they hurried to get ready. He looked +at the hills, and noted how quiet everything seemed, their +curving outlines gave such a sense of eternal rest. There +was a patch of lovely blue sky above him, he noticed where +the clouds opened up and a glint of golden glorious sunshine +came through; but it looked garish and it closed again and +the white clouds trailed away, their lower fringes clinging to +the hill tops like veils of gossamer woven by time to deck +the bride of Spring. A lark rose at the edge of the crowd of +weeping women and children as if unmindful of the tragedy +over which it sang so rapturously, and he noted its fluttering +wings and swelling throat as it soared in circles of glad song.</p> + +<p>All these things and more he noted though it was but a +momentary pause.</p> + +<p>"Are you right?" came the question from the men at the +windlass, far away it seemed and unconnected with the scene.</p> + +<p>"Right," he answered with a start, and looking round he +seemed to become aware of the white-faced, red-eyed women +among whom his mother's face seemed to stand out. She was +not weeping, he noticed, but oh God! her face seemed to +turn him with the intensity of the suffering in her eyes. He +realized that he had not noticed her before, and now with a +wild throb of pity he stretched out his hands towards her, a +look of suffering in his eyes, as if he were feeling the pains of +humanity crucified anew, and the chair began to drop slowly +below the surface, swinging down into the darkness and the +evil dangers that lurked below. Her face was the last thing +he saw—a face full of agony yet calm with a great renunciation +coming to birth in her eyes, her lips drawn thin like a +slit in her face and all the color gone from them, the head +bent a little as if a great blow had fallen upon her—an island +of agony set in a sea of despair.</p> + +<p>A wild impulse seized him to go back. It was too much to +ask of a woman, he felt. Too great a burden of tragedy to +heap upon one soul, as he cast his mind back through the +suffering years and viewed all the pain she had borne, and the +terrible Gethsemane which her life had been; but as the chair +swung round he clutched the swaying rope and with the other +hand steadied it from crashing against the side of the shaft +as they slowly dropped lower and lower into the darkness and +the evil smells which hung around.</p> + +<p>"Things look bad here," said his comrade as they passed +down where at some time a huge portion from the side had +fallen out and down into the bottom of the old shaft.</p> + +<p>"Ay," answered Robert, "everything seems just ready to +collapse," and they dropped lower and lower, swaying from +side to side, cautiously guiding their swinging chair from the +moss-oozing side, their nerves strained as they listened to +the creeking rope as it was paid out from above.</p> + +<p>"Holy God," cried his mate, "that was a near thing," +as a huge mass of rocks and slimy moss lunged out a little +below them and hurtled away in a loud rumbling noise.</p> + +<p>Robert pulled the signal cord to stop and looked up to see +the white clouds passing over the narrow funnel-like shaft +in which they hung. Then he gave the signal to let out again +noting how thick with damp the atmosphere was becoming, +and having difficulty with his light.</p> + +<p>Lower and lower they swung and dropped down into the +old shaft and as the rope creaked and crazed above them it +lilted:</p> + +<p> +"Choose, choose, wha' you'll tak',<br /> +Wha' you'll tak', wha' you'll tak',<br /> +Choose, choose wha' you'll tak',<br /> +A laddie or a lassie."<br /> +</p> + +<p>And the memory of the old lilt brought back other scenes +again and he found himself guiding the chair from the shaft +side steering it off with his hand at every rhythmic beat of +the child song.</p> + +<p>Soon they reached the bottom of the shaft, for it was not +very deep, and found a mass of débris, almost choking up the +roadways on either side of the bottom. But they got out of +their chair and soon began to "redd" away the stones though +they found very great difficulty in getting the lamps to burn. +Occasionally, as they worked, little pieces came tumbling from +the side of the shaft, telling its own tale, and as soon as +Robert got a decent sized kind of opening made through the +rocks which blocked the roadway he sent up the other man +to bring down more help and to get others started to repair +the old shaft by putting in stays and batons to preserve the +sides and so prevent them from caving in altogether.</p> + +<p>He found his way along the level which had been driven +to within nine feet of going through on the heading in which +the inbreak of moss had taken place. He noticed the roof +was broken in many places and that the timber which had +been put in years before was rotten. Strange noises seemed +to assail his senses, and stranger smells, yet the lilt of that +old childish game was ever humming in his brain and he saw +himself with other boys and girls with clasped hands linked +in a circle and going round in a ring as they sang the old ditty.</p> + +<p>"Three breakings should dae it," he said as he looked at +the face of the coal dripping with water from the cracks in +the roof. "If only they were here to put up the props. I +could soon blow it through," and he began to prepare a place +for batons and props, pending the arrival of more help from +those who were only too eager to come down to his aid.</p> + +<p>It was almost an hour before help came in the shape of two +men carrying some props. Then came another two and soon +more timber began to arrive regularly and the swinging blows +of their hammers as they drove in the fresh props were soon +echoing through the tunnels, and Robert set up his boring +machine and soon the rickety noise of it drowned all others. +He paused to change a drill when a faint hullo was heard +from the other side.</p> + +<p>"Hullo," he yelled, then held his breath in tense silence to +hear the response which came immediately. "Are you all +safe?" he roared, his voice carrying easily through the open +coal.</p> + +<p>"Ay," came the faint answer; "but the moss is rising in +the heading and you'll have to hurry up."</p> + +<p>Robert knew this, and one of his helpers had gone down an +old heading to explore and had returned to say that it was +rising steadily and was now within two hundred feet from +the old shaft down which he had descended.</p> + +<p>"Where away did the roof break?" roared Robert as he +changed his second drill.</p> + +<p>"Half way doon the cousie brae," came the answer, "an' +we're all shut in like rats. Hurry up and get us oot," and +again the rickety, rackety noise of the boring machine began +and drowned all other noises.</p> + +<p>He soon drilled his holes and he could hear them on the +other side singing now some ribald song to keep up their +courage, while others who were religiously inclined chanted +hymns and psalms, but all were wondering whether Robert +and his men would be able to break through the barrier in +time to save them before the persistently rising moss claimed +them.</p> + +<p>He charged his shots and called them to go back, telling +them the number of his charges, then lit his fuse and ran out of +the old level to wait in a place of safety while the explosion +took place.</p> + +<p>Soon they boomed out and the concussion put them all in +darkness; but they soon had the lamps re-lit and were back +in among the thick volumes of powder smoke, groping about +and shading their lamps and peering in to see what their shots +had done to lessen the barrier between them and their imprisoned +comrades.</p> + +<p>Then the shovels set to work and tossed the coal which the +shots had dislodged back into the roadway and soon the boring +machines were busy again, eating into the coal; for those +tireless arms of Robert's never halted. He swung the handle +or wielded the pick or shovel, never taking a, rest, while the +sweat streamed from his body working like some mechanical +product for always in his mind he was calculating his chances +for being able to blast it through the barrier before the moss +rose.</p> + +<p>"It has only a stoop length an' a half to rise now," reported +one of the men. "It's creeping up like the doom o' the +day o' judgment. But I think we'll manage. If these shots +do as well as the last ones we should be within two feet of +them, an' surely to God we can bite the rest of it, if we canna +blaw it. Let me stem the shots, Rob, an' you take a rest."</p> + +<p>"You go to hell," was the unexpectedly astounding reply; +for no one had ever heard Robert Sinclair use language like +this before. "As soon as thae shots are off an' if they blaw +as well as the others we'll turn out the coal an' then you can +gang up the pit, every yin o' you. I'll soon blow through the +rest of it, and if you are all up by then it will make for speed +in getting the others out. We're going to have a race for it +even though we manage as I'm thinking to. So get out of +the way and don't talk. Again the air's getting too dam'd +thick for you all remaining here. There's hardly as muckle +as would keep a canary living," and again he called to those +on the other side to beware of the shots, and again ran out +to a place of safety while the explosions took place.</p> + +<p>Once more the result of the shots was good; but the smoke +choked and blinded them and one man was overcome by the +fumes. They carried him out the road a bit and after he +showed signs of coming round, Robert gave instructions for +him to be taken to the surface.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lod, but it's nippin' my e'en," said one as he rubbed +his eyes and blew his nose, sneezed and finally expectorated. +"It's as thick as soor milk, be dam'd!"</p> + +<p>"Well, get him up, and I'll away back and redd out the shots +and try and get it through again. The moss is rising quicker +noo an' it has only aboot eighty feet to come."</p> + +<p>So back he went among the thick choking volume of smoke, +tripping and stumbling and staggering from side to side as +he scrambled on. Would he be in time to blast the barrier +down before the steadily creeping moss rose to cut off his only +avenue of escape?</p> + +<p>"My God! What's that?" he asked himself as he paused +while a rumble and crash behind him told him that the old +shaft had caved in burying his comrades in rocks and moss and +water.</p> + +<p>He ran back but could get no further than within a stoop +length of the old shaft. There were hundreds of tons of +débris and all was finally lost. For the first time terror seized +him and he tore desperately at the bowlders of stone, cutting +his fingers and lacerating his body all over with cuts and +bruises. He raved and swore and shouted in desperation, the +sweat streaming from every pore, his eyes wild and glaring, +but he was soon driven back by the moss which was oozing +and percolating through the broken mass of bowlders and +gradually it forced him back with a rush as it burst through +with a sudden slushing sound as if suddenly relieved from a +barrier which held it. Back he rushed, his light again becoming +extinguished, the flood pursuing him relentlessly, the +air now so heavy that he could hardly breathe, but groping +his way he reached the first end roadway down which for the +moment the flood ran to meet the rising moss creeping up relentlessly +from below.</p> + +<p>Choking and only half conscious he staggered on with all sense +of disaster gone from his mind, with no thought of his comrades +on the other side waiting so impatiently to be released, +and singing their frothy songs in the hope that all was well, +his legs doubling below him, and his lungs heaving to expel +the poison which the thick air contained. Down at last he +fell, his head striking against the side of the roadway, and he +lay still.</p> + +<p>The moss might rise hungrily over him now, the rotten +roof might fall upon him, all the dangers of the mine might +conspire together against him; but nothing they might do +could ever again strike terror into the young heart that lay +there, feebly throbbing its last as it was being overcome with +the deadly poison of the black damp.</p> + +<p>He was proof against all their terrors now, the spirit could +evade them yet; for though the old shaft might collapse and +imprison his body and claim it as a sacrifice to the King +Terror of the Underworld, no prison was ever created that +could contain the indomitable spirit of man as God. He was +free—free, and was happy and could cry defiance to the dangers +of the mine, to the terrors of time itself. He could clutch +the corners of the earth, and play with it as a toy of time, +among the Gods of Eternity.</p> + +<p>"Choose, choose wha' you'll tak'," throbbed the young heart +and a smile of triumph played upon the lips as the pictures +of bygone times flitted across his dying brain. He was again +the happy infant, hungry it may be, and ill-clad, but Heaven +contained no happier soul. The little stomach might not be +filled with sufficient food; but the spirit of him as it was in +younger years knew no material limits to its laughter in the +childish ring games of youth. Again he was waiting in the +dark wintry mornings on Mysie, so that she would not be +afraid to go to work on the pit-head; ay, and he was happy to +take the windward side of her in the storm, and shield her +from the winter's blast, tying her little shawl about her ears +and making her believe he did not feel the cold at all.</p> + +<p>He was back again at his mother's knee, listening to her +glorious voice singing some pitiful old ballad, as she crooned +him to sleep; or lying trying to forget the hunger he felt +as the glorious old tune seemed to drown his senses while he +waited to say his prayer at night.</p> + +<p> +"Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bless Thy little lamb to-night,</span><br /> +In the darkness be Thou near me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keep me safe till morning light."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Then there was the "good-night" to everyone and the fond +kiss of the best of all mothers, the sinking into sleep that +billowed and rocked the weary young spirit of him, crushed +and bruised by the forces of the world, and finally the sweet +shy smile of a young girl blushing and awkward, but flooding +his soul with happiness and thrilling every fiber of him with her +magic as she stood upon the hill crest, outlined against the +sunset with a soft breeze blowing, kissing the gray hill side, +bringing perfumes from every corner of the moor and beckoning +him as she rose upward, he followed higher and higher, +the picture taking shape and becoming more real until it +merged into spirit.</p> + +<p>And the creeping moss moved upward, hungry for its +prey and greedy to devour the fine young body so fresh and +strong and lusty; but it was balked, for it claimed only the +empty shell. The prize had gone on the wings of an everlasting +happiness and the spirit of the moor, because there is +no forgetting, triumphed over the spirit of destruction, so that +in the records of the spirit he shall say:</p> + +<p> +"I shall remember when the red sun glowing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sinks in the west, a gorgeous flare of fire;</span><br /> +How then you looked with the soft breeze blowing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cool through your hair, a heaving living pyre</span><br /> +Fired by the sun for the sweet day's ending;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I still shall hear the whirring harsh moor-hen,</span><br /> +Roused from her rest among the rushes bending<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall remember then.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I shall remember every well-loved feature,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How, on the hill crest when the day was done,</span><br /> +Just how you looked, dear, God's most glorious creature,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heaven's silhouette outlined against the sun;</span><br /> +I shall remember just how you the fairest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dearest and brightest thing that God e'er made,</span><br /> +Warmed all my soul with holy fire the rarest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That vision shall not fade."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>But pain and tragedy forever seem to have no limit to +their hunger; and in the clear spring air above the place where +the bodies of her boys lay, Mrs. Sinclair's heart was again the +food upon which the tragedy of life fed. All the years of her +existence were bound up in the production of coal, and the +spirits of her husband and of her sons call to-day to the world +of men—men who have wives, men who have mothers, men +who have sweethearts and sisters and daughters, stand firm +together; and preserve your women folk from these tragedies, +if you would justify your manhood in the world of men.</p> + + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNDERWORLD***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 15503-h.txt or 15503-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/0/15503">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/5/0/15503</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/15503.txt b/15503.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..535cdbd --- /dev/null +++ b/15503.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10090 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Underworld, by James C. Welsh + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Underworld + The Story of Robert Sinclair, Miner + + +Author: James C. Welsh + +Release Date: March 30, 2005 [eBook #15503] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNDERWORLD*** + + +E-text prepared by David Garcia, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +THE UNDERWORLD + +The Story of Robert Sinclair, Miner + +by + +JAMES C. WELSH + +New York +Frederick A. Stokes Company +Publishers + +1920 + + + + + + + +PREFACE + + +I have tried to write of the life I know, the life I have lived, and of +the lives of the people whom, above all others, I love, and of whom I am +so proud. + +My people have been miners for generations, and I myself became a miner +at the age of twelve. I have worked since then in the mine at every +phase of coal getting until about five years ago, when my fellow workers +made me their checkweigher. + +I say this that those who read my book may know that the things of which +I write are the things of which I have firsthand knowledge. + + JAMES C. WELSH. + DOUGLAS WATER, + LANARK. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER + + I. THE THONG OF POVERTY + + II. A TURN OF THE SCREW + + III. THE BLOCK + + IV. A YOUNG REBEL + + V. BLACK JOCK'S THREAT + + VI. THE COMING OF A PROPHET + + VII. ON THE PIT-HEAD + + VIII. THE MANTLE OF MANHOOD + + IX. THE ACCIDENT + + X. HEROES OF THE UNDERWORLD + + XI. THE STRIKE + + XII. THE RIVALS + + XIII. THE RED HOSE RACE + + XIV. THE AWAKENING + + XV. PETER MAKES A DECISION + + XVI. A STIR IN LOWWOOD + + XVII. MYSIE RUNS AWAY + + XVIII. MAG ROBERTSON'S FRENZY + + XIX. BLACK JOCK'S END + + XX. THE CONFERENCE + + XXI. THE MEETING WITH MYSIE + + XXII. MYSIE'S RETURN + + XXIII. HOME + + XXIV. A CALL FOR HELP + + XXV. A FIGHT WITH DEATH + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE THONG OF POVERTY + + +"Is it not about time you came to your bed, lassie?" + +"Ay, I'll no' be very long now, Geordie. If I had this heel turned, I'll +soon finish the sock, and that will be a pair the day. Is the pain in +your back worse the nicht, that you are so restless?" and the clicking +of the needles ceased as the woman asked the question. + +"Oh, I'm no' so bad at all," came the answer. "My back's maybe a wee bit +sore; but a body gets tired lying always in the yin position. Forby, the +day aye seems long when you are out, and I dinna like to think of you +out working all day, and then sitting down to knit at nicht. It must be +very tiring for you, Nellie." + +"Oh, I'm no' that tired," she replied with a show of cheerfulness, as +she turned another wire in the sock, and set the balls of wool dancing +on the floor with the speed at which she worked. "I've had a real good +day to-day, and I'm feeling that I could just sit for a lang while the +nicht, if only the paraffin oil wadna' go down so quick. But the longer +I sit, it burns the more, and it's getting gey dear to buy now-a-days." + +"Ay," said the weary voice of the man. "If it's no' clegs it's midges. +Folk have always something to contend against. But don't be long till +you stop. It's almost twelve o'clock, and you ought to be in your bed." + +"Oh, I'll no' be very long, Geordie," was the bravely cheerful answer. +"Just you try and gang to sleep and I'll soon finish up. I'll have to +try and get up early in the morning, for I have to go to Mrs. Rundell +and wash. She always gi'es me twa shillings, and that's a good day's +pay. The only thing I grudge is being away all day, leaving you and the +bairns, for I ken they're no' very easy to put up with. They're steerin' +weans, and are no' easy on a body who is ill." + +"Ay, they're a steerin' lot, lassie," he answered tenderly. "But, poor +things, they must hae some freedom, Nellie. I wish I was ready for my +work." + +"Hoot, man," she said with the same show of cheerfulness. "We might have +been worse, and you will be better some day, and able to work as well as +ever you did." + +For a time there was silence, broken only by the loud ticking of the +clock, the clicking of the needles, and occasionally a low moan from the +bed, as the injured miner sank into a restless sleep. + +There had been an accident some six weeks before, and Geordie Sinclair, +badly wounded by a fall of stone, had been brought home from the pit in +a cart. + +It was during the time known to old miners as the "two-and-sixpenny +winter," that being the sum of the daily wage then earned by the miners. +A financial crisis had come upon the country and the Glasgow City Bank +had failed, trade was dull, and the whole industrial system was in +chaos. It had been a hard time for Geordie Sinclair's wife, for there +were four children to provide for besides her injured husband. Work +which was well paid for was not over plentiful, and she had to toil from +early morning till far into the night to earn the bare necessities of +life. There were times like to-night, when she felt rebellious and +bitter at her plight, but her tired eyes and fingers had to get to the +end of the task, for that meant bread for the children in the morning. + +The silence deepened in the little kitchen. No sound came now from the +bed, and the lamp threw eerie shadows on the walls, and the chimney +smoked incessantly. + +Her eyes grew watery and smarted with the smoke. She dropped stitches +occasionally, as she hurried with her work, which had to be lifted again +when she discovered that the pattern was wrong, and sometimes quite a +considerable part had to be "ripped out," so that she could correct the +mistake. + +The dismal calling of a cat outside irritated her, and the loud +complacent ticking of the clock seemed to mock her misery; but still she +worked on, the busy fingers turning the needles, as the wool unwound +itself from the balls which danced upon the floor. There was life in +those balls of wool as they spun to the tune of the woman's misery. They +advanced and retired, like dancers, touching hands when they met, then +whirling away in opposite directions again; they side-stepped and +wheeled in a mad riot of joyous color, just as they were about to meet: +they stood for a little facing each other, feinting from side to side, +then were off again, as the music of her misery quickened, in an +embracing whirl, as if married in an ecstasy of colored flame, +many-shaded, yet one; then, at last, just as the tune seemed to have +reached a crescendo of spirit, she dashed her work upon the floor, as +she discovered another blunder, and burst into a fit of passionate +weeping. + +Suddenly there was a faint tap at the window, and she raised her head, +staying her breath to listen. Soon she heard it again, just a faint but +very deliberate tap, which convinced her that someone was outside in the +darkness. Softly she stole on tiptoe across the room, so as not to +disturb her sleeping husband, and opening the door quietly, craned +forward and peered into the darkness to discover the cause of the tap. + +"It's just me," said a deep voice, in uneasy accents, from the darkness +by the window, and she saw then the form of a man edging nearer the +door. + +"And who are you?" she asked a little nervously, but trying to master +the alarm in her voice. + +"Do you not ken me?" replied the voice with an attempt to speak as +naturally as possible; yet there was something in the tone that made her +more uneasy. + +Then the figure of the man drew nearer, and he whispered "Are they all +sleeping?" alluding to the inmates of the house. + +"Ay," she answered, drawing back into the shelter of the doorway. "Why +do you ask? And what is it you want?" + +"Oh, I just came along to see how you were all getting on," was the +reply. "I ken you must be in very straitened circumstances by this time, +and thought I might be able to help you a bit," and there was an +ingratiating tone in the words now as he sidled nearer. "You must have a +very hard battle just now, and I would like to do something to help +you." + +"Come away in," said the woman, with still an uneasy tremor in her +voice, yet feeling more assured. "Geordie is sleeping, but he'll not be +hard to waken up. Come away in, and let us see who you are, and tell us +what you really want." + +"No, I'm no' coming in," he whispered hoarsely. "Do you no' ken me? Shut +the door and not let any of them hear. I'm wanting you!" and he stepped +into the light and reached forward his hand, as if to draw her to him. + +Mrs. Sinclair gasped and recoiled in horror, as she recognized who it +was that stood before her. + +"No," she cried decisively, stepping further back into the shelter of +the house, her voice low and intense with indignation. "No, I have not +come to that yet, thank God. Gang home, you dirty brute, that you are! +I'll be very ill off when I ask anything, or take anything, from you, +Jock Walker!" For it was well known in Lowwood that Jock Walker's +errands to people in distress had always in them an ulterior motive. + +He was the under manager at the pits, and his reputation was of the +blackest. There were men in the village of Lowwood who were well aware +of this man's relations with their wives, and they openly agreed to the +sale of the honor of their women folk in return for what he gave them in +the shape of contracts, at which they could make more money than their +neighbors, or good "places," where the coal was easier won. In fact, to +be a contractor was a synonym for this sort of dealing, for no one ever +got a contract from Walker unless his wife, or his daughter, was a woman +of easy virtue, and at the service of this man. + +"Very well," replied Walker with chagrined anger. "Please yourself. But +let me tell you that you'll maybe no' ay be so high and mighty; you'll +maybe be dam'd glad yet of the chance that I have given you." + +"No, no," protested Mrs. Sinclair. "Go away--" + +"Look here, Nellie," he said, his voice changing to a low pleading tone, +"you're in a hole. You must be. Be a sensible woman, and you'll never +need to be so ill-grippet again. I can put Geordie in a position that +he'll make any amount of money as soon as he is able to start. You are +not a bit better than anyone else, and for the sake of your bairns you +should be sensible. And forby," he went on, as if now more sure of his +ground, "what the hell's wrang in it? It's no' what folk do that is +wrong. It's in being found out. Now come away and be sensible. You ken +what is wanted, and you ken that I can make you well off for it." + +"No, by heavens," she cried, now tingling with anger at the insult. +"Never! Get out of this, you brute! If Geordie Sinclair had been able +this nicht, I'd have got him to deal with you. Get out of here, or I'll +cleave your rotten body, and let out your rotten heart." And she turned +in, and closed and bolted the door, leaving Walker fuming with anger at +the repulse of his advances. Nellie Sinclair had never felt so outraged +in all her life before. She was trembling with anger at the insult of +his proposals. She paced the floor in her stockinged feet, as if a wild +spirit were raging within her demanding release; then finally she flung +herself into the "big chair," disgust and anger in her heart, and for +the second time that night burst into a passionate fit of weeping, which +seemed to shake her body almost asunder. For a long time she sat thus, +sobbing, her whole being burning with indignation, and her mind in a +fury of disgust and rebellion. + +Then there was a faint stirring in the bed where the children slept, and +a little boy's form began to crawl from amongst the rough bedclothes, +his eyes gazing in amazement at the bowed figure of his mother. She was +crying, he concluded, for her shoulders were heaving and it must be +something very bad that made his beautiful mother cry like this. He +crept across the bare wooden floor, his bare sturdy legs showing beneath +the short and meager shirt, and was soon at her side. + +"What's wrang wi' you, mother?" he asked, as he put his soft little +hand upon her head. "What's wrang wi' you? Will I kiss you held and make +it better?" But his mother did not look up--only the big sobs continued +to shake her, and the boy becoming alarmed at this, also began to cry, +as he placed his little head against hers. "Oh, mother, dinna greet," he +sobbed, "and I'll kiss your heid till it's better." + +At last she lifted her head, and seeing the naked boy, she caught him in +her arms and crushed him to her breast, as if she would smother him. +This was strange conduct for his usually undemonstrative mother; but it +was nice to be hugged like that, even though she did cry. + +"What made you greet, mother?" he queried, for he had never before, in +all his four years, seen his mother cry. For answer she merely caught +him closer to her breast, her hair falling soft and warm all over him as +she did so. + +"Was you hungry, mither?" he tried again. + +"No' very," she answered, choking back her sobs. + +"Are you often hungry, too, mither?" he persisted, feeling encouraged at +getting an answer at last. + +"Sometimes," she replied. "But dinna bother me, Rob," she continued. +"Gang away to your bed like a man." + +He was silent for a time at this repulse, and lay upon her knee puzzling +over the matter. + +"Do you greet when you are hungry?" he enquired, with: wide-eyed +earnestness and surprise. + +"There noo," she answered, "don't ask so many questions, Daddy'll not be +long till he is better again, and when he is at work there'll be plenty +of pieces to keep us all from being hungry." + +"And will there be jeely for the pieces?" pursued the boy, for it seemed +to him that there had never been a time when there was plenty to eat. + +"Yes, we'll get plenty o' jeely too," she replied, drying the remaining +tears from her eyes, and hugging him again to her breast. + +"Oh, my," he said, with a deep sigh. "I wish my father was better!" and +the little lips were moistened by his tongue, as if in anticipation of +the coming feast. + +Another silence; and then came the query--"What way do we not get plenty +o' pieces when my daddy's no' working? Does folk no' get them then?" + +"No, Robin," she answered, "but dinna fash your wee noddle with that. +You'll find out all about it when you get big. Shut your eyes and +mother'll sing, an' you'll go to sleep." And he snuggled in and shut his +eyes, while Mrs. Sinclair gathered him softly to her breast and began to +croon an old ballad. + +As she sang it seemed to the boy that there were no such things as +"jelly-pieces" to bother about. He liked his mother to sing to him, for +he seemed to get rolled up in her soft, warm voice, and become restful +and happy. Gradually the low crooning song grew fainter in his ears, the +flicker of the fire danced further and further away, until long streaks +of golden thready light seemed to reach out, straight from his eyes to +the fireplace, and all the comfort that it was possible to have flowed +through his soul, and at last he slept. Mrs. Sinclair placed him beside +his brothers and sisters in the bed and went back to finish her +knitting. The night was far gone before she accomplished her task, and +she stood and surveyed her humble home with weariness in her heart. + +Through the dim smoke which hung like a blue cloud along the roof, and +made more seemingly thick by the small lamp upon the table, she looked +at her husband lying asleep, and so far free from pain. Then her eyes +traveled to the children in the other bed, and they filled with tears as +she thought that she had had to put them supperless to bed that night, +and again rebellion surged through her blood as she thought of all the +misery of her life. Was it worth living and going on in this way? Was it +worth while to continue? What had she done to reap all this suffering? + +She was hungry and weak and exhausted. Perhaps if she could sleep she +would forget it, and in the morning the socks she had finished would +bring her a few pence, and that would mean food. + +She decided to go to bed, and in passing by the shelf at the window, +her eye caught sight of a plateful of potato skins, the remains of the +meager dinner of boiled potatoes which the children had had; and +clutching them, she began greedily to devour them, filling her mouth and +cramming them in in handfuls, until it seemed as if she would choke +herself. Then, licking the plate clean of every crumb, she undressed and +slipped quietly into bed, to lie and fret and toss, as she thought of +the insult which Black Jock had offered her, and pondered over the +unhappy lot of her children and their injured father. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A TURN OF THE SCREW + + +On the Friday following Jock Walker's visit to Mrs. Sinclair, a notice +was put up at the pit by Peter Pegg and Andrew Marshall, to the effect +that a collection would be taken next day on behalf of Geordie Sinclair. +The notice was posted up before Andrew and Peter descended the pit for +the day. + +"Black Jock," as Walker was called by the miners, saw the notice before +it had been ten minutes posted, and deliberately tore it down. He then +visited Peter Pegg and Andrew Marshall at the coal face. + +"I suppose you an' Andrew are goin' to gather for Geordie Sinclair the +morn?" he said, addressing Peter. + +"Ay," Peter answered, "we were thinkin' it was aboot time somethin' was +done. There's four bairns an' their two selves, an' though times are no' +very guid for ony of us now, it maun be a lot worse for them. Geordie +has been a guid while off." + +"Do ye think, Peter, they are in such need?" asked Walker, with a hint +in his voice that was meant to convey he knew better. + +"Lord, they canna be aught else!" decisively returned Peter. "How can +they be? I ken for mysel'," he went on, "that if it was me, I wad hae +been in starvation lang syne." + +"Weel, wad ye believe me when I tell ye--an' it's a fact--they're about +the best-off family in this place, if ye only kent it." + +"What!" cried Peter in surprise, "the best-off family in the place! +Lord, I canna take that in!" + +"Maybe no'," said Walker, "but I ken, an' ye're no' the first that's +been taken in by Nellie Sinclair. If ye notice, she never tells any +thin' to anybody; but she lets ye carry the notion in your mind that +she's in great straits. She's a cute one, Nellie." + +"Weel, Nellie does keep hersel' to hersel'," admitted Peter. "She's no' +given to clashin' and claverin' about the doors like some o' the rest o' +the women; but I canna' for the life o' me see where she can be onythin' +but ill aff at this time." + +"Weel, I ken when folk are bein' imposed on," said Walker, in a knowing +tone, "an' I tore down your notice this mornin'. I didna want to see you +mak' a fool o' yersels. I ha'e been considerin' for a while," he went +on, speaking quickly, "about puttin' a stop to this collectin' business +at the office on pay Saturdays, for it just encourages some men to lie +off work when there's no' very muckle wrong wi' them; after they get the +collection they soon start work again. Ye had better no' stand the morn, +for I might as well begin at once and put a stop to it." + +Up till now Andrew Marshall had not spoken; he was a silent man, given +more to thought than speech, but this was a way of doing things he did +not like. + +"But ye might let us tak' the collection first, and then put up a notice +yersel sayin' that a' collections have to be stopped. It wad be best to +gi'e the men notice." + +"No," said Walker, "there's to be nae mair collections taken. I might as +well stop it this time as wait. So ye'll no' stand the morn." + +"Will I no'?" returned Andrew challengingly. "How the hell do ye ken +whether I will or no'?" + +"I ken ye'll no'," replied Walker, with quiet menacing tones; "the +ground at the office belongs to the company, and is private. So ye can +do it if ye like, but ye'll be weel advised no' to bother." + +"I don't gi'e a damn," cried Andrew explosively, "whether the ground is +private or no'. I'll take that 'gathering' for Geordie Sinclair the +morn, though ye ha'e a regiment o' sodgers at the office." + +"Very well," said Walker, as he departed, "if ye do, ye can look out." + +Peter took his pipe out of his mouth and spat savagely on the ground; +he then replaced it with great deliberation and looked gloomily at the +stoop-side. He was a man about thirty-five, tall, bony and angular; his +neck was long and thin, and his head seemed always on the point of +turning to allow him to look over his shoulder. His right eye was half +closed, while his left eye looked big and saucer-like, and never seemed +to wink; one eye was ready to laugh and the other to "greet," as his +comrades described it. He had been badly disfigured in a burning +accident in the pit when he was a young man, and a broken nose added +still more to the strangeness of his appearance. Andrew, on the other +hand, was stout and broadly built, with a bushy whisker on each cheek, +and a clump of tufty hair on his head. + +"What do ye mak' o' that, Andrew?" enquired Peter, after a few minutes, +as he again spat savagely at the stoop-side. + +"What do I mak' o't?" echoed Andrew, as he glowered across the little +bing of dross at his mate, "it's just in keepin' wi' the rest o' his +dirty doin's, the dirty black brute that he is!" + +"I wonder what's wrong wi' him?" mused Peter as he sucked quietly at his +snoring pipe. But there was no answer from Andrew, who was sitting +silent and glum, gazing at his little lamp. + +"What are ye goin' to do about it, then?" broke in Peter again. + +"Just what I said," returned Andrew with quiet firmness. "I'll take that +collection the morn, some way or another, if I should be damned for it. +Does he mean to say that we can let folk starve?" He lifted his pick and +began to hew the coal with an energy that told of the passion raging +within him. + +"Does he mean to think I'm goin' to see decent folk starve afore my +e'en?" he asked after a while, pausing to wipe the sweat from his eyes. +"No' damned likely! Things ha'e come to a fine pass when folk are +compelled to look at other folk starvin' an' no' gi'e them a crust." + +"Do ye think there's onything in what he said about them bein' +weel-aff?" asked Peter cautiously, while his big eye tried to wink. +"Nellie is a wee bit inclined to be prood an' independent, ye ken, an' +disna say muckle about her affairs. An forby we don't ken very muckle +about her; she's an incomer to the place, and she might ha'e been +weel-aff afore she married Geordie, for aught we ken." + +"It disna matter," replied Andrew, "I dinna care though +they had thousan's. What I don't like is this +'ye'll-no'-do-this-an'-ye'll-no'-do-that' sort o' thing. What the hell +right has ony gaffer wi' what a man does? It's a' one to him what I do. +I'm nae slave, an' forby, I dinna believe they are weel-aff. They maun +be hard up." + +"But he'll maybe sack ye," suggested Peter, "if ye take the collection." + +"Well, let him," cried Andrew, now thoroughly roused, "the bastard! I +would see the greyhounds o' hell huntin' him roun' the rocks o' blazes +afore I'd give in to him!" + +Nothing further was said of the matter until well on in the day, when it +suddenly occurred to Andrew that Peter, who had a large family, might +not care to incur the displeasure of Walker by taking the collection the +next day. + +"Of course, Peter," he said, after he had thought the matter over, "if +ye don't care to take the collection wi' me, I won't press ye. I'll no' +think ony worse o' ye if ye don't. Ye ha'e a big family, while I ha'e +only the wife to look after. Sometimes I think it's lucky we ha'e nae +weans; I can flit, and ye might no' be able to rise an' run. But I mean +to take the collection onyway, for I don't like a man to order me what I +ha'e to do." + +"Oh, I wasna mindin' that, Andra," replied Peter, trying to make Andrew +believe that he had not guessed the truth. "I'll take the collectin wi' +ye, an' Black Jock can gang to hell if he likes." + +"No, Peter, ye'll do naethin' o' the kind. I'll take it mysel'." And +Andrew would not move from that decision. + +Next day everybody was curiously expectant; it had got noised abroad +that Walker had defied Andrew Marshall to take a collection at the +office, and had threatened him with arrest. There were wild rumors of +other penalties, and when pay-day came everybody was surprised to see +Andrew draw his pay and walk home. They concluded that Andrew had +thought better of it, and had been cowed into submission. When darkness +began to fall, however, Andrew sauntered out and visited every home in +the village, soliciting aid on behalf of Geordie Sinclair. There were +few houses from which he did not get a donation, though the will to give +was often greater than the means. In each house Andrew had to give in +detail the interview between Black Jock and himself in the pit. + +"The muckle big, black, dirty brute that he is!" the good-wife would cry +in indignation. "It's a pity but he could ken what starvation is +himsel'. It might make him a bit mair like a human bein'." + +"That's true," Andrew would agree. + +In one or two houses he met with a blank refusal, but in these he was +not disappointed, for he knew that the men would not risk Walker's +disapproval by contributing. Again, some were wholly hostile. They were +the "belly-crawlers," as Geordie Sinclair had once dubbed them at a +meeting, those who "kept in" with the management by carrying tales, and +generally acting as traitors to the other men. + +"No, I'll no' gi'e ye onythin'," would be the reply; "he can just be +like me an' gang an' work for his bairns. Forby, look at yon stuck-up +baggage o' a wife o' his. She can hardly pass the time o' day wi' +ye--she thinks hersel' somethin'." + +"Very well," Andrew would reply, "maybe ye ha'e mair need o't for other +things." And he would pass on to the next house. + +He had gathered between three and four pounds, contributed sometimes +even in pennies, and going to Geordie's house, he knocked at the door. +This was the most uncomfortable part of his work, and he stood shifting +from one foot to the other, wondering what he would say when he entered. +Mrs. Sinclair was busy washing the floor and cleaning up, after having +been at work all day washing for someone in the village. She wiped her +hands and opened the door. + +"How are ye a' keepin' the night?" inquired Andrew, as he stepped inside +at Mrs. Sinclair's invitation, feeling more and more uncomfortable. It +was a hard enough matter to go and ask others whom he knew had little +to spare, but now, having got the money, he did not know how he was +going to hand it over to Nellie. He ruminated for a time as to how he +would break into the subject. He knew that Nellie Sinclair must have +heard of the collection, and guessed his errand, for he saw that she, +too, was uneasy and agitated. + +"How are ye a' the night?" he again enquired, to break the silence. + +"Oh, I'm no' so bad at a', Andra," replied Geordie. "I'm feelin' a wee +bit easier the night. How's yersel'?" + +"No' so bad," answered Andrew, putting his hand in his pocket for his +pipe. + +"Dash it! I'm away without my pipe," he said with a show of annoyance. +"Can ye len' me yours, Geordie, to get a smoke? I ha'e my tobacco and +matches. Ye see," he went on, speaking more rapidly, "I thought I would +just slip round to see how ye was keepin'." + +Andrew knew that Geordie would not have had a smoke for a long time, and +this was his way of leaving him with a pipeful of tobacco. + +"I think my pipe's on the mantelshelf," returned Geordie, "but I doot +it's empty." + +Andrew took down the pipe, filled it generously, set it alight, and sat +for a few minutes trying vainly to keep up a connected conversation. +After he had puffed a few minutes at Geordie's pipe he laid it down, +dived his hand into his trousers pocket as he made for the door. He +pulled forth the money, which was in a little bag, and laid it down on +the table, saying: "I'm no' guid at this kind of thing, Geordie. There's +something for ye from the men. Guid nicht!" and he was off, leaving +Nellie in tears and Geordie in glum silence. + +Mrs. Sinclair's tears were tears of rebellion as well as of gratitude. +She was touched by Andrew's delicacy, but her independent spirit was +wounded at having to take help from anyone. She thought of the children +and of her husband, who needed nourishment, and taking up the little bag +she poured its contents into her lap, while her hot tears fell upon the +money. Little Robert, who was sitting watching, and who had never in +all his life seen so much money, ran to his mother with a cry of +delight. + +"Oh, mammy, will I get sweeties noo?" and the boy danced with glee, as +he shouted, "I'll get jeely-pieces noo, hurray!" + +That night there was happiness in Geordie Sinclair's house, for there +was food in plenty, and it seemed as if the children would never be able +to appease their hunger. + +The "jeely-pieces," or slices of bread with jam on them, disappeared +with amazing rapidity, and Geordie had some beef-tea, which seemed to +improve him almost as soon as he had taken it. For the first time for +many months Mrs. Sinclair and the children went to bed with satisfied +appetites; and the children's dreams were as the incidents in the life +of a god, exalted and happy, and their mother's rest was unbroken and +full of comfort. + +But on Monday morning Andrew Marshall had to pay the price of the +happiness he had been instrumental in giving them, for he was informed +by one of Walker's henchmen that his place was stopped. The excuse given +was that it was too far in advance of the others. Andrew knew what that +meant, and as he went home, fierce rebellious feelings stirred within +him. Peter Pegg, he was glad to know, had got started on "oncost" work, +and Andrew felt he had done right in not allowing Peter to take the +collection with him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE BLOCK + + +"I see Andra Marshall's back again," observed Sanny Robertson to Peter +Pegg one evening three months later. + +"Ay," said Peter, "he was at Glampy, but his place was stopped, an' +there wasna anither for him." + +"Got the sack again, I suppose," said Sanny. "Weel, he maun learn, +Peter, that gaffers are no' gaun to put up wi' his nonsense. If a man +will no' do what he's telt, he maun just take the consequences." + +"Ay," said Peter, very dryly, and as Peter knew his man, no more was +said. + +Later the same night Matthew Maitland observed to Peter, as they sat on +their "hunkers" at the corner: + +"Andra's back again, I suppose." + +"Ay," was the answer, "he was telt his place was stopped." + +"Imphm," said Matthew, "it's a damn fine excuse. It's a pity but +somethin' could be done." + +"It's the Block," said Peter. "I'm telt that a' the managers roun' aboot +ha'e an understandin' with one another no' to gi'e work to onybody they +take a dislike to." + +"Ay," agreed Matthew, "I ha'e heard aboot it, but I would soon put a +stop to it." + +"Ay, Matthew, it's a union we need up here badly. I'm telt that that +chap Smillie has managed to start one down in the West Country, an' it's +daein' weel. He's got some o' their wages up a hale shillin' a day since +he took it in hand." + +"Is that a fact, Peter? The sooner we ha'e him up here the better then. +Black Jock needs a chap back onyway," and Matthew looked like a man who +had suddenly discovered a great truth. + +Andrew Marshall had never been allowed to forget his action in defying +Walker; everywhere he went it was the same story--no work for him. The +"Block" system among the managers was in good working order, and could +easily starve a man into docility. Andrew became more desperate as time +passed, and he knew that he and his wife were nearing the end of their +small savings. He returned home one evening from his usual fruitless +search for employment, and threw himself into the arm-chair by the +fireside. + +"No work yet, Andra?" asked Katie. + +"Nane," was the gloomy response. + +"We have no' very mony shillin's left noo, Andra. I dinna ken what we'll +do." + +Savage, revengeful feelings surged through Andrew, and found vent in a +volley of oaths which terrified his wife. + +"Dinna talk like that, Andra," she pleaded. "It's no' canny, an' forby, +the Lord disna like ye to do it." + +"If the Lord cared He could take Black Jock by the scruff o' the neck +an' fling him into hell oot o' the road. It's Black Jock that's at the +bottom o' this, an' I could twist his dirty neck for him." + +"Weel, Andra, it's the Lord's doin', an' maybe things'll soon men'." + +"If it's the Lord's doin', I dinna think muckle o' His conduct then," +and Andrew lapsed into sullen silence. + +On Monday morning he was up at five o'clock, desperately resolved to lay +his case before the men. He walked to the end of the village, knowing +the colliery would be idle, for Tam Donaldson was to be "creeled." This +was a custom at one time very prevalent in mining villages. When a young +man got married, the first day he appeared at his work afterwards he was +taken home by his comrades, and was expected to stand them a drink. It +generally ended in a collection being made, after they had tasted the +newly-married man's whiskey, and a common fund thus being established, a +large quantity of beer and whiskey was procured, and all drank to their +heart's content. + +Andrew heard the men calling to each other as they made their way to the +pit, the lights from their lamps twinkling in the darkness of the winter +morning. + +"Is Tam away yet, Jamie?" he heard wee Allan ask, as he overtook old +Jamie Lauder on his way to the pit. + +"Ay, I saw to that," replied Lauder, "I chappit him up at five o'clock, +so that he wadna sleep in. I hinna missed a creelin' for thirty-five +years, an' I wasna' gaun to miss Tam Donaldson's. I heard him goin' oot +two or three minutes afore me. We're in for a guid day, for he telt me +he had in two bottles for the spree." + +"That's a' right, then; I was afraid he wad maybe sleep in," and the two +trudged on together towards the pit. + +A group of dark figures stood on the pithead, waiting their turn to go +below. The cage rattled up from the depths of the shaft, the men stepped +in, and almost immediately disappeared down into the blackness. Arrived +at the bottom, they walked along towards the different passages, +chaffing and jesting with Tam Donaldson, the newly-married one. + +"Ye'll be gaun to do something decent the day, Tam, when we take ye +hame?" said Jamie Allan. "I hear ye ha'e two bottles ready for the +occasion." + +"Ay, but I'm damned shair there's no a lick gaun unless ye take me +hame," answered Donaldson. "If I ha'e to be creeled, I'll be creeled +right, an' every one o' ye'll gang hame wi' me afore ye get a taste." + +"Oh, but we'll see to that, chaps," said old Lauder. "Here's a hutch, +get him in an' aff wi' him." + +The victim pretended to resist, and stoutly maintained that they should +not creel him. He was seized by half a dozen pairs of arms, and with +much expenditure of energy and breath, deposited in the hutch. Some +considerate person had put some straw and old bags in the "carriage" to +make it more comfortable, and a few of the wags had chalked +inscriptions, the reverse of complimentary, all over it. + +"There, noo', boys," said old Lauder, who had been busy hanging lighted +pit lamps round Tam's cap, "gi'e him a guid run to the bottom, and see +that he gets a guid bump in the lye." + +The men ran the hutch to the "bottom" straight against the full tubs +ready to be sent to the surface. + +"Come on, Sourocks, let us up," called Allan to the old man who acted as +"bottomer." + +"Hell to the up will ye get!" replied the old fellow, "I'm gaun to put +on these hutches first." + +"No, ye'll no', an' if ye do, you'll gang into the 'sump,' an' we'll +chap the bell oorsels"--the sump being the lodgment into which the water +gathered before pumping operations could start. + +"Sourocks" thought discretion the better part of valor in this case, and +swearing quietly to himself, he signaled to the engineman at the top to +draw them up. + +"He's no gaun to walk hame," said Allan, as they all gathered again on +the pit head. "We'll take the hutch hame wi' Tam in it. Put a rope on +it, and we'll draw the damned thing through the moor, an' maybe Tam'll +mind the day he was creeled as lang as he lives." + +This proposal was jumped at, especially by the younger men, to whom an +idle day did not mean so much worry on pay-day as to their married +elders. + +Andrew Marshall had waited at the end of the village, knowing that the +creeling was to take place, and that he would get the men on their way +from the pit. Presently old Lauder, who had taken a short cut across the +moor, came up, and Andrew accosted him. + +"Will ye wait here, Jamie, so that I can try an' get a meetin' held wi' +the rest o' the men when they come alang?" + +"I will that, Andra," replied Jamie, taking the lighted lamp from his +head, and sitting down at the corner on his "hunkers." "They're a' +comin' hame anyway, for we're creelin' Tam Donaldson." + +Soon the procession appeared, the hutch jolting along the rough street, +the men shouting and singing as they came. The village had turned out to +see the fun. Andrew and Jamie found themselves in the midst of a crowd +of women and children, as the foremost of the men came to a halt at the +corner. + +Andrew quietly stepped out and addressed the men, asking them if they +would wait a few minutes--as they were idle in any case--to have a +meeting. All were agreed. + +"Here's Sanny Robertson," said Tam Tate, peering into the breaking +light, "he'll no' likely wait, but we'll see what he says aboot it," and +all waited in silence until Robertson approached. He seemed to guess +what was in the air, and hurriedly tried to pass on, but Andrew stepped +out with the usual question. + +"No," he replied uneasily, "I'll ha'e no part in ony mair strife. Folk +just get into bother for nothing. Men'll ha'e to keep mind that gaffers +now-a-days'll no' put up wi' disobedience." + +"Ay, but ye maun mind," said Tam Tate hastily, "that men maun be treated +as human bein's, even by a gaffer." + +"I can aye get on with the gaffer," replied Robertson, "an' I dinna see +what way ither folk canna do the same." + +"That's a' richt," put in old Jamie Lauder, "but a' men are no' just +prepared to do as ye do," and there was a hint of something in his voice +which the others seemed to understand. + +"I ha'e no quarrel," sulkily replied Robertson, "an' I dinna see what +way I should get into this one. I can get plenty o' work, an' ither folk +can get it too, if they like to behave themselves." + +"Ye're a liar," roared Tam Tate angrily, his usual hasty temper getting +the mastery. "It's no' you that gets the work, it's Mag!" + +The others laughed uproariously, for it was common knowledge that Sanny +got his good jobs because of Walker's intimacy with his wife. + +"Ye leave the best man in the house every mornin' when ye gang oot!" +roared another amid coarse laughter, whilst Andrew turned to tackle the +next comer. + +A few refused to wait, but it was generally known that these were the +men whose houses were always open to Walker by day or night. When they +were all gathered, Andrew Marshall stood up, and for the first time in +his life spoke at a meeting. + +"Weel, men," he began, "ye a' ken the position o' things. Ye ken as weel +as me that I got the sack for gatherin' for Geordie Sinclair. Weel, I +ha'e been oot o' work three months; the Block is on against me, an' it +seems I ha'e to starve. I canna get work onywhere, an' I stopped ye a' +the day to ask ye to make my quarrel yours, an' try and put an end to +this business." + +That was the whole speech, but its simple sincerity appealed to all, and +many expressed approval and determination to stand by Andrew in his +fight. + +"I think it's a damn'd shame," said old Lauder. + +"I'll tell ye what it is," said Matthew Maitland, "it's a downricht +barefaced murder, an' I would smash this damn'd cantrip o' Black Jock's. +I ken that he'll get a' that is said at this meetin', an' maybe I'll get +the same dose; but I think it's aboot time somethin' was done to put an +end to his capers," and so Matthew floundered on. + +"Ay, an' let us see what can be done for Geordie, too," put in Peter +Pegg, and his long neck seemed to get longer at every syllable, while +his big eye made a great attempt to wink and to look backward, as if he +expected to see someone coming from behind. "We a' ken," continued +Peter, "that Geordie is ready for work noo', this fower week syne, but +Black Jock says he has no places, an' forby two strangers got jobs just +yesterday." + +"I ken for yae thing that there's fower places staunin' in Millar's +Level," said Jamie Lauder, "an' I'm telt there's five or six staunin' in +the Black Horse Dook. It's a' a bit of humbug, an' I think we should try +an' put an end to it." + +"Weel, I think we're a' agreed on that," said Tam Tate. "Has ony o' you +onything to suggest?" + +For a few minutes there was silence, while they sat or stood deep in +thought, trying to find a solution. It was an eerie gathering, with the +gray dawn just beginning to break, while on every head the +indispensable lamp burned and flickered. Men expectorated savagely upon +the ground, staring hard at the stones at their feet, thinking and +wondering how they might serve their comrades. + +"It's about time we had a union," said one. + +"Ay," replied another, "so that some bigmouthed idiot can pocket the +money an' get a guid saft job oot o' it." + +"We've had plenty of unions," put in another. "The last yin we started +here--ye mind Bob Ritchie gaed aff to America wi' a' the money. It was a +fine go for him!" + +"Oh, ay, but let us see what can be done wi' this case," said Jamie +Lauder. "Hoo' wad it do if we appointed a deputation to gang an' lay the +hale thing afore Mr. Rundell?" + +Jamie was always listened to with the respect due to his proved good +sense, for everyone knew that he was a man who would not intentionally +hurt a fellow creature by word or deed. + +"I believe it wad be a guid plan," agreed Tam Tate. "He maybe disna ken +the hauf that gangs on. What do ye a' think o' it, men?" + +This was before the days of limited companies and coal syndicates, and +the proprietor of the pits in Lowwood, Mr. Rundell, lived about two +miles out of the village. He was not a bad man, as men go; he was fiery +and quick-tempered, but had a not ungenerous nature withal, and was +usually susceptible to a reasoned statement. Just as they were about to +decide on a course of action, Andrew spoke: "I dinna want ony mair o' ye +than can be helped to get into bother, so, if ye like, Jamie Lauder--if +he's agreeable--could gang wi' me and Geordie Sinclair, and we'll put +the hale case afore him an' see what he mak's o't." + +This was received with approval, and it was agreed that Andrew, Jamie +and Geordie should form the deputation. + +But Black Jock soon heard of the decision, and, as usual, acted with +alacrity; for, had the men only known it, they had decided on a course +which he did not want them to adopt. He visited Jamie Lauder, and told +him that the day before Rundell and he had agreed that the places in the +Black Horse Dook should be started at once, and that he was angry at +the course taken by the men. He believed that Mr. Rundell would also be +very angry, and if only Andrew and Geordie had come to him the night +before, they could have been working that day. He represented Rundell as +being in an explosive mood, and that he was furious at the men taking +the idle day, and that he had threatened that if they were not at work +next day, he would lock them out. So plausibly did he speak, and so +sincere did his concern appear, that Jamie, who was withal a simple man, +and aware that the circumstances of his comrades would not admit of a +very long fight, began to think it might be as Black Jock had said. + +"I think ye'd better ca' a meetin' o' the men, Jamie, and put the hale +case afore them. Let them ken that Rundell decided just yesterday to +start the places, and that Andra and Geordie can start the morn. I ha'e +no ill wull at ony o' the twa o' them, and I'm vexed that things ha'e +been as bad as they've been, but I couldna get the boss to start the +places, and what could I do? They can a' be back at their work the morn +if they like to look at it reasonably. Of course, ye can please +yersel'," he went on, "it's a' yin to me; but if Rundell tak's it into +his head to ha'e a fight, well--ye ken what it means, an' I wouldna like +to ha'e ony strife the noo', for times are very hard for us a'." + +Simple and honest as Jamie was, Black Jock's plausibility appealed to +him, and he began to think that Walker perhaps was not so bad as he was +made to appear. Again, Jamie knew that Rundell was a man of hasty temper +and impulsive judgments, and could not brook trouble, and he began to +think that perhaps it might be better to hold the meeting as suggested +and tell the men what he had heard, and appeal to them to go back to +work. + +"All right," he said to Walker, "I'll call a meeting to-night and put +the case as you have said, and ask them to go back. But mind, you've not +to go back on your promise. You'll have to start Andrew and Geordie +within twa days, or the men will no' continue to work. Mind, I'm taking +a lot on myself to do this, and you'll have to carry out your part and +start them." + +"I'll fill my part, never fear," was the answer, and there was relief in +Walker's voice. "See, there's my hand," he said, extending a big black +limb as he spoke, first spitting on his palm to ensure due solemnity. +"There's no dryness about that, Jamie. I mean it. I'll start Geordie and +Andrew all right. You get the men to go back to work to-morrow, for I'm +afraid Rundell will make trouble if you remain idle anither day. Noo' I +promise." And Jamie took the extended hand in token of the bargain and +returned to summon the meeting, which was duly held, and, as Walker had +anticipated, the men were appeased, and returned to work the next day. + +Sure enough, within two days Andrew Marshall and Geordie Sinclair were +both started to work, and matters went smoothly for a time. + +But though they had had a lesson, it did not stop their activities as +agitators for the establishment of a union, for they knew that there was +no protection for any of them if they remained unorganized. + +"Men never were meant to work and live as colliers do," said Geordie, +thoughtfully. "Life should be good, and free, and happy, with comfort +and enjoyment for all. Look at the birds--they are happy! So are the +flowers, or they wouldn't look so pleased. God meant a' men and weemin +to be glad, even though they have to work. But hoo' the hell can folk be +happy and worship God on two and sixpence a day? It's all wrong, Andrew, +an' I'll never believe that men were meant to live as we live." + +"That's true, Geordie," agreed Andrew soberly. "I only wish we could get +everybody to see it as we see it. There's plenty for a' God's +creatures--enough to make everybody happy, an' there need be no ill-will +in the world, if only common-sense was applied to things; but I'm damn'd +if I can see where even the men can be happy who are making their money +oot o' our lives. They're bound to ken surely that what comes from +misery can not make happiness for them." + +"True, Andrew, true, and we maun just go on working for it. Sometimes I +have the feeling that we are on the point of big changes: just as if the +folk would awaken up oot o' their ignorance, with love in their hearts, +an' make all things right for everybody. A world o' happiness for +everybody is worth workin' for. So we maun gang on." + +And so they talked of their dreams and felt the better for it. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A YOUNG REBEL + + +About two years after these events little Robert Sinclair went to +school. It was a fine morning in late spring, and Robert trudged the +seemingly long road, clasping an elder brother's hand, for the school +lay about a mile to the north-west of the village, and that seemed to +the boy a very long way. + +It was a great experience. Robert's clothes had been well patched, his +face had been washed and toweled till it shone, his eyes sparkled with +excitement, and his heart beat high; yet he was nervous and awed, +wondering what he would find there. + +"By crikey," said wee Alec Johnstone to him, "wait till auld Clapper +gie's ye a biff or twa wi' his muckle tawse. Do ye ken what he does to +mak' them nippy? He burns them a wee bit in the fire, an' then st'eeps +them in whusky. An' they're awful sair." + +"Oh, but I ken what to do, Rab, if ye want to diddle him," put in +another boy. "Just get a horse's hair--a lang yin oot o' its tail--and +put it across yer haun', an' it'll cut his tawse in twa, whenever he +gie's ye a pammy." + +"That's what I'm gaun to do, Jamie," replied another. "I'll get some +hairs frae Willie Rogerson. He's gettin' me some frae his father's when +he's in the stable the morn, an' ye'll see auld Cabbage-heid's tawse +gaun in twa, whenever he gie's me yin." And they all looked admiringly +at this little hero who was going to do this wonderful thing so simply. + +"I got four yesterday," said another, "an' I wasna' doin' onything. By +criffens! it was sair, an' gin I had only had a horse's hair, I'd soon +ha'e putten his tawse oot the road." + +"I got four yesterday too," said another, "an' a' because I was looking +at yon new laddie wha cam to the schule yesterday. By! they were sair. I +never heard auld Cabbage-heid till he cam up an' telt me to put oot my +haun." + +"It's Peter Rundell's his name," chimed in another. "He's the Boss's +laddie. My! if you just saw what fine claes he has on. A new suit, an' +lang stockings, an' a pair o' fine new buits." + +"Ay, an' a white collar too," said another, "an' hundreds o' pooches in +his jacket." + +"He has a waistcoat wi' three pooches in it--yin for a watch--an' a +braw, black, shiny bonnet." + +"He had a white hankey too, an' sweeties in yin o' his pooches." + +Robert felt a certain amount of resentment as he listened to the +description, and he grudged Peter Rundell his new suit for he himself +had never known anything of that kind, but had always worn "make-downs" +created by his mother's clever fingers out of the discarded clothes of +grown-ups. + +"Auld Cabbage-heid didna' like me looking at Peter Rundell an' that's +the way he gied me four, but I'll get a horse's hair too, an' his tawse +'ll soon get wheegh. He's awful cruel, Rab," he said, turning to Robert, +"an' ye'd better look oot." + +Each and all had some fearful story to tell of the cruelty of the +headmaster, and all swore they'd get even with him. These stories filled +Robert with a certain fear, for he was an imaginative and sensitive boy. +Still he knew there was no escape. He must go to school and go through +with it whatever the future might hold for him. + +So far he had grown wild and free, and loved the broad wide moor which +began even at the end of the row where he lived. It seemed to him that +there never had been a time when he did not know that there was a moor +there. Nothing in it surprised him, even as a child. Its varied moods +were already understood by him, and its silences and its many voices +appealed to and were balm to his soul. The great blue hills which +fringed it away in the far distance were for him the ends of the world, +and if he could go there some day, he would surely look over and +find--what? The thought staggered him, and his imagination would not, or +could not, construct for him what was at the other side. All day, often, +he had lain stretched full length upon the moor, watching the great +white clouds sailing past, seeing himself sometimes sitting astride +them, proudly surveying, like God, the whole world. At times it was so +real that he bounded to his feet when by some misadventure he slipped +from the back of the cloud. He listened to the songs of larks, the cries +of curlews and lapwings and all the other moorland birds, and became as +familiar with each of them as they were with one another. + +But this going to school was a break in his freedom, and it stirred him +strangely. He felt already that he would rather not go to school. He had +always been happy before, and he did not know what lay ahead. + +In the schoolroom that morning, Robert was called out by the +headmistress to her desk, and while she was jotting down in her register +particulars as to his age, etc., it happened that Peter Rundell was also +on the floor. Robert looked so wonderingly at the white collar and the +shining boots, that Rundell, to fill in the blanks and keep himself +cheerful, promptly put out his tongue. Robert, not to be behind in +respectfulness, just as promptly put out his, at the same time making a +grimace, and immediately they were at it, pummeling each other in hearty +glee before the teacher could do anything to prevent them. It was their +first fight. The whole class was in immediate uproar and cries of--"Go +on, Rob!" and "Good Peter!" were ringing out, as the supporters on +either side shouted encouragement. Both went at it and for a couple of +minutes defied the efforts of the teacher to separate them; but in +response to calls for help, Mr. Clapper, the headmaster, came in, and +taking hold of Robert soon had him across his knee, and was giving him a +taste of the "tawse" he had heard so much about that morning, and Robert +went back to his seat very sore, both physically and mentally, and +crying in pain and anger. Thus his first day began at school, and the +succeeding months were full of many such incidents. + +Life ran along in the ordinary ruts for three or four years, but always +Peter and Robert were antagonists. If Rundell happened to get to the top +of the class, Robert never rested till he had excelled and displaced +him; and then it was Peter's turn to do likewise till he too succeeded. + +Robert, when in the mood, was eager and brilliant, and nothing seemed +able to stay him. At times, however, he was given to dreaming, and lived +through whole days in the classroom quite unconscious of what was going +on around him. He worked mechanically, living in a strange world of his +own creation, usually waking up to find himself at the foot of the class +with Peter smiling at the top. + +Often he went hungry, for times were still hard, and the family had +increased to six. It was a bitter struggle in which Mrs. Sinclair was +engaged to try and feed--let alone clothe--her hungry children. Patient, +plodding, and terrible self-sacrifices alone enabled her to accomplish +what she did. It was always a question of getting sufficient food rather +than aiming at any particular kind. It was quantity rather than quality +that was her biggest problem, for the children had sharp appetites and +could make a feast of the simplest material. A pot of potatoes, boiled +with their "jackets" on, tumbled on to the center of the bare, uncovered +table and a little salt placed in small heaps at the exact position +where each person sat, a large bowl of butter-milk when it could be got, +with a tablespoon for each with which to lift a spoonful of the milk, +and thus was set the banquet of the miner's family. + +"Mither, Rob's taken twa sups of milk to yae bite o' tattie," little +Mary would say. + +"Ay, an' what did you do?" Robert would reply. "When you thought naebody +was lookin', you took three spoonfu' to yae wee tattie. I was watchin' +you." + +"Now that'll do," the mother would admonish them. "Try and make it gang +as far as ye can. Here you!" she would raise her voice to another, +"dinna be so greedy on it. The rest maun get some too." At this the +guilty child would frown and look ashamed at being caught taking more +than his share. + +Robert's dreams, however, were always satisfying, and even the sordid +surroundings of the home were gilded by the warmth and glow of his +imagination. Some day, somewhere he seemed to feel, there was a place +for him to fill in the hearts of men. Vague stirrings told him of great +future events which no one could dominate, save the soul that filled his +body. + +One day, during the dinner hour, when the school children were all at +play, Robert and Peter again came into conflict. Some girls were playing +at a ring game, and Robert and a few other boys were shamefacedly +looking on. He was by this time at the bashful age of ten, and already +the sweet, shy face of Mysie Maitland had become familiar in every +dream. Mysie's modesty and grace appealed to him and the strange +magnetic power of soul for soul was continually drawing them together, +even at this early age. No voice was like Mysie's voice, no name like +her name to him. If only she chanced shyly to ask if he had a spare +piece of pencil Robert was happy; he'd gladly give her his only piece +and forthwith proceed to borrow another for himself. He saw that Mysie +did certain things, used, for instance, to clean her slate with a bit of +rag, and he instantly procured one, and this kept his jacket sleeve +clean and whole. + + "Choose, choose wha' ye'll tak', + Wha' ye'll tak', wha' ye'll tak', + Choose, choose wha' ye'll tak', + A laddie or a lassie." + +So sang the girls, as with hands joined they walked round in a ring, +with Mysie, blushing and sweet, standing in the center--a sweet, shy, +little rosebud--a joy in a cheap cotton frock. + +"Come on, Mysie," urged the girls, who had now come to a standstill with +the finish of the song. "Choose an' dinna keep us waiting." But Mysie +stood still, her little heart beating at a terrible rate, her breath +coming in short, quick gasps, and a soft, glowing light of nervous +intensity in her eyes. + +"Oh, come on, Mysie Maitland," cried one girl in hurt tones, "choose an' +dinna spoil the game." + +"Come on," urged another, "the whistle will be blawn the noo." + +"She's feart," said one, "an' she disna need, for we a' ken that she +wants to choose Bob Sinclair." + +Something sang uproariously in Bob's ears at this blunt way of stating +what they all felt; a hot wave surged over him, and his whole being +seemed to fill with the energy of a giant. He shifted uneasily, his +senses all acutely alert to pick up even Mysie's faint gasp of shame, as +the hot blood suffused her face. Would she choose him before all these +others? He hoped she wouldn't, and he tried to summon a smile to hide +his uneasiness. Still Mysie hesitated. She wanted to choose Robert, but +if she did, perhaps the other boys and girls would tease them +afterwards. + +"Oh, come on, Mysie. It's no' fair," cried one of the girls, getting +more and more impatient. "Choose an' be done wi' it. It's only a game." + +Thus urged Mysie stepped forward, and, excited out of all judgment, her +face covered with shame, her heart thumping and galloping, she grabbed +the first hand she saw, which happened to be Peter Rundell's, and +something seemed to darken the day for all. Robert, now that he had not +been chosen, felt murder in his heart. His body felt charged with +energy, a flood of passion poured over him and he lost all discretion. +He saw only Peter's shining collar, his fine boots and good clothes, and +above all the smile, half of shame, half of triumph, upon his face. In +passing Peter staggered against Robert, who let drive with his fist, and +there was a fight before anyone really knew what had happened. + +"What are ye shovin' at? Can ye no' watch folk's toes?" And he was on +Peter like a whirlwind. There was the hatred of years between them, and +they pummeled each other heartily. + +"A fight, boys!" yelled the others. "Here's a fight!" and a crowd +rapidly gathered to watch operations, while little Mysie, who had been +the cause of it all, shrank back into a quiet corner, the tears running +from her eyes and a sore pain at her heart. + +"Go on, Bob! Gi'e him a jelly yin," cried Bob's supporters. + +"Watch for his nose, Peter," cried those who pinned their faith to the +coal-owner's son. Amid a chorus of such encouragement, both boys +belabored each other and fought like barbarians. + +"Let up, Peter," cried Bob's admirers, "an' gi'e him fair doo," as the +two rolled upon the ground, with Peter, who was much the bigger boy, on +top. "Come on now, he let you up when you was doon," and so they kept +the balance of fair play. But the fight raged on in a terrible fury of +battle, sometimes one boy on top, sometimes the other. Bob was the more +active of the two, and hardier, and what he lacked in weight he made up +in speed. One of Peter's eyes was bruised, while Robert's lip was +swelling, and each strained to plant the decisive blow that would end +the fight. + +"Nae kickin', Peter! Ye're bate," yelled one watchful supporter of Bob, +as he noticed the former's booted foot come into violent contact with +Bobbie's bare leg. + +"Big cowardie!" cried another, as Peter, crying now with rage and +vexation, hit out with his foot. "Fight fair an' nae kickin'!" + +Bob managed to dodge the kick, and flinging himself in before Peter +recovered his balance, planted a heavy blow upon his opponent's nose. + +"Ho! a jelly yin! a jelly yin!" roared the crowd in admiration. "Gi'e +him anither yin," and even Peter's supporters began to desert him. Bob, +thus encouraged, laid about him with all the strengthened "morale" of a +conscious victor, finding it comparatively easy now to hit hard--and +often. Peter, blinded by tears and choking with passion, could not see, +but struck aimlessly, till one resounding smack upon his already injured +nose brought the eagerly looked for crimson blood from it, and that of +course, in schoolboy etiquette, meant the end of the fight. Peter was +now lying upon the ground, his handkerchief at his nose, and roaring +like a bull, not so much because of his injured nose, as because of the +hurt to his pride and vanity. + +"Haud back yer held," advised one boy, "an' put something cauld doon +yer back." + +Suddenly there was silence, and everyone looked awed and shamefaced as +Mr. Clapper, the headmaster, strode into the midst of them. He had heard +the noise of the fight, and had stolen up unobserved just in time to see +Peter get the knockout blow. + +"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded sternly, his eyes traveling +all over the children, till they rested finally on Robert. No one +answered, and so he proceeded to question Peter, who had struggled to +his feet. Peter, like many other boys in similar circumstances, poured +forth a great indictment of his adversary, and Mr. Clapper then turned +to Robert. + +"What have you to say, Sinclair?" he asked. "Speak out, and give me your +side." + +But Robert said nothing. His rebellious spirit was roused, and he +resented the tone of the headmaster's voice. Again Mr. Clapper tried, +but Robert remained silent. + +"Come now, tell me what led to the fight? Why were you fighting with +Peter?" + +Robert would not speak, and Mr. Clapper, being of an explosive +temperament, with little tact, was fast losing his temper. He turned to +question some of the other boys, finally calling them all into the +school, and putting Robert into the teacher's room, so that he might +"get to the bottom of it." + +Mr. Clapper, whatever good points he may have possessed, was not at all +fitted for the teaching profession, for he lacked the sympathy necessary +in dealing with children, and he was a rigid believer in the doctrine of +punishment. + +After a time he came into the room where Robert sat, and began once more +to question him. But Robert was still obdurate, and stolidly kept +silent. Mr. Clapper recognized at once that this was a clear case of a +dour nature in the wrong. It needed correction, and that of a severe +kind. That spirit he felt must be broken, or there would be trouble +ahead in after years for Robert Sinclair. Mr. Clapper was determined to +do his duty, and he believed that Robert in later life would probably +feel grateful for this thrashing. He thrashed the boy soundly and +severely upon the most sensitive parts of his body, so that the pain +would help to break his spirit. He saw no indignity heaped upon a +high-spirited, sensitive soul. It was all for the boy's own good, and so +the blows fell thick and heavy upon the little back and hips. + +Robert bit his lip to repress the roar of pain that wanted to escape. He +would not cry, and this was another spur to the efforts of Mr. Clapper. +The boy's flesh twitched and quivered at every blow, yet never a cry +came from him. It but served to feed his rebellion, and he struggled and +fought with fury until completely exhausted. + +"There now," declared Mr. Clapper, flinging down the "tawse" upon the +table, panting from his exertions and wiping his brow, "I shall leave +you for a time until you decide to speak. If you will not speak when I +return, I shall thrash you again," and he went out, locking the door, +leaving the boy, still proud and unsubdued, but aching in every muscle +and bone of his little body. + +Left to himself, Robert very nearly cried, but he dashed the gathering +tears from his eyes, angry at the weakness, and resolved, as he adjusted +his garments, that he would die rather than speak now. He looked round, +and seeing the window raised a little from the bottom, sprang to it, a +sudden resolve in his heart to run away. Just as he got astride the sill +he spied a piece of chalk and the "tawse" on the table, so turning back +he put the "tawse" in his pocket, and with the chalk wrote on the +table:-- + +"You are an ould pig and I'll not speak, and you'll never put your hands +on your tawse again." + +Then he was out of the window, dropped easily to the ground, and was +away to the moors. He ran a long way, until finding that he had not been +detected, he skirted a small wood, dug a hole in the soft moss, put in +the "tawse," and covered them up. There they may be lying to this day, +for no one ever learned from him where they were buried. + +The spell of the moor took possession of him, and his wounded soul was +soon wrapped in the soft folds of its silence. The balm of its peace +comforted him, and brought ease and calmed the rebellion in his blood. +He was happy, forgetting that there ever had existed a schoolmaster, or +anything else unpleasant. Here he was free, and no one ever +misunderstood him. He gave pain to no one, and nothing ever hurt him +here. + +He flung himself down among the rank gray grass and heather, while the +moor cock called to his mate in an agony of pleading passion, the +lapwing crooned upon a tuft of grass as she prepared a place for her +eggs, the whaup wheepled and twirled and cried in eerie alarm, the +plover sighed to a low white cloud wandering past; while the snipe and +the lark, the "mossie," the heather lintie, and the wandering, sighing +winds among the reeds and rushes of the swampy moss, all added their +notes to soothe and satisfy the little wounded spirit lying there on the +soft moorland. Already he was away upon the wings of fancy in a world of +his own--a world full of dreams and joys unspeakable; a world of calm +comfort, where there was no pain, no hunger, no unpleasantness; a world +of smiles and warm delights and love. + +Thus he dreamed as he watched the white clouds trailing their draperies +along the sky, till the shadows creeping over the hills, and the cries +of the heron returning to his haunts in the moor, woke him to a +realization of the fact that the school was long since out, and probably +another thrashing awaited him when he got home. Sadly and regretfully he +dragged his little aching body from its soft mossy bed, felt that his +limbs were still sore, and that he was very, very hungry. Rebellion +again surging within him as he remembered all, he trudged home, fearful +yet proud, resolved to go through with the inevitable. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +BLACK JOCK'S THREAT + + +That same day Walker intimated to Geordie, when he was at work +underground, that a reduction was to be imposed on his ton rate, which +meant for Sinclair that it would be more difficult to earn a decent +wage. Geordie had always had it in his head to confront Walker about his +very unfair treatment of him, and on this occasion he decided to do so. + +"What way are you breakin' my rate?" he asked, when Walker told him of +the reduction. + +"Oh, it's no' me," replied Walker. "It's Rundell. He thinks it can be +worked for less than it's takin', and, of course, I've just to do as I +am tell'd." + +"Weel, I don't ken," said Geordie. "But I've thocht for a lang while +back that you had a hand in it. Have I done anything to ye, for I don't +ken o' it?" + +"Ye've never done me any harm, Geordie," replied Walker with a show of +sincerity. "What mak's ye think that?" + +"Weel, for a lang time noo', I've ay been kept in hard places, or places +wi' nae air, or where there was water to contend wi'. There's ay been +something, an' I ha'e come to the conclusion that there's mair design +than accident in it." + +"I dinna think so," was the reply. "But maybe it's because you're ay +agitatin' to have a union started." + +"An' what about it," enquired Geordie, getting a bit heated. "If I ha'e +been advocatin' the startin' o' a union? It seems to me to be muckle +needed." + +"Oh, I've nothing to say aboot it," replied Walker. "It's the boss, an' +I was merely givin' ye a hint for yer ain guid." + +"It's a' richt," exclaimed Geordie, getting still more heated. "I can +see as far through a brick wall as you can see through a whin dyke. The +boss has naething to do wi' it. It's you, an' I'm quite pleased to get +the chance to tell ye to yer face. Ye could, many a time, ha'e given me +a better place, if you had cared. But let me tell you, if there was a +union here, it would soon put an end to you an' yer damn'd cantraips." + +"Very weel. Gang on an' start yin. Man, though ye were a' in a union the +morn, I could buy an' sell the majority of them for the promise of a +guid place, or a bottle of whisky--Ay, if they jist thocht they were in +wi' the gaffer, I'd get all I wanted frae the maist o' them. A clap on +the shoulder, a smile, or even a word would do it. The one hauf o' the +men can ay be got to sell the ither. Ye daurna' cheep, man, but I hear +of it." + +"Damn'd fine I ken that," replied Geordie, "an' it's mair the peety. But +that's no' to say that men'll ay be like that. If they'd be true an' +stick to yin anither, they'd damn'd soon put an end to sic gaffers as +you." + +"Maybe ye'll be the first to be put an end to," said Walker, rising to +leave. "I might ha'e something to say to--" + +"You rotten pestilence o' hell," cried Geordie, now fairly roused, and +jumping over the coals on the "roadhead" after him. "I'll cleave the +rotten heart o' ye if I get my fingers on ye, you an' yer fancy women, +yer gamblin' an' yer shebeens!" + +But Walker was off; he did not like to hear these matters of his private +life mentioned, and so Geordie, left to himself, lit his pipe, and sat +down to cool his temper. + +A few minutes later Matthew Maitland came round to borrow a shot of +powder, and Geordie unburdened his mind to him. + +"He's a dirty brute," said Matthew, "an' it's time we had a union +started. I hear great stories aboot how Bob Smillie's gettin' on wi' the +union that he started doon the west country." + +"I ken Bob fine," said Geordie. "He's a fine fellow. I worked next wall +to him doon there a while, an' a better chap ye couldna' get." + +"I hear that he's gotten as muckle as tippence on the ton to some o' +the miners who ha'e joined. I'm gaun to join whenever it can be +started." + +Geordie agreed that it would be good to have a union, but he knew that +whoever led in the matter would very likely have to pay for his courage. +There was the "Block" to consider, and he could not see how they might +start a union just then in such hard times. + +He sat and thought after Matthew had gone away, and was still sitting +when Matthew's shot went off. His lot, he knew, was hard. He could not +afford to "flit," even though he did find work somewhere else. His six +children depended upon his readiness to swallow insult and injustice, +and he could see no way but to submit. If only his first boy were ready +for work, it would soon make a difference in the house. It was only a +few months now till that time would come, and perhaps things might +change. + +All day he was sullen and angry, and he tore at his work like some +imprisoned fiend, a great rebellion in his heart, and a fury of anger +consuming him. Everything seemed to go wrong that day, and at last when +"knock-off" time came, he felt a little easier, though still silent and +angry. His last shot, however, missed fire, just as he was coming away +home; and that, added to all the other things that day, made him feel +that his whole life was clouded, and was one long trial. + +On the way home from the pit he heard the story of Robert's rebellious +outburst at school, and when he came into the house his wife saw by his +face that something had upset him. She proceeded to get him water to +wash himself, and brought in the tub, while he divested himself of his +clothes, flinging each garment savagely into the corner, until he stood +naked save for his trousers. Most miners are sensitive to the presence +of strangers during this operation, and it so happened at that +particular time the minister chose to pay one of his rare visits among +his flock in the village. + +"Wha the hell's this noo?" asked Geordie, when he heard the tap at the +door, as he looked up through soapy eyes, his head all lathered with the +black suds. "Dammit, they micht let folk get washed," he said angrily. + +When he heard the voice of the minister, he plunged his head into the +tub, and began splashing and rubbing, and lifting the water over his +head. + +"Oh, you are busy washing, I see, Mr. Sinclair," observed the minister, +looking at the naked collier. + +"Ay," said Geordie shortly, "an' I dinna think you'd ha'e thankit me for +comin' in on the tap o' you, when you were washin' yerself," he said +bluntly--a remark which his wife felt to be a bit ill-natured, though +she said nothing. + +"Oh, I am sorry," replied the minister. "I did not mean to intrude. I'll +not stay, but will call back some other time," and his voice was +apologetic and ill at ease. + +"I think sae," retorted Geordie, splashing away and spitting the soap +from his mouth. "Yer room's mair to my taste than yer company the noo." + +"My! that was an awfu' way to talk to the meenister," said Mrs. Sinclair +when the door was again closed. "You micht aye try to be civil to folk," +and there was resentment in her voice. + +"Ach, dammit, wha can be bothered wi' thae kind o' folk yapping roun' +about when yer washin' yerself. He micht ken no' to come at this time, +when men are comin' hame frae their work," and he went on with his +splashing. "Here, gi'e my back a rub," and he lay over the tub while she +washed his back from the shoulders downward, making it clean and free +from the coal dust and grime. Then she proceeded to dry him all over +with a rough towel, after which he put on a clean shirt, and taking off +his pit trousers, stepped into the tub and began to wash his lower limbs +and make them as clean as the upper part of the body. + +"Ach, folk should ha'e a place to wash in anyway," he grumbled, as if to +justify his outburst, for secretly he was beginning to feel ashamed of +it. "The folk that ha'e the maist need o' a bath are the folk wha never +get the chance o' yin," he went on. "Look at that chap wha was in the +noo. He never needs to dirty a finger, an' look at the hoose he has to +bide in, wi' its fine bathroom an' a' things that he needs. Och, but we +are a silly lot o' blockheads!" And so he raved on till he sat down to +his frugal dinner of potatoes and buttermilk, after which he relapsed +into silence again, and sat reading a newspaper. + +It was in this mood that Robert found him when he returned from the +moors. Nellie had noticed that something was worrying her husband, and +she suspected some fresh trouble at the pit, though she asked no +questions. + +"Where hae ye been?" asked Geordie very calmly, as Robert entered +furtively, and sat down on a chair near to the door. The boy did not +answer. He dreaded that calmness. He seemed to feel there was something +strong, cruel and relentless behind it. But he had something of his +father's nature in him, so he sat in silence. + +"What kind o' conduct's this I hear ye've been up to?" was the next +question, with the same studied calm, seemingly passionless and pliable. +Still no answer from the boy, though when he looked at his father he +felt afraid. He turned his eyes appealingly to his mother, but her face +betrayed nothing, and a feeling of hopelessness entered Robert's heart. +There was nothing else but to go through with it. + +"Tak' aff yer claes," quietly commanded the father, and the boy +reluctantly began to peel off his scanty garments one by one, till he +stood naked on the bare floor. He was glad that no one except the baby +was in to see his humiliation, his brothers and sisters being all out at +play. + +The father rose and went to the corner where his working clothes lay in +a heap. Selecting the belt he wore round his waist at his work, he +grasped it firmly, and with the other hand took the boy by one arm, +saying:-- + +"Are ye going to answer my question noo', and tell me where ye ha'e +been?" + +But Robert did not answer, so down came the hard leather belt with a +horrible crack across the naked little hips, and a thick red mark +appeared where the blow had fallen. A roar of pain broke from the boy's +lips, in spite of his resolution not to cry, as lash after lash fell +upon his limbs and across the little white back. Horribly, cruelly, +relentlessly the belt fell with sickening regularity, while the tender +flesh quivered at every blow, and an ugly series of red stripes +appeared along the back and down across the sturdy legs. + +"Oh, dinna' hit me ony mair, faither," he pleaded at last, the firm +resolution breaking because of the pain of the blows. "Oh, dinna hit +me!" and he jumped as the blows fell without slackening. "Oh, oh, oh! +Mother, dinna' let him hit me ony mair!" roared the boy, while the grim, +set face of the parent never relaxed, and the belt continued to lash the +quivering flesh. + +Mrs. Sinclair, who by this time was crying too, feeling every blow in +her mother-heart, began to fear this grim, cruel look on her husband's +face. He was mad, she felt, and there was murder in his eyes; and at +last, spurred to desperation, she jumped forward, tore at the belt with +desperate strength, and flung it into the corner, crying, as she gripped +the boy in her arms. + +"In the name of Heaven, Geordie, are ye gaun to kill my bairn afore my +een?" + +She tore the boy fiercely from his father's grasp and shielded him from +her husband, exclaiming at the same time with indignation, "Ha'e ye nae +humanity aboot ye at a'? Hit me if ye are goin' to hit any more. It's +murder, an' I'll no' stand ony longer an' let ye do it." + +Geordie, surprised and amazed at her action, and the fierceness in her +voice, looked up, and immediately reason seemed to steal back into his +mind. A flush of shame overspread his face, and he sat down, burying his +face in his hands. + +"Wheesht, sonny. Wheesht, my wee man," crooned the mother soothingly, as +she began to help Robert to get on his clothes, the tears falling still +from her own eyes, as she saw the ugly stripes and bruises upon his back +beginning to discolor. "Wheesht, sonny! Dinna' greet ony mair. There +noo', my wee son. Daddy's no' weel the nicht," she excused, "an' didna' +ken what he was doin'." Then breaking into a louder tone: "I wonder what +in Heaven's name puir folk are born for at a'. There noo'. There noo'. +Dinna greet, my wee man, an' mither'll gi'e ye yer denner." + +Sinclair could stand it no longer, so slipping on his boots and +reaching for his cap, he went out, never in all his life feeling more +ashamed of himself. + +Left to themselves--for all the other children were still out at +play--Nellie soon had Robert quietened and sitting at his dinner of cold +potatoes and buttermilk. Bit by bit she drew from him the story of the +fight at school; divining for herself the reason for Robert's attack +upon Peter Rundell, she soon was in possession of the whole story with +its termination of revolt against the headmaster and even the confession +of what he had written on the table. + +"An' what did ye do wi' the tawse, son?" she enquired, her dark eyes +showing pride in the revolt of her laddie. She was proud to know that he +had sufficient character to stand up to a bully, even though he were a +headmaster. + +"I buried them in the muir," he replied simply, "but I dinna' want to +tell naebody where they are. I'll never gi'e them back." + +"Oh, weel, if ye dinna' want to tell me, dinna' do it," she said. "I'll +gang with ye to the school the morn, an' I'll see that ye're no' meddled +wi'. But, Robin, while I like to see ye staunin' up against what is +wrong, I dinna want ye to dae wrang yerself. An' I think ye was in the +wrang to strike Peter. He staggered against ye, an' I dinna think he wad +try to tramp on yer taes. An' always when ye're in the wrang, own up to +it, an' make what amends ye can." + +Robin did not reply to this, but she could see that he knew she was +right. Before he could say anything she added, "Come awa' noo', if ye +ha'e gotten yer denner, son, I think ye should gang awa' to yer bed. +Ye'll be the better o' a lang sleep. Dinna' think hard o' yer faither; +he's feelin' ashamed o' hittin' ye. There must be something botherin' +him, for I dinna' mind o' him ever leatherin' one o' ye like that." + +This was true, for Geordie Sinclair was rather a "cannie" man, and had +never been given to beating his children before. She felt that something +had happened in the pit, and whatever it was it had made her husband +angry. + +Robert again stripped off his clothes and crept into bed, while his +mother seemed to feel every pain once more as she looked upon the soft +little body with the ugly black stripes upon it. She placed him under +the rough blankets as snugly as possible, telling him to lie well over +near to the wall, for there were five of them now who lay abreast, and +there was never too much room. He was soon asleep, and Mrs. Sinclair put +fresh coals on the fire, and began to tidy up, so as to have everything +as cheerful as possible when her husband should return. It was no easy +matter to keep a house clean, with only a single apartment, and eight +individuals living in it. + +The housing conditions in most mining villages of Scotland are an +outrage on decency. In Lowwood there were no sanitary conveniences of +any kind, and it was a difficult matter for the women folk to keep a +tidy house under these circumstances. But it was wonderful, the +homeliness and comfort found in those single apartment houses. It was +home, and that made it tolerable. In such homes fine men and women were +bred and reared, but the credit was due entirely to our womenfolk; for +they had the fashioning of the spirit of the homes, and the spirit of +the homes is always the spirit of the people. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE COMING OF A PROPHET + + +Another year passed, and Robert was now eleven years of age. Though full +of hardship, hunger and poverty, yet they were not altogether unhappy +years for him. There were joys which he would not have liked to have +missed, and in later life he looked back upon them always through a mist +of memory that sometimes bordered on tears. + +He had grown "in wisdom and stature," and gave promise of being a fine +sturdy boy; but lately it had been borne in upon him that no one seemed +just to look at things from his point of view. He was alluded to as "a +strange laddie," and the gulf of misunderstanding seemed to grow wider +every day. Old Granny Frame, the "howdie-wife" of the village, always +declared that he would be a great man, but others just took it for +granted that he would never see things as they saw them. + +He was already too serious for a boy, and his joys were not the joys of +other children. Sensitive, and in a measure proudly reserved, he took +more and more to the moors and the hills. All day sometimes he roved +over them, and at other times he would lie motionless but happy, for the +moor always understood. If he were hurt at anything which happened, the +moor brought him solace; if he grieved, it gave him relief; and if he +were happy, it too rejoiced. He loved it in all moods, and he could not +understand how its loving silence was dreaded by others. + +His parents now found that their battle, though not much easier, +certainly was no worse, and hope shone bright for them in the future. +The oldest boy was already at work and one girl was away "in service." +Robert, too, would soon be ready, and in quick succession behind him +there were three other boys. Geordie Sinclair was often told by his +workmates that he would "soon ha'e naethin' to do but put in wicks in +the pit lamps." But Geordie merely smiled. How often before had he heard +that said of others who had families like his own and he knew that he +would never see them all working. Fifty years was a long time to live +for a collier in those days of badly ventilated and poorly inspected +pits and many men were in their graves at forty. + +Walker still indulged in petty persecution, whilst Geordie agitated for +the starting of a union, and many a battle the two had, until the enmity +between them developed into keen hatred. + +"I wonder what Black Jock really has against me," he had said over and +over again, unable to understand his persistent hostility, but his wife +had never dared tell him. + +One night, however, after he had been out of work a week, because, as +Black Jock had said, "there was nae places," she decided to tell him the +real reason of Walker's antipathy. + +"Man, it's no' you, Geordie, that Black Jock has the ill will at," she +ventured to say, "it's me, an' he hits me an' the bairns through you." + +"You," said Geordie in some surprise, "hoo' can that be?" + +Bit by bit, though with great reluctance, she told her husband how and +when Black Jock had attempted to degrade her. When she had ended, he sat +in grim silence, while the ticking of the clock seemed to have gained in +loudness, and so, too, the purring of the cat, as it rubbed itself +against his leg, first on one side and then the other, drawing its +sleek, furry side along his ankle, turning back again, and occasionally +looking up into his face for the recognition which it vainly tried to +win. + +The fire burned low in the grate as Nellie busied herself with washing +the dishes; while outside the loud cries of the children, playing on the +green, mingled occasionally with a clink, as the steel quoits fell upon +each other, telling of some enthusiastic players, who were practicing +for the local games. Loud cries of encouragement broke from the +supporters, and Geordie and Nellie heard all these--even the plaintive +wail of a child crying in a house a few doors farther up the "row," and +the mother's attempts to soothe it into forgetfulness of its temporary +pain or disappointment. + +The little apartment seemed to have become suddenly cheerless. Nellie +felt the silence most oppressive, for she was wondering how he was +taking it all. Soon, however, he rose and reached for his cap. Looking +at his wife with eyes that set all her fears at rest--for she saw pride +in them, pride in her and the way she had acted--he said:-- + +"Thank ye, Nellie; ye are a' the woman I always thocht ye was, an' I'll +see that nae dirty brute ever again gets the chance to insult ye," and +he was out of the door before she could question him further. + +Geordie went straight to where Walker lived and knocked at the door. A +girl of fourteen came in answer to his knock, for Walker was a widower, +his wife having died shortly after the birth of their only child. + +"Is yer faither in?" enquired Geordie quietly, hardly able to control +the raging anger in his heart. + +"No, he's no' in," replied the girl. "Oh, is that you, Geordie?" she +asked, recognizing him in the darkness. "My father said when he went oot +that if ye cam' to the door, I was to tell ye he had nae places yet." + +"That's a' richt," said Geordie, still very quietly. "Do ye ken onything +aboot where he is this nicht?" + +"No, unless he's up in Sanny Robertson's, or maybe in Peter Fleming's." + +"Thank ye," said Geordie, turning away, "I'll go up an' see if he is +there." + +He knew that Peter Fleming was working that night, and had stopped on an +extra shift to repair a road, by special instructions from Walker; so +Geordie went direct to Fleming's house and knocked at the door. After an +interval a woman's voice enquired, "Wha's that?" and Geordie thought +there was anxiety in it. + +"Open the door," said Geordie quietly. "What the hell are ye afert for?" +and the woman, thinking it was her husband returned from work, +immediately opened the door. + +"You're shairly early," she said; then suddenly recognizing who the +intruder was, she tried to shut the door. + +"Na, na," said Geordie, now well in the doorway, "I want to see Black +Jock." + +"He's no' here," she lied readily enough, but with some agitation in her +voice. + +"You're a liar, Jean," replied Geordie, "that's him gaun oot at the room +door," and Geordie withdrew hurriedly, determined that Black Jock should +not escape him. He hurried to the end of the "row," and waited with all +the passion of long years raging through his whole being. He stepped out +as Walker advanced, and said: "Is that you, Walker?" + +"Ay," came the answer, "what do ye want?" as he came to a halt. + +"Just a meenit," said Geordie, placing himself in front of Walker, +barring his way. "I want to warm yer dirty hide. It ought to have been +done years ago, but I never kent till the nicht, and I'm gaun to dae it +the noo," and the tones of his voice indicated that he meant what he +said. + +"Oh! What's wrang?" asked Walker in affected surprise. "I'll get ye a +place," he went on hurriedly, "just as soon as I can--in fac' there's +yin that'll be ready by the morn." + +"I'm no gi'ein' a damn for yer place. It's you I'm efter the nicht. Come +on, face up," and Sinclair squared himself for battle. + +Thus challenged, Walker, who was like all bullies a coward at heart, +tried to temporize, but Sinclair was in no mood for delay. + +"Come on, pit them up, or I'll break yer jaw for you," he said +threateningly. + +"Man, Geordie, what ails ye the nicht?" asked Walker in hurried alarm, +wondering wildly how he could stave off the chastisement which he knew +from Geordie's voice he might expect. "Talk sensibly, man. Try an' ha'e +some sense. What's the matter wi' ye?" + +"Matter," echoed Geordie, "jist this. The wife has jist telt me a' aboot +the nicht ye cam' chappin' to the door when I was lyin' hurt. She kent +I'd break yer neck for it, and she was feart to tell me. So put up yer +fists, ye black-hearted brute that ye are. I'm gaun to gi'e ye what we +should hae gotten seven years syne, an' it'll maybe put ye frae preyin' +on decent women. Come on." + +"Awa', man, Geordie, an' behave yersel'," began Walker, trying to evade +him. + +"Tak' that, then, ye dirty brute!" and Geordie smashed his fist straight +between Walker's eyes. + +Roused at last, Walker showed fight and swung at Sinclair. He was the +younger man by about two years, and had not had the hard work and bad +conditions of the other, but Sinclair was a strong man, and was now +roused to a great pitch, so he struck out with terrific force. Then the +two closed and swayed about, struggling, cursing and punching each other +with brutal might. Sinclair's extra weight and more powerful build soon +began to tell, and he was able to send home one or two heavy blows on +Black Jock's face and body. Panting and blowing, they separated, and as +they did so, Sinclair caught his opponent a straight hard crash on the +jaw that sent him rolling to the muddy road, and feeling as if a +thousand fists had struck him all at once. + +Walker lay for a short time, then gathering himself together, he rose to +his feet and set off at a quick pace in the direction of his house, +whilst Geordie, too, turned homewards, feeling that it was useless to +follow him. + +Mrs. Sinclair did not hear what had happened till a week later, when +Geordie, being in a communicative mood, told her of the affair in +simple, unaffected terms. + +Shortly afterwards a great event happened in Lowwood, which made the +deepest impression on Robert's mind. His father still being out of work, +had sent a letter to Robert Smillie, who was then beginning to be heard +of more and more in mining circles. In the letter Geordie explained, to +the best of his ability, the local circumstances, and he mentioned his +own case of persecution, and his agitation for the starting of a union. +Smillie sent word in reply that he would come in two days, and Geordie +enthusiastically set to work to organize a meeting, going round every +house in the district, telling the folks that Smillie was coming, and +exhorting them to turn out and hear him. + +"I dinna think it'll do any guid," said old Tam Smith, when Geordie +called upon him. "It's a' richt talkin' about a union, but the mair ye +fecht the mair ye're oppressed. The bosses ha'e the siller, an' they can +ay buy the brains to serve them." + +Geordie made no reply, for he knew from experience that it was only too +true. + +"Just look at young Jamie Soutar," continued Tam. "He is yin o' the +cleverest men i' the country. He wrocht wi' me as a laddie when he went +into the pit, an' noo' he's travelin' manager for that big company doon +the west country, an' I'm telt he's organizin' an' advocatin' the +formin' o' what he calls a Coal Combine." + +"That's a' richt, Tam. I admit it a', though I dinna jist ken what a +Coal Combine means; but I ken that Bob Smillie is makin' great wark wi' +the union he has formed. I ken he has gotten rises in wages for a' the +men who ha'e joined, an' that he is advocatin' an eight hours day. If +that can be done doon there, it can be done here; for there's naebody +has ony mair need o' a eight hours day than miners." + +"Oh, I'll turn oot a' richt at the meetin'," said Tam, who was always +credited with seeing farther than most of his workmates, "an' I'll join +the union, too, if it's formed; but ye'll see if ye live lang enough +that the union'll no' be a' ye think it. The ither side will organize to +bate ye every time." And with this encouraging prophecy, Geordie went on +to the next house. + +"No, I'm no' comin' to nae meetin'. I want naethin' to dae wi' yer +unions. I can get on weel enough without them," curtly said Dan Sellars, +the inmate. He was what Geordie somewhat expressively called a +"belly-crawler," a talebearer, and one who drank and gambled along with +Walker, Fleming, Robertson and a few others. + +"Man, it'll no' do muckle guid," said another, "ye mind hoo' big Geordie +Ritchie ran awa' wi' the money o' the last union we started? It'll gi'e +a wheen bigmouths a guid job and an easy time. That's a' it will do." + +"Oh, ay," answered Sinclair, "but that's no' to say that the union'll +ay fail. Folks are no' a' Geordie Ritchies, an' they're no' a' bigmouths +either. We're bound to succeed if we care to be solid thegither." + +"I'll come to the meetin', Geordie, although I was sayin' that, but I'll +no' promise to join yer union," was the answer, and Sinclair had to be +content with that. + +Thus went Geordie from house to house, meeting with much discouragement, +and even downright opposition, but he was always good-humored, and so he +seldom failed to extract a promise to attend the meeting. + +The night of the meeting arrived, and the hall--an old, badly lit and +ill-ventilated wooden erection--was packed to its utmost. There were +eager faces, and dull, listless ones among the audience; there were eyes +glad with expectancy, and eyes dulled with long years of privations and +brutal labor; limbs young and supple and full of energy, and limbs stiff +and sore, crooked and maimed. + +Geordie Sinclair was chairman, and when he rose to open the meeting and +introduce Smillie, he felt as if the whole world were looking on and +listening. + +"Weel, men," he began, halting and hesitating in his utterance, "for a +lang time now there has been much cryin' for a union here. There has +been a lot of persecution gaun' on, an' it has been lang felt that +something should be done. We ha'e heard of how other men in other places +ha'e managed to start a union, and how it has been a guid thing in +risin' wages. Mr. Smillie has come here the nicht to tell us how the +other districts ha'e made a start, and what thae other districts has +gotten. If it can be done there, it can be done here. I ha'e wrocht +aside Bob Smillie, an' I ken what kind of man he is. He has done great +wark doon in the west country, an' he is weel fitted and able to be the +spokesman for the miners o' Scotlan'. I'm no gaun' to say ony mair, but +I can say that it gie's me great pleasure to ask Mr. Smillie to address +ye." + +A round of applause greeted Smillie as he rose to address them. Tall and +manly, he dominated his audience from the very first sentence, rousing +them to a great pitch of enthusiasm, as he proceeded to tell of all the +many hardships which miners had to endure, of the "Block" system of +persecution, and to point to the only means of successfully curing them +by organizing into one solid body, so that they might become powerful +enough to enforce their demands for a fuller, freer, and a happier life. +Never in all his life did he speak with more passion than he did that +night in Lowwood. + +Little Robert was present in the hall--the only child there; and as +Smillie spoke in passionate denunciation of the tyrannies and +persecutions of the mine-owners and their officials, his little heart +leapt in generous indignation. Many things which he had but dimly +understood before, began to be plain to him, as he sat with eyes riveted +upon Smillie's face, drinking in every word as the speaker plead with +the men to unite and defend themselves. Then, as his father's wrongs +were poured forth from the platform, and as Smillie appealed to them in +powerful sentences to stand loyally by their comrade, the boy felt he +could have followed Smillie anywhere, and that he could have slain every +man who refused to answer that call. Away beyond the speaker the boy had +already glimpsed something of the ideal which Smillie sketched, and his +soul throbbed and ached to see how simple and how easy it was for life +to be made comfortable and good and pleasant for all. Bob Smillie never +won a truer heart than he did that night in winning this barefooted, +ragged boy's. + +Round after round of applause greeted the speaker when he had finished, +and in response to his appeal to them to organize, a branch of the union +was formed, with Geordie Sinclair as its first president. At the request +of the meeting Smillie interviewed Black Jock next morning, and as a +result Sinclair got started on the following day. + +Smillie stayed overnight with Geordie. They were certainly somewhat +cramped for room, though Geordie had just lately got another apartment +"broken through," which gave them a room and kitchen. + +The two men sat late into the night, discussing their hopes and plans, +and the trade union movement generally. + +"It's a great work, Bob, you ha'e set yersel', an' it'll mean +thenklessness an' opposition frae the very men you want maist to help," +said Sinclair as they talked. + +"Ay, it will," was the reply, spoken in a half dreamy tone, as if the +speaker saw into the future. "I ken what it'll mean, but it must be +done. I have long had it in me to set myself this work, for no +opposition ought to stand in the way of the uplifting of the workers. I +... It's the system, Geordie!" he cried, as if bringing his mind back to +the present. "It is the system that is wrong. It is immoral and evil in +its foundations, and it forces the employers to do the things they do. +Competition compels them to do things they would not have to do if there +were a cooperative system of industry. Our people have to suffer for it +all--they pay the price in hunger, misery and suffering." + +"Ay," said Geordie, "that's true, Bob. But what a lang time it'll tak' +afore the workers will realize what you are oot for. They'll look on +your work wi' suspicion, and a wheen o' them'll even oppose you." + +"Ay," was the reply, "I know that. It will mean the slow building up of +our own county first, bit by bit, organizing, now here, now there, and +fighting the other class interests all the time. It will divide our +energies and retard our work, and the greatest fight will be to get our +own people to recognize what is wanted and how to get it. Then through +the county we'll have to work to consolidate the whole of Scotland; from +that to work in the English and Welsh miners, while at the same time +seeking to permeate other branches of industrial workers with our ideas. +And then, when we have got that length, and raised the mental vision of +our people, and strengthened their moral outlook, we can appeal to the +workers of other lands to join us in bringing about the time when we'll +be able to regard each other, not as enemies, but as members of one +great Humanity, working for each other's welfare as we work for our +own." + +"That's it, Bob," agreed Geordie, completely carried away with Smillie's +enthusiasm. "That's it, Bob. If we can only get them to see hoo' simple +and easy it a' is ... Oh, they maun be made to see it that way!" he +burst out. "We'll work nicht an' day but in the end we'll get them to +see it that way yet." + +"Yes, but it won't be easy, Geordie," he replied. "Our people's lives +have been stunted and warped so long, they've been held in bondage and +poverty to such an extent, that it will take years--generations, +maybe--before they come to realize it. But we must go on, undeterred by +opposition, rousing them from their apathy, and continually holding +before them the vision of the time we are working to establish. Ay, +Geordie,"--and a quieter note came into his voice, "I hope I shall be +strong enough to go on, and never to give heed to the discouragements I +shall undoubtedly meet with in the work; but I've made up my mind, and +I'll see it through or dee." + +The talk of the two men worked like magic upon the impressionable mind +of young Robert, who sat listening. Long after all had retired for the +night he lay awake, his little mind away in the future, living in the +earthly paradise which had been conjured up before him by the warm, +inspiring sentences of this miners' leader, and joyful in the +contemplation of this paradise of happy humanity, he fell asleep. Could +he have foreseen the terrible, heartbreaking ordeals through which +Smillie often had to pass, still clinging with tenacity to the gleam +that led him on, praying sometimes that strength would be given to keep +him from turning back; of the strenuous battle he had, not only with +those he fought against, but of the greater and more bitter fights he +too often had with those of his own class whom he was trying to save; +and of the fights even with himself, it would have raised Smillie still +more in the estimation of this sensitive-hearted collier laddie. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +ON THE PIT-HEAD + + +"Hooray, mither, I've passed the examination, an' I can leave the school +noo!" cried Robert one day, breaking in upon his mother, as she was +busily preparing the dinner. She stopped peeling the potatoes to look up +and smile, as she replied: "Passed the fifth standard, Robin?" she said, +lovingly. + +"Ay," said the boy proudly, his face beaming with smiles. "It was quite +easy. Oh, if you had just seen the sums we got; they were easy as +winking. I clinked them like onything." + +"My, ye maun hae been real clever," said Mrs. Sinclair encouragingly. + +"Sammy Grierson failed," broke in Robert again, too full of his success +to contain himself. "He couldna' tell what was the capital of +Switzerland! Then the inspector asked him what was the largest river in +Europe, an' he said the Thames. He forgot that the Thames was just the +biggest in England. I was sittin' next him an' had to answer baith +times, an' the inspector said I was a credit to the school. My, it was +great fun!" and he rattled on, full of importance at his success. + +"Ay, but maybe Sammy was just nervous," said his mother, continuing her +operations upon the potatoes, and trying to let him see that there might +have been a cause for the failure of the other boy to answer correctly. + +"Ach, but he's a dunce onyway," said the boy. "He canna spell an easy +word like 'examination,' an' he had twenty-two mistakes in his dictation +test," he went on, and she was quick to note the air of priggish +importance in his utterance. + +"Ay, an' you're left the school now," said Mrs. Sinclair, after a +pause, during which her busy fingers handled the potatoes with great +skill. "Your faither will be gey pleased when he comes hame the day," +she said, giving the conversation a new turn. + +"Ay, I'll get leavin' the school when I like, an' gaun to the pit when I +like." + +"Would ye no' raither gang to the school a while langer?" observed the +mother after a pause, and looking at him with searching eyes. + +"No," was the decisive reply. "I'd raither gang to work. I'm ready for +leaving the school and forby, all the other laddies are gaun to the pit +to work." + +"But look at the things ye micht be if ye gaed to the school a while +langer, Robin," she went on. "The life of a miner's no' a very great +thing. There's naething but hard work, an' dangerous work at that, an' +no' very muckle for it." And there was an anxious desire in her voice, +as if trying to convince him. + +"Ay, but I'd raither leave the school," he answered, though with less +decision this time. "Besides, it'll mean more money for you," he +concluded. + +"Then, look how quick a miner turns auld, Rob. He's done at forty years +auld," she said, as if she did not wish to heed what he said, "but +meenisters an' schoolmaisters, an' folk o' that kin', leeve a gey lang +while. Look at the easy time they hae to what a collier has. They dinna +get up at five o'clock in the mornin' like your faither. They rise aboot +eight, an' start work at nine. Meenisters only work yae day a week, an' +only aboot two hoors at that. They hae clean claes to wear, a fine white +collar every day, an' sae mony claes that they can put on a different +rig-oot every day. Their work is no' hard, an' look at the pay they get; +no' like your faither wi' his two or three shillin's a day. They hae the +best o' it," she concluded, as she rested her elbows on her knees and +again searched his face keenly to see if her arguments had had any +effect upon him. + +"Ay, but I'd raither work," reiterated the boy stubbornly. + +"Then they hae plenty o' books," continued the temptress, loth to give +up and keen to draw as rosy a picture as possible, "and a braw hoose, +an' a piano in it. They get a lang holiday every year, and occasional +days besides, an' their pay for it. But a collier gets nae pay when he's +idle. It's the same auld grind awa' at hard work, among damp, an' gas, +an' bad air, an' aye the chance o' being killed wi' falls of stone or +something else. It's no' a nice life. It's gey ill paid, an' forby +naebody ever respects them." + +"Ay, mither; but do you no' mind what Bob Smillie said?" chipped in the +boy readily, glad that he could quote such an authority to back his +view. "It's because they dinna respect themselves. They just need to do +things richt, an' things wadna' be sae bad as they are," and he felt as +if he clinched his argument by quoting Smillie against her. + +"Ay, Robin," she replied, "that's true; but for it a', you maun admit +that the schoolmaister an' the meenister hae the best o' it." But she +felt that her counter was not very effective. + +"My faither says meenisters are nae guid to the world, but +schoolmaisters are," said the boy, with a grudging admission for the +teaching profession. "But I dinna care. I'd raither gang to work. I +dinna want to gang ony langer to the school. I'm tired o' it, an' I want +to leave it," and there was more decision in his voice this time than +ever. + +"A' richt, Robin," said Mrs. Sinclair resignedly, as she emptied the +peeled potatoes into a pot and put them on the fire. + +There were now seven of a family, and she knew that Robert was needed to +increase the earnings, and that meant there was nothing but the pit for +him. + +"You maun hae been real clever, though, to pass," she said again, after +a pause. "How many failed?" + +"Four, mither," he cried, again waxing enthusiastic over the +examination. "Mysie Maitland passed, too. She was first among the +lasses, and I was first in the laddies." + +"Eh, man, Bob, learnin' is a gran' thing to hae," she said wistfully, +looking at him very tenderly. + +"Ay, but I'm gaun to the pit," he said decisively, fearing that she was +again going to enlarge upon the schoolmaster's life. + +"Very weel," she said after a bit, "I suppose ye'll be lookin' for a +job. Your faither was saying last nicht that ye're too young to gang +into the pit. Ye maun be twelve years auld afore ye get doon the pit +noo, ye ken. So I suppose it'll be the pithead for ye for a while." + +She had often dreamed her dream, even though she knew it was an +impossible one, that she would like to see her laddie go right on +through the Secondary School in the county town to the University. She +knew he had talents above the ordinary, and, besides, her soul rebelled +at the thought of her boy having to endure the things that his father +had to go through with. She was an intelligent woman, and though she had +had little education, she saw things differently from most of the women +of her class. She had character, and her influence was easily traced in +her children, but more especially in Robert, who was always her favorite +bairn. She was wise, too, and had fathomed some secrets of psychology +which many women with a university training had never even glimpsed. + +She often maintained that her children's minds were molded before she +gave them birth, and that it depended upon the state of mind she was in +herself during those nine months, as to what kind of soul her child +would be born possessing. It may have been merely a whim on her part, +but she held tenaciously to her belief, acted in accordance with it, and +no one could dissuade her from it. Robert was her child of song, her +sunny offspring, stung into revolt against tyranny of all kinds. His +soul, strong and true as steel, she knew would stand whatever test was +put upon it. Incorruptible and sincere, nothing could break him. +Generous and forgiving, he could never be bought. + +"I'll gang the nicht, mither, an' see if I can get a job. I micht get +started the morn," he said breaking in upon her thought. + +"A' richt, Robin," she replied with a sigh of resignation. "I suppose +it'll hae to be done. It'll be yer first start in life, an' I hope +ye'll aye be found doin' what's richt; for guid never comes o' ill +thinkin' or ill doin." + +"If I get a job, mither, maybe I'll get one-an'-tippence a day like Dick +Tamson. If I do it'll be a big help to you, mither. My! I'll soon mak' a +poun' at that rate," and he laughed enthusiastically at the thought of +it. A pound seemed to represent riches to his boyish mind. What might +his mother not do with a pound? Ever so many things could be bought. And +that was merely a start. His wages would soon increase with experience, +and when he went down the pit, which would be soon, he'd earn more, and +his mother would maybe be able to buy new clothes for all the family. + +He wondered what it would be like to have a new suit of clothes--real +new ones out of a shop. Hitherto he had only enjoyed "make downs," as +they were called--new ones made out of some one's cast-off clothing. But +a real new suit, such as he had seen the schoolmaster's boy sometimes +wearing! That would be a great experience! And so, lost in contemplation +of the things big wages might do, the day wore on, and he was happy in +his dreams. + +That same night Robert went to call on the "gaffer," Black Jock, and as +he neared the door he met Mysie Maitland. + +"Where are ye goin', Rab?" she enquired shyly. + +"To look for a job," he replied proudly, feeling that now he was left +school, and about to start work, he could be patronizing to a girl. +"Where are you gaun?" he asked, as Mysie joined him in the direction of +Walker's house. + +"I'm gaun to look for a job, too," she replied. "I'm no' gaun back to +the school, an' my mither thinks I'll be as weel on the pit-head as at +service. An' forby, I'll be able to help my mither at nichts when I come +hame, an' I couldna' do that if I gaed to service," she finished by way +of explanation. As Mysie was the oldest of a family of six, her parents +would be glad to have even her small earnings, and so she, too, was +looking for a job. + +When Walker came to the door, Robert took the matter in hand, and became +spokesman for both himself and Mysie. + +"We've left the school the day, Mr. Walker, an' Mysie an' me want to +ken if ye can gie us a job on the pitheid?" and Walker noted with +amusement the manly swagger in the boy's voice and bearing. + +"We dinna' usually start lasses as wee as Mysie," replied Walker, eyeing +the children with an amused smile, "but we need twa or three laddies to +the tables to help the women to pick stones." + +Mysie's face showed her keen disappointment. She knew that it was not +customary for girls to be employed as young as she was; and Robert noted +her disappointed look as well. + +"Could ye no' try Mysie, too?" he asked, breaking in anxiously. "She's a +guid worker, an' she'll be able to pick as many stanes as the weemen. +Willn't ye, Mysie?" And he turned to the girl for corroboration with +assurance. + +As Mysie nodded, Walker saw a hint of tears in the girl's eyes, and the +quivering of the tiny mouth; and as there is a soft spot in all men's +hearts, even he had sympathy, for he understood what refusal meant. + +"Weel, I micht gie her a trial," he said, "but she'll hae to work awfu' +hard," and he spoke as one conferring an especial concession upon the +girl. + +"Oh, she'll work hard enough," said Robert. "Mysie's a guid worker, an' +you'll see ..." + +"Oh, then," said Walker hurriedly breaking in upon Robert's outburst of +agreement, "ye can both come oot the morn, and I'll try and put ye both +up." + +"How muckle pay will we get?" asked Robert, who was now feeling his +importance, and felt that this was after all the main point to be +considered. + +"Well, we gie laddies one an' a penny," replied Walker, still smiling +amusedly at the boy's eagerness, "an' lasses are aye paid less than +callants. But it's all big lasses we hae, an' they get one an' tippence. +I'll gie Mysie a shillin' to begin wi'," and he turned away as if that +settled the matter, and was about to close the door. + +"But if she picks as many stanes as a laddie, will ye gie her the same +pay as me?" interrupted Robert, not wishing the interview to end without +a definite promise of payment. + +"She's gey wee," replied Walker, "an' she canna' expect as much as a +laddie," and he looked at Mysie, as if measuring her with a critical eye +to assess her value. + +"But if she does as muckle work, would ye gie her the same money?" +eagerly questioned the boy, and Mysie felt that there was no one surely +so brave as Robert, nor so good, and she looked at him with gratitude in +her eyes. + +"Very weel," said Walker, not desiring to prolong the interview. "Come +oot the morn, an' I'll gie ye both one an' a penny." + +"Six an' sixpence a week," said Mysie, as they tramped home. "My, that's +a lot o' money, Rab, isn't it?" + +"Ay, it's a guid lot, Mysie," he replied, "but we'll hae to work awfu' +hard, or we'll no' get it. Guid nicht!" And so the children parted, +feeling that the world was about to be good to them, and all their +thought of care was bounded by six and sixpence a week. + +Mysie was glad to tell the result of the whole interview to her parents. +She was full of it, and could talk of nothing else as she worked about +the house that night. Her mother had been in delicate health for a long +time, and so Mysie had most of the housework to do. Matthew Maitland and +his wife, Jenny, were pleased at the result, and gave Robert due credit +for his part--a credit that Mysie was delighted to hear from them. + +The next morning the two children went to work, when children of their +years ought to have been still in bed dreaming their little dreams. + +The great wheels at the pithead seemed terrible in their never-ending +revolutions, as they flew round to bring up the loads of coal. The big +yawning chasm, with the swinging steel rope, running away down into the +great black hole, was awesome to look at, as the rope wriggled and +swayed with its sinister movements; and the roar and whir of wheels, +when the tables started, bewildered them. These crashed and roared and +crunched and groaned; they would squeal and shriek as if in pain, then +they would moan a little, as if gathering strength to break out in +indignant protest; and finally, roar out in rebellious anger, giving +Robert the idea of an imprisoned monster of gigantic strength which had +been harnessed whilst it slept, but had wakened at last to find itself +impotent against its Lilliputian captor--man. + +An old man instructed them in their duties. + +"You'll staun here," he panted, indicating a little platform about two +feet broad, and running along the full length of the "scree." "You'll +watch for every bit stane that comes doon, an' dinna' let any past. Pick +them oot as soon as you see them, an' fling them owre there, an' Dickie +Tamson'll fill them into the hutch, an' get them taken to the dirt +bing." + +"A' richt," said Robert, as he looked at the narrow platform, with its +weak, inadequate railing, which could hardly prevent anyone from falling +down on to the wagon track, some fifteen or twenty feet below on one +side, or on to the moving "scree" on the other. + +"Weel, mind an' no' let any stanes gang past, for there are aye +complaints comin' in aboot dirty coals. If ye dinna work an' keep oot +the stanes, you'll get the sack," and he said this as if he meant to +convey to them that he was the sole authority on the matter. + +He was an old man, and Robert, as he looked at him, wondered if he had +ever laughed. "Auld Girnie" they called him, because of his habit of +always finding fault with everything and everybody, for no one could +please him. His mouth seemed to be one long slit extending across his +face, showing one or two stumps sticking in the otherwise toothless +gums, and giving him the appearance of always "grinning." + +The women workers' appearance jarred upon Robert. So far women to him +had always been beings of a higher order, because he had always thought +of them as being like his mother. But here they were rough and untidy, +dressed like goblins in dirty torn clothes, with an old dirty sack +hanging from the waist for an overall. Instinctively Robert felt that +this was no place for women. One of them, who worked on the opposite +side of the scree from Robert--a big, strong, heavily-built young woman +of perhaps twenty-five--in moving forward tore her petticoat, which +caught in the machinery, and made a rent right up above her knee. + +"Ach, to hell wi' it," she cried in exasperation, as she turned up the +torn petticoat, displaying a leg all covered with coal grime, which +seemed never to have been washed. + +"Is that no' awfu'? Damn my soul, I'll hae to gang hame the nicht in my +sark tail," and she laughed loudly at her sally. + +"I'll put a pin in it, it'll do till I gang hame," she added, and she +started to pin the torn edges together. But all day the bare leg shone +through the torn petticoat, and rough jokes were made by the men who +worked near by--jokes which she seemed to enjoy, for she would hold up +the torn garment and laugh with the others. + +The women and boys never seemed to heed the things that filled Robert +and Mysie with so much amazement. The two children bent over the +swinging tables as the coal passed before them. They eagerly grabbed at +the stones, flinging them to the side with a zeal that greatly amused +the older hands. + +"Ye'll no' keep up that pace lang," said one woman. "Ye'll soon tire, so +ye'd better take it easy." + +"Let them alone," broke in the old man, who had a penny a day more for +acting as a sort of gaffer. "Get on wi' yer own work, an' never mind +them." + +"Gang you to hell, auld wheezie bellows," replied one woman coarsely, +adding a rough jest at his breathlessness, whilst the others laughed +loudly, adding, each one, another sally to torment the old man. + +But after a time Robert felt his back begin to ache, and a strange dizzy +feeling came into his head, as a result of his bent position and the +swinging and crashing of the tables. He straightened himself and felt as +if he were going to break in two. He glanced at Mysie, wondering how she +felt, and he thought she looked white and ill. + +"Take a wee rest, Mysie," he said. "Are ye no' awfu' dizzy?" + +Mysie heard, but "six and sixpence a week" was still ringing in her +head. Indeed, the monotonous swing of the tables ground out the refrain +in their harsh clamor, as they swung backwards and forwards. "Six and +sixpence a week," with every leap forwards; "six and sixpence a week" as +they receded. "Six and sixpence" with every shake and roar, and with +each pulsing throb of the engine; and "six and sixpence a week" her +little hands, already cut and bleeding, kept time with regular beat, as +she lifted the stones and flung them aside. She was part of the +refrain--a note in the fortissimo of industry. The engines roared and +crashed and hissed to it. They beat the air regularly as the pistons +rose and fell back and forth, thump, thud, hiss, groan, up and down, out +and in: "Six and sixpence a week!" + +Mysie tried to straighten herself, as Robert had advised, and +immediately a pain shot through her back which seemed to snap it in two. +The whole place seemed to be rushing round in a mad whirl, the roof of +the shed coming down, and the floor rushing up, when with a stagger +Mysie fell full length upon a "bing" of stones, bruising her cheek, and +cutting her little hands worse than ever. This was what usually happened +to all beginners at "pickin' sklits." + +One of the women raised Mysie up, gave her a drink from a flask +containing cold tea, and sat her aside to rest a short time. + +"Just sit there a wee, my dochter," she said with rough kindness, "an' +you'll soon be a' richt. They mostly a' feel that way when they first +start on the scree." + +Mysie was feeling sick, and already the thought was shaping in her mind +that she would never be able to continue. She had only worked an hour as +yet, but it seemed to her a whole day. + +"Six and sixpence a week" sang the tables as they swung; "six and +sixpence a week" whirred the engines; "six and sixpence a week" crashed +the screes; and her head began to throb with the roar of it all. "Six +and sixpence a week" as the coal tumbled down the chutes into the +wagons; "six and sixpence" crunched the wheels, until it seemed as if +everything about a pit were done to the tune of "six and sixpence a +week." + +It was thundered about her from one corner, it squealed at her from +another, roared at her from behind, groaned at her in front; it wheezed +from the roof, and the very shed in which they stood swayed and shivered +to its monotonous song. "Six and sixpence a week" was working into every +fiber of her being. She had been born to it, was living it, and it +seemed that the very wheels of eternity were grinding out her destiny to +its roar and its crash, and its terrible regular throb and swing. + +She grew still more sick, and vomited; so one of the women took her by +the hand and led her down the narrow rickety wooden stair out across the +dirt "bing" into the pure air. In a quarter of an hour she brought her +back almost well, except for the pain in her head. + +"Where the hell hae ye been, Mag?" wheezed the old gaffer, addressing +the woman with irritated authority. + +"Awa' an' boil yer can, auld belly-crawler," was the elegant response, +as she bent to her work, taking as little notice of him as if he were a +piece of coal. + +"Ye're awa' faur owre much," he returned. This was an allusion to +clandestine meetings which were sometimes arranged between some of the +men in authority--"penny gaffers," as they were called--and some of the +girls who took their fancy. + +After all, gaffers had certain powers of advancement, and could increase +wages to those who found favor in their eyes, to the extent of a penny +or twopence per day, and justified it by representing that these girls +were value for it, because they were better workers. Again, matters were +always easier to these girls of easy virtue, for they got better jobs, +and could even flout the authority of lesser gaffers, if their relations +with the higher ones were as indicated. + +Mag replied with a coarse jest, and the others laughed roughly, and +Mysie and Robert, not understanding, wondered why the old man got angry. + +Thus the day wore on, men and women cursed while familiarities took +place which were barely hidden from the children. Talk was coarse and +obscenely suggestive, and the whole atmosphere was brutalizing. Long, +however, before the day was ended, Robert and Mysie were feeling as if +every bone in their little bodies would break. + +"Just take anither wee rest, Mysie," said Robert. "I'll keep pickin' as +hard as I can, an' ye'll no' be sae muckle missed." + +"Oh, I'll hae to keep on, too," she replied, almost despairingly, with a +hint of tears in her voice. "Ye mind I promised to work hard, an' ye +said I was a guid worker, too. If I dinna' keep on I micht only get a +shillin' a day." + +"But I'll pick as much as the twa o' us can do," pursued Robert, with +persuasive voice. "I'll gang harder, until ye can get a wee rest." + +So Mysie, in sheer exhaustion, stopped for a little, and the dizzy +feeling was soon gone again. Yet the horrible pain in the back troubled +them all day, and the dizziness returned frequently, but the others +assured them that they'd soon get used to it. Their hands were cut, +bruised and dirty, and poor little Mysie felt often that she would like +to cry, but "six and sixpence a week" kept time in her heart to all her +troubles, and seemed to drive her onward with relentless force. + +With rough kindness the women encouraged the two children, and did much +to make their lot easier. But it was a trying day--a hard, heartbreaking +day, a day of tears and pains and discouragement, a horrible Gethsemane +of sweat and agony, whose memory not even "six and sixpence a week" +would ever eradicate from their minds, though it made the day bearable. + +The great wheels groaned and swished like the imprisoned monster of +Robert's imaginings, and at last came to a halt at the end of the shift; +but in the pattern which they had that day woven into the web of +industry, there were two bright threads--threads of great beauty and +high worth--threads which the very gods seemed proud of seeing there, +twisted and twined, and lending color of richest hue to the whole +design--threads of glorious fiber and rare quality, which sparkled and +shone like the neck of a pigeon in the sunshine. These threads in the +web of industry, which had shone that day for the first time, were the +lives of two little children. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE MANTLE OF MANHOOD + + +Months passed, and Robert still worked on the pithead. Much of the +novelty had passed, and he was accustomed to the noise and clamor, +though he never lost the feeling that he was working with, or, indeed, +was part of, some giant monster, imprisoned and harnessed, it is true, +but capable of titanic labors and fall of unexpectedness. It was +ever-present, implacable and sinister, yet so long as its fetters held, +easily controlled. + +The warm weather had come, and the lure of the moors called to him at +his work. Away out over there--somewhere--there were strange wonders +awaiting him. He watched the trains, long, fast, and so +inevitable-looking, rushing across the moor about a mile and a half from +where he worked, and often, he thought that perhaps some day one of +those flying monsters would bear him away from Lowwood across the moors +into the Big City. What was a city like? And the sea? How big would it +be? It was a staggering thought to imagine a stretch of water that ended +on the sky-line--no land to be seen on the other side! What a wonderful +world it must be! + +But a touch of bitterness was creeping into his character, and for this +his mother's teaching was responsible. Nellie was always jealous of the +welfare of the working class, and was ever vigilant as to its interests. +She did not know how matters could be rectified, but she did know that +she and her like suffered unnecessarily. + +"There's no reason," she would say, "for decent folk bein' in poverty. +Look at the conditions that puir folk live in!" + +"Hoot ay! Nellie, but we canna' help it," a neighbor would reply. "It's +no' for us to be better." + +"What way is it no'?" she would demand indignantly. "Do you think we +couldna' be better folk if we had no poverty?" + +"Ay, but the like o' us ken no better, an' it wadna' do if we had mair. +We micht waste it," and the tone of resignation always maddened her to +greater wrath. + +"There's mair wasted on fancy fal-lals among the gentry than wad keep +many a braw family goin'. Look at the hooses we live in; the gentry +wadna' keep their dogs in them. The auld Earl has better stables for his +horses than the hooses puir folk live in!" + +"That's maybe a' richt, Nellie, but you maun mind that we're no' gentry. +We havena' been brocht up to anything else. Somebody has got to work, +an' we canna' help it," and the fatalistic resignation but added fuel to +her anger. + +"Ay, we could help it fine, if we'd only try it. It's no' richt that +folk should hae to slave a' their days, an' be always in hardships, +while ither folk who work nane hae the best o' everything. I want a +decent hoose to live in; I want to see my man hae some leisure, an' my +weans hae a chance in life for something better than just work and +trouble," and her voice quivering with anger at the wrongs inflicted +upon her, she would rattle away on her favorite topic. + +"There you go again. You are aye herp, herpin' at the big folk, or aboot +the union. I wonder you never turn tired, woman," the reply would come, +for sometimes these women were unable to understand her at all. + +"I'll never turn tired o' that," she would reply. "If only the men wad +keep thegither an' no' be divided, they'd soon let the big folk see wha' +was the maist importance to the country. Do you think onybody ever made +a lot o' money by their ain work? My man an' your man hae wrocht hard a' +their days. They've never wasted ony o' their hard-earned money, an' yet +they hae naething." + +"No, because it takes it a' to keep us," would be the reply, as if that +were a conclusive answer, difficult to counter. + +"Well, how do ye think other folk mak' a fortune? Do ye think they work +harder than your man does? No! It's because our men work so hard that +other folk get it aff their labor. Do they live a better life than your +man or mine? They waste mair in yae day, whiles, than wad keep your +family or mine for a whole year. Is it because they are honester than +us? No. You ken fine your man or yoursel' wadna' hae the name o' +stealin'. But they steal every day o' their lives, only they ca' it +business. That's the difference. It's business wi' them, but it wad be +dishonest on oor pairt. Awa', woman! It's disgraceful to think aboot. +Naebody should eat wha disna work, an' I dinna care wha hears me say +it," and the flashing eyes and the indignant voice gave token of her +righteous wrath. + +"That's a' richt, Nellie, but it has aye been, an' I doot it'll aye be. +We just canna help it," would come the reply. + +"I tell you it's everybody's duty to work for better times. We've no +richt to allow the things that gang on. There's nae guid in poverty and +disease an' ill-health, an' we should a' try to change it; and we could +if only you'd get some sense into your held, an' no' stand and speak as +if you felt that God meant it." + +"Ay, Nellie, that's a' richt, but it's the Lord's will, an' we maun put +up wi' it." + +At this juncture Mrs. Sinclair's patience would become exhausted, and +she would flare up, while the neighbor would suddenly break off the +discussion and go off home. + +Her children were taught that it was a disgrace not to resent a wrong, +and Robert, though only a boy, was always sturdily standing up against +the things he considered wrong at the pit-head. + +Robert dreamed and built his future castles. There was great work ahead +to do. He never mentioned his longings and visions to anyone, yet +Mysie's sweet, shy face was creeping into them always, and already he +was conscious of something in her that thrilled him. He was awkward, and +his speech did not come readily, in her presence. Whole days he dreamed, +only waking up to find it was "knocking-off" time. There was an hour's +break in the middle of the day, and then he wandered out on the moor. +Its silence soothed him, and he would lie and dream among the rough +yellow grass and the hard tough heather, bathing his soul in the +brooding quietness of it all. + +He was now twelve years of age, and longing to get at work down the pit. +It was for him the advent of manhood, and represented the beginning of +his real work. + +One night in the late summer, after the pit had knocked off and the +"day-shift" was returning home, he and Mysie were walking as usual +behind the women. He had meant to tell her the great news all day, but +somehow she was so different now, and besides a man should always keep +something to himself as long as possible. It showed strength, he +thought. + +"I'm goin' doon the pit the morn, Mysie," he said, now that he had come +to the point of telling her, and speaking as casually as he could. + +"Oh, are you?" said Mysie, and stopped, disappointingly, and remained +silent. + +"Ay. I'm twelve now, you ken, an' I can get into the pit," feeling a bit +nettled that she was silent in the face of such a happening. + +"Oh!" and again Mysie stopped. + +"My faither has got a place a week syne that'll fit John an' him an' me. +The three o' us are a' goin' to work thegither. If he could have gotten +yin sooner, I'd hae been doon a month syne. But he's aye been waitin' to +get a place that wad suit us a'," he said, volunteering this information +to see if it would loosen her tongue to express the regret he wanted her +to speak. + +But again Mysie did not answer. She only hung her head and did not look +up with any interest in his news. + +"It's aboot time I was in the pit now, ye ken. You used to get doon the +pit at ten. My faither was in it when he was nine, but you're no' +allowed to gang doon now till you are twelve year auld. I'm going to +draw aff my faither and John," and he was feeling more and more +exasperated at her continued silence. + +Yet still Mysie did not speak, and merely nodded to this further +enlightenment. + +"I've never telt onybody except yoursel'," he said, hurt at her seeming +want of interest, and feeling that what he was going to say was less +manly than he intended it to be. Indeed he was aware that it was +decidedly childish of him to say it, but, like many wiser and older, he +could not keep his dignity, and took pleasure in hurting her; for there +is a pleasure sometimes in hurting a loved one, because they are loved, +and will not speak the things one wants them to say, which if said might +add to one's vanity and sense of importance. "So ye'll just be by +yoursel' the morn, unless they put Dicky Tamson owre aside you," he +added viciously. + +"I dinna want Dicky Tamson aside me," she said with some heat, and a +hint of anxiety in her voice, which pleased him a little. "He's an +impudent thing," and again she relapsed into silence, just when he +thought his pleasure was going to be complete. + +"Oh, they'll maybe put Aggie Lowrieson on your side o' the table," he +volunteered, glad that at last she had shown some feeling. + +"They can keep Aggie Lowrieson too," she said shortly. "I dinna' want +her. I'll get on fine mysel'," and she said no more. + +He talked of his new venture all the way home, and he felt more and more +hurt because she did not reply as eagerly and volubly as he wished. + +"It'll be great goin' doon the pit," he said, again feeling that he was +going to be priggish. "Pickin' stanes is a' guid enough for a laddie for +a wee while, an' for women, but you're the better to gang into the pit +when you're the age. You get mair money for it. Of course, it's hard +work, but I'll be earnin' as much as twa shillin's a day in the pit, and +that'll be twelve shillin's a week." + +But Mysie could not be drawn to look at his rosy prospects, and still +kept silent, so that the last few hundred yards were covered in silence. +At the end of the row where they always parted, he could not resist +adding a thrust to his usual "good-night." + +"Guid nicht then, Mysie. I thocht may be ye'd be vexed, seem' that +Dickie Tamson can torment you as muckle as he likes now." And so he +went home feeling that Mysie didn't care much. + +But Mysie had a sore heart that night. She knew only too well that Dick +Tamson would torment her, and would be egged on by the other women to +kiss and tease her, and they would laugh at it all. Robert had always +been her champion, and kept Dick, who was a mischievous boy, at a +distance. She was sorry that Robert was going down the pit, and it +seemed to her that she'd rather go to service now. The harsh clamor and +the dirty disagreeable work were bearable before, but it would not be +the same with Robert away. She knew that she would miss him very much. +She thought long of it when she lay down in her bed that night. He had +no right to think that she was not vexed, and she cried quietly beneath +the blankets. + +"Here's Mysie greetin'," cried her little brother, who lay beside her. +"Mither, Mysie's greetin'." + +"What's wrang wi' her?" called the mother anxiously from the other bed. + +"I dinna' ken," answered the boy, "she'll no' tell me." + +"What is't that's wrang with you, Mysie?" again called the mother more +sharply. + +"I've a sore tooth," she answered, glad to get any excuse, and lying +with promptitude. + +"Well, hap the blankets owre your head," the mother advised, "and it'll +soon be better. Dinna' greet, like a woman." + +But Mysie still continued to cry softly, choking back the sobs, and +keeping her face to the wall, so as not to disturb the other sleeper +beside her--cried for a long hour, until exhaustion overcame her, and at +last she fell asleep, her last thought being that Robert had no right to +misjudge her so. + +Robert, on the other hand, as is the prerogative of the man, soon forgot +all about his disappointment at Mysie's seeming want of interest in his +affairs, and was busy with his preparations for the next day. + +He had a lamp to buy, for Lowwood was an open-light pit, and was soon +busy on the instructions of his father learning the art of "putting in a +wick" to the exact thickness, testing his tea flask, and doing all the +little things that count in preparing for the first descent into a coal +mine. He was very much excited over it all, and babbled all the evening, +asking questions regarding the work he would be called upon to do, and +generally boring his father with his talk. + +But his father understood it all, and was patient with him, answering +his enquiries and advising him on many things, until latterly he pleaded +for a "wink o' peace," and told the boy "for any sake" to be quiet. + +Geordie Sinclair knew that this enthusiasm would soon evaporate. Only +too well he knew the stages of disappointment which the boy would +experience, and for this reason he was kindly with him. + +He was now looking forward with better prospects. Robert was the second +boy now started, and already matters were somewhat easier; but he +shuddered to think of the lot of the man who was battling away unaided, +with four or five children to support, and depending on a meager three +and sixpence or four shillings of a daily wage to keep the house +together. For himself the prospect was now better, and in looking back +he realized what a terrible time it had been--especially for his wife; +for hers was the more difficult task in laying out the scanty wages he +earned. + +It never had seemed to strike him with such force before, even when +matters were at their worst, what it had meant to her; and as he looked +at her, sitting knitting at the opposite side of the fire, he was filled +with compassion for her, and a new beauty seemed to be upon her lined +face, and in the firm set of her mouth. + +Thus he sat reviewing all the terrible struggle, when she had slaved to +keep him and the children, during the time he was injured, and a pang +shot through, as the conviction came to him, that perhaps he had not +been as helpful as he might have been to her, when a little praise even +might have made it easier for her. + +Impulsively he rose to his feet and crossed to where she sat, taking her +in his arms and kissing her. + +"Losh, Geordie, what's wrong with you!" she enquired, looking up with a +pleased sparkle in her eyes, for he was usually very undemonstrative. + +"Oh, just this, Nellie," he said with embarrassment in every feature of +his face, "I've been thinking over things, and I feel that I havena' +given you encouragement as I should have done, for all that you have +done for me and the bairns." + +"You fair took my breath away," said Nellie with a pleased little laugh; +then, as she looked at his glowing face, something came into her throat, +and the tears started. + +"There now, lassie," he said, again gathering her into his arms, and +kissing her tenderly, "it's all past now, my lass, and you'll get it +easier from this time forth. God knows, Nellie, you are worth all that I +can ever do for you to help," and the happy tears fell from her eyes, as +she patted his rough, hairy cheek, and fondled him again, as she had +done in their courting days. + +"I'll wash the floor for you, lass," he said impulsively, almost beside +himself with happiness, as he realized that this little act of his had +made them both so happy. "You've been in the washing tub all day, and I +ken you'll be scrubbin' on the floor first thing in the morning, as soon +as we are away to the pit. But I'll do it for you the nicht. The bairns +are all in bed, and I'll no' be long. You sit an' tak' a rest," and he +was off for the pail and a scrubbing brush, and was back at the fireside +pouring water from the kettle before his wife realized it. + +"Oh, never mind, Geordie," she said remonstratingly, "I'll do it myself +in the morning. You've had your own work to do in the pit, an' you need +all the rest you can get." + +"No," he said decisively. "You sit doon, lass. I'll no' be lang. Just +you sing a bit sang to me, just as you used to sing, Nellie, an' I'll +wash out the floor," and he was soon on his knees, scrubbing away as if +it were a daily occurrence with him. And Nellie, pleased and happy +beyond expression, sat in the big chair by the fireside and sang his +favorite ballad, "Kirkconnel Lea." + + Oh, that I were where Helen lies, + For nicht and day on me she cries, + Oh, that I were where Helen lies + On fair Kirkconnel Lea. + + Oh, Helen fair, beyond compare, + I'll mak' a garland o' your hair + Shall bind my heart for evermair + Until the day I dee. + +And Nellie Sinclair never in all her life sang that song so well as she +did that night; and she never sang it again. Robert, who was lying in +the room, heard her glorious voice, and marveled at the complete mastery +she showed over the plaintive old tune. It was as if her very soul +reveled in it, as the notes rose and fell; and it stirred the boy into +tremendous emotional excitement, as the tragedy was unfolded in the +beautiful words and the sadness of the old tune. + +It was a memorable night of quiet happiness for all, and there was so +much of tragedy lying behind it unseen and unknown. But so often are the +sweetest moments of life followed by its sadness and its sorrow. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE ACCIDENT + + +Next morning at five o'clock Robert leapt from his bed, full of +importance at the prospect of going down the pit. Stripping off his +sleeping shirt, he chattered as he donned the pit clothes. The blue +plaid working-shirt which his mother had bought for him felt rough to +his tender skin, but unpleasant as it was, he donned it with a sense of +bigness. Then the rough moleskin trousers were put on and fastened with +a belt round the waist, and a pair of leg-strings at the knees. The +bundles of clothes, separately arranged the night before, had got mixed +somewhat in Robert's eagerness to dress, with the result that when his +brother John rose, with eyes half shut, and reached for his stockings, +he found those of Robert instead lying upon his bundle. + +"Gie's my socks," he ordered grumpily, flinging Robert's socks into the +far corner of the kitchen. "You've on the wrong drawers too. Can ye no' +look what you're doin'?" and the drawers followed the socks, while +Robert looked at his mother with eyes of wonderment. + +"Tak' aff his socks, Rob," she said, "he's a thrawn, ill-natured cat, +that, in the mornin'." + +"Well, he should look what he's doin' an' no' put on other folk's +claes," and immediately the others burst out laughing, for this advocate +of "watchin' what he was doin'" had in his half sleepy condition failed +to see that he had lifted his jacket and had rammed his leg down the +sleeve in his hurry and anger. + +"Noo, that'll do," said Geordie, as John flung the jacket at Robert, +because he laughed. "That'll do noo, or I'll come alang yer jaw," and +thus admonished John was at once silent. + +Robert soon had his toilet completed, however, even to the old cap on +his head, upon which sat the little oil-lamp, which he handled and +cleaned and wiped with his fingers to keep it bright and shiny, whilst +all the time he kept chattering. + +"For ony sake, laddie, hand your tongue," said Geordie at last, as he +drew in his chair to the table to start upon the frugal breakfast of +bread and butter and tea. "Your tongue's never lain since you got up." + +Robert, thereupon, sat down in silence at the table, though there were a +hundred different things he wanted to ask about the pit. He could not +understand why everyone felt and looked so sleepy, nor divine the cause +of the irritable look upon each face, which in the dim light of the +paraffin lamp gave a forbidding atmosphere to the home at this time of +the day. + +At last, however, the meal was over, and when Geordie had lit his pit +lamp and stuck his pipe in his mouth, all three started off with a curt +"Good morning" to Mrs. Sinclair, who looked after her boys with a smile +which chased away the previous irritability from her face. + +Arrived at the pit-head, they found a number of miners there squatting +on their "hunkers," waiting the time for descending the shaft. As each +newcomer came forward, the man who arrived immediately before him called +out: "I'm last." By this means--"crying the benns,"--as it was +called--the order of descent was regulated on the principle of "First +come, first served." Much chaffing was leveled at little Robert by some +of the younger men regarding his work and the things which would have to +be done by and to him that day. + +At last came the all important moment, and Robert, his father and two +men stepped on to the cage. After the signal was given, it seemed to the +boy as if heaven and earth were passing away in the sudden sheer drop, +as the cage plunged down into the yawning hole, out of which came evil +smells and shadows cast from the flickering lamps upon the heads of the +miners. The rattling of the cage sent a shiver of fear through Robert, +and with that first sudden plunge he felt as if his heart were going to +leap out of his mouth. But by the time he reached the "bottom," he had +consoled and encouraged himself with the thought that these things were +all in the first day's experience of all miners. + +That morning Robert Sinclair was initiated into the art of "drawing" by +his brother John. The road was fairly level, to push the loaded "tubs," +thus leaving his father to be helped with the pick at the coal "face." +After an hour or two, Robert, though getting fairly well acquainted with +the work, was feeling tired. The strange damp smell, which had greeted +his nostrils when the cage began to descend with him that morning, was +still strong, though not so overpowering as it had been at first. The +subtle shifting shadows cast from his little lamp were becoming +familiar, and his nervousness was not now so pronounced, though he was +still easily startled if anything unusual took place. The sound of the +first shot in the pit nearly frightened him out of his wits, and he +listened nervously to every dull report with a strange uneasiness. About +one o'clock his father called to him. + +"Dinna tak' that hutch oot the noo, Robert. Just let it staun', an' sit +doon an' tak' yir piece. Ye'll be hungry, an' John an' me will be out +the noo if we had this shot stemmed." + +"A' richt," cheerfully replied the boy, withdrawing down to the end of +the road, where his clothes hung upon a tree, and taking his bread from +one of his pockets, he sat down tired and hungry to await his father and +John. + +Geordie's "place" was being worked over the old workings of another mine +which had exhausted most of the coal of a lower seam many years +previously, except for the "stoops" or pillars, which had been left in. +This was supposed to be the barrier beyond which Rundell's lease did not +go. It would be too dangerous to work the upper seam with the ground +hollow underneath, so the "places" had all been stopped as they came up, +with the exception of Geordie Sinclair's. Sinclair was puzzled at this, +and he often wondered why his place had not been stopped with the +others. He was more uneasy, too, when he began to find large cracks or +fissures in the metals, and spoke of this to Andrew Marshall a few +nights before; but he did not like to seem to make too much of it, and +the matter was passed over, till the day before, when Walker visited the +place for a few minutes, when Geordie accosted him. + +"What way is my place going on?" he asked, and was told that it was a +corner in the barrier, which extended for one hundred yards and must go +on for that distance, and that there was really no danger, as the ground +below was solid. + +So, busily working away, and finding still more rents in the floor and +roof, Sinclair thought it must just be as he had seen it in other places +of a like kind, the weight of the upper metals which were breaking over +the solid ground by reason of the hollow beneath between the stoops, +though in this case it did not amount to much as yet. + +The coal was easy to get; he had one boy "forrit to the pick," with +Robert as "drawer," and his prospects seemed good, he thought, as he was +busily preparing a shot, ramming in the powder, and "stemming" up the +hole. He was busy ramming the powder in the prepared hole, while the +elder boy prepared clay, with which to stem or seal it up after the +powder had been pressed back, leaving only the fuse protruding. + +"Here's a tree cracking," said the boy, drawing his father's attention +to a breaking prop; but as this is a common occurrence in all mines +where there is extra weight after development, Geordie thought nothing +of it at the time, intending merely, before he lighted his shot, to put +in a fresh prop. + +"Bring in another prop, sonny," he said to the boy, "and I'll put it in +when I have stemmed this hole," and the boy turned to obey his order. + +But suddenly a low crackling sound, caused by the breaking of more +props, was heard, then a roar and a crash as of thunder, followed by a +long rumbling noise, which left not a moment for the two trapped human +beings to stir even a limb or utter a cry. The immensity of the fall +created a wind, which put out little Robert's lamp; the great rumbling +noise filled him with a dreadful fear, and he sprang involuntarily to +his feet. + +"Faither! Faither!" he called, terror in his voice and anxiety in his +little heart, but there was no reassuring answer. He felt his breathing +getting difficult; the air was thick with dust and heavy with the smell +of rotting wood and damp decaying matter. + +"Faither! Faither!" he called again louder in his agony, darting +forward, thinking to go to their assistance, and knocking his head +against a boulder. + +"John! Faither! I'm feart," and he began to cry. Afraid to move, unable +to see, he staggered from one side to another, bruising his face and +arms against the jagged sides, the blood already streaming from his +bruises, and his heart frantic with fear. + +"Oh, faither! faither! Where are ye?" and he began to crawl up the +incline, in desperate fear, while still the rumbling and crashing went +on in long rolling thunder. "Oh! oh!" he moaned, now almost mad with +terror. "Faither! John! Where are ye! Oh! oh!" and he fell back stunned +by striking his head against a low part of the roof. + +Again he scrambled to his feet, certain now that some disaster had +happened, since there was no response to his appeals, and again he was +knocked to the ground by striking his head against the side of the +roadway. But always he rose again, frantically dashing from side to +side, as a caged lark, when first caught, dashes itself against the bars +of its prison; until finally, stunned beyond recovery, he lay in a +semi-conscious condition, helpless and inert, his bruises smarting but +unfelt, and the blood oozing from his nose and mouth. + +Andrew Marshall, working about fifty yards away, heard the roar and the +crash, and the boy's cries, and at once ran to Geordie's place. In his +haste and anxiety he nearly stumbled over the prostrate boy, who lay +unconscious in the roadway. + +"Good God! What has happened?" he exclaimed, anxiously bending over the +boy and raising him up, then dashing some cold tea from Robert's flask +upon him, and forcing some between his lips. Then, when the boy showed +signs of recovery, he plied him with anxious questions. + +"Where's yir faither? What's wrang?" But the boy only clung to him in +wild terror, and nothing connected could be got from him. + +Andrew lighted the boy's lamp and tore up the brae, leaving Robert +shrieking in nervous fright. + +"Great Christ! It has fa'en in!" he cried, when he had got as far as he +could go. "Geordie! Geordie! Are ye in there?" and as no answer came, he +began tearing at the great blocks of stone, flinging them like pebbles +in his desperation, until another warning rumble drove him back. +Immediately he realized how helpless he was alone, so he went back to +the boy and hurried him down the brae and out to where some other men +were at work. A few hasty words, and Robert was passed on, and Andrew +went back with the men, only to find how hopeless it all was; for +occasionally huge falls continued to come away, and it seemed useless to +attempt anything till more help was procured. + +Andrew hurried off to the bottom and overtook Robert, sending back +others to help, and he ascended the shaft and was off to break the news +to Mrs. Sinclair; after which he returned to the pit, determined to get +out all that remained of Geordie and the boy John. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +HEROES OF THE UNDERWORLD + + +Matters were now much easier and more comfortable for Geordie Sinclair +and his wife. They had long since added another apartment to their +house, and the "room" was the special pride of Nellie, who was gradually +"getting a bit thing for it" just as her means permitted. They had two +beds in each apartment, and the room was furnished. Mrs. Sinclair had +long set her mind upon a "chest of drawers," and now that that +particular piece of furniture stood proudly in her room, much of her day +was given to polishing it and the half-dozen stuffed bottomed chairs, +which were the envy of every housewife in the village. A large oval +mirror stood upon the top of the drawers, and was draped with a piece of +cheap curtain cloth, bleached to the whiteness of new fallen snow. + +This mirror was a much-prized possession, for no other like it had ever +been known in the village. The floor was covered with oilcloth, and a +sheepskin rug lay upon the hearthstone, while white starched curtains +draped the window. The getting of the waxcloth had been a wonderful +event, and dozens of women had come from all over the village to stand +in gaping admiration of its beauty. This was always where Mrs. Sinclair +felt a thrill of great pride. + +"Ye see," she would explain, "it's awfu' easy to wash, and a bit wipe +owre wi' soap an' watter is a' it needs." + +"My, how weel aff ye are!" one woman would exclaim, "I'm telt that ye +maunna use a scrubbin' brush on't, or the pattern will rub off." + +"Oh, ay," Nellie would laugh with a hint of superior wisdom in it. +"Ye'll soon waste it gin ye took a scrubber to it. An' ye maunna use +owre hot water to it either," she would add. + +"Oh my!" would come in genuine surprise. "Do you tell me that. Eh, but +you're the weel-aff woman now, to hae a room like that, an' rale +waxcloth on the floor!" + +"I thocht it was a fine, cheerie bit thing," Nellie would say. "It mak's +the hoose ever so much mair heartsome." + +"So it is," would come the reply. "It's a fine, but cheerie thing. +You're a rale weel-aff woman, I can tell ye," and the woman would go +home to dream of one day having a room like Mrs. Sinclair's, and to tell +her neighbors of the great "grandeur" that the Sinclair's possessed, +whilst Nellie would set to, and rub and polish those drawers and that +mirror, and the stuff-bottomed chairs till they shone like the sun upon +a moorland tarn, and she herself felt like dropping from sheer +exhaustion. + +She even took to telling the neighbors sometimes, when they came on +those visits that "working folk should a' hae coal-houses, for coal kept +ablow the beds makes an awfu' mess o' the ticks." + +"Oh, weel," would be the reply, made with the usual sigh of resignation, +"I hae had a house a gey lang while now, an' I dinna think I've ever +wanted ony sic newfangled things as that." + +"That's what's wrang," Mrs. Sinclair would reply. "We dinna want them. +If we did, we'd soon get them. What way would the gentry hae a' thae +things, an' us hae nane?" + +"That's a' richt, Nellie," would be the reply. "We wadna ken what to do +wi' what the gentry has got. They're rich an' can afford it, an' forby +they need them an' we don't. I think I'm fine as I am." + +"Fine as ye are!" with bitter scorn in her tones. "Ye'll never be fine +wi' a mind like that." + +"Wheesht, woman Nellie! You're no feart. Dinna talk like that. We micht +a' be strucken doon dead!" + +This usually ended the discussion, for Scots people generally--and the +workers especially--are always on very intimate terms with the Deity, +and know the pains and penalties of too intimate allusions to His power. + +Yet, with all her discontent, Mrs. Sinclair found life very much easier +than it had been, for now that she had some of the boys started to work, +she had made her house "respectable," and added many little comforts, +besides having a "bit pound or twa lyin' in the store." So she looked +ahead with more hope and a more serene heart. Her children were well-fed +and clothed, and the old days of hunger and struggling were over, she +thought. Geordie was now taking a day off in the middle of the week to +rest, as there was no need for him to slave and toil every day as he had +done in the past. After all it would only be a very few years till he +would no longer be able to work at all. + +Rosy looked the future then, as Mrs. Sinclair, on the day on which young +Robert went down the pit, showed off her room "grandeur" to an admiring +neighbor. + +"My, what braw paper ye hae, Nellie. Wha put it on for ye? Was it +yirsel'?" asked the visitor with breath bated in admiration. + +"Ay, it was that. I just got the chance o' the bargain, an' I thocht I'd +tak' it," she replied, with subdued pride. + +"Oh, my! it's awful braw, an' sae weel matched too! I never saw anything +sae well done. You're rale weel-off, do ye ken." + +"My God! What's wrang?" cried Nellie suddenly, gazing from the window +with blanched cheeks. + +"I doot there's been an accident. I heard the bell gang for men three +tows a' rinnin', an' I see a lot o' men comin' up the brae. I doot the +pit's lowsed." + +Both of them hurried to the door, and found that already a crowd of +women had flocked to the end of the row, and were standing waiting +anxiously on the men, in order to learn what had happened. They did not +talk, but gazed down the hill, each heart anxious to know if the +unfortunate one belonged to her. The sickening fear which grips the +heart of every miner's wife, when she sees that procession from the pit +before the proper quitting hour, lay heavy upon each one. The white +drawn faces, the set firm lips, and the deep troubled breathing told how +much the women were moved. + +Wives and mothers, sweethearts and sisters, oh, what a hell of torture +they suffered in those few tense moments whilst waiting for the news, +which, though to a great extent it may relieve many, must break at least +one heart. No man, having once seen this, ever wants to witness it +again. Concentrated hell and torture with every moment, stabbing and +pulling at each heart and then--then the sad, mournful face of Andrew +Marshall as he steps forward slowly past Mag Robertson, past Jean +Fleming, past Jenny Maitland, past them all, and at last putting a +kindly hand on the shoulder of Nellie Sinclair, he says, with a catch in +his voice that would break a heart of granite: "Come awa' hame, Nellie. +Come awa' hame. Ye'll need to bear up." + +Then it is whispered round: "It's Geordie Sinclair killed wi' a fa'." +And hope has died, and dreams have fled, and the world will never again +look bonnie and fresh and sweet and full of happiness, nor the blood +dance so joyously, nor the eyes ever again sparkle with the same soft +loving glance. + +No more happy evenings, such as the night before had been, when the +glamor and romance of courtship days had come back, and they had found a +new beauty of love and the glory of life, in the easier circumstances +and rosy hopes ahead. + +Misery and suffering, and the long keen pain, the sad cheerless +prospect, and over all the empty life and the broken heart. + +Lowwood was plunged into gloom when the news of the accident was known, +and every heart went out in sympathy to Nellie Sinclair and her young +family. It was indeed a terrible blow to lose at one and the same time +her husband and her eldest boy. + +It was two days later, and the bodies had not yet been recovered. Men +toiled night and day, working as only miners fighting for life can work, +risking life among the continually falling debris to recover all that +remained of their comrades. + +"It couldna ha'e been worse," said Jenny Maitland sorrowfully to her +next door neighbor. "It's an awfu' blow." + +"Ay," rejoined her neighbor, applying the corner of her apron to her +eyes. "It mak's it worse them no' bein' gotten yet. I think I'd gae +wrang in the mind if that happened to our yin," and then, completely +overcome, she sat down on the doorstep and sobbed in real sorrow. + +"I suppose it's an awfu' big fall. He had been workin' on the top o' +some auld workin's, an' I suppose they wadna ken, an' it fell in. It +maun hae been an awfu' trial for wee Rob, poor wee man. His first day in +the pit, an' his father an' brither killed afore his een!" + +"Hoo has Nellie taken it, Jenny?" enquired the neighbor, after a little, +when her sobs had subsided. + +"Ye'd break yir heart if ye could see her," replied Jenny sorrowfully. +"I gaed owre when oor yin gaed out wi' the pieces--he cam' hame at fower +o'clock to get mair pieces, for they're goin' to work on to ten the +nicht--an' I never saw onything sae sad-lookin' as her face. She has +never cried the least thing yet. Never a tear has come frae her, but +she'd be better if she could greet." + +"Do ye tell me that! Puir Nellie! It's an awfu' hand fu' she is left +wi', too," commented the neighbor. + +"Ay, she jist looks at ye sae sad-like wi' her big black een; never a +word nor a tear, but just stares, an' she's that thin an' white lookin'. +I look for her breakin' doon a'thegither, an' when she does I wadna like +to see her. The bits o' weans gang aboot the hoose wonderin' at her, and +she looks to them too, but ye'd think she'd nae interest in onything. +She jist looks out o' the window an' doon the brae to the pit. It's +awesome to look at her." + +"Oh, puir body!" and again the kindly neighbor was overcome, and Jenny +joined her tears too in silent sympathy. + +"The minister was owre last nicht," said Jenny after a little, "but I +dinna think she ever spoke to him. He cam' in just when I was comin' +oot, an' I dinna like to leave her. He talked away a wee while an' then +put up a prayer; but there was nae consolation in't for onybody. I think +the sicht o' her face maun hae been too muckle for him. He didna stay +very lang, and gaed awa' saying he'd come back again. Nellie has +everything ready--the bed a' made, wi' clean sheets an' blankets on +them--an' there she stan's always at that window, lookin' doon the brae. +It would break yer heart to see her, Leezie, she's that vexed lookin'." +So they wept and sorrowed together. + + * * * * * + +Down in the pit, Andrew Marshall, Matthew Maitland, Peter Pegg, and a +number of others toiled like giants possessed. Their naked bodies +streamed with sweat and glistened in the light of their lamps. Timber +was placed in position, and driven tight with desperation in every blow +from their hammers; blocks of rock were tossed aside, and smashed into +fragments, ere being filled into the tubs which were ever waiting ready +to convey the debris to the pit-head. Few words were spoken, except when +a warning shout was given, when some loose rubble poured down from the +great gaping cavern in the roof, and then men jumped and sprang to +safety with the agility of desperation, to wait till the rumbling had +ceased, only to leap back again into the yawning hell, tearing at the +stones, and trying to work their way into the place where they knew +Geordie and the boy were lying. It seemed impossible that human efforts +would ever be able to clear that mountain away. + +"Wait a minute, callans," said Andrew, almost dropping with exhaustion, +and drawing his hands across his eyes to wipe the sweat from them, +whilst he "hunkered" down, his back against a broken tree which stood +jutting out from the building, supporting a broken "baton" (cross-tree), +which bent down in the center, making the roadway low and unsafe. "Let +us tak a minute's thocht, and see if we can get a way o' chokin' up that +stuff fear fallin' doon. We'll never get it redd up goin' like this." + +So they sat down, tired but still desperate, to listen to each one +suggesting a way of stopping the debris from continuing to fall. Baffled +and at their wits' end, they could think of nothing. + +At last in came a number of other men to relieve them--men equally +anxious and desperate as they, burning with the desire to get to grips +with this calamity which had come upon two of their comrades. + +"I'm no' goin' hame," said Andrew decisively, "till I see Geordie out." +He was almost dropping with exhaustion, but he could not think of +leaving his dead friend in there. So at last it was agreed that he +should stay, and at least give the benefit of his advice. The others, +more tired than ever they had been before in all their experience of the +mines, where hard work is the rule, trudged wearily home, to be met by +the waiting groups of women and children, who at all times stood at the +corners of the village eagerly asking for news, "If they'd been gotten +yet." + +After a few minutes' deliberation a plan was decided on by Andrew and +his comrades of trying to choke up the hole in the roof with timber, and +the work went on desperately, silently, heroically. Time and again their +efforts were baffled by new falls, but always the same persistent eager +spirit drove them back to their toil. So they worked, risking and daring +things of which no man who never saw a like calamity has any conception, +and which would have appalled themselves at any other time. + +"Look out, boys," called Tam Donaldson, springing back to the road as +the warning noise again began, and great masses of rock came hurtling +down, filling the place with dust and noise. + +A cry of pain and horror broke upon them as they ran, and brought them +back while the crumbling mass was still falling. + +"Great God! It's wee Jamie Allan," roared one man above the din. "He's +catched by the leg! Here, boys, hurry up! Try an' get this block broken +afore ony mair comes doon. God Almichty! Are we a' goin' to be buried +thegither? This bit, boys! Quick!" And they tore at the great masses of +stone, the sweat streaming from every pore of their bodies, cursing +their impotence as they smashed with big hammers the rock which lay upon +Jamie's leg. + +"Mind yersel's, laddies!" warned Jamie, as again the trickling noise +began, heralding another fall. "Leave me, for God's sake, an' get back!" +But not one heeded. Desperate and strong with the strength of giants, +they toiled on, the sight of suffering so manifest in Jamie's eyes, as +he strove not to cry out, spurring them onward. + +"Ye'll never lift that bit, Tam," said Jamie, as four of them tore at +the block which lay upon his leg. "It's faur too big. Take an ax an' +hack the leg off. I doot it'll be wasted anyway. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" +And unable longer to endure the pain, he roared aloud in agony, and tore +at the stone himself with his fingers, like an imprisoned beast in a +trap. + +"Here, boys, quick!" cried Andrew, getting his long pinch in below the +stone, upon a fine leverage. "Put yir weight on this, Tam, an' Jock an' +Sanny'll try an' pull Jamie out. Hurry up, for she's working for anither +collapse. A'thegither!" and so they tugged and tore, and strained and +pulled, while the roars of the imprisoned man were deafening. + +"A'thegither again, laddies!" encouraged Andrew. "This time!" and with a +tremendous effort the stone gave way, and Jamie was pulled clear, his +leg a crushed mass of pulpy blood and shattered bones. They dragged him +back clear of any further falls, and improvised a stretcher on which to +carry home his now unconscious body. + +"That was a hell o' a narrow shave," quietly observed Tam Donaldson, as +they panted together, and tried to collect themselves. "His leg's +wasted, I doot, an' will need to come off." When they had their +stretcher ready, the wounded man was tenderly placed upon it, carefully +covered up with the jackets of the others; whilst half-a-dozen of them +carried him to the pit bottom, and finally bore him home, where the +doctor was ready waiting to attend to him. + +Andrew and a few others worked away, and at last managed to get the +running sore in the roof choked up with long bars of timber, and even +though it continued to rumble away above them, the heavy blocks of wood +held, and so allowed them to work away in comparative safety. + +Peter Pegg and Matthew Maitland returned at six o'clock next morning, +bringing with them another band of workers to relieve those who had +worked all night, but still Andrew Marshall would not leave the scene of +the disaster. He worked and rested by turns, advising and guiding the +younger men, who never spared themselves. They performed mighty epics of +work down there in the darkness amid the rumbling, falling roof. It was +a great task they were set, but they never shirked the consequences. +They never turned back. Risks were taken and accepted without a thought; +tasks were eagerly jumped to, and the whole job accepted as if it were +just what ordinarily they were asked to do. + +Crash went the hammers; thump went the great blocks of material into the +tubs, and the men quietly got away the tubs as they were filled. Night +and day the great work went on, never ceasing, persistent, relentless. +If one man dropped out a minute to breathe and rest when exhausted, +another sprang into his place, and toiled and strove like an engine. + +There was something great and inspiring even to look on at those mighty +efforts--something exhilarating and elevating in the play of muscles +like great long shooting serpents under the glistening skins of the men. +Arms shot out, tugged and tore, jerked and wrenched, then doubled up and +the muscles became knots, bulging out as if they would break through the +skin, as the great blocks were lifted; and then the blocks were cast +into the tub, the knots untied themselves, and slipped elastically back +into their places, and the serpents were momentarily at rest until the +body bent again to another block. Out and in they flew, supple and +silent, quick as lightning playing in the heavens; they zig-zagged and +shot this way and that, tying and untying themselves, darting out and +doubling back, advancing and retiring in rhythmic action, graceful and +easy, powerful and inevitable. Bending and rising, the swaying bodies +gleamed and glistened with greasy dust and sweat, catching the gleams +from the lamps and reflecting them in every streaming pore. Straining +and tearing, the muscles, at every slightest wish, seemed to exude +energy and health, glowing strength and power. + +It was all so natural and apparently easy--an epic in moleskin and human +flesh, with only the little glimmer of oil-lamps, which darted from side +to side in a mad mazurka of toil, crossing and recrossing, swinging and +halting, the flames flattening out with every heave of their owners' +bodies, then abruptly being brought to the steady again. Looked at from +the road-foot, it was like a carnival of fireflies engaged in trying how +quickly they could dart from side to side, and cross each other's path, +without coming into collision. + +Who shall sing in lyrical language the exhilaration of such splendid +men's work? Who shall catch that glow of strength and health, and work +it into deathless song? The ring of the hammers on the stone, the dull +regular thud upon the timber, the crash of breaking rock, and the +strong, warm-blooded, generous-hearted men; the passionate glowing +bodies, and above all, the great big heroic souls, fighting, working, +striving in a hell of hunger and death, toiling till one felt they were +gods instead of humans--gods of succor and power, gods of helpfulness +and strength. + +So the work went on hour after hour, and now their efforts were +beginning to tell. No more came the rumbling, treacherous falls; but +perceptibly, irresistibly was the passage gradually cleared, and the way +opened up, until it seemed as if these men were literally eating their +way into that rock-filled passage. + +"Can ye tell me where Black Jock is a' this time?" enquired Andrew, as +Peter and Matthew and he sat back the road, resting while the others +worked. "Rundell has been here twa or three times, for hours at a time, +but I hae never seen Walker yet." + +"I hae never seen him either, an' I was hearin' that he was badly," +returned Peter, and his big eye seemed to turn as if it were looking for +and expecting some one to slip up behind him. + +"Ay," broke in Matthew, "badly! I wadna say, but it micht be that he's +badly; but maybe he's not." + +"Do ye ken, boys," said Andrew quietly, taking his pipe out of his +mouth, and speaking with slow deliberation, "I'm beginnin' to think +Black Jock is guilty o' Geordie's death. Geordie, as we a' ken, had ay +something against Walker. There was something he kent aboot the black +brute that lately kept him gey quiet; for, if ye noticed, whenever +Geordie went to him about anybody's complaint, the men aye won. I ken +Walker hated him, an' I'm inclined to think that he has deliberately +put Geordie into this place, kennin' that the lower seam had been +worked out lang, lang syne. His plans wad tell him as muckle about the +workin's, and I ken, at least, he's never been in Geordie's place since +it was started, an' there's nae ither places drivin' up sae far as this. +They're a' stoppit afore they come this length; an' forby, frae what +Rundell has let drap the day, he never kent that the coal was being +worked as far up as this. By ----! Peter, gin I could prove what I +suspect, I'd murder the dirty brute this nicht! I would that!" + +"Would Nellie no' ken, think ye, what it was that Geordie had against +Black Jock that kept him sae quiet?" enquired Peter. + +"I couldna' say," answered Andrew, "but some day when I get the chance +I'll maybe ask her, an' if it is as I think, then there'll be rows." + +"Let me ken, Andrew," broke in Matthew. "Let me ken if ever ye discover +onything; an' ye can count on me sharin' the penalties o' hell alang wi' +ye for the murder o' the big black brute." + +"I heard," said Peter, "that he was boozin' wi' Mag Robertson and Sanny. +But we'll no' be long in kennin', for ill-doin' canna hide." + + * * * * * + +After three frantic days of fighting against calamity, during which +Andrew never left the fight except for that brief journey to tell Nellie +the news, at last they came upon the crushed mass of bloody pulp and +rags, smashed together so that the one could not be told from the +other--father and son, a heap of broken bones and flesh and blood.... +And no pen can describe accurately the scene. + +The light had gone out from one woman's heart, the hope had been crushed +from her life. The rainbow which had promised so much vanished. The lust +and urge had gone out of eager life. Never again would the world seem +fair and beautiful. Instead, all the weary fight and desperate battle +with poverty and privation over again; the dull misery and the drab +gray existence, and always the pain--the heavy, dragging pain of a +broken life. With a woman's "Oh! my God!" the world for one heart stood +still, and the blind fate of things triumphed, crushing a woman's soul +in the process. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE STRIKE + + +A week had passed, and Geordie Sinclair and his boy, or at least all +that could be gathered up of them, had been laid to rest. + +Nellie was very ill, and was now in bed. The reaction had been too much +for her. But, as Jenny Maitland had said: "She's never cried yet, an' it +would hae been better gin she had. She jist looked at ye wi' her big +black e'en sae vexed-like and faraway lookin', an' never spoke hardly. +When they carried out the coffins, she sprang up gin she wad follow +them, but was putten back to bed again. It was heart-vexin' to look at +her." + +Robert suffered, too. The sympathy of everyone went out to him. At night +when he went to bed the whole scene was reenacted before him in all its +horror. Those tense moments of tragedy had so powerfully impressed his +boyish mind that he could never forget them. + +At the end of the week Andrew Marshall visited them to talk over +matters. A collection had been made at the pay-office by the men +employed at the pit, and a beautiful wreath purchased and placed upon +the grave. A substantial balance had been handed over to Mrs. Sinclair, +and this defrayed the expenses of the funeral. After Andrew had spoken +of various things, he broke on to the object of his errand that night. + +"I hae been thinkin', Nellie," he began nervously, "that I could tak' +Rob in wi' me. Ye see, I ha'e no callans o' my ain, and I ha'e aye to +get yin to draw off me. So, gin ye're agreeable, I could tak' Rob, an' +I'll be guid to him. He can come an' be my neighbor, an' as he'll hae to +get work in ony case, he micht as weel work wi' me as wi' ony ither +body. Forby I'll maybe be able to pay him mair than plenty ithers could +pay him, an' that is efter a' the point to be maist considered. What do +ye think?" + +But Mrs. Sinclair could not think; she merely indicated to him that he +might please himself and make his own arrangements with the boy, which +Andrew did, and Robert went to work with him the following week. He was +a mass of nerves and was horribly afraid--indeed, this fear never left +him for years--but, young as he was, he recognized his responsibility, +to his mother and the rest of the family. He was now its head, and had +to shoulder the burden of providing for it, and so his will drove him to +work in the pit, when his soul revolted at the very thought of it. +Always the horror of the tragedy was with him, down to its smallest +detail; and sometimes, even at work, when his mind wandered for a moment +from his immediate task, he would start up in terror, almost crying out +again as he had done on the day of the accident. + +Andrew kept his word and was good to the boy now in his care. Indeed, he +took, as some said, more care of the boy than if Robert had been his +own, for he tried to save him from every little detail that might remind +him of the accident. + +"That's yours, Robin," he said, when pay-day came, as he handed to the +boy the half of the pay earned. + +"Na, I canna' tak' that, Andrew," replied Robert, looking up into the +broad, kindly, honest face of the man. "My mither wouldna' let me." + +"Would she no'?" replied Andrew. "But you are the heid o' the hoose, +Robin, sae just tak' it hame, an' lay it down on the dresser-head. We +are doin' gey weel the noo, an' forby, ye're workin' for it. Noo run +awa' hame wi't, an' dinna say ocht to yir mither, but just put it doon +on the dresser-head." And so the partnership began which was to last for +many years. + +About this time there happened one of those tremendous upheavals, long +remembered in the industrial world, the great Scottish Miners' Strike of +1894. The trade union movement was growing and fighting, and every +tendency pointed to the fact that a clash of forces was inevitable. The +previous year had seen the English miners beaten after a protracted +struggle. They had come out for an increase in wages, and whilst it was +recognized that they had been beaten and forced to go back to work +suffering wholesale reductions, yet a newer perspective was beginning to +appear to the miners of Scotland. + +"We'll never be able to beat the maisters," said Tam Donaldson, when the +cloud first appeared upon the industrial horizon. "The English strike +gied us a lesson we shouldna forget." + +"How's that?" enquired Peter Pegg, as he sat down on his hunkers one +night at the end of the row, while they discussed the prospects of the +coming fight. + +"Weel, ye saw how the Englishmen fought unitedly, an' yet they were +beaten, an' had to gang back on a reduction. We'll very likely be the +same, for the maisters are a' weel organized. What we should do is to +ha'e England an' Scotland coming out together, an' let the pits stan' +then till the grass was growin' owre the whorles. That would be my way +o' it, and I think it would soon bring the country to see what was in +the wind." + +"That's richt, Tam. It would soon bring the hale country to its senses; +for nae matter what oor fight is, we are aye in the wrang wi' some folk; +so the shock o' the hale country comin' out would mak' them tak' notice, +an' would work the cure." + +So they talked of newer plans, while Smillie toiled like a giant to +educate and organize the miners. He had taken hold of them as crude +material, and was slowly shaping them into something like unity. A few +more years and he would win; but the forces against him knew it, too, +and so followed the great fight which lasted for seventeen weeks. + +Singularly enough, while there was undoubtedly much privation, there was +not very much real misery, as the strike had started early in a warm, +dry summer. + +Communal kitchens were at once established throughout the country. +Everybody did his best, and the womenfolk especially toiled early and +late. A committee was appointed in each village to gather in materials. +Beef at a reasonable price was supplied by a local butcher. A horse and +cart were borrowed, which went round the district gathering a cabbage or +two here; a few carrots or turnips there, parsley at another, and so +on, returning at night invariably laden with vegetables for the next +day's dinner. Sometimes a farmer would give a sheep, and the local +cooperative society provided the bread at half the cost of production. +Those farmers who were hostile gave nothing, but it would have paid them +better had they concealed their hostility, for sometimes, even in a +single night, large portions of a field of potatoes would disappear as +by magic. + +Robert worked in this fight like a man. He helped to cut down trees and +saw them into logs, to cook the food at the soup kitchen. Everything and +anything he tried, running errands, and even going with the van to +solicit material for the following day's meals. + +All were cheerful, and no one seemed to take the fight bitterly. Sports +were organized. Quoiting tournaments were got up, football matches +arranged, games at rounders and hand-ball--every conceivable game was +indulged in, with sometimes a few coppers as prizes but more often a few +ounces of tobacco or tea or a packet of sugar. Dances in the evenings +were started at the corner of the row to the strains of a melodeon, and +were carried on to the early hours of the morning. It was from these +gatherings that the young lads generally raided the fields and hen runs +of the hostile farmers, returning with eggs, butter, potatoes, and even +cheese--everything on which they could lay their hands. + +At one of these gatherings Robert related his experience with "auld +Hairyfithill." Robert had been round with the van that day, and calling +at Wilson's, or Hairyfithill Farm, to ask if they had any cabbage to +give, he heard the old man calling to the servant lass: "Mag! Mag! Where +are ye? Rin an' bring in the hens' meat; there's thae colliers coming." + +Nothing daunted, Robert had gone into the kitchen to ask if they had +anything to give the strikers. + +"Get awa' back to yer work, ye lazy loons, ye!" was the reply from old +Mr. Wilson. "Gie ye something for your soup kitchen! Na, na! Ye can gang +an' work, an' pay for your meat. Gang awa' oot owre, and leave the town, +an' dinna come back again." And so they had drawn blank at +Hairyfithill. + +"It wad serve him richt, if every tattie in his fields was ta'en awa'," +said Matthew Maitland, after the story had been told and laughed over. + +"It wad that," agreed a score of voices; but nothing was done nor +anything further said, so the dancing proceeded. + +About two o'clock in the morning while the dancing was still going on +and a fire had been kindled at the corner in which some of the strikers +were roasting potatoes and onions a great commotion was suddenly caused, +when Dickie Tamson and two other boys drove in among them old +Hairyfithill's sow which he was fattening for the market. Some proposed +that the pig be killed at once. + +"Oh no, dinna kill it," said Matthew Maitland, with real alarm in his +voice. "Ye'd get into a row for that. Ye'd better tak' it back, or there +may be fun." + +"Kill the damn'd thing," said Tam Donaldson callously, "an' it'll maybe +a lesson to the auld sot. Him an' his hens' meat! I'd let him ken that +it's no' hens' meat the collier eats--at least no' so lang as he can get +pork." + +"That's jist what I think, too, Tam," put in another voice. "I'd mak' +sure work that the collier ate pork for yince. Come on, boys, an' mum's +the word," and he proceeded to drive the pig further along the village, +followed by a few enthusiastic backers. They drove it into Granny +Fleming's hen-house in the middle of the square, put out the hens, who +protested loudly against this rude and incomprehensible interruption of +their slumbers, and then they proceeded to slaughter the pig. + +It was a horrible orgy, and the pig made a valiant protest, but +encountered by hammers and picks, knives and such-like weapons, the poor +animal was soon vanquished, and the men proceeded to cut up its carcass. +It was a long and trying ordeal for men who had no experience of the +work; yet they made up in enthusiasm what they lacked in science, and by +five o'clock the pig was cut up and distributed through a score of +homes. Every trace of the slaughter was removed, and the refuse buried +in the village midden, and pork was the principal article on the +breakfast table that morning in Lowwood. + +"I hear that auld Hairyfithill has offered five pound reward for +information about his pig," said Tam Donaldson a few mornings later. + +"Ay, an' it's a gran' price for onybody wha kens aboot it," said auld +Jamie Lauder. "Pork maun hae risen in price this last twa-three days, +for I'm telt it was gaun cheap enough then." + +"That is true," said Tam, "but it was a damn'd shame to tak' the auld +man's pig awa', whaever did it. But I hear them saying that the polisman +is gaun to the farm the nicht to watch, so that the tatties 'll no' be +stolen," he went on, as some of the younger men joined them, "an' I +suppose that the puir polisman hasna' a bit o' coal left in his +coal-house. It's no' richt, ye ken, laddies, that a polisman, who is the +representative o' law and order in this place, should sit without a +fire. He has a wife an' weans to worry aboot, an' they need a fire to +mak' meat. Maybe if he had a fire an' plenty o' coal it wad mak' him +comfortable, an' then he'd no' be sae ready to leave the hoose at nicht +an' lie in a tattie pit to watch thievin' colliers. If a man hasna' +peace in his mind it'll mak' him nasty, an' we canna' allow sic a thing +as a nasty polisman in this district!" + +"That's richt, Tam," said one of the younger men. "It would be a shame +to see a woman an' twa-three weans sittin' withoot a fire an' a great +big bing o' coal lyin' doon there at the pit. We maun try an' keep the +polisman comfortable." + +That night the policeman without in any way trying to conceal his +purpose walked down through the village and across the strip of moor and +took up his position at the end of Hairyfithill's potato field. At once +a group of young men led by Tam Donaldson set off with bags under their +arms after it was dark for the pit at the other end of the village and +were soon engaged in carrying coal as if their lives depended on it. + +"Noo, lads, the first bag gangs to the polisman, mind," said Tam, +shouldering his load and walking off. + +"A' richt, Tam. If we a' gang wi' the first bag to him that'll be nine +bags, then we can get two or three bags for hame. Dinna hurry; we ha'e +a' nicht to carry, an' we can get in a fine lot afore daylicht breaks." + +"That's richt," said Tam, "but mind an' no' tire yersels too much, for +ye've a nicht at the tatties the morn. The polis'll be at the bing the +morn's nicht efter this carry-on, an' when he is busy watchin' for coal +thieves, we maun see that we get in a denner or twa o' tatties. I heard +him sayin' he could not be everywhere at yince, an' couldna' both watch +coal thieves an' tattie stealin' at yin an' the same time." + + * * * * * + +All this time matters went very smoothly. The men were very firm, having +great trust in Smillie. After about six weeks, however, from various +causes a suspicious atmosphere began to be created. Hints had been +appearing from time to time in the newspapers that matters were not +altogether as the miners thought they were. Then vague rumors got afloat +in many districts and spread with great rapidity, and these began to +undermine the confidence of the strikers. + +"What think ye o' the fecht noo, Tam?" enquired Matthew Maitland one +night as they sat among the others at the "Lazy Corner," as the village +forum was called. + +"I dinna ken what to think o' it," replied Tam glumly. "Do ye think +there's any truth in that story aboot Smillie havin' sell't us?" + +"It wad be hard to ken," replied Matthew Maitland, taking his pipe out +of his mouth and spitting savagely upon the ground. "But I heard it for +a fact, and that a guid wheen o' men doon the country hae gaen back to +their work through it. An' yet, mind ye, Smillie seemed to me to be a +straight-forret man an' yin that was sincere. Still, ye can never tell; +an' twa-three hunner pound's a big temptation to a man." + +"Ay," said Tam dryly, "we hae been diddled sae often wi' bigmoothed men +on the make, that it mak's a body ay suspicious when yin hears thae +stories. I heard Wiston, the coal-maister, had gien him five hunner +pounds on the quiet." + +"I heard that too," replied Matthew, "but, like you, I'm loth to think +it o' Smillie. I'd believe it quicker aboot yon ither chiel, Charlie +Rogerson. He comes oot to speak to us ay dressed in a black dress-suit, +wi' white cuffs doon to his finger nebs, his gold ring, his lum hat, an' +a' his fal-de-lals." + +"Weel, I dinna believe a word o' this story aboot Bob," said Robert +quietly, who had "hunkered" down beside the two men who sat so earnestly +discussing matters while the others went on with their games and +dancing. + +"Do ye no', Rob?" said Tam. + +"No, I do not," was the firm reply, "for nae matter what happens in a +fight, it's ay the opeenion o' some folk that the men ha'e been sell't." + +Robert, though young, took a keen interest in the fight. While other +lads of his age looked upon it as a fine holiday, the heavy +responsibilities he had to face gave him a different outlook, and so the +men seemed to recognize that he was different from the other boys, and +more sober in his view-point. + +"This story is set aboot for the purpose o' breakin' oup the men," he +continued. "We hear o' Smillie haein hale rows o' cottages bought, an' a +lot ither rubbish, but I wouldna believe it. It's a' to get the men to +gang back to their work; an' if they do that, it'll no' only break the +strike, but it'll break up the union, an' that's what's wanted mair than +anything else. I've heard Smillie an' my faither talkin' aboot a' thae +things lang syne, an' Smillie says that's what the stories are set aboot +for. We should ha'e sense enough no' to heed them, for I dinna think +Smillie has sell't us at a'." + +There was a fine, firm ring in the boy's voice as he spoke which moved +the two older men, and made them feel a little ashamed that they had +been so ready to doubt. + +"Ah, weel, Rob," said Tam, "maybe you are richt, but a lot o' men ha'e +gaen back to their work already, an' it'll break up the strike if it +spreads. But we'll ha'e to get some tatties in the nicht; the polisman's +goin' to be watchin' auld Burnfoot's hen-hoose, sae it'll be a grand +chance for some tatties," and the talk drifted on to another subject. + +About the eighth week of the strike the news went round the village +that Sanny Robertson and Peter Fleming were "oot at the pit." + +"I wad smash every bone in their dirty bodies if I had my way o' it. I +would," said Matthew Maitland, with emphasis. Matthew was always +emphatic in all he said, though seldom so in what he did. + +"But we'll ha'e to watch hoo we act," said Andrew Marshall more +cautiously. "It's agin the law, ye ken, to use force." + +"I wadna' gi'e a damn," said Peter Pegg, his big eye making frantic +efforts to wink. "I wad see that they blacklegged nae mair." + +"Sae wad I," promptly exclaimed half a dozen of the younger men. + +"We maun see that they don't do it ony mair." + +"Ay, an' I hope we'll mak' sure work that they sleep in for twa-three +mornin's." + +"I'll tell ye what," said old Lauder, "let us get a few weemin' and +weans thegither, an' we'll gang doon to the pit an' wait on them comin' +up frae their shift. The bairns can get tin cans an' a stane for a +drumstick, an' we'll ha'e a loonie band. We can sing twa or three o' +thae blackleg sangs o' Tam Donaldson's, an' play them hame." + +"That's the plan, Jamie," replied Tam, who had suddenly seen himself +immortalized through his parodies of certain popular songs. "Let us get +as mony women an' callans as possible, and we can mak' a damn'd guid +turnout. We'll sing like linties, an' drum like thunder, an' the +blacklegs'll feel as if they were goin' through Purgatory to the tune +o':" + + Tattie Wullie, Tattie Wullie, + Tattie Wullie Shaw, + Where's the sense o' workin', Wullie?-- + Faith, ye're lookin' braw. + +or + + Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming, + Peter, man, I say, + Ye've been workin', ye've been workin', + Ye've been workin' the day. + + Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming, + If ye work ony mair, + Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming, + Your heart will be sair. + +With little difficulty a band of men, women and children was organized +and proceeded to the pit to await the coming up of the culprits. Hour +after hour they waited patiently, determined not to miss them, and the +time was spent in light jesting and singing ribald songs. + +"I wadna' like if my faither was a blackleg," observed Mysie Maitland to +the girl next her. + +"No, nor me, either!" quickly agreed the other. "It wad be awfu' to hear +folk cryin' 'Blackleg' after yir faither, wadna' it, Mysie?" + +"Ay," was the reply. "I wadna' like it." + +"They should a' be hunted oot o' the place," put in Robert, who was +standing near. "They are just sellin' the rest o' the men, an' helpin' +to break up the strike. So ye mind, Mysie, hoo Tam Graham's lass aye +clashed on the rest o' us on the pit-head? She's just like her faither, +ay ready to do onything agin the rest, if it would gi'e her a wee bit +favor." + +"Ay, fine I mind o' it, Rob," Mysie replied eagerly. "Do ye mind the day +she was goin' to tell aboot you takin' hame the bit auld stick for +firewood? When I telt her if she did, I'd tell on her stealin' the +tallow frae the engine-house an' the paraffin ile ay when she got the +chance. She didna say she'd tell then." + +"Ay, Mysie. Maybe I'd ha'e gotten the sack if she had telt. But she was +aye a clashbag. But here they come!" he shouted animatedly, as the bell +signaled for the cage to rise, and presently the wheels began to +revolve, as the cage ascended. + +"May the tow break, an' land the dirty scums in hell," prayed one man. + +"Ay, an' may the coals they howkit the day roast them forever," added +another. Though they prayed thus, yet once again they found that the +"prayer of the wicked availeth naught." Buckets of water, however, and +even bits of stone and scrap iron were surreptitiously flung down the +shaft; and when the blacklegs did appear, they were nearly frightened +out of their senses. It would have gone hard with them as they left the +cage, but someone whispered, "Here's the polis!" and so the crowd had to +be content with beating their tin cans; and keeping time to the songs +improvised by Tam Donaldson, they escorted the blacklegs to their homes. + +Next morning a large number of the strikers gathered at the Lazy Corner, +enjoying themselves greatly. + +"They tell me," said Tam Donaldson, "that our fren's ha'e slept in this +morning." + +A laugh greeted this sally, which seemed to indicate that most of them +knew about the sleeping-in and the reason for it. + +"Ay, they'd be tired oot efter their hard day's work yesterday," replied +another. + +"Ay, an' they dinna seem to be up yet," said a third, "for I see the +doors are still shut, an' the bairns are no' awa' to the school. They +maun ha'e been awfu' tired to ha'e slept sae lang." + +"Let's gang doon and gi'e them a bit sang to help to keep their dreams +pleasant," suggested Tam Donaldson, as they moved off down the row and +stopped before Jock Graham's door. Tam, clearing his throat, led of: + + Hey, Johnnie Graham, are ye wauken yet, + Or is yer fire no' ken'lt yet? + If you're no wauken we will wait, + An' tak' ye to the pit in the mornin'. + + Black Jock sent a message in the dark, + Sayin': Johnny Graham, come to your wark, + For tho' ye've been locked in for a lark, + Ye maun come to the pit in the mornin'. + + You an' Fleeming, an' Robertson tae, + Had better a' gang doon the brae, + An' you'll get your pay for ilka day + That ye gang to your work in the mornin'. + +Then, leading off on to another, Tam, with great gusto, swung into a +song that carried the others along uproariously: + + O' a' the airts the win' can blaw, + It canna blaw me free, + For I am high an' dry in bed, + When workin' I should be; + But ropes are stronger faur than is + Desire for work wi' me, + An' sae I lie, baith high an' dry-- + I'll hae to bide a wee. + + I canna say on whatna day + I'll gang again to work, + For sticks an' stanes may break my banes, + As sure's my name's McGurk. + Gie me the best place in the pit, + Then happy I shall be, + Just wi' yae wife to licht oor life, + Big dirty Jock an' me! + +After a round or two of applause and some shouts from the children, Tam +broke out in a new air: + + This is no' my ain lassie, + Kin' though the lassie be, + There's a man ca'd Black Jock Walker, + Shares this bonnie lass wi' me. + She's sweet, she's kin', her ways are fine, + An' whiles she gies her love to me. + She's ta'en my name, but, oh, the shame, + That Walker shares the lass wi' me. + + This is no' my ain lassie, + She is changefu' as the sea, + Whiles I get a' her sweet kisses, + Whiles Black Jock shares them wi' me. + She's fat and fair, she's het and rare, + She's no' that trig, but ay she's free, + It pays us baith, as sure as daith, + That Walker shares the lass wi' me. + +This sent the crowd wild with delight, and cries of "Good auld Tam!" +were raised. "Damn'd guid, Tam! Ye're as guid as Burns." All of which +made Tam feel that at last his genius was being recognized. The +explanation of the joke was to be found in the fact, as one song had +hinted, that the strikers had securely fastened the doors of all the +blacklegs' houses with ropes, and jammed the windows with sticks, so +that the inmates could not get out. Even the children could not get out +to go to school. It was late in the afternoon before the police heard of +it, and came and cut the ropes, and so relieved the imprisoned inmates. + +This happened for a morning or two, and then the practice stopped, for +the police watched the doors throughout the whole night. This +preoccupation of the police was taken advantage of to raid again old +Hairyfithill's potato field, and also to pay a visit to the bing for +coal, and a very profitable time was thus spent by the strikers, even +though the blacklegs were at their work in a few days. + +What was happening in Lowwood was typical of almost all other mining +villages throughout the country. Everywhere high spirits and +cheerfulness prevailed among the men. As for the leaders, the situation +proved too big for some of them to cope with it, the responsibility was +too great; and so they failed at the critical moment. The demand of an +increase of a shilling a day, for which the men had struck, had been +conceded by some of the owners, whilst others had offered sixpence. Some +of the leaders were in favor of accepting these concessions, and +allowing the men at the collieries concerned to resume work, and so be +able to contribute considerably to help keep out those whose demands had +not been met. Others of the leaders refused to agree to this, and +insisted that as all had struck together, they should fight together to +the end, until the increase was conceded to all. This difference of +opinion was readily perceived and welcomed by the coalmasters, and +stiffened their resolution, for they saw that disagreement and divisions +would soon weaken the morale of the men, and such proved to be the case. + +No one can imagine what Smillie suffered at this time, as he saw his +splendid effort going to pieces; but being a big man, he knew that it +was impossible to turn back. His plans might for the moment miscarry; +but that was merely a necessary, yet passing, phase in the great +evolution of Industrialism, and his ideals must yet triumph. + +As the result of the differences among the leaders, the strike +collapsed at the end of seventeen weeks. The men were forced to return +to work on the old terms. In some cases a reduction was imposed, making +their condition worse than at the start. The masters sought to drive +home their victory in order to break the union. In many parts of the +country they succeeded, while in others the spirit of the men resisted +it. Generally it ended in compromise; but, so far as the Union was +concerned, it was a broken organization; branches went down, and it was +many years afterwards before it was again reestablished in some of the +districts. + +Though at the time it might have seemed all loss, yet it had its +advantages, and especially demonstrated the fact that there was a fine +discipline and the necessary unity among the rank and file. The next +great work was to find out how that unity could be guided and that +discipline perfected--how to find a common ideal for the men. This was +Robert Smillie's task, and who shall say, looking at the rank and file +to-day, that he has failed? + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE RIVALS + + +Eight years passed, and Robert grew into young manhood. One of his +younger brothers had joined him and Andrew Marshall in the partnership. +It had been a long, stiff struggle, and his mother knew all the hardness +and cruelty of it. In after years Robert loved his mother more for the +fight she put up, though it never seemed to him that he himself had done +anything extraordinary. He was always thoughtful, and planned to save +her worry. On "pay-nights," once a fortnight, when other boys of his age +were getting a sixpence, or perhaps even a shilling, as pocket-money, so +that they could spend a few coppers on the things that delight a boy's +heart, Robert resolutely refused to take a penny. For years he continued +thus, always solacing himself with the thought that it was a "shilling's +worth less of worry" his mother would have. + +Yet, riches were his in that the enchantment of literature held him +captive, and his imagination gained for him treasures incomparably +greater than the solid wealth prized by worldly minds. His father had +possessed about a dozen good books, among others such familiar Scottish +household favorites as "Wilson's Tales of the Borders," "Mansie Waugh," +by "Delta," "Scots Worthies," Allan Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd," Scott's +"Rob Roy" and "Old Mortality," and the well-thumbed and dog-eared copy +of Robert Burns' Poems. + +"Gae awa', man Robin," his mother would say sometimes to him, as he sat +devouring Wilson's "Tales" or weeping over the tragic end of Wallace's +wife Marion as recounted in Jean Porter's entrancing "Scottish Chiefs." + +"Gang awa' oot an' tak' a walk. Ither laddies are a' oot playin' at +something, an' forby it's no' healthy to sit too long aye readin'." + +"Ach. I canna' be bothered," he would answer. "I'd raither read." + +"What is't you're readin' noo?" she would enquire. "Oh, it's the +'Scottish Chiefs,' an' I'm jist at the bit aboot Wallace's wife being +murdered by Hazelrig. My! It's awfu' vexin'." + +"Ay, it's a fine book, Robin. Ye might read that bit oot to me." + +"A' richt," and he would start to read while Nellie sat down to listen. +Soon both were engrossed in the sad story, so powerfully told, and the +tears would be running from the mother's eyes as her fancy pictured the +sorrows of Wallace, while Robert's voice would break, and a sob come +into his throat, as he proceeded. When finally the passage was reached +where the brutal blow was struck, the book would have to be put down, +while mother and son both cried as if the grief depicted were their own. + +"It's an awfu' gran' book, Rob," she would say after a time, while she +strove to subdue the sobs in her breast. "Puir Wallace! It maun ha'e +been an awfu' blow to him, when he heard that Marion was killed. But you +maun read on a bit far'er, for I'm no' gaun tae work ony mair till I see +that dirty beast Hazelrig get his deserts. He has wrocht for it, sae +jist gang on noo till you feenish the bit aboot him gettin' killed wi' +Wallace. He deserves it for killin' a woman." + +Thus Robert would have to go on, until the incident in question had been +reached in the story, and as it unfolded itself his voice would grow +firmer and stronger as he became infected with the narrative, while his +mother's eyes would glow, and her body be tense with interest, and an +expectant expression would creep over her face, betraying her +excitement. In the interview between Wallace and Hazelrig in the house +in the Wellgate in Lanark, when Wallace dramatically draws his sword in +answer to the supplication for mercy, and says: "Ay, the same mercy as +you showed my Marion," Robert's voice would thunder forth the words with +terrible sternness, while Nellie would gasp and catch her breath in a +quick little sob of excitement, as the feeling of satisfied justice +filled her heart. And when the blow fell that laid the English governor +low, she would burst out: "Serves him richt, the dirty tyrant. He's got +what he deserved, an' it serves him right!" + +On another occasion Robert would suddenly burst out laughing, when +reading Delta's chronicle of the adventures of Mansie Waugh, the +Scottish "Handy Andy." + +"What are you laughing at, Robin?" Nellie would enquire, a smile +breaking over her face also. + +"Oh, it's Mansie Waugh, mither. Oh, but it's a gran' bit. Listen to +this," and he would begin to read the passage, where Mansie, simple soul +that he was, was described as going into the byre in the morning to +learn if the cow had calved during the night, and finding, on opening +the door, the donkey of a traveling tinker, he turned and ran into the +house, crying: "Mither! Mither! The coo has calved, an' it's a cuddy!" + +Whenever he reached this part of the story, his mother would go off into +a fit of uncontrollable laughter which left her helpless and crumpled up +in a heap upon the nearest chair. Her laugh was very infectious; it +began with a low, mirthful ripple, well down in the throat, and rose in +rapid leaps of musical joy till it had traveled a whole octave of +bubbling happy sounds, when it culminated in a peal of double forte +shakes and trills, that made it a joy to hear, and finally it died out +in an "Oh, dear me! What a callan Mansie was!" + +As Robert approached manhood, he took more and more to the moors, +wandering alone among the haunts of the whaup and other moor birds, +wrestling with problems to which older heads never gave a thought, +trying to understand life and to build from his heart and experience +something that would be satisfying. Silent, thoughtful, "strange" to the +neighbors, a problem to everyone, but a bigger one to himself, life +staggered him and appalled his soul. + +Earnestly he worked and tested his thought against the thought of +others, sturdily refusing everything which did not ring true and meet +his standard. Old religious conceptions, the orthodoxy of his kith and +kin, were fast tested in the crucible of his mind and flung aside as +worthless. The idea of Hell and the old Morrisonian notion of the +Hereafter appeared crude and barbarous. His father's fate and the +condition of the family left to welter in poverty, the cruelty of life +as it presented itself to the great mass of the working class, could not +be reconciled with the Church's teaching of an all-loving and omniscient +Father. + +With the audacity of youth, he felt that he could easily have +constructed a better universe. He felt that Hell could have no terrors +for people condemned to such hardship and suffering as he saw around +him. Life was colorless for them; stinted of pleasure and beauty, with +merely the joys of the "gill-stoup" on a Saturday night at the local +"store" to look forward to, there was in it no real satisfaction either +for the body or the mind. Would he, indeed, have to wait till after +death before knowing anything of real happiness or comfort? His mind +refused to accept this doctrine so frequently expounded to working class +congregations by ministers, who were themselves comparatively well +endowed with "treasures upon earth." + +Life was good, life was glorious if only it could be made as he dreamed +it. This fair earth need be no vale of tears. There were the blue skies, +the white tapestry of cloudland ever varying; there was the wind upon +his face and the sweet rain; there was the purl of mountain brook, the +graceful sweep of the river, the smile of the flowers, the songs of the +birds; the golden splendor of the day and the silver radiance of the +night. + +But above and beyond all there was an ever-increasing love of his +fellows, there were noble women like his mother to reverence, and there +were sweet children to cherish. Surely life was good, and never was +meant to be the mean, sordid thing that too often was the lot of people +like himself. Heaven could and should be realized here and now. At +twenty, he finished by accepting Humanity as it is, to be understood and +loved, to be served, and, if necessary, to die for it. + +Though thus naturally reserved and meditative, yet he was not unloved. +There was no more popular lad in the village. Everyone in a tight corner +came to him for help and advice. He was private secretary to half the +village and father confessor to the other half. He served everyone, and +in return all loved him more or less. In the course of time he came to +occupy the place his father had held before him as president of the +local branch of the Union, which had been recently revived. His duties +as a Union official forced him more and more into mixing with others, +and into taking a larger interest in the affairs of the locality. + +Gradually with the activities of public life his moodiness gave place to +a healthy cheerfulness, and his enthusiasm soon led him into taking part +in nearly every form of sport which gave life more zest. His interest +being roused, he was wholehearted in his application, whether as a +member of the executive of any local sports association, or as a +participant in the game itself. He was elected to the committee +responsible for organizing the Lowwood Annual Games, but resigned +because having taken up racing as his pet pastime for the time being, he +wanted to compete in some of the items. + +At last the "Sports" day arrived. The pits were idle, for this was one +of the recognized holidays. Everyone looked forward eagerly to this day, +and prepared for it, each in his or her own way. For weeks before it the +children practiced racing, and trained themselves in jumping, football, +quoiting and such sports. Young men stole away to secret places in the +moor to train and harden themselves, timing their performances and +concentrating on the strenuous day ahead when they would compete with +one another in fair tests of speed, strength, skill and endurance. + +One event was always a special attraction, even to professional racers +all over the country. This was known as the "Red Hose Race," about which +many legends were told. The most popular of these was to the effect that +the stockings were knitted each year by the Laird's wife, and if no one +entered for the race, the Laird must run it himself, or forfeit his +extensive estate to the Crown. In addition to the Red Hose, there was a +substantial money prize. To win the race was looked upon as the greatest +achievement of the year, for it was one of the oldest sporting events +and had been run for so many years that its origin seemed lost in the +mists of antiquity. Robert made up his mind to win the Red Hose in this +particular year. Mrs. Graydon, of Graydon House, had intimated that she +herself would be present and would hand over the stockings to the proud +winner in person, but it was not by any means on this account that +Robert was so keen to win. It was the older lure that brought every year +athletes of fame to run in the historic race. + +"So you are going to run in the Red Hose," said a voice behind Robert +while the people were all gathering to watch the preliminary races of +the boys and girls. Robert turned from the group of young men who had +been discussing the event with him, and met the smiling face of Peter +Rundell, dressed in immaculate style and looking as fresh and fine a +specimen of young manhood as anyone could wish to see. + +"Yes," he said with a smile, "and I intend to win it." + +"Do you?" returned Peter light-heartedly. "I have also entered for it, +though I had no intention of doing so when I came over; but Mr. Walker, +who, as you know, is on the committee, pressed me to go in, and so I +consented." + +"Oh!" said Robert, in surprise, "I thought after last year's success you +were not going to run again." Then, in a bantering tone, and with a +smile upon his lips, "I suppose we'll be rivals in this, then; but I +gi'e you fair warning that I'm gaun to lift the Red Hose if I get a +decent chance at all." + +"Well, I have set my mind on winning it, too," replied Peter. "I'd like +to lift it, just to be able to say in after years that I had done so." + +"That's just hoo I feel aboot the matter too," lightly answered Robert. +"I'd like jist to be able to say that I had won the Red Hose. I feel in +good form for it, so you'd better be on your mettle." + +"Well, I shall give you the race of your life for it," said Peter, +entering into the same light spirited boasting. "I hear Mair and Todd +and Semple are also entered, but with a decent handicap I won't mind +these, even with their international reputation." + +"All right," said Robert. "I suppose I shall have the greater pleasure +in romping home before you all. Are the handicaps out yet?" + +"Yes, I saw the list just before I spoke to you. Semple and Mair are +scratch, with Todd at five yards. You start at twenty-five, and I get +off at the limit forty.' + +"Oh!" said Robert, a note of surprise in his voice. "Walker has surely +forgotten who are the runners! Why, last year you won nearly all the +confined events, and you were second in the Red Hose with twenty-five +yards. He means you to romp home this year!" and there was heat in +Robert's voice as he finished. + +"Well, I daresay it is a decent handicap," said Peter, "and even though +Semple is among the crowd, I should manage, I think, to pull it off with +anything like luck." + +"I should think so," said Robert. "Walker has just made you a present of +the race. But I suppose it can't be helped, though it isn't fair. +Anyhow, I'll give you a chase for it." + +"All right. Half an hour and we shall be on," and Peter went on round +the field, exchanging greetings with most of the villagers. + +He was finishing his education at a Technical College in Edinburgh, and +at present was home on holidays. He was a well set up young man, and +though popular with most people, yet he brought with him an air of +another world among the villagers, which made them feel uncomfortable. +They recognized that his life was very different from their own, and +while they talked to him when he spoke to them, and were agreeable +enough to him, they felt awed and could not break down the natural +reserve they always had towards people of another station of life. He +was perhaps a little too thoughtless and impulsive, though +generous-hearted enough. He drifted into things, rather than shaped them +to his own ideas, and was often not sufficiently careful of the +positions in which he found himself as a consequence of thoughtless +acts. + +The week before he had caught and kissed Mysie Maitland, who was now +serving at Rundell House, merely because he was taken with her pretty +face. From that Peter already believed himself in love with her, +because she had not resented his action. He had even walked over with +her from the village, when she had been home visiting her parents one +night, and had felt more and more the witchery of her pretty face and +the lure of her fine little figure. + +Up to this time Mysie had always believed herself in love with +Robert--Robert who was always so strange from the rest of young men. He +had always been her hero, her protector; but there was something about +him for which she could not account and which she could not have +defined. Such was her admiration that she believed it was in his power +to do anything he cared to attempt; it was just possible that it was +this strange sense of unknown power which fascinated her. They had never +been lovers in the accepted sense of the word. They had never "walked +out" as young people in their social station usually do, but yet had +always felt that they were meant for one another. + +Only once had Robert kissed her, and that moment ever lived with her a +glowing memory. She had been home and was returning through a moorland +pass, when she came across him lying upon the rough heather, his +thoughts doubtless full of her, for he had seen her in the village, and +knew she must return that way. + +"Oh, Rob!" she cried, her face flushing with excitement as she saw him. +"Ye nearly frichted me oot o' my wits the noo." + +"Did I, Mysie?" he answered, springing to his feet. "I didna mean to dae +that. Ye'll be getting back, I suppose." + +"Ay," she returned simply, and a silence fell upon them, in which both +seemed to lose the power of speaking. + +Robert looked at her as she stood there, her full, curved breasts rising +and falling with the excitement of the unexpected meeting, the long +lashes of her eyes sweeping her flushed cheeks, as she stood with +downcast eyes before him. The last rays of the setting sun falling upon +her brown hair touched it with a rare strange beauty. Her red lips like +dew-drenched roses--luscious, pure, alluring, were parted a little in a +half smile. But it was the fascinating movement of the breast, full, +round and sensuous, that stirred and made an overpowering appeal to +every pulse within him. It seemed so soft, so tender, so wonderfully +alluring. At the moment he could not understand himself or her. There +was a strange, surging impetus raging through him that he felt +absolutely powerless to subdue, and he swayed a little as he stood. + +"Oh, Mysie!" he cried, leaping forward and clasping her in his strong, +young arms, and crushing her against him, holding her there, gasping, +powerless but happy. + +"You are mine, Mysie. Mine!" and he kissed her budded lips in an ecstasy +of passion and warm-blooded feeling, while a thousand fevers seemed to +course through him as he felt the contact of her body and her warm, +eager lips on his. Blinded and delirious, he kissed her again and again +in an impassioned burst of fervor, passion scorching his blood and +filling his whole heart with the enjoyment of possession. She closed her +eyes, and her head touched his shoulder, while the faint scent of her +hair and its soft caressing touch upon his cheek maddened him to a fury +of love. + +"Say you are mine, Mysie! Say you are mine!" he cried, and his voice was +strange and hoarse and dry with the desire within him. He felt her body +yielding as it relaxed in his arms, as if in answer to some unspoken +demand, and in a moment he realized himself and started back, hot shame +surging over his face and conquering the passion in his blood. In that +strange mad moment he had felt capable of anything--powerful, +overmastering, relentless in his desires; and now--weak, shame-stricken +and helpless. Ere he could say anything, Mysie had come to herself with +a shock, and started away over the moor as if possessed by something +that was mysterious and terrible. + +That had happened a year ago, and though Robert sought to learn when she +was in the village, and often watched her from a safe place where he was +not seen, delighting his eyes with the sight of her figure, and feeling +again the same hot shame come over him, as he had known that day on the +moor, yet he had never met her near enough to speak to her, but had +worshiped her at a distance and grown to love and desire her more and +more with every day that passed. + +He dreamed dreams around her, but was afraid to encounter her again. +This strange mad love burned in his blood, until at times he was almost +sick with desire and love. Every moor-bird called her name; every flower +held the shyness of her face; the clouds of peaceful sunsets showed the +glory of her hair, and the quiet, steadfast stars possessed the wonder +of her eyes. The madness of the passionate moment of possession on the +moor was at once his most treasured memory and his intensest shame. + +As for Mysie, since she had not heard any more from Robert nor even seen +him for almost a year, she felt quite flattered by the attentions of +Peter Rundell. It was not that she was in love with either of the young +men. Her nature was of the kind that is in love with love itself, and +was not perhaps capable of a great love, such as had frightened her, +when Robert, taken off his guard, had let her glimpse a strong, +overmastering passion and a soul capable of great things. Already she +dreamed of a grand house of which she would be mistress as Peter's wife, +as she stood in the silence of her own room, pirouetting and smirking, +and drawing pictures of herself in fine garments and stately carriage, +playing the Lady Bountiful of the district. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE RED HOSE RACE + + +"All competitors for the Red Hose, get ready!" called the bell-man, who +announced the events at the sports, and immediately all was stir and +bustle and excitement. + +"Wha's gaun to win the day, Andrew?" enquired Matthew Maitland, as they +stood waiting for the runners to emerge from the dressing tent. + +"I dinna ken," answered Andrew Marshall. "That's a damn'd unfair +handicap anyway. My neighbor is no' meant to lift it seemingly. Look at +the start they've gi'en him, an' young Rundell starts at the limit." + +"Ay!" said Matthew. "It's no' fair. It's some o' Black Jock's doings. +He's meanin' young Rundell to wun it." + +"Ay, it looks like it; but it's fashious kennin' what may happen. Rab's +a braw runner," and Andrew spoke as one who knew, for he was the only +person who had seen Robert train. + +"Weel, it's harder for him to be a rinner than for young Rundell, a man +wha never wrocht a day's work in a' his life, while Rab's had to slave +hard and sair a' his days.... Though Rundell can rin too," he added, +with ungrudged admiration. + +"Ay, he ran weel last year, but they tell me he'd like to get the Red +Hose to his credit, though for my pairt they'd been far better to ha'e +presented it to him, than to gi'e him it that way. Man, he's a dirty +brute o' a man, Black Jock!" and there was disgust in his voice. "Jist +look at Mag Robertson there, flittering aboot quite shameless, and +gecking and smirking at him, an' naebody daur say a word to her. She's a +fair scunner!" + +"If she belonged to me, I'd let her ken a different way o't." + +"Ay, Andra," was the reply. "But ye maun mind that Mag mak's mair money +than Sanny does. Jist look at her, the glaikit tinkler that she is. +Black Jock's no' ill to please when that pleases him." + +Mag Robertson, the subject of their talk, was quite oblivious, +apparently, of the many remarks that were being passed about her, and +she continued to follow Walker, who as a committee member, was busily +arranging matters for the race. + +"She's gie weel smeekit, Andra!" observed Matthew in a whisper, as Mag +passed close by. "Did ye fin the smell o" her breath?" + +"Ay!" replied Andrew. "She can haud a guid lot before ye see it on her. +She's--" but a shout from the crowd cut his further revelations short. + +"Here they come!" cried Matthew excitedly, as the tent opened, and young +Rundell came out with confident bearing, leading the other half-dozen +athletes to the starting place. "Let's gae roon' to the wunnin' post so +as to see the feenish." + +The competitors lined up, each on his separate mark, ready for the +signal to start. Rundell, in a bright-colored costume of fine texture, +showed well beside the other racer who started along with him at forty +yards. Peter was slimly built, but there were energy and activity in his +every movement; his legs especially, being finely developed, showed no +superfluous flesh; his chest alone indicated any weakness, but withal he +looked a likely winner. + +Robert, on the other hand, while not carrying a great amount of flesh, +was well built. The chest was broad and deep, the shoulders square and +the head held well up, his nose being finely adapted for good +respiration. The legs, by reason of heavy work in early life, were a +little bent at the brawn, but were as hard as nails; they showed +wonderfully developed muscles, and gave the impression of strength +rather than speed. + +They presented a fine picture of eager, determined young manhood, clean +and healthy, and full of life and mettle. Each face betrayed how the +mind was concentrated on, the work ahead, every thought directed with +great intensity towards the goal, as they bent their bodies in +preparation for the start. + +The pistol cracked and rang out upon the midday air with startling +suddenness, and immediately they were off on a fine start to the +accompaniment of the cheering of the crowd which lined the whole track +in a great circle. The first round ended with the runners much as they +had started, the interval between each being fairly equally maintained. +Semple, however, dropped out, not caring to overstrain himself as he had +some heavy racing next day at another gathering, where a much higher +money prize was the allurement. + +Round the others went, the excitement growing among the crowd, who kept +shouting encouraging remarks to the racers as they passed. + +"Keep it up, Robin!" cried Andrew Marshall. "Keep it up, my lad. Ye're +daein' fine." + +"Come away, Rundell, the race is yer ain," shouted an enthusiastic +supporter of Peter. + +"Nae wonner!" answered Matthew Maitland, heatedly. "They've gi'en him +the race in a present. Look at the handikep!" + +"An' what aboot it?" enquired the other, not knowing what to answer. + +"Plenty aboot it," replied Matthew. "If it hadna' been he was Peter +Rundell, he wadna' ha'e gotten sic a start. Black Jock means him to get +the race, an' it's no' fair. I wadna' ha'e the damn'd thing in that way, +an' if he does win it he'll hae nae honor in it." + +"But Rab's runnin' weel," Matthew continued, as he followed the runners +with eager eyes, and stuck the head of his pipe in his mouth in his +excitement, burning his lips in the process. "Dammit, I've burned my +mooth," he ejaculated, spluttering, spitting and wiping his mouth. "But +the laddie can rin. He's a fair dandie o' a rinner." + +"He couldna' rin to catch the cauld," broke in Rundell's admirer, glad +to get in a word. "Look at him. Dammit, ye could wheel a barrow oot +through his legs. He jist rummles alang like a chained tame +earthquake." + +"What's that?" asked Matthew, somewhat nettled at this manner of +describing Robert's slightly bent legs. "He canna rin, ye say! Weel, if +he couldna' rin better than Peter Rundell, he should never try it. Look +at Rundell!" he went on scathingly, "doubled up like a fancy canary, and +a hump on his back like a greyhound licking a pot. Rinnin'! He's mair +like an exhibition o' a rin-a-way toy rainbow. He's aboot as souple as a +stookie Christ on a Christmas tree!" And Matthew glared at the other, as +if he would devour him at a gulp. + +"Look at him noo," he cried, as Robert began to overtake the young miner +who had started equal with Rundell. "He's passed young Paterson noo, an' +ye'll soon see him get on level terms wi' Rundell. Go on, Rob!" he +yelled in delight, as Robert shot past. "Go on, my lad, you're daein' +fine!" + +Excitement was rousing the crowd to a great pitch, and yells and shouts +of encouragement went up, and cheers rang out as the favored one went +past the various groups of supporters. + +All during the race as the competitors circled the course, excitement +grew, until the last round was reached, when every one seemed to go mad. +Only three remained to compete now for the prize, the others having +given up. + +But the shouts and cheers of the crowd seemed strangely far away to the +racers, as each rounded the last corner for the final stretch of about +one hundred yards. They were both spent, but will power kept them at it. +They were not breathing, they were tearing their lungs out in great +gulping efforts, and their hearts as well. Tense, determined, +inevitability seemed to rest upon them. + +Louder roared the crowd, hoarser and deeper the cheers, closer and +closer the multitude surged to the winning post, yelling, shouting, +crying and gesticulating incoherently as the two men sprinted along with +great leaping strides, panting and almost breaking down under the +terrible strain of the mile race. + +Nearer and nearer they came, still running level, with hardly an inch to +tell the difference; but in a pace like this Robert's greater strength +and hard training were bound to tell. Fifty yards to go, and they came +on like streaks of color, fleeting images of some fevered brain, and one +girl's smile each knew was waiting there at the far end. + +The prize for which both were now striving was that for which men at all +times strive, which keeps the world young and sends the zest of creation +wandering through the blood--a pair of dancing eyes, lit by the happy +smile of love; for Mysie Maitland had smiled to them, each claiming the +smile for himself, just before the race started. + +And now the last ounce of energy was called up, but the mine-owner's son +failed to respond. Dazed and stupid, his mind in a mad whirl, his legs +almost doubling under him, he found his powers weaken and his strength +desert him, and he staggered just as Robert was about to shoot past him; +but in staggering he planted his spiked shoe right upon Robert's foot, +and both men went down completely exhausted, Rundell unable to rise for +want of strength and Sinclair powerless because of his lacerated foot. + +"Guid God! He's spiked him!" roared Andrew in a terrible rage. "The +dirty lump that he is--spiked him just when he was gaun to win, too!" + +A howl of execration went up from Sinclair's supporters as he lay and +writhed in agony, while Rundell lay still except for the heaving of his +chest. For one tense moment they lay and the crowd was silent, whilst +each man's heart was almost thumping itself out of place in his body, +stretched upon the rough cinder track. + +Then a low murmur broke from the crowd as they saw young Paterson coming +round the track, almost staggering under the strain, but keenly intent +on finishing now that his two formidable opponents were lying helpless. +He had kept running during the last round merely to take the third +prize. Now here was his chance of the coveted Red Hose, and he sprinted +and tore along as fast as he was able, calling up every particle of +effort he could muster, and intent on getting past before the two men +could gather strength to rise. + +"Come on, Rob!" roared Andrew Marshall, "get up an' feenish, my wee +cock! Paterson's comin' along, an' he'll win. Get up an' try an' feenish +it!" + +Stirred by the warning, Robert tried to rise. He raised himself to his +knees, but the pain in his injured foot was too great, and he fell +forward on his face unconscious, and the race ended with Paterson as +winner. It was an ironical situation, and soon the crowd were over the +ropes, and the two opponents were carried to the dressing tent, where +restoratives were applied under which they soon came round. + +It was a poor ending to such a fine exhibition. A terrible anger +smoldered in Robert's breast against the mine-owner's son for his +unconscious action, an action which Robert, blinded by anger at losing, +was now firmly convinced was deliberate, and he felt he would just like +to smash Rundell's face for it. + +Robert went home to have his injured foot attended to. He was too +disgusted to feel any more interest in the games that day, and so he +remained in the house, nursing his foot for the rest of the day, which +passed as such days usually do. Everyone talked about his misfortune and +regretted in a casual way the accident which had deprived him of the +coveted honor. + +It was in late June, and that night Peter Rundell, as he was returning +from the games after every event had been decided, overtook Mysie on her +way to Rundell House, after having spent the evening at her parents' +home. + +"It's a lovely evening, Mysie," he said, as he walked along by her side. +"What did you think of the games to-day?" + +"Oh, no' bad," replied Mysie, not knowing what else to say. "It was a +gran' day, an' kept up fine," she continued, alluding to the weather. + +"Yes. Didn't I make a horrible mess of things in the Red Hose?" he +asked. Then, without waiting, he went on: "I was sorry for Sinclair. +He's a fine chap, and ought to have won. It was purely an accident, and +I couldn't help myself. I was beaten and done for, and it was hard lines +for him to be knocked out in the way he was, just as he was on the point +of winning, too." + +"Oh, but ye couldna' help it," Mysie returned. "It was an accident." + +"Yes; and I would rather Sinclair had got in, though. It was a good +race, and Sinclair ought to have got the prize. It was rotten luck. I'm +sorry, and I hope the poor beggar does not blame me. We seem always to +be fated to be rivals," he continued, his voice dropping into +reminiscent tones. "Do you remember how we used to fight at school? I've +liked Sinclair always since for the way he stood up for the things he +thought were right. I believe you were the cause of our hardest battle, +and that also was an accident." + +"Yes," replied Mysie, her face flushing slightly as she remembered the +incident, and how Peter had been chosen, when her heart told her to +choose Robert. + +"Oh, well," said Peter, "I suppose we can't help these things. Fate +wills it. Let's forget all about such unpleasant things. It's a lovely +night. We might go round by the wood. It's not so late yet," and putting +Mysie's arm in his, he turned off into the little pathway that skirted +the wood, and she, caught by the glamor of the gloaming, as well as +flattered by his attentions, acquiesced. + +Plaintive and eerie the moor-birds protested against this invasion of +their haunts. The moon came slowly up over the eastern end of the moor, +flinging a silver radiance abroad, and softening the shadows cast by the +hills. A strange, dank smell rose from the mossy ground--the scent of +rotting heather and withered grass, mixed with the beautiful perfume +from beds of wild thyme. + +A low call came from a brooding curlew, a faint sigh from a plover, and +the wild rasping cry of a lapwing greeted them overhead. Yet there was a +silence, a silence broken for a moment by the cries of the birds, but a +silence thick and heavy. Between the calls of the birds Mysie could +almost hear her heart's quickened beat. Blood found an eager response, +and the magic of the moonlight and the beauty of the night soon wrought +upon the excited minds of the pair. Mysie looked in Peter's eyes more +desirable than ever. The moonlight on her face, the soft light within +her eyes, her shy, downcast look, and the touch of her arm on his +charmed him. + +"There are some things, Mysie, more desirable than the winning of the +Red Hose," he said after a time, looking sideways at her, and placing +his hand upon hers, which had been resting upon his arm. "Don't you +think so?" + +"I dinna ken," she answered simply, a strange little quiver running +through her as she spoke. + +"Isn't this better than anything else, just to be happy with everything +so peaceful? Just you and I together, happy in each other's company." + +"Ay," she answered again, a faint little catch in her voice, her heart +a-tremble, and her eyes moist and shining. Then silence again, while +they slowly strayed through the heather towards the little wooded copse, +and Mysie felt that every thump of her heart must be heard at the +farthest ends of the earth. Chased by the winds of passion raging within +him, discretion was fast departing from Peter, leaving him more and more +a prey to impulse and the unwearying persistence of the fever of love +that was consuming him. + +"Listen, Mysie, I read a song yesterday. It's the sort of thing I'd have +written about you: + + "In the passionate heart of the rose, + Which from life its deep ardor is feeing. + And lifts its proud head to disclose + Its immaculate beauty and being. + I can see your fine soul in repose, + With an eye lit with love and all-seeing, + In the passionate heart of the rose, + All athrob with its beauty of being." + +He quoted, and Mysie's pulse leapt with every word, as the low soothing +wooing of his voice came in soft tones like a gentle breeze among clumps +of briars. + +"Isn't it a beautiful song, Mysie?" he said. "The man who wrote that +must have been thinking of someone very like you," and as he said this, +he gave her hand a tender squeeze. Mysie thrilled to his touch and her +heart leapt and fluttered like a bird in a snare, her breath coming in +short little gasps, which were at once a pain and a joy. + +"Dinna say that," she said, a note of alarm in her voice as she tried to +withdraw her hand. + +But he only held it closer, and bent his lips over it, his manner gentle +but firm. + +"Ay, it is true, Mysie; but I am so stupid I can't do anything of that +kind. I'm merely an ordinary sort of chap." + +Mysie did not answer, and once again silence fell between them, broken +only occasionally by the cry of the birds or the bleating of a sheep. + +"I believe I'm in love with you, Mysie," he said at last. "You've grown +very beautiful. Could you care for me, Mysie?" he asked, looking at her +in the soft moonlight, a smile on his lips, his voice keeping its +seductive wooing tone, and his eyes kindling. + +Mysie's experience of life had been gleaned from the love stories of +earls and lords marrying governesses and ladies' maids after a swift and +very eventful courtship. Already she saw herself Peter's wife, her +carriage coming at her order, everyone serving her and she the queen of +all the district. Illiterate but romantic, she was swept off her feet at +the first touch of passion, and the flattery of being recognized! + +She did not answer. She did not know what to say; and Peter stole his +arm about her waist, so tempting, so sweet to touch, and they passed +beneath the shadow of the trees as they entered the little wooded copse. +The moonlight filtered down through the trees, working silvery patterns +upon the pathway. The silence, heavy and scented, was broken only by the +far-away wheepling of a wakeful whaup and the grumbling of the burn near +by, which bickered and hurried to be out in the open again on its way to +the river. + +Mysie heard the sounds, felt the fragrance of young briars and hawthorn +mingled with the smell of last year's decaying leaves which carpeted the +pathway. She noted the beauty of the foliage against the moon, heard the +swift scurry of a frightened rabbit and the faint snort of a hedge-hog +on the prowl for food. + +"What have you to say to me, Mysie?" Peter persisted, his hot breath +against her cheek, his blood coursing through his veins in red-hot +passion. "Could you care for me, Mysie? I want you to be mine!" + +"I dinna ken what to say," she at last answered, distress in her voice, +yet pleased to be wooed by this young man. "Wad it no' be wrang to ha'e +onything to dae wi' me? I'm only your mither's servant." She felt it was +her duty to put it this way. + +"No, you are my sweetheart," he cried, discretion all gone now in his +eager furtherance of his pleading. "I want you--only you, Mysie," and he +caught her in his arms in a strong burst of desire for her. "Mine, +Mysie, mine!" he cried, his lips upon hers and hers responding now, his +hot eyes greedily devouring her as he held her there in his strong young +arms. "Say, Mysie, that you are mine, that I am yours, body and soul +belonging to each other," and so he raved on in eager burning language, +which was the sweetest music in Mysie's ears. + +His arms about her, he made her sit down, she still unresisting and +flattered by his words, he fondling and kissing her, his hands caressing +her face, her ears, her hair, her neck, his head sometimes resting upon +her breast. + +Maddened and scorched by the passion raging within him, lured by the +magic of the night, and impelled by the invitation of the sweet dewy +lips that seemed to cry for kisses, he strained her to his breast. + +He praised her eyes, her hair, her voice, whilst he poured kisses upon +her, his fire kindling her whole being into response. + +Then a thick cloud came over the face of the moon, darkening the dell, +blotting out the silvery patterns on the ground, chasing the light +shadows into dark corners; and a far-off protest of a whaup shouting to +the hills was heard in a shriller and more anxious note that had +something of alarm in it; the burn seemed to bicker more loudly in its +anxiety to hurry on out into the open moor; and the scents and perfumes +of the wood sank into pale ghosts of far-off memories. + +When passion, red-eyed and fierce for conquest, had driven innocence +from the throne of virtue the guardian angels wept; and all their +tears, however bitter, could not obliterate the stains which marked the +progress of destruction. + +At the end of the copse, when Mysie and Peter emerged, they neither +spoke nor laughed. There was shame in their downcast faces, and their +feet dragged heavily. His arm no longer encircled her waist, he did not +now praise her eyes, her hair, her figure. Lonely each felt, afraid to +look up, as if something walked between them. And far away the whaup +wheepled in protest, the burn still grumbled, and the perfumes, and the +sounds of the glen and all its beauty were as if they had never existed, +and the thick cloud grew blacker over the face of the moon. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE AWAKENING + + +Night after night for a week afterwards, Mysie lay awake till far on +into the morning. She seemed to be face to face with life's realities at +last. The silly, shallow love stories held no fascination for her. The +love affairs of "Jean the Mill Girl" could not rouse her interest. Often +she cried for hours, till exhaustion brought sleep, troubled and +unrefreshing. + +She grew silent and avoided company. She sang no more at her work, and +she avoided Peter, and kept out of his way. She often compared Robert +with him now, and loved to let her mind linger on that one mad moment of +delirious joy a year ago, when he had crushed her to his breast, and +cried to her to be his. Thus womanhood dawned for her, and its great +responsibilities frightened her. + +Robert, on the other hand, spent a week nursing his injured foot, but +apart from the week's idle time, he suffered very little. He felt sore +at losing the race, but was able now to look upon it as an unfortunate +accident. But that smile which he had seen on the face of Mysie made him +strangely happy, and it helped him to get over his disappointment. He +was impatient to be out upon the moor again. He would wait for Mysie +some night, he concluded, and tell her calmly that he wanted her to +marry him. + +His mother's prospects were fairly good now. The youngest boy would soon +be working; besides, two other brothers were at work, while Jennie, his +eldest sister, was in service, and Annie, the younger one, was helping +in the house. He waited, night after night, after his injured foot was +better--lingering on the moor by the path which Mysie must travel. He +lay among the heather and read books, or dreamed of a rosy future, with +her the center of his dreams; but no Mysie came along, and he began to +grow anxious. + +He wanted to make enquiries about her, but feared to arouse suspicion of +having too keen an interest in her. By various ways he sought +information, but never heard anything definite. + +"I see Matthew Maitland's ither lassie has started on the pit-head," he +said to his mother, as one night they sat by the fire before retiring. + +"Ay," answered Mrs. Sinclair. "Matthew has the worst o' it by noo. Wi' +his twa bits o' laddies workin', an' Mysie in service, an' Mary gaun to +the pit-head, it should mak' his burden a wee easier." + +"I dinna like the idea o' lasses gaun to work on the pithead," he said +simply. "I aye mind of the time that Mysie an' me wrocht on it. It's no' +a very nice place for lasses or women." + +"No," his mother said. "I dinna like it either. Nae guid ever comes o' +lasses gaun there. They lose a' sense o' modesty an' decency, after a +while, an' are no' like women at a' when they grow aulder. Besides, it +mak's them awfu' coorse." + +"I wad hardly say that aboot them a'," he ventured cautiously. "Mysie's +no' coorse, an' she worked on the pithead." + +"No, Mysie's no' coorse," admitted his mother; "but Mysie didna work +very lang on the pit-head. An' forby, we dinna ken but what Mysie micht +hae been better if she had never been near it, or worse if she had +stayed langer. Just look at Susan Morton, an' that Mag Lindsay. What are +they but shameless lumps who dinna ken what modesty is?" and there was a +spark of the old scorn in her voice as she finished. + +"Oh, but I wadna gang as faur as you, mither," he said, "wi' your +condemnations. I ken that baith Susan Morton an' Mag Lindsay are +guid-hearted women. They may be coarse in their talk, an' a' that sort +o' thing; but they are as kind-hearted as onybody else, an' kinder than +some." + +"Oh; I hae nae doot," she answered relentingly. "I didna mean that at +a'; but the pit-head doesna make them ony better, an' it's no' wark for +them at a'." + +"I mind," said Robert reminiscently, "when Mysie an' me started on the +pit-head, Mag Lindsay was awfu' guid to Mysie; an' I've kent her often +sharin' her piece wi' wee Dicky Tamson, whiles when he had nane, if his +mother happened to be on the fuddle for a day or twa. There's no a +kinderhearted woman in Lowwood, mither, than Mag Lindsay. She'd swear at +Dicky a' the time she was stappin' her piece into him. It was jist her +wye, an' I think she couldna help it." + +"Oh, ay, Mag's bark is waur then her bite. I ken that," was the reply. +"An' wi' a' her fauts a body canna help likin' her." + +"Speakin' of Mysie," said Robert with caution, "I hinna seen her owre +for a while surely. Wull there be onything wrang?" and then, to hide the +agitation he felt, "she used to come owre hame aboot twice a week, an' I +hinna seen her for a while." + +"Oh, there canna be onything wrang," replied Nellie, "or we wad hae +heard tell o' it. But t' is time we were awa' to oor beds, or we'll no' +be able to rise in time the morn," and rising as she spoke, she began to +make preparations for retiring, and he withdrew to his room also. + +Still, day after day, he hung about the moorland path, but no Mysie, so +far as he knew, ever came past. She had visited her parents only once +since the games and her mother was struck by her subdued and thoughtful +demeanor. But nothing was said at the time. + +Robert grew impatient, and began to roam nearer to Rundell House, in the +hope of seeing her. Always his thoughts were full of Mysie and the +raging passion in his blood for her gave him no rest. He loved to trace +her name linked with his own, and then to obliterate it again, in case +anyone would see it. All day his thoughts were of her; and her sweet, +shy smile that day of the games was nursed in memory till it grew to be +a solace to his heart and its hunger. + +He saw likenesses to her in everything, and even the call of the +moor-birds awakened some memory of an incident of childhood, when Mysie +and he had, with other children, played together on the moors. Even the +very words which she had spoken, or the way she had acted, or how she +had looked, in cheap cotton frock and pinafore, were recalled by a +familiar cry, or by the sudden discovery of a bog-flower in bloom. + +It was a glorious afternoon in late July. The hum of insect life seemed +to flood the whole moor; the scent of mown hay and wild thyme, and late +hawthorn blossom from the trees on the edge of the moor, was heavy in +the air, and the sun was very hot, and still high in the heavens. The +hills that bordered the moor drowsed and brooded, like ancient gods, +clothed in a lordly radiance that was slowly consuming them as they +meditated upon their coming oblivion. + +The heather gave promise, in the tiny purple buds that sprouted from the +strong, rough stems, of the blaze of purple glory that would carpet the +moors with magic in the coming days of autumn. Yet there was a vague +hint, in the too deep silence, and in the great clouds that were slowly +drifting along the sky, of pent-up force merely awaiting the time to be +set free to gallop across the moor in anger and destruction. The clouds, +too, were deeply red, with orange touches here and there, trailing into +dark inky ragged edges. + +Far away, at the foot of the hills a crofter's cow lowed lazily, calling +forth a summons to be taken in and relieved of its burden of milk. The +sheep came nearer to the "bughts," and the lambs burrowed for +nourishment, with tails wagging, as they drew their sustenance, prodding +and punching the patient mothers in the operation of feeding. Robert, +noting all, with leisured enjoyment strolled lazily into the little +copse, and lay down beneath the cool, grateful shelter of the trees. + +Drugged by the sweetness and the solitude, he fell asleep, and the sun +was low on the horizon when he awoke, the whole copse ringing with the +evening songs of merle and mavis, and other less musical birds, and, as +he looked down the glade, he saw, out on the moorland path, coming +straight for the grove, the form of Mysie--the form of which he had +dreamed, and for which he had longed so much. + +The hot blood mounted to his face and raced through his frame, while +his heart thumped at the thought that now, in the quietness of the dell, +he would meet her and speak to her. He would speak calmly, and not +frighten her, as he had done on that former occasion; and he braced +himself to meet her. + +Impatiently he waited, and then, as he saw her about to enter the grove, +he rose as unconcernedly as he could, trying hard to assume the air of +one who had met her by accident, and stepped on to the path when Mysie +was within ten yards or so of him. + +The color left her face, and her limbs felt weak beneath her, as she +recognized him, and he was quick to note the change in her whole +appearance. + +She was paler, he thought, and thinner, and the bloom of a few weeks ago +was gone. Her eyes were listless, and the soft, shy look had been +replaced by an averted shame-stricken one. She was plainly flurried by +the meeting, and looking about trying to find if there were not, even +yet, a way of evading it. + +"It's a fine nicht, Mysie," he began, stammering and halting before her, +"though I think it is gaun to work to rain." + +"Ay," she responded hurriedly, her agitation growing, as she was forced +to halt before him. + +"I've come oot on the muir a wheen o' nichts noo, to try an' meet you," +he began, getting into the business right away, "an' I had begun to +think you had stopped comin' owre." + +But Mysie answered never a word. Her face grew paler, and her agitation +became more evident. + +"Mysie," he began, now fully braced for the important matter in view, "I +want you to marry me. I want you to be my wife. You've kenned me a' my +life. We gaed to the school together, and we gaed to work together, an' +I hae aye looked on you as my lass. I canna keep it ony langer noo. I +hae wanted to tell you a lang time aboot it, an' to ask you to be my +wife. My place at hame is easier noo. My mother has the rest o' the +family comin' on to take my place, and her battle is gey weel owre, an' +I can see prospects o' settin' up a hoose o' my ain, if you'll agree to +share it with me. I haven't muckle to offer you, but I think you'll ken +by this time that I'll be guid to you. Mysie, I want you. Will you +come?" + +For answer, Mysie burst into tears, her shoulders heaving with the sobs +of her grief, her breast surging and falling, while her little hands +covered her eyes, as she stood with bent head, a pitiable little figure. + +"What is it, Mysie?" he enquired, his hands at once going tenderly over +her bent head, and caressing it as he spoke, "What is it, Mysie? Tell +me. Hae I vexed you by speakin' like that? Dinna greet, Mysie," he went +on soothingly, his voice soft and tender, and vibrant with sympathy and +love. "Dinna greet. But tell me what's wrang. I'm sorry if it's me that +has done it, Mysie. Maybe I hae frightened you; but, there now, dinna +greet. I didna mean ony harm!" and he stroked and caressed her hair +softly with his hands, or patted her shoulders at every word, as a +mother does with a fretful child. + +"There noo, Mysie, dinna greet," he said again, the soft, soothing note +of vexation in his voice growing more tender and husky with emotion. +"Look up, Mysie, for I dinna like to see you greetin'. It maun be +something gey bad, surely, to mak' you greet like this," and his hands +seemed to stab her with every tender touch, and his soft words but added +more pain to her grief. + +But still Mysie never answered. Her tears instead flowed faster, and her +sobs grew heavier, until finally she moaned like a stricken animal in +pain. + +"Mysie! Mysie! my dochter, what is it?" unable to control himself +longer. "Surely you can tell me what ails you? What is it, Mysie? Look +up, my dear! Look up an' tell me what ails you!" + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" moaned Mysie, the floodgates of her grief now +wide, and her soul in torture. + +"Mysie," he cried, taking her head between his hands and raising it up, +"what is it that's wrang with you? Is it me that is the cause o' you +being vexed?" + +"Oh, no, no," she moaned, trying to avert her face. "Oh, dinna, Rob!" +she pleaded, and the old familiar name smote him and thrilled him as of +old. + +"Tell me what is the matter," he said, a stronger note in his voice, the +old masterful spirit asserting itself again. "What is wrang wi' you? I +can't understand it, an' I wish to try an' help you." + +But still she sobbed and there was no answer. + +"Look here," he said. "Tell me plainly if I have been the cause of +this." + +"No; oh, no," she sobbed, again hiding her eyes with her hands. + +"Very weel, then," he went on. "Will you no' tell me what is wrong? I +canna understand it unless you tell me. Are you in ony trouble o' ony +kind? Speak, Mysie." Then, his voice becoming more pleading in its +tones, "Wad you be feart to be my wife, Mysie? I aye thocht you cared +for me. I hae loved you a' my days. You maun ken that, I think. Speak +up, Mysie, an' tell me if you care for me. I want you, an' I maun ken +what you think o' it. Come, Mysie, tell me!" + +"Oh, dinna ask me, Rob," she pleaded. "Dinna ask me!" + +"What is the matter then?" he cried. "There's something wrong, an' +you'll no' tell me. Very well, tell me what you mean to do. I hae asked +you a fair question. Are you going to marry me? I want yes or no to +that," and there was a touch of impatience creeping into his voice. + +"Come on," he urged, after a short silence, broken only by Mysie's sobs, +"gie me an answer. Or, if you wad raither wait a wee while, till this +trouble has blawn by that is bothering you, I'm quite agreeable to +wait." + +"It'll never blaw by, Rob," she sobbed. "Oh, dinna ask me ony mair. I +canna be your wife noo, an' I jist want to be left alane!" + +The pain and despair in her voice alarmed him. It was so keen and +poignant, and went to his heart like a knife. + +"Oh!" he gasped in surprise, as he strove to call his pride to his +assistance. It was so unlike what he had anticipated that it amazed him +to have such a disappointing reply. Then, recovering somewhat:--"Very +well!" with great deliberation, while his voice sounded unnaturally +strained. Then the effort failing, and his pride breaking down: "Oh, +Mysie, Mysie," he burst out in poignant agony again relapsing into the +pleading wooing tones that were so difficult to withstand, "How I hae +loved you! I thocht you cared for me. I hae built mysel' up in you, an' +I'll never, never be able to forget you! Oh, think what it is! You hae +been life itsel' to me, Mysie, an' I canna think that you dinna care! +Oh, Mysie!" + +He turned away, his heart sore and his soul wounded, and strode from the +copse out on to the moor, a thousand thoughts driving him on, a thousand +regrets pursuing, and a load of pain in his heart that was bearing his +spirit down. + +"Oh, dear God!" moaned Mysie, kneeling down, her legs unable to support +her longer, "Oh, dear God, my heart'll break!" and a wild burst of +sobbing shook her frame, and her grief overpowering flowed through the +tears--a picture of utter despair and terrible hopelessness. + +Robert tore away from the dell, his whole calculation of things upset. +To think that Mysie could not love him had never entered his head. What +was wrong with her? What was the nature of her terrible grief? + +He kicked savagely at a thistle which grew upon the edge of the pathway, +his pride wounded, but now in possession of the citadel of his heart; +and on he strode, still driven by the terrible passion raging within +him; resolving already, as many have done under like circumstances, that +his life was finished. Hope had gone, dreams were unreal and vanishing +as the mist that crawled along the bog-pools at night. + +At the crest of the little hill, just where it sloped down to the +village, he stood and looked back. + +Good God! Was he seeing aright! The figure of a man, who in the gray +gloaming looked well-dressed, was approaching Mysie, and she was slowly +moving to meet him. A few steps more, and the man had the girl, he +thought, in his arms, and was kissing her where they stood. + +Was he dreaming? What was the meaning of all this? "Oh, Christ!" he +groaned. "What does it all mean?" and he rubbed his eyes and looked +again, then sat down, all his pride and anger raging within him as he +watched, kindling the jungle instinct within him into a raging fire, to +fight for his mate--his by right of class and association. He doubled +back, as the two figures turned in the direction of the copse--the +resolve in his mind to go back and forcibly tear Mysie from this unknown +stranger. He would fight for her. She was his, and he was prepared to +assert his right of possession before all the world. + +In a mad fury he started forward, a raging anger in his heart, striding +along in quick, determined, relentless steps, his blood jumping and his +energy roused, and all the madness of a strong nature coursing through +him; but after a few yards he hesitated, stopped, and then turned back. + +After all, Mysie must have made an appointment with this man. She +evidently wanted him, and that was her reason for asking to be left +alone. + +"Oh, God!" he groaned again, sitting down. "This is hellish!" and he +began to turn over the whole business in his mind once more. + +Long he sat, and the darkness fell over the moor, matching the darkness +that brooded over his heart and mind. He heard the moor-birds crying in +restlessness, and saw the clouds piling themselves up, and come creeping +darkly over the higher ground, bringing a threat of rain in their wake. +The moan in the wind became louder, presaging a storm; but still he sat +or lay upon the rough, withered grass, fighting out his battle, meeting +the demons of despair and gloom, and the legions of pain and misery, in +greater armies than ever he had met them before. + +Again he groaned, as his ear caught the plaintive note of a widowed +partridge, which sat behind him upon a grassy knoll of turf, crying out +on the night air, an ache in every cry, the grief and sorrow of his +wounded, breaking heart. + +It seemed to Robert that there was a strange sort of kinship between him +and the bird--a kinship and understanding which touched a chord of ready +feeling in his heart. The ominous hoot of an owl in the wood startled +him, and he rose to his feet. He could not sit still. Idleness would +drive him mad. He strode off on to the moor, away from the track, his +whole being burning in torture, and his mind a mass of unconnected +fancies and pains. + +Over the bogs and through the marshes, the madness of despair within +him, he heeded not the deep ditches and the bog-pools. They were the +pits of darkness, the sty-pools, which his soul must either cross, or in +which he must perish. He tore up the hills into the mists and the rising +storm, the thick clouds, full of rain, enveloping him, and matching the +terrible fury of his breast. + +On, ever on, in the darkness and the mire, through clumps of whin and +stray bushes of wild briar. On, always on, driven and lashed into action +by the resistless desire to get away from himself. He knew not the +direction he had taken. He had lost his bearings on the moor; the +darkness had completely hidden the landmarks, and even had he been +conscious of his actions, he could not have told in which part of the +moor he was. + +"Oh, God!" he groaned again, almost falling over a bush of broom; and +sitting down, he buried his face in his hands, and, forgetful of the +wind and the rain, which now drove down in torrents, sat and brooded and +thought, his mind seeking to understand the chaos of despair. + +What was the meaning of life? What was beyond it after death? Would +immortality, if such there were, be worth having? Men in countless, +unthinkable millions, had lived, and loved, and lost, and passed on. Did +immortality carry with it pain and suffering for them? If not, did it +carry happiness and balm? To hell with religions and philosophies, he +thought; they were all a parcel of fairy tales to drug men's minds and +keep them tame; and he glared impotently at the pitiless heavens, as if +he would defy gods, and devils, and men. He would be free--free in mind, +in thought, and unhampered by unrealities! + +No. Men had the shaping of their own lives. Pride would be his ally. He +would lock up this episode in his heart, and at the end of time for him, +there would be an end of the pain and the regret, when he was laid among +the myriad millions of men of all the countless ages since man had +being. + +This was immortality; to be forever robed in the dreamless draperies of +eternal oblivion, rather than have eternal life, with all its +torments--mingling with the legions of the past, and with mother +earth--the dust of success and happiness indistinguishable from the dust +of failure and despair. Time alone would be his relief--the great +physician that healed all wounds. + +The wind blew stronger and the rain fell heavier, the one chasing, the +other in raging gusts, and both tearing round and lashing the form of +the man who sat motionless and unaware of all this fury. The wind god +tried to shake him up by rushing and roaring at him; but still there was +no response. Then, gathering re-inforcements, he came on in a mad +charge, driving a cloud of rain in front of him as a sort of spear-head +to break the defense of fearlessness and unconcern of this unhappy +mortal. Yet the figure moved not. + +Baffled and still more angry, the wind god retired behind the hills +again to rest; then, driving a larger rain-cloud before him, with a roar +and a crash he tore down the slope, raging and tearing in a wild tumult +of anger, straight against the lonely figure which sat there never +moving, his head sunk upon his breast. + +Beaten and sullen, the god again retired to re-collect his strength. He +moaned and growled as he retired, frightening the moor-birds and the +hares, which lay closer to earth, their little hearts quivering with +fear. Young birds were tucked safely under the parent wing, as terror +strode across the moor, striking dread into every fluttering little +heart and shivering body. Low growled the wind, as he ran around his +broken forces, gathering again new forces in greater and greater +multitudes. + +Just then, with an oath, the figure rose and faced the storm, striding +again up the slope, as if determined to carry the war into the camp of +the enemy. + +A low growl came rumbling from the hills, as the wind god rushed along, +encouraging his legions, threatening, coaxing, pleading, commanding +them to fight, and so to overcome this figure who now boldly faced his +great army. + +The advance guard of the storm broke upon him in wild desperation, +rushing and thundering, howling and yelling, sputtering and hissing, +spitting and hitting at him, and then the main body struck him full in +the face, all the bulk and the force of it hurled upon him with terrible +impetuous abandon, and Robert's foot striking a tuft at the moment, he +went down, down into a bog-pool among the slush and moss, and decaying +heather-roots, down before the mad rush of the wind-god's army, who +roared and shouted in glee, with a voice that shook the hills and called +upon the elements to laugh and rejoice. + +And the widowed partridge out upon the moor, creeping closer to the lee +side of his tuft of moss, cried out in his pain, not because of the fury +of the blast, but because of the heart that was breaking under the +little shivering body for the dead mate, who had meant so much of life +and happiness to him--cried with an ache in every cry, and the heart of +the man responded in his great, overpowering grief. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +PETER MAKES A DECISION + + +Peter Rundell often wondered what had become of Mysie. For a day or two +after the evening of the day of the games, he had shunned the +possibility of meeting her, because of the shame that filled his heart. + +His face burned when his thoughts went back to the evening in the grove +on the moor. He wondered how it had all happened. He had not meant +anything wrong when he suggested the walk. He could not account for what +had occurred, and so he pondered and his shame rankled. + +Then an uneasy feeling took possession of him and he felt he would like +to see Mysie. + +A week slipped away and he tried to find a way of coming in contact with +her, but no real chance ever presented itself. + +A fortnight passed and he grew still more uneasy. He grew anxious and +there was a hot fear pricking at his heart. Then at last, one day he +caught a glimpse of her, and his heart was smitten with dread. + +She was changed. Her appearance was altered. She was thinner, much +thinner and very white and listless. The old air of gayety and bubbling +spirits was gone. Her step seemed to drag, instead of the bright patter +her feet used to make; and his anxiety increased and finally he decided +that he must talk with her. + +There was something wrong and he wanted to know what it was. He tried to +make an excuse for seeing her alone but no chance presented itself, and +another week went past and he grew desperate. Then luck almost threw her +into his arms one day in the hall. + +"Mysie," he whispered, "there is something I want to discuss with you. +Meet me in the grove to-night about ten. I must see you. Will you come?" + +She nodded and passed on, not daring to raise her eyes, her face flaming +suddenly into shame, and the color leaving it again, gave her a deeper +pallor; and so he had to be content with that. + +All day he was fidgety and ill at ease, torn by a thousand dreads, and +consumed by anxiety, waiting impatiently for the evening, and puzzling +over what could be the matter. He felt that for one moment of mad +indiscretion, when allowing himself to be cast adrift upon the sea of +passion, the frail bark of his life had set out upon an adventure from +which he could not now turn back. He was out upon the great ocean +current of circumstances, where everything was unknown and uncharted, so +far as he was concerned. What rocks lay in his track, he did not know; +but his heart guessed, and sought in many ways of finding a course that +would bring his voyage to an end in the haven of comfort and +respectability. Respectability was his god, as he knew it was the god of +his parents. Money might save him; but there was something repugnant in +the thought of leaving the whole burden of disgrace upon Mysie. For, +after all, the fault was wholly his, and it was his duty to face the +consequences. Still if a way could be found of getting over it in an +easy way it would be better. But he would leave that till the evening +when he had learned from Mysie, whether his fears were correct or not, +and then a way might be found out of the difficulty. + +But the day seemed long in passing, and by the time the clock chimed +nine he was in a fever of excitement, and pained and ill with dread. + +Yet he was late when it came the hour, and Mysie was there first and had +already met Robert before he reached the grove. + +When Robert had gone away, and she sat crying upon the moor, she felt +indeed as if the whole world was slipping from her and that her life was +finished. Only ruin, black, unutterable, stared her in the face. Oh, if +only Robert had spoken sooner, she thought. If only that terrible +beautiful night with its moonlight witchery had not been lived as it had +been! If only something had intervened to prevent what had happened! +And she sobbed in her despair, knowing what was before her and learning +all too late, that Robert was the man she loved and wanted. + +Then when her passionate grief had spent itself, she rose as she saw +Peter coming hurriedly to meet her. + +"What is the matter, Mysie?" he asked with real concern in his voice, +noting the tear-stained face and her over-wrought condition. "What is +it, Mysie?" + +But Mysie did not answer just then, and they both turned and passed into +the grove, walking separately, as if afraid of each other's touch, and +something repellent keeping them apart. + +They sat down, carefully avoiding the place where they had sat on that +other fateful occasion, nearly a month before, and a long silence +elapsed before words were again spoken. + +"Now, Mysie," said Peter at last breaking the silence, and bracing +himself to hear unpleasant news, "I want to know what is wrong. What is +the matter?" and he feared to hear her tell her trouble. + +But again only tears--tears and sobs, terrible in their intensity as if +the frail little body would break completely under the strain of her +grief. + +"Mysie," he said, and his voice had a note of tender anxiety in it, +"what is it, dear? Tell me." + +"You shouldn't need to ask," she replied between her sobs. "You +shouldn't need to ask when you should ken." + +Again a long silence, and Peter felt he had got a heavy blow. A +sickening feeling of shame smote his heart at the knowledge hinted at--a +knowledge he had feared to learn. + +"Is it--is it--am I the cause of it, Mysie? Is--is it--?" and his voice +was hoarse and dry and pained. + +She nodded, and Peter knew beyond all doubt that he was the cause of the +misery. + +Again a long silence fell between them, in which both seemed to live an +eternity of silence and pain. Then clearing his throat, Peter spoke. + +"Mysie," he said, "there is only one thing to be done then," and there +was decision in his voice and a desire which meant that he was going to +rise to a height to which neither he nor Mysie ever expected he would +rise. "We must get married." + +She looked at him, with eyes still wet, but searching his face keenly. + +"Ay. It's a' richt sayin' that now, efter the thing's done," she said +bitterly. + +"But it is the only thing, Mysie, that can be done," he replied quickly. +"I can't think of anything else." + +"You should hae thought aboot that afore. It's nae use now," she said +bluntly. + +"Why, Mysie," he asked in surprise. "Why is it no use? Wouldn't you like +to marry me?" + +"No," she replied firmly. "I would not! Do you think I have no thought +o' mysel'? If nothing had happened, you would never hae thought aboot me +for your wife. But now that you've done something you canna get oot o' +you'd like to mak' me believe you want to help me bear the disgrace, +while a' the time you don't want to. But it's no' my disgrace," and +there was heat creeping into her voice. "It is yours, an' you should hae +thocht aboot a' that afore," and her voice was very angry as she +finished. + +"You are wrong, Mysie," he replied mollifyingly. "I love, you and I told +you that before it happened, and I also hinted that I wanted to marry +you." + +"Ay, but that was just at the time. Maybe if nothing had happened, an' I +had never been in your company again, you'd soon hae forgotten." + +"No, Mysie, you are wrong. I love you, and I've brought you to this, for +which I am sorry, so we must be married," he said decisively. + +"Why?" she asked, and her eyes met his honestly and fairly. + +"Because it is the right thing to do," he replied quietly. + +"Is that a'?" she asked. + +"Is it not enough? What else is there to do?" Mysie was silent, and +after a while Peter went on;--"It is a duty, dear, but I am going to +face it, and shoulder the responsibility. It is the right thing to do, +and it must be done." + +"Ay, an' you are gaun to dae it, just as a bairn tak's medicine; because +you are forced. I asked if that was a', and it seems to be. But what if +I don't have onything mair to dae with you?" + +"You would not do that, Mysie," he said hurriedly, and incredulously. It +had never entered his mind that she would refuse to marry him, and he +looked upon his offer as a great service which he was doing her. "Why, +what could you do otherwise?" he asked looking blankly at her. + +"I could work as I hae always done," she said sharply. "You surely think +you are a catch. Man, efter what has happened I feel that I wudna care +than I never saw you again. You hae little o' rale manliness in you. You +thocht it was gran' to carry on wi' a workin' lassie, maybe," and there +was bitter scorn in her voice, "an' now when you hae landed yourself +into a mess you are grinning like a bear with the branks an' wantin' to +dae what is richt as you call it," and Mysie was now really in a temper. + +"Mysie, you must not speak like that," he broke in, in earnest tones. +"You know I love you, and loving you as I do, I want to shield you as +much--" + +"Ay, but you want to shield yourself first," she said. + +"No, dear, it is only of you I am thinking. I love you very much and +want to do what is right. Even although this had not happened, I was +going to ask you to be my wife. Will you marry me, Mysie?" + +"What'll your folks say?" she asked bluntly. "You ken that I'm no' the +wife you would have gotten nor the yin your folk would like you to get," +she said, searching his face with a keen look. "I'm no' born in your +class. I'm ignorant an' have not the fine manners your wife should have, +an' I doot neither your faither nor your mither wad consent to such a +thing." + +"But I won't ask them," he replied. "I am a man for myself, and do not +see why they should be asked to approve my actions in this." + +"Ay, that's a' richt; but what aboot your ain feelings in the matter? +Am I the lass you wad hae ta'en, Peter, if this hadna happened?" and +there was a world of hungry appeal in her voice as she finished. It was +as if she wanted to be assured that it was for herself alone that he +really wanted to marry her. + +"Why should you not?" he enquired. + +"That's no' the question," she said, noting the evasion. "You ken as +weel as I dae that it wad be an ill match for you. You've been brought +up differently. You've had eddication, an' an easy life. You've been +trained faur differently, an' you canna say that you'd no' tire o' me. I +have not as muckle learning as wad make me spell my ain name, an' I +could never fill the position o' your wife with the folk I'd have to mix +with." + +"That's all right, Mysie," he said, ready to counter her argument. "You +have not been educated, that is true, but it is only a question of +having you trained. If one woman can be educated and trained so can +another. This is what I propose to do: I go back to Edinburgh in a +fortnight to finish my last year. My father has put the colliery into a +company, and he has a large part of the management on his shoulders. He +expects when I come home next year to gradually retire. I shall be the +controlling power then, and he will slip out of the business and end his +days in leisure." + +"Ay, but you are thinking a' the time aboot the disgrace," she said. +"Your whole thought is about your position, an' you hae never a real +thought aboot me." She was somewhat mollified; but there was still a +hard note in her voice, and not a little distrust too. "Are you sure you +are no' proposin' this just because o' the trouble? I don't want peety! +I am pairtly to blame too," this with a softer note creeping into her +voice, and making it more resigned. "If it's no' oot o' peety for me, I +could bear it better. But I'll no' hae peety. I can look after mysel' +an' face the whole thing, even though I ken it'll break my mither's +heart." + +"I know what it is for you, Mysie," he said. "I am trying to look at the +whole thing from your point of view. That's why I have planned to give +you some sort of a training, and make it as easy for you as possible. It +is for your position I am worrying and when I come into my father's +place I will be able to put all things right for you, and make you +really happy." + +"But you have not faced the main bit yet," she said as he ceased +speaking. "Where do I come in? You hae got this to face now, an' it'll +no' wait a' that time." + +"Yes, I know," he replied, "I'm just coming to that. At first it won't +perhaps look too nice to you, but remember, Mysie, I want to face the +matter honestly and you'll have to help me. Very well," he went on. "As +I said, I go back to Edinburgh in three weeks at most--I'll try and go +in a fortnight, and you must go with me--not traveling together. We must +keep all our affairs to ourselves, and not even your parents or mine +must know. When I go away you'll come the day after. You can travel over +the moor to Greyrigg station, take the 4:30 train from there and I can +meet you at Edinburgh. I'll get a house next week when I go to arrange +for my term. I shall tell no one. You can live in the house I get and I +can continue perhaps in lodgings, and I shall come and visit you as +often as I can." + +He stopped for a little and then resumed:--"I shall buy books for you +and come and teach you the things you'll need to learn, or I can get +someone to do it, if you'd like that better. Then when you are +thoroughly trained, I can bring you home to Rundell House and all will +be well." + +"An' what aboot--what aboot--" she paused, averting her face. "Are you +no' forgettin' that it'll tak' a lang time for me to learn a' I'll need; +for I'm gey ill to learn." + +"No, Mysie," he replied reassuringly. "When you arrive in Edinburgh, we +can go next day to be married before the Sheriff. It's all right, Mysie +dear," he assured her as he saw the questioning look in her eyes. "Don't +think I'm trying to trap you. I want to make what amends I can for what +has happened. You'll be my wife just as surely as if the minister +married us. If you are not content with that we can easily get married +with a minister after we decide to come back here." + +"But wad that be a true marriage?" she asked, scarcely able to credit +what he told her. "Wad I get marriage lines?" + +"Oh, yes. It would be legal, and you'd get marriage lines. Now what do +you say?" + +"I dinna like the thocht o' no' tellin' my mither. Will I hae to gang +away, an' no' tell her?" + +"Oh, you must not tell anyone," he replied quickly. "No one must know or +all our plans will go crash, and we'll both be left to face the shame of +the whole thing. So you must not tell." + +"Mither will break her heart," she broke in again with a hint of a sob. +"She'll wonder where I am, an' worry aboot me, wi' nae word o' me! Am I +just to disappear oot o' everybody's kennin' altogether? Oh, dear! It'll +break my mither's heart," and she cried again at the thought of the pain +and anxiety which her parents would experience. + +So they sat and talked, he trying to soothe and allay her anxiety and +she, at first openly skeptical, and then by and by allowing herself to +be persuaded. + +All this time they had been too engrossed in their own affairs to notice +how the wind had risen and that a storm was already breaking over the +moor. Then suddenly realizing it, they started for home. + +It was nearing midnight, and the clouds being thick and low made the +mossy ground very dark. The rain was coming down heavily and everything +pointed to a wild night. + +"I'm sorry I did not bring a coat with me," said Peter, taking the +windward side of Mysie, so as to break the storm for her. "I had no idea +that it was going so rain when I came away," and they plowed their way +through the long rough grass, plashing through the little pools they +were unable to see, while the wind raged and tore across the moor in a +high gale. + +He had a key in his pocket and when they arrived at Rundell House he +noiselessly opened the door, and they entered, slipping along like +burglars. + +When Mysie reached her room, she sat down to think matters over for +herself, forgetful of the fact that she was wet. She sat a long time +pondering in her slow untrained way over the arrangements which had been +come to, her mind trying to get accustomed to the thought that she was +going to be Peter's wife and to leave Lowwood. + +But somehow the thought of being his wife did not appeal to her now, as +it had done when she had pictured herself the lady of the district with +her dreams of everything she desired, and fancying herself the envy of +every woman who knew her. + +The secrecy of the business she did not like; but she told herself it +would all come right; that it was necessary under the circumstances and +that afterwards when she had been taught and trained in the ways of his +people she would come back and all would be well. + +Then in the midst of all this looking into the future with its doubts +and promises, came the thought of Robert, and her pulses thrilled and +her blood quickened; but it had come too late. + +Would she rather be at Rundell House as Peter's wife or sitting in a +one-roomed apartment sewing pit clothes perhaps, or washing and +scrubbing in the slavery in which the women folk of her class generally +lived? Ah, yes, as Robert's wife that would have been happiness. But it +was all too late now. She had turned aside--and she must pay the penalty +of it all. + +Long she sat, and cried, and at last realizing that she was cold and +shivering, she took off her clothes and crawled off to bed, her last +thought of Robert as he had left her, the pain in his eyes and the awful +agony in his voice: "Oh, Mysie, how I hae loved you! An' I thocht you +cared for me!" rang in her ears as she lay and tossed in sleepless +misery. + +In the morning she was in a high fever and unable to rise out of her +bed. She had a headache and felt wretched and ill. In her exhausted +state, weakened by worry and her resistance gone, the drenching, the +chill and the long sitting in her lonely room had overmastered her +completely. + +She raved about Robert, crying to him in her fevered excitement, and he, +all unconscious, was at that time at his work, tired also and exhausted +by his terrible night upon the moor. + +When he stumbled and fell into the mossy pool, his mind became more +collected and, scrambling out, he stood to consider where he was, trying +to find his bearings in the thick darkness. + +The low whinnying of a horse near by gave him a clew and he started in +the direction of the cry, concluding that it was some of the horses +sheltering behind a dyke which ran across the moor from the end of the +village. + +He crawled and scrambled along, and after going about twenty yards he +came to the dyke, at the other side of which stood the cowering horses. + +"Whoa, Bob," he said soothingly, and one of them whinnied back in +response as if glad to know that a human being was near. He moved nearer +to them, and began to stroke their manes and clap their necks, to which +they responded by rubbing their faces against him and cuddling an +affectionate return for the sympathy in his voice. + +"Puir Bob," he said, tenderly, as he patted the neck of the animal which +rubbed its soft nose against his arm. It seemed so glad of the +companionship and reached nearer as Robert put out his other hand to +stroke sympathetically the nose of the other horse, as he also drew +near. + +"Puir Rosy," he said. "Was you feart for the wind and the rain? Poor +lass! It's an awfu' nicht to be oot in!" and they rubbed themselves +against him and whinnied with a low pleased gurgle, grateful for his +kindness and company as he patted and stroked the soft velvet skins, and +they rubbed themselves against him as if each were jealous lest his +attentions be not equally divided. + +He stood for a short time, thus fondling and patting them, then keeping +to the dyke, he made his way along it and he thus came out right at the +end of the village, and knowing his way now with confidence, he was soon +at the door of his home. Cautiously opening it, afraid he would awaken +the inmates, whom he concluded must all be asleep, he slipped in +quietly, bolting the door behind him, and reached the fire. + +"Dear me, Rob," said his mother. "Where in the name o' goodness hae you +been the nicht! I sat up till after midnight aye expectin' you'd be in, +sae I gaed awa' to my bed to lie wauken till you should come in. You are +awfu' late." + +He did not answer but stooped to take off his boots, and Mrs. Sinclair +was soon out of bed and upon the floor. + +"Michty me, laddie! You are wringin' wet! Where have you been? Rain and +glaur to the e'en holes! Get thae wet claes off you at yince, an' I'll +get dry shirts for you, an' then awa' till your bed!" she rattled on, +running to the chest in the room and coming back with dry clothes in her +arms. "My, I never kent you oot o' the hoose as late as this in a' your +life! Have you been oot in a' that rain?" + +"Ay," he answered, but venturing nothing more, as he went on changing. + +"It's been an awfu' nicht o' wind and rain," she again observed, +glancing at his dripping clothes, and conveying a hint that explanations +were desirable. + +"I canna understand at a' what way you hae bidden oot in a' that rain, +Lod's sake? It's enough to gie you your daeth o' cauld. You are wet to +the skin, an' there's no a dry steek on you? Hae you been oot in it a'?" +and her curiosity she felt was too crudely put to be answered. + +Robert knew that she was bent on having an explanation, and that if he +gave her any encouragement at all she'd soon have the whole story out of +him. + +"Yes," he said curtly, "but I'm no' gaun to talk ony the nicht. I'm gaun +to my bed for an oor before risin' time." + +"You'll never gaun till your work the day," she said in warm concern. +"You'll never be able. You'd better tak' a rest, my laddie. A day will +no' mak' muckle difference noo. We're no sae ill aff, an' I wadna like +to hae onything gaun wrang. Gang away till your bed, an' dinna bother +aboot your work. A guid rest'll maybe keep you frae getting the cauld." + +"I'm a' richt, mither," he replied as airily as he could. "Dinna worry; +an' be sure an' wauken me for my work. I'm na gaun to bide in when there +is naething wrang. You gang awa' to your bed," and she knowing that was +the last word, did not speak further, and as he withdrew to his room, +she went back to bed wondering more and more at the mystery of it all. + +But he did not sleep. Torn by worry and in spite of his earlier +resolution to think no more about it he lay and thought and wondered +about Mysie, and the man he saw, joining her at the end of the grove; +and when Nellie opened the door to call him that it was "rising time," +Robert answered to the first cry, and his mother was more amazed than +ever; for he generally took a good many cries, being a heavy sleeper. +But being sensible she kept her wonder to herself, knowing if it were +anything which she had a right to know he'd tell her in his own good +time. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A STIR IN LOWWOOD + + +"My! Div you ken what has happened?" asked Mrs. Johnstone, bursting in +upon Mrs. Sinclair one day about two weeks later. "My, it's awfu'!" she +continued in breathless excitement, her head wagging and nodding with +every word, as if to emphasize it, her eyes almost jumping out with +excitement, and her whole appearance showing that she had got hold of a +piece of information which was of the first importance. "My, it's +awfu'," she repeated again lifting her hands up to a level with her +breast, and then letting them fall again, "Mysie Maitland has ran away +frae her place, an' naebidy kens where she has gane to. An' Mrs. +Rundell, mind you, has been that guid to her too, givin' her her caps +an' aprons, an' whiles buyin' her a bit dress length forby, an' she +gi'ed her boots and slippers, an' a whole lot o' ither things to tak' +hame for the bairns--things that were owre wee for the weans at Rundell +Hoose but were quite guid to wear. My, it's awfu'! Isn't it?" + +"Mysie Maitland!" exclaimed Mrs. Sinclair in astonishment. "When did +this happen? Where has she gane? Are you sure you hinna made a mistake?" +and Mrs. Sinclair was all excitement, hanging in breathless anxiety upon +the tidings her neighbor brought. + +"I hae made nae mistake, Nellie Sinclair," returned Leezie, "for it was +her ain mother wha telt me the noo. I was at the store, an' when I was +comin' hame I met Jenny hersel' gaun awa' tae Rundell Hoose. She was +greetin' an' I couldna' get oot o' spierin' at her what was wrang, an' +she telt me her ain self." + +"You dinna mean tae tell me that Mysie Maitland has disappeared? In the +name o' a' that's guid, what has happened to bring aboot sic news?" + +"Aye, it's true, Nellie," replied Mrs. Johnstone, feeling very important +now that she knew Mrs. Sinclair had not heard the news. + +"When did this happen?" asked the latter, still incredulous. "Are you +sure that's true? Dear me! I dinna ken what the world's comin' to at +a'!" + +"Ay, it's awfu'! But it's true. You never ken what thae quate kin' o' +modest folk will dae. They look that bashfu' that butter wadna' melt in +their mouths; an' a' the time they are just as like to gang wrang as +ither folk." + +"But wha said Mysie Maitland has gang wrang?" enquired Mrs. Sinclair, +flaring up in Mysie's defense. "I wadna' believe it, though you went +down on your bended knees to tell me. A modester, weel-doin' lassie +never lived in this place!" + +"Weel, I dinna ken whether she has gane wrang or not; but she has ran +awa', an' it is gey suspeecious conduct that for ony lassie that is +weel-doin'. She is jist like the rest of folk." + +"It canna' be true," said Mrs. Sinclair, still unable to believe the +news. "I canna' take it in." + +"Ay, but it is true," persisted her neighbor with assurance. "For I tell +you, it was her ain mother what telt me hersel'. It seems she has been +missing since the day afore yesterday. She gaed awa' in the afternoon to +see her mither, an' as she hadna been keepin' very weel for a day or two +an' no comin' back that night, Mrs. Rundell jist thought that Jenny had +keepit her at home for a holiday. But she didna turn up yesterday, an' +thinkin' maybe that the lassie had turned worse, Mrs. Rundell sent owre +word jist the noo, to ask how she was keepin'; an' Jenny was fair +thunder-struck when the man came to the door to ask. Puir body! Jenny's +awfu' puttin' aboot owre the matter. I hope," she added, with the first +show of sympathy, "that naething has happened to the lassie. That wad be +awfu'!" + +"Dear keep us!" exclaimed Nellie. "I hope nothing has happened to her." + +"God knows!" replied Mrs. Johnstone piously, for want of something else +to say. "It's awfu'!" + +"Do they ken naething at a' aboot her at Rundells'?" again enquired Mrs. +Sinclair. + +"No' a thing they ken, ony mair than you or me. She left her bits o' +claes, jist as if she meant to come back. Her new frock was in her +drawer jist as she had put it by efter tryin' it on. An' a braw frock it +is. She has nothing except what she was wearin' at the time she gaed +oot. Her guid boots jist yince on her feet are in her room, a' cleaned +jist as she took them off the last time she had them on. I canna' +believe it yet. My! it's awfu'! It'll be a sair, sair heart her +faither'll hae when he hears about it. He had aye an' awfu' wark wi' +Mysie, an' thought the world o' her. If he got Mysie richt he ay seemed +to think that a' else was richt. I hope nae harm has come to her. I +dinna ken what the world's comin' to at a', I'm sure? My, it's awfu', +isn't it?" and Mrs. Johnstone went out to spread the news, leaving Mrs. +Sinclair more mystified and astonished than ever she had been in her +life. + +Mysie missing! She could not understand it, and always she tried to +crush back the suggestion which was plainly evident in Leezie's +statement that Mysie had "gang wrang." It could not be that, for Mysie +was never known to have dealings with anyone likely to betray her like +that. It was a hopeless puzzle altogether, and she could not account for +it. + +It was nearing "lousing time" and Mrs. Sinclair was busy getting the +dinner ready, and water boiled to wash the men coming in from the pit, +and she wondered how Robert would take the news. + +She knew, having guessed, as most mothers do guess, that Mysie held a +sacred corner in Robert's heart; though noticing the silence during the +last two weeks, and his renewed attention to books and study, she +wondered if anything had come between Mysie and himself. Had he at last +spoken to her and been discouraged? She could hardly harbor that +thought, for she felt also that Mysie's heart enshrined but one man, and +that was Robert. Yet what could be the meaning of all this mystery? + +It was true Mysie and Robert had never walked out as young men and +women of their class do; but she knew in their hearts each regarded the +other with very warm affection, and thinking thus she worked about the +house preparing things and running occasionally over to Maitland's +house, to see that the dinner was cooking all right, and giving little +attentions wherever they were needed, in Mrs. Maitland's absence. + +She did not mention the news to Robert when he came in, but she watched +him furtively as she worked about the house getting the water into the +tub for him to wash, before placing the dinner on the table; but she +guessed from his face that he must have already heard of it on his way +home. + +He was silent as he pulled off his rough blue flannel shirt and stooping +over the well-filled tub of hot water, he began to lave the water over +his arms, and the upper part of his body. + +At last, Mrs. Sinclair could hold herself in no longer, and looking +keenly at the half-naked young man as he straightened himself, having +washed the coal-dust from his hands and arms, he began to rub his breast +and as much of his back as he could reach, she said, "Did you hear aboot +Mysie, Rob?" + +"Ay," he returned simply, trying to hide his agitation and his blanching +face. "I heard that she had disappeared frae her place, an' that nae +news o' her could be got. Is it true, mither?" + +"Ay, it's true, Rob," she replied. "But I hinna got ony richt waye o' it +yet. Jenny's awa' owre to Rundell Hoose, an' we'll no' ken onything till +she comes back. It's an awfu' business, an' will pit her faither an' +mither a guid lot aboot. I wonder what'll hae ta'en her." + +"It's hard to ken," he replied in a non-committal voice. "Hae you ony +idea, mither, as to what has brought this aboot?" + +"No, Rob, I canna' say; but folks' tongues will soon be busy, I hae nae +doot, an' there will be a lot o' clip-clash, an' everybody kennin' +nothing, will ken the right way o't, an' every yin will hae a different +story to tell." + +"Ay, I hae nae doot," he said, again stooping over the tub flinging some +water over his head, and beginning to rub the soap into a fine lather +upon his hair. "Everybody will ken the right wye o' it, and will claver +and gossip, when they wad 'a be better to mind their ain affairs, an' +let ither folk alane." + +His mother did not speak for a little, but went on with her work. There +was something on her mind about which she wanted to speak, and she +bustled about and washed, and clattered the dishes; and every plate and +spoon, as they were laid dripping from the basin of warm water, plainly +indicated that something troubled her. + +Finally, when the last steaming dish had been laid upon the table, and +she had begun to wipe them dry, she cleared her throat, and in a +somewhat strained sort of voice asked, "Dae you ken, Rob, onything aboot +Mysie?" + +"No, mither," he replied at once, as he ceased rubbing the white foaming +lather on his hair, and again straightened himself up to look at her, as +she spoke; his head looking as if a three inch fall of snow had settled +upon it, giving the black dirty face and the clean eyes shining through +the dust, a weird strange appearance. "What makes you ask that?" + +"Oh, I dinna ken, Rob, but jist thought you micht hae kent something," +she answered evasively. + +"No, I dinna ken onything at all aboot her, mither," he said. "If I had +kent onything, dae you think I'd hae kept quiet?" + +"Oh, I dinna mean that, Rob," she replied with relief in her voice, "but +I thought that you might hae heard something. That Leezie Johnstone was +in here the day, an' you ken hoo she talks. She was makin' oot that +Mysie had gane wrang, and had ran awa' tae hide it." + +"Leezie Johnstone had little to do sayin' onything o' the kind," he said +with some heat in his voice. "There never was a dirty coo in the byre +but it liket a neighbor. I suppose she'll be thinkin' that a' lasses +were like her. These kind of folk hae dam'd strange ideas aboot things. +They get it into their heads it is wrang to do certain things when folk +are no married, but the cloak of marriage flung aboot them mak's the +same things richt. They hinna the brains o' a sewer rat in their +noddles, the dam'd hypocrites that they are!" + +"Dinna swear, Rob!" said Mrs. Sinclair, interrupting him. "Do you ken," +she went on, her astonishment plainly evident in her face and voice, +"that is the first time I ever heard you swear in a' my life!" + +"Well, mither, I am sorry; but I couldna' help it. Folk like that get my +temper up gey quick; because they get it into their heids that marriage +makes them virtuous, even though they may be guilty o' greater excesses +after than they were before marriage." + +"Ay, that's true, Rob!" she agreed. "But it is a sad business a' +thegether. I wonder what has come owre the bit lassie. God knows where +she may be?" + +But Robert was silent, and no matter how much she tried to get him to +speak, he would not be drawn into conversation, but answered merely in +short grunts; but she could see that he was very much disturbed at what +had happened. After a few days the sensation seemed to pass from the +minds of most of the villagers, who soon found something new to occupy +them, in connection with their own affairs. + +About this time much interest was being manifested in mining circles. +The labor movement was beginning to shape itself into solidarity towards +political as well as industrial activity. Robert Smillie and the late J. +Keir Hardie, and many other tireless spirits, had succeeded in molding +together the newly created labor party, infecting it with an idealism +which had hitherto not been so apparent, and this work was making a deep +impression upon the minds of the workers, especially among the younger +men. + +The Miners' Union had been linked up into national organizations; and a +consolidating influence was at work molding the workers generally, and +the miners particularly, imbuing them with a newer hope, a greater +enthusiasm and a wider vision. + +About a fortnight after the news of Mysie's disappearance, Keir Hardie +paid a visit to Lowwood, and a large crowd gathered to hear him in the +village hall. Smillie also was advertised to speak, and great interest +was manifested, and much criticism passed by the miners. + +"I don't give in wi' this dam'd political business," said Tam Donaldson, +who was frankly critical. "I've aye stood up for Smillie, but I dinna' +like being dragged intae this Socialist movement. A dam'd fine nest o' +robbers an' work-shy vermin. Trade Union officials should attend tae +Trade Union affairs. That's what we pay them for. But it looks to me as +if they were a' that dam'd busy trying to get intae Parliament, thet +they hinna time to look after oor affairs." + +"I'm kind o' suspeecious aboot it mysel', Tam," said Robert quietly, as +they made their way to the hall that night. "I'm no' sure jist yet as to +what this Socialism is, it looks frae the papers to be a rotten kind o' +thing an' I'm no' on wi' it. But I'll wait an' hear what Hardie an' +Smillie say aboot it, afore a' make up my mind." + +"To hell wi' them an' their Socialism," said Tam with some heat. "I want +a shillin' or twa on my day. It's a' yin damn to me hoo mony wives they +gie me. I canna' keep the yin I hae. What the hell wad a workin' man dae +wi' three wives? An' they tell me they're goin' to abolish religion too. +Not that I'm a religious man mysel', but I'm damn'd if I'd let them +interfere wi' it. If I want religion I've a guid richt to hae it; an' +forby, if they abolish religion, hoo wad folk do wi' the funerals? I can +see hoo they'll do wi' marriages, for there's to be nane. You've to get +your wife changed every two-three years, an' the weans brought up by the +State as they call it. But the puirhouse is a dam'd cauld step-mother, +an' I'd be up against that." + +Thus discussing the subject, they reached the hall to find it packed, +everyone being keen to see and hear this man, who was making such an +uproar in the country with his advocacy of Socialism. + +Robert was chairman, and had labored hard to prepare a few remarks with +which to open the meeting. He wanted to be non-committal, and his +reading and self-teaching had been of immense service to him. His +mother's influence in the molding of his character, unconsciously to +himself, had made his mind just the sort of soil for the quick rooting +of the seed to be sown that night. + +It was certainly a great occasion. Robert thought as he looked at this +man, that he had never seen anyone who so typefied the spirit of +independence in his bearing. His figure was straight, the eyes fearless, +yet kindly and gentle; but the proud erect head, the straight stiff back +which seemed to say "I bend to no one" impressed Robert more than +anything else in all his make up. + +Yet there was nothing aggressive about him with it all; but on the +contrary, an atmosphere of kindliness exuded from him, creating a +wonderful effect upon those with whom he came in contact. The wild +stories of this turbulent agitator, which everyone seemed to hear, and +be acquainted with, made the audience hostile to begin with. It was not +a demonstrable hostility; but one felt it was there, ready to break out, +and overwhelm this stormy petrel of the political world. + +Yet they patiently waited for Hardie to begin, tolerating Smillie, and +even applauding his ringing denunciations of the wrongs they suffered, +but critically waiting on his attempts to switch them on to Socialism. +Then came Hardie, halting and stammering a little as he began his +address. The audience thinking this was due to his searching for a way +to delude them, became more suspicious and critical, and ready to stop +him, if he tried any tricks upon them; but broad-minded enough and fair +enough to give him a hearing, until he trespassed upon them too much. + +So it was in this atmosphere that Socialism first was heard in Lowwood; +but soon the speaker became less halting as he warmed to his subject, +until not only was he fluent, but eloquent, and powerful, winning his +audience in spite of themselves. + +They sat and listened, and were soon under his sway, watching his every +gesture and thawing under his spell, as they watched the fine head +thrown back with its inimitable poise, the back straight and stiff, the +eyes aglow with the light of the seer, and the hands gracefully rising +and falling to emphasize some point. + +What a change soon came over them! Gradually as the speaker developed +his subject the faces changed, and they were soon responsive to his +every demand upon them. The clear ringing voice, insistent, strong, yet +catching a cadence of gentleness and winsomeness that moved them to +approval of everything he said. + +There was deep humanity about him, that was strangely in contrast with +the monster he had been to their fancy before they saw and heard him. +This was not the politics of the vulgar kind, of which the newspapers +had told; on the contrary, every man in the hall felt this was the +politics to which every reasonable man subscribed. It was the politics +of the fireside, of sweetness and light, of justice and truth, of +humanity and God. + +In burning words he denounced the wrongs under which the people +suffered, winning them by his warm-blooded championship of their cause, +appealing to them to forsake the other parties, form an independent +party for themselves; and sketching in glowing words the picture of the +world as it might be, if only a saner and more human view were taken by +those who ruled. + +It made an indelible impression on Robert's mind. The way was so simple, +so clear, so sure, that if only men like Hardie could go round every +town and village in the land, he believed that a Utopia might be brought +into being in a very few years; that even the rich people, the usurpers, +would agree that this state of affairs might be brought about, and that +they'd gladly give up all they had of power over the lives of others, to +work cooperatively for the good of all; and already he was deciding in +youth's way, he would give his life, every moment of it, to help Hardie +and Smillie, and all those other great spirits to win the world to this +state of affairs. Body and soul he would devote to it, and so help to +make the world a brighter and happier place for all human beings. + +His was the temperament that having found an ideal would storm the gates +of Heaven to realize it; or wade through hell, suffering all its +penalties to gaze upon the face of that he sought. + +So the meeting ended in great enthusiasm, and the audience was amazed +and pleased to find that this man Hardie was not the vulgar-minded, +loud-mouthed ignorant agitator of which the press had told them; but was +just one of themselves, burning with a sense of their wrongs, with +ability to express their thoughts in their own words, and with an +uncompromising hatred of the system which bred these wrongs in their +lives. + +Tam Donaldson and Robert compared notes after the meeting was over in +the following conversation: + +"What do you think o' it, Tam?" + +"Christ! but it was great," was the reply. + +"What aboot the three wives noo, Tam?" + +"Oh, for ony sake, dinna rub it in, Rob. I feel that small that I could +hide myself in the hole of my back tooth. Man, do you ken, I jist felt +as if we were a' back in the Bible times again, wi' auld Isaiah +thundering oot his charges and tellin' the oppressors o' the people what +he thought of them. The white heid o' Hardie maun hae been gey like +Isaiah's. Or sometimes it was like John the Baptist, comin' to tell us +o' the new world that was ready to dawn for the folk! Man, it was +hellish guid, and frae this day I'm a Socialist. I've always been +fightin' the oppressors o' the workers, an' only wish I had a tongue +like Hardie, so that I could gang roon' the hale country tellin' folk +the rale God's truth aboot things. Guid God! Rob, it was better than +goin' to the kirk!" + +"Ay, it was gran', Tam. I'm goin' to read up this Socialism; for it +seems to me to be worth it." + +"So will I. I hae got twa or three bits o' books that I bought, an' I'll +swallow them as quick as I can. Lod! It seems as if a new world had +opened up a' thegether the night. I'm that dam'd happy, I could rin +roon' an' tell everybody aboot it! But I suppose we maun gang awa' hame +to bed; for we'll hae to gang to oor work the morn, though it's dam'd +cauld comfort to think o' gaun oot to the pit, when we could hae better +conditions to work in if only folk had the sense to do right." + +Thus they parted, full of the subject which had stirred them so much +that night. + +Robert went home, full of vision of an emancipated world, his whole +heart kindled and aglow with the desire to be a spokesman like Hardie on +behalf of the workers, and thoroughly determined to devote the rest of +his life to it. + +"There's nae word o' Mysie yet," said Nellie, when he came in, and her +words seemed to shock him with their unexpectedness. + +"Is there no'?" he replied, trying hard to bring his mind back to the +realities. "What kind o' word did Jenny get frae the polis?" + +"Oh, they ken naething aboot her," said Nellie. "A' that is kenned is +jist what we heard already. The polis hae been searchin' noo for a +fortnight an' nae trace o' her can be got. Mr. Rundell has pit it in the +papers; but I hae my doots aboot ever seeing her again. Mysie wasna' the +lassie that wad keep her folk in suspense. She wad ken fine that they'd +be anxious. Matthew an' Jenny are in an awfu' way." + +"Ay. I believe they will," he replied, and a deep silence followed. + +After a time, as the silence seemed to become oppressive, and for the +sake of saying something, Mrs. Sinclair said: "What kin o' a meetin' had +you the night?" + +"My! we had an awfu' meeting, mither," he said in reply, his eyes +kindling with enthusiasm at the memory of it. "Smillie was askin' for +you, an' he's comin' owre to see you the morn afore he goes awa'." + +"Oh, he had mind o' me then," she said, pleased at this information. + +"Ay, an' he talked rale kindly aboot my faither to Hardie, mither. +Smillie's a fine man, an' I like him," he said with simple enthusiasm. + +"He is that, Rob. I've aye liked Bob for the way he has had to fecht. +Lod, I dinna ken hoo he has managed to come through it a'. He's been a +gran' frien' to the miners. What kin' o' a man is Hardie?" + +"He's yin o' the finest men I ever met," he answered in quick +enthusiasm. "You would hae enjoyed hearin' him, mither. It's an awfu' +peety that the weemin dinna gang to the meetin's. I'm shair there's no' +a woman in the place but wad hae liket him. My! if you had jist heard +him, strong, sturdy, and independent. Efter hearin' him, it fair knocked +the stories on the heid aboot him bein' oot to smash the hame, an' +religion an' sic like. He's clean and staunch, an' a rale man. Nae sham +aboot him, but a rale human bein', an' after listenin' to him tellin' +what Socialism is, it mak's you feel ashamed that you ever believed +things that you did believe aboot it. It's that simple an' Tam Donaldson +is fair carried awa' wi' it the night." + +"I'm glad you had a guid meetin'," she said, her interest kindled too. +"Tell me a' aboot it," and Robert told her, sketching the fine picture +which Hardie had given to his memory to carry, as long as life lasted +for him. + +"I've been appointed delegate to the Miners' Council," he said after a +while. "I'll hae to gang to Hamilton once a month to attend the +conferences." + +"Oh!" she said in surprise, and with pride in her voice. "What way hae +they sent you?" + +"I don't ken," he answered, "but I was a wee bit feart to take it. It's +only the very best men that should be sent there to represent the +branches, an' I thought they might hae sent an older man, wi' mair kind +o' thought about him, an' mair experience." + +"Oh, weel, Rob," she said with pride, "ye are maybe as guid as ony o' +them, and a hantle better than some o' them. I hope you'll dae well and +aye act fair." + +"I'll dae my best," he said simply. "Mony a time we hae been selt wi' +place-seekers, an' maybe there are some still at it," he went on, "but I +can say this, mither, if ever I get an inklin' o' it, I'll expose them +to every honest man. We want men who can look at things withoot seem' +themsel's as the center o' a' things. My, if you had only seen Hardie," +he broke off. "He was grand." + +Thus they talked for an hour before retiring, but all the time Robert's +mind occasionally kept wondering about Mysie, and he went to bed, his +heart troubled and aching to know the fate that had overtaken the girl +he had loved and lost. + +All night long he tossed unable to sleep, as he tried to think what had +happened to her, his mind and heart pained at the thought of something +that boded no good to her. + +He again lived over in his mind all that had happened that night upon +the moor, when he saw the man going to meet her after his own meeting +with Mysie. + +He was pained and puzzled what to do. Had the stranger any connection +with her disappearance, he asked himself? Should he tell of that? And +yet she had been to her father's house since then, so that it would be +of little value to mention it, he thought. + +Perhaps she had run away with the man. That was quite a likely thing to +happen, and if Mysie wanted him no one else had anything to do with it. +Still, she might have told her people, he thought. But perhaps she might +do that later on. + +But Mysie and her fate would not be banished from his mind, and he lay +and tumbled and tossed, a terrible anxiety within him, for youth is apt +to pity its own sufferings, and give them a heroic touch under the spell +of unrequited love. + +Thus the night passed and morning came, and he had not slept, and he +went to his work debating as to whether he should inform the police or +not about the man he had seen in the company of Mysie. But no decision +was ever come to. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +MYSIE RUNS AWAY + + +It was a gray, sultry summer night, with one small patch of red near the +western horizon when Mysie, making the excuse of going to the village to +visit her parents, had stolen over the moorland path on her way to join +the evening train for Edinburgh at a neighboring village station. + +She had left early, so as to have plenty of time on the way, and also +because she was really ill, and could not hurry. + +She had forced herself to work, so as not to attract attention to her +weak state during the past few weeks. Peter, who had already gone some +days before, had now everything ready for her, and this was her final +break with the old life. + +She knew she was ill, but thought that when she got to Edinburgh, with +good medical attention and treatment, she would soon be all right again. +Perhaps a rest and the change would help her as much as anything; and +she'd soon get well and strong, and she would work hard to fit herself +for the position she was to occupy as Peter's wife. + +But her legs did feel tired, as she trudged over the moor, and her steps +dragged heavily. She sank down for a few moments upon a thyme-strewn +bank to rest; the scent of the wild moorland bloom brought back the +memory of that evening in the copse. She shut her eyes for a moment, and +heard again the alarmed protest of the whaup, and the grumble of the +burn; saw again the moonlight patterns upon the ground, as it flittered +through the trees, like streams of fairy radiance cast from the magic +wand of night and, above all, heard Peter's voice, praising her eyes, +her hair, her figure. + +Her cheeks burned again, and her heart throbbed anew--she heard his +tones, hoarse, vibrant and warm, as his breath scorched her cheek. She +felt his arms about her, the contact of his burning lips upon her own. + +Then the calm which follows the wake of the storm, the consciously +averted eyes, and the very conscious breathing, which had in it +something of shame; the almost aversion to speak or touch again, and +over all, the deep silence of the moor, broken only by the burn and the +whaup, and the thick cloud, kindly dark, that came over the moon. + +But, behind it all, the remorse and the agony that would never die; the +anxiety and uncertainty, and the secret knowledge for which each had +paid so high a price. + +She rose from the bank and went slowly along the lovely moorland path. +Her breath was labored and the cough troubled her. She was hot, and +besides the tired sensation in her limbs, there was a griping feeling +about her chest that made breathing difficult. + +She reached the station just a minute before the train was due, and +entered an almost empty compartment, glad to be seated and at rest. + +The train soon moved out of the station, and an intense desire took hold +of her to go back. The full consciousness of her action only seemed to +strike her now that she had cut the last tie that bound her to the old +life, and involuntarily she rose to her feet, as if to get out. A man +sitting in the opposite corner, thinking she was going to close the +carriage window, laid a restraining hand upon her. + +"Don't close it," he said, "fresh air is what we all need, though we may +not in our ignorance think so. But you take it from me, miss, that you +can't get too much fresh air. Let it play about you, and keep it always +passing through your room, or the railway carriage when traveling, and +you'll never be ill. Look at me," he continued aggressively, almost +fiercely, and very pompously, "the very picture of health--never had a +day's illness in my life. And what is the reason? Why, fresh air. It is +the grand life-giver. No, miss, leave the window open. You can't get too +much of it. Let it play about you, draw it deeply into your lungs like +this," and he took a great deep draught, until Mysie thought he was +going to expand so much that he might fall out of the carriage window, +or burst open its sides. Then, he let it out in a long, loud blast, like +a miniature cyclone, making a noise like escaping steam; while his eyes +seemed as if they had made up their minds to jump out, had the blast and +the pressure not eased them at the last critical moment. + +Then he stood panting, his shoulders going up and down, and his chest +going out and in, like a pair of bellows in a country blacksmith's shop. + +"Nothing like fresh air, miss," he panted. "You take my tip on that. +I've proved it. Just look at me. I'm health itself, and might make a +fortune by sitting as an advertisement for somebody's patent pills, only +I feel too honorable for that; for it is fresh air that has done it. +Fresh air, and plenty of it!" and he turned his nose again in the +direction of the window, as if he would gulp the air down in gallons--a +veritable glutton of Boreas. + +Mysie could not speak. She was overwhelmed by the blast of oratory upon +air, and a woman who sat on the far side of a closed window, with +tight-drawn lips and smoldering eyes, looked challengingly at this fresh +air fanatic, observing with quiet sarcasm: "A complexion like that might +make a fortune, if done with colors to the life, in advertising some +one's 'Old Highland'!" + +The fresh air apostle gasped a little, looking across at the grim set +mouth and the quiet, steady eyes, as if he would like to retort; but, +finding no ready words, he merely wiped his forehead, and then subsided +helplessly in his corner seat, as the lady rose, and, going over to the +window, said to Mysie, as she closed it: "It is a little cold to-night, +after the scorching heat of the daytime, and one is apt to catch cold +very readily in a draught at an open carriage window. There, we'll all +feel more comfortable now, I fancy. It is a little chilly." The poor +worm who had always lived and thrived upon fresh air felt himself +shriveling up in the corner, and growing so small that he might easily +slip through the seam at the hinges of the carriage door. + +Mysie merely lay back in her corner without speaking. She had never +traveled much in the train; and this journey, apart from its +eventfulness, was sufficient in itself to stupefy her with its newness +and immensity. She had never before had a longer journey than to the +county town, which cost sixpence; and here she was going to Edinburgh! a +great city, of which she had all the dread of the inexperienced, +unsophisticated country girl. A slight shiver soon began to creep down +her back, and gradually she became cold; but she sat never speaking, and +the other two occupants were so engrossed in thinking out maledictions +against each other, that they had no thoughts to bestow upon her. + +The wild, bleak moors rolled past, as the train rushed onward, and the +telegraph poles seemed to scamper along, as if frightened by the noise +of the train. She gazed away to the far horizon, where the sun had left +a faint glow upon the western clouds, and she tried to think of +something that would not betray her nervousness, but her mind was all +chaos and excitement, and strange expectation. + +What would be waiting for her at the end of the journey? Suppose Peter +failed to be at the station, what would she do in a strange city? What +if he were ill, and would not come? Or if he was doing this +deliberately, and did not mean to meet her? Thus, torn by anxiety, and +worried almost to death by nameless other fears, she spent the hour-long +journey which seemed like a day, making herself ill, so that she could +scarcely leave the carriage when the train steamed into Princes Street +Station. + +"Have you any luggage that I can assist you with?" asked the fresh air +man, as Mysie seemed reluctant to get out, now that she had arrived at +her destination. + +"No," she replied simply, forgetting to thank him for his kind +consideration, and rising slowly to her feet, she followed the stream of +passengers down the platform, keeping a keen look-out for Peter. + +"Here we are, Mysie," he said cheerily, striding towards her, with real +welcome in his voice, and she clung to him like a child, so glad that he +had been true to his word. "I have a cab waiting," he rattled on +brightly. "Just come along, and we'll soon be at your digs, and we'll +talk as we drive along," and he piloted her to a waiting cab; and +getting in beside her, it moved off, as she heard him say "Grassmarket" +to the driver. + +But she had little interest in anything, now that Peter was here. She +felt a sense of security in his company that she had never felt before. +She trusted him, now that all her bearings were lost. The fear of the +city, and the strangeness of her experiences, made her turn to him as +her only prop upon which she could lean; and she clung to his arm as +they drove along, the cab rattling over the stones and through what +seemed to Mysie interminable streets of houses. + +"Did you manage to get away all right, without anyone knowing?" he +asked, as he felt her trembling hands upon his arm. + +"Yes, I think sae," she replied. "I never saw onybody. I jist let on +that I was gaun hame, an' gaed owre the muir, an' got the train. I didna +see onybody that I kent." + +"That was right, Mysie," he said. "I was afraid you might decide at the +last moment not to come." + +"I did feel awfu' frightened," she confessed, "an' I could fain hae +bidden at hame; but I can never gang hame noo," she added with a slight +tremor in her voice, at the realization of all it meant. "I can never +gang hame noo!" and the tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke. + +What a noise, and what a multitude of houses, she thought. She would +never be able to go out and find her way back. She would get lost in all +this noise and hurry and confusion. + +"I have taken a little house for you, Mysie," said Peter, in explanation +of his plans. "I have also a woman engaged to help you for a time, to +look after you till you get acquainted with the place; and I'll come +home to you every evening, and spend as much of my time with you as I +can, superintending your lessons. I am going to teach you myself for a +while, and we'll live together and be as happy as we can. But first of +all, you must get better," he said, as a fit of coughing seized her. +"You've got a bad cold. Luckily, the old man allows me plenty of money, +so that we need not worry." + +Mysie sat lost in wonder at it all, and presently the cab stopped, and +Peter helped her out, paid the fare and, taking her arm, led her up a +long flight of stairs--stairs that seemed to wind up and up till she +felt dizzy, before he came to a halt at one of the many doors opening on +the landing, entering which she found herself in a neat little room and +kitchen, simply furnished, but clean and tidy. + +"This is Mrs. Ramsay, my landlady," he said as they entered, leading +Mysie forward to where a middle-aged woman of kindly demeanor stood with +a smile of welcome for them. Mrs. Ramsay stepped forward and began to +help Mysie to take off her hat. With a few words she soon made the girl +feel more at ease, and then left them to get tea ready. + +"Is that the woman you stay wi'?" asked Mysie, as Mrs. Ramsay went to +the other room. + +"Yes, she's my landlady," he replied. + +"An' does she bide here too?" + +"Well, she'll stay just as long as you think necessary. Whenever you +think you can get on without her, let me know. Her daughter is looking +after her own house till she returns. She's a good, kindly soul, and +will do anything to help you." + +"Are you gaun to stay here now, too?" + +"Well, that is for you to say, Mysie," he said seriously. "Certainly I +should like to stay with my wife, for we'll be married to-morrow. But if +you would rather stay alone, I can easily remain in my digs, and just +attend to your lessons In the evening." + +"If you stay here, will she need to stay too?" + +"Of course that will all lie with you, Mysie," he replied. "Perhaps it +might be better for her to stay and help you for a few weeks, and by +that time your cold may be better. But you can think it over to-night +and tell me your decision in the morning." + +Mrs. Ramsay's return cut short any further conversation, and they all +sat down to tea, a strange little party. Mysie did not eat much. She was +too tired, and felt that she would rather go to bed. She looked ill and +very wretched, and at last Peter went out, leaving the women together. + +"I'll be round for you by half-past ten in the morning, Mysie," he +said, as he was going. "So you must be up, and be as bright as you can. +So take a good long sleep, and you'll feel ever so much better in the +morning. Mrs. Ramsay will see you all right," and he was off before +Mysie realized he was going. + +It was all so strange for Mysie. She was lost in wonder at it all, as +she sat quietly pondering the matter while Mrs. Ramsay washed the dishes +and cleared the table. The noises outside; the glare of the street, +lamps, the tier upon tier of houses, piled on top of each other, as she +looked from the window at the tall buildings, and the Castle Rock, grim +and gray, looking down in silence upon the whole city, but added to +Mysie's confusion of mind. + +Shouts from a drunken brawl ascended from the street; the curses of the +men, and the screams of women, were plainly audible; while over all a +woman's voice, further down the street, broke into a bonnie old Scots +air which Mysie knew, and she could not help feeling that this was the +most beautiful thing she had heard so far. + +The voice was clear, and to Mysie very sweet, but it was the words that +set her heart awandering among her own moors and heather hills. + + Ca' the yowes tae the knowes, + Ca' them where the heather grows, + Ca' them where the burnie rows, + My kind dearie, O! + +This was always the song her father sang, if on a Saturday night he had +been taking a glass. It was not that he was given to drinking; but +sometimes, on the pay night, he would indulge in a glass with Andrew +Marshall or Peter Pegg--just a round each; sufficient to make them happy +and forgetful of their hard lot for a time. She had seen her father +drunk on very few occasions, as he was a very careful man; but +sometimes, maybe at New Year's time, if things were going more than +usually well, he might, in company with his two cronies, indulge in an +extra glass, and then he was seen at his best. + +On such occasions Mysie's mother would remonstrate with him, reminding +him with wifely wisdom of his family responsibilities; but under all her +admonishings Matthew's only reply was: + + As I gaed doon the water side, + There I met my bonnie lad, + An' he rowed me sweetly in his plaid, + An' ca'd me his dearie, O! + +and as he sang, he would fling his arms around Mysie's mother and turn +her round upon the floor, in an awkward dance, to the tune of the song, +and finally stopping her flow of words with a hug and a kiss, as he +repeated the chorus: + + Ca' the yowes tae the knowes, + Ca' them where the heather grows, + Ca' them where the burnie rows, + My kind dearie, O! + +So that, when the words of the old song floated up through the noise of +the street, Mysie's heart filled, and her eyes brimmed with tears; for +she saw again the old home, and all it meant to her. + +"There now," said Mrs. Ramsay, noticing her tears, and stroking her hair +with a kindly hand. "Mr. Rundell has told me all about it, and I am your +friend and his. I deeply sympathize with you, my dear, for I know how +much you must feel your position; but Mr. Rundell is a good-hearted +young man, and he'll be good to you, I know that. Don't cry, dearie. It +is all right." + +Thus the words of an old song, sung by a drunken street singer, brought +a stronger and deeper stab to the heart of this lonely girl, than to the +exile in the back-blocks of Maori-land, or on the edge of the golden +West, eating his heart out over a period of years for a glint of the +heather hills of home, or the sound of the little brook that had been +his lullaby in young days, when all the world was full of dreams and +fair romance. + +In a sudden burst of impulsiveness, Mysie flung her arms round the neck +of the older woman, pouring out her young heart and all its troubles in +an incoherent flood of sorrow and vexation. + +"There now, dearie," said Mrs. Ramsay, again stroking Mysie's hair and +her soft burning cheek. "Don't be frightened. You must go to your bed, +for you are tired and upset, and will make yourself ill. Come now, like +a good lass, and go to your bed." + +"Oh, dear, I wonner what my mither will say aboot it," wailed the girl, +sobbing. "She'll hae a sair, sair heart the nicht, an' my faither'll +break his heart. Oh, if only something could tell them I am a' richt, +an' safe, it would mak' things easier." + +"There now. Don't worry about that any more, dearie. You'll only make +yourself ill. Try and keep your mind off it, and go away to bed and +rest." + +"But it'll kill my mither!" cried Mysie wildly. "Her no' kennin' where I +am! If she could only ken that I am a' richt! She'll be worryin', an' +she'll be lyin' waken at nicht wonderin' aboot me, an' thinkin' o' every +wild thing that has happened to me. Oh, dear, but it'll break her heart +and kill my faither." + +It needed all Mrs. Ramsay's tact and patience to quieten and allay her +fears; but gradually the girl was prevailed upon to go to bed, and Mrs. +Ramsay retired to the next room. But all night she heard Mysie tossing +and turning, and quietly weeping, and she knew that despair was +torturing and tearing her frightened little heart, and trying her beyond +endurance. + +Mysie lay wondering how the village gossips at home would discuss her +disappearance. She knew how Mag Robertson, and Jean Fleming, and Leezie +Johnstone and all the other "clash-bags," as they were locally called, +would talk, and what stories they would tell. + +But her mother would be different--her mother who had always loved +her--crude, primitive love it was, but mother love just the same, and +she felt that she would never be able again to go back and take up her +old life--the old life which seemed so alluring, now that it was left +forever behind. + +Thus she tossed and worried, and finally in the gray hours of the +morning her thoughts turned to Robert, who had loved her so well, and +had always been her champion. She saw him looking at her with sad eyes, +eyes which held something of accusation in them and were heavy with +pain--eyes that told he had trusted her, had loved her, and that he had +always hoped she would be his--eyes that told of all they had been to +each other from the earliest remembered days, and which plainly said, as +they looked at her from the foot of her bed: "Mysie! Oh, Mysie! What way +did you do this!" + +Unable to bear it any longer, she screamed out in anguish, a scream +which brought good Mrs. Ramsay running to her bedside, to find Mysie +raving in a high fever, her eyes wildly glowing, and her skin all afire. +The good lady sat with her and tried to soothe her, but Mysie kept +calling on Robert and her mother, and raving about matters of which Mrs. +Ramsay knew nothing; and in the morning, when Peter arrived expecting to +find his bride ready, he found her very ill, and his good landlady very +much frightened about the whole matter. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +MAG ROBERTSON'S FRENZY + + +"I want to ken what has gone wrong with you?" said Mag Robertson, +speaking to Black Jock, whom she had called into her house one morning +as he returned from the pit for his breakfast. + +"There's naething wrang wi' me," he said with cool reserve. "What dae +you think is wrang?" + +"Ay, it's a' right, Jock," she said, speaking as one who knew he +understood her question better than he pretended. "I can see as far +through a brick wall as you can see through a whinstone dyke." + +"Maybe a bit farther, Mag," he said with a forced laugh, eyeing her +coolly. "But what are you driving at?" + +"You'll no' ken, I suppose?" she retorted. "Sanny has told me a' aboot +it this morning afore he gaed to his work. My! I'd hardly hae looked for +this frae you," she went on, her voice suddenly becoming softer and more +soothing as if she meant to appeal to his sense of gratitude if any +remained within him. "Efter what we've been to yin anither, I never +expected you'd dae this. I aye thocht that you'd be loyal as we hae been +tae you. We hae made oursel's the outcasts o' the district for you, an' +noo you wad turn on us like this. No, I never thocht it o' you at a'!" + +"What are you ravin' at this morning?" he asked, in a quiet voice, as if +he meant to force her into being more definite. "I don't ken I'm sure +what you are drivin' at." + +"Dae you no?" she broke in quickly, loosing hold of herself as she saw +that her method of attack was not going to succeed. "I hae been +suspectin' something for a while. You hinna been in owre my door for +three weeks an' that's no your ordinar. But I have seen you gaun in tae +Tam Granger's nearly every nicht in that time. An' I can put twa an' twa +together. Dae you think we dinna ken the reason that Sanny has lost his +contracts an' the reason why Tam Granger has stepped into them? Oh, ay," +she cried, her voice rising as she continued. "I can see hoo things are +workin'! I ken a' aboot it. Wee Leebie, I suppose, will be afore some o' +us noo. The stuck-up limmer that she is. She gangs by folk as brazened +as you like, wi' her head in the air, as if she was somebody. You wad +think she never had heard o' Willie Broonclod, the packman, that she +sloped when she left doon the country. Nae wonder she has braw claes to +glaik aboot in; for they were gey easy paid. The dirty glaiket limmer +that she is. I wonder she disna think shame o' hersel'." + +"What the hell's a' this to me?" asked Walker abruptly breaking in upon +her tirade. + +"I suppose it'll no' mean onything to you," she returned. "But I just +wanted to tell you, that you're no her first, for Willie Broonclod gaed +to her lang afore she cam' here, an' she's left him wi' a guid penny +that he'll never get. But her man's a contractor noo, makin' big money, +an' Jock Walker ca's in to see her whenever he's needfu' an' there's +naething sae low as a packman noo for her. The brazen-faced stuck-up +baggage that she is. Does she think I dinna ken her? Her, with her hair +stuck up in a 'bun' an' her fancy blouses an' buckled shoon, an' a'!" +Mag was now very much enraged and she shouted and swore in her anger. + +"Ach, gang to hell," he said with brutal callousness. "You're no' hauf a +woman like Leebie. She's a tippy wee lass, an' has a way wi' her. She +has some spirit, an' is aye snod and nate," and there was a tantalizing +smile about his lips that was plainly meant to irritate Mag. + +"I was guid enough a gey lang while, an'--" + +"Ay, but you've haen a damn'd guid innins," he interrupted. "A dam'd +guid innins, an' I canna see what the hell you hae to yowl at." + +"A guid innins, you muckle black-hearted brute!" she cried. "By heavens, +an' I'll see that you get yours afore I hae done wi' you. Dinna think +though I hae been saft wi' you a' along, that I'll ay be like that. Oh, +no, I can stand a lot; but you'll find oot that Mag Robertson hasna selt +her a' tae you, without driving a hard bargain afore she lets you alone. +You can gang back to your tippy wee baggage! Gang to hell, baith you an' +her, an' joy be wi' you baith! But I'll put a sprag in your wheel afore +you gang far. Mind that! By ---- I will! She'll nae toss her heid as she +gangs past me as if I was dirt. Her, an' her fine dresses that she never +payed for wi' money an' her fal-lals. By heaven! But you hae a fine +taste!" She finished up exasperated beyond all control by his coolness. + +"Ay, it wad seem so," he laughed brutally. "When I look at you, I begin +to wonder what the hell I was lookin' at. You're like a damnationed big +lump o' creesh," and he laughed in her face, knowing this would rouse +her more than ever. Then as she choked and spluttered in her anger he +said: "But what the hell odds is't to you, you baggage?" and his eyes +and voice were cold and brutal beyond expression. "Leebie Granger is +young," he went on insultingly, in a collected even voice which he +strove to make jaunty in tone. "She's as fresh an' young. An' you're +auld, an' fat an' as ugly as hell, an' if I dae gang to Leebie you hae +damn all to dae wi' it. As I said, you've had your innin's, an' been gey +well paid for it, an' I dinna gie a damn for you." + +"Dae you no'?" she cried now livid with anger and losing all control +over her words and actions, her eyes flashing with maddened rage and the +froth working from her lips. "I'll let you ken or no'. I'll tear the +pented face off your new doll; and I'll sort you too, you dirty black +brute that you are." + +"Gang to hell!" he shouted, starting out of the door so suddenly that he +almost ran into the next door neighbor who hearing the noise had crept +noiselessly on tiptoe to the door the better to hear all that was going +on. + +"What the hell's wrang wi' you?" he demanded turning in rage upon the +eavesdropper. "Have you naething else to dae than that? Gang in an' get +your dirty midden o' a hoose cleaned an' I'll see that you don't stay +lang in Lowwood to spy on ony mair folk!" and cowering in shame the +poor woman backed into the door and shut it, making up her mind that her +man would be sacked that day, and wondering where they would flit to, so +as to find work and a house. + +Walker strode up the row with Mag Robertson shouting behind him and the +neighbors all coming to the doors as they passed, and craning their +necks, while keeping their bodies safe hidden within the doorways of +their homes. + +"We're surely gettin' an entertainment the day," observed one fat old +woman to another woman two doors away, as they both looked after Mag as +she followed Walker up the row, shouting her worst names at him, and +vowing what she'd do with Leebie Granger, when she got hands on her. + +"Ay," replied the other woman stealing along the wall to the doorway of +the older woman, and slipping inside as if she were afraid of being +detected. "It's a hell o' a business when blackguards cast oot." + +"Wheest, Annie, dinna swear," remonstrated the old woman. "I dinna like +to hear folk swearin' at a'. I wonner the Lord disna open the grun' to +swallow the half o' the folk noo-a-days; for I never heard sic swearin' +a' my life." + +"Och, there's nae harm meant," returned Annie, taken aback by the old +woman's admonition. "It's jist a habit that folk get into an' they canna +help it. But listen to her," she broke off, alluding to Mag Robertson +again. "She micht think shame o' hersel', the shameless lump that she +is. She'd hae been faur better to hae keepit her mouth shut, Phemie." + +"That's true, Annie," replied Phemie. "Listen to her. My, she's no' +canny an' she's fairly givin' him a bellyfu'. But they're a' yae swine's +pick an' no' yin o' them decent. I wadna be in her shoon for a' the +money that ever was made in Lowwood. She micht hae kent hoo it wad end. +Hark at her. My, but it's awfu'." + +"Keep in, Annie," Phemie admonished as they both craned their necks to +look up the row as she saw Walker turning to face Mag. "Dinna let him +see you or your man will get the sack. My! but she's layin' it in tae' +him. What a tongue." + +"Lord bless us! He's strucken her, Phemie," said Annie, clutching her +neighbor's shoulder as she spoke. "My, he's gaen her an awfu' blow on +the mouth an' knocket her doon. Come inside for as sure as daith it'll +end in a coort case, an' I'm no wanting to be mixed up in it," and they +went inside and shut the door, looking at each other with frightened +eyes. Then Annie, stealing to the window and lifting the curtain a +little at the side, gazed sideways up the row, reporting to Phemie +everything that happened. + +"He's kicking her, Phemie. Eh, the muckle beast that he is. My God, +he'll kill her afore he's finished wi' her. He's hitting her on the face +every time she tries to rise an' gaein' her anither kick aye when she +fa's doon again. Oh! my God, will naebody interfere. He'll kill her as +sure as death," and she stepped back with blanched face sickened at the +spectacle she had described. + +"Here she comes, Annie," said her neighbor after a few moments. "My! +what a face. Dinna look you at her," cried Phemie in alarm pushing back +Annie who had moved near to the window to get a better view. "In God's +name, woman, dinna you look at her. You shouldna ha' looked at onything +that has taken place. If onything is wrang wi' your bairn when it is +born I'll never forgi'e' mysel' for lettin' you look at this business at +a'. Gang awa' back an' sit down an' try an' forget a' aboot what you hae +seen. Dinna look up till she gangs back intae the hoose," and the old +woman kept Annie sitting back at the bedside in the corner farthest from +the window until Mag staggered to her home, her face streaming with +blood. + +Not a soul was in sight as Mag returned; but many a pair of eyes watched +her from behind curtained windows, and expressions of sympathy were +common even though her relations with Walker were common knowledge in +the village, and had been censured by everyone in consequence for her +misdeeds. They all knew why Mag had "opened out" on Walker that morning +and the reason she had been set aside for another who pleased his fancy. + +Tam Granger and his wife had recently come into the district from a +neighboring village, where Leebie's name had been coupled with a local +draper's or packman's in some scandal. Black Jock had soon got into +contact with them and finding them willing tools he had deserted Sanny +and Mag Robertson. All the contracts were taken from Sanny and given to +Tam, and it was this that had made Mag watch for Walker coming in for +his breakfast, determined to have it out with him, with the result which +is chronicled above. + +The encounter between Mag and Black Jock was the talk of the village. +Mag was mad with rage, and having washed her bruised face, she ramped +out and in all day, washing the floor, clattering among dishes and +scouring pots and pans. She was working off her anger and swearing and +threatening, until most of the other women in the row grew afraid, and +kept as much as possible within doors the rest of the day. + +When the men returned from work the whole episode had to be gone through +and described to them by their wives. + +When Sanny Robertson came home that afternoon, he found Mag with swollen +lips and half closed eyes and a face bruised all over. He did not have +to wait long for explanations. She railed and swore and raged until one +wondered from where she got all the energy, and all the strength. It was +amazing why she did not collapse altogether. + +Sanny sat quietly listening without comment, then washed himself and sat +smoking by the fire for a time. He was a quiet go-as-you-please man, not +given much to talking. But finally he could stand it no longer, and he +took hold of his wife by the shoulder, saying. + +"Noo, jist you listen, an' for God's sake shut your mooth. It'll no dae +a bit o' guid ravin' like that. We are in a bigger hole noo than ever we +hae been in a' oor lives, an' mind that. I've made up my mind what I am +gaun tae dae. Sae listen. I'm gaun straucht awa' ower to Rundell's the +morn, at the time when Mr. Rundell gangs hame frae the office for his +breakfast, an' I'll tell him everything aboot the contracts. Then I'm +gaun awa' doon the country tae look for work, an' I'll flit oot o' here +an' tae hell wi't. Noo shut up an' gae me peace and quateness for an +hoor, so that I can think oot things. You get awa' tae bed. Maybe by +richt I should gang doon tae Black Jock an' stap a knife in him--if for +nae ither thing than the way he has treated you the day, I should dae +that. But I'm no gaun to dae it the noo. I'm no' blaming you for what +has happened; for I'm mair to blame than you are. But I'll be even wi' +that black beast, an' put an end to his rotten career, someway or +another. Sae aff you gang to your bed, an' gie me a quate hoor tae +mysel'," and there was such a quiet authoritative ring in his voice that +Mag dared not disobey it, and she went quietly off to bed while he sat +by the fireside smoking and thinking, and feeling that his home that +night must surely be the most unhappy place on God's earth. + +About midnight he knocked the ashes from his pipe, and placing it on the +mantelpiece, went to bed and soon fell asleep, but Mag, an insane +decision taking shape in her brain, lay and brooded and tossed till well +on in the morning, when she rose, kindled the fire, "redd up" the house, +prepared the breakfast and awoke her husband to partake of the meal she +had prepared. + +Never a word was spoken between them, and at last Sanny, after washing +and dressing, walked out without a word, but fully determined in his +heart to get equal with Walker before the day was over. + +He went straight to Rundell House, and ringing the bell asked to see the +mine owner. + +He was shown into a room and Mr. Rundell came to him almost before he +had been comfortably seated. + +"Well, Sanny," he began genially. "What brings you here this morning?" + +"A business that I'd rather no' been comin' on," replied Sanny uneasily +shifting on his chair. + +"Oh, nothing serious, I hope, is it?" + +"Ay, it's serious enough," returned Sanny. "Mair serious than you think, +Mr. Rundell; an' I dinna ken what you'll think o' me after I hae telt +you." + +"Oh, well, in that case," said the mine owner, becoming serious, and +speaking with slow deliberation. "Just let me hear what it is all about, +and we'll see how matters stand after you have told me," and he sat +down in a chair opposite Robertson as he spoke. + +"I hae lost my contracts, sir," began Sanny, not knowing how else to +open up the subject. "But I'm gaun to tell you the hale story just in my +ain way, so I want you to sit quate and no' interrupt me; for I hinna +jist the knack of puttin' things maybe as they should be put. But I'll +tell you the hale story an' then leave you to do as you like, an' think +what you like." + +"Very well, Sanny. Just go on. I did not know you had lost them. But +just let me hear about the trouble in your own way." + +"For gey near twenty year," began Sanny, "I've had maist feck o' the +contracts in your pits back and forrit--me an' Tam Fleming. Walker an' +us were aye gey thick, an' though it maybe was putten doon to you that +oor offer to work ony special job was the cheapest, I may tell you that +I never put in an offer in my life for yin o' them. Walker an'--an'" +here Sanny stammered a little, "Walker an' oor Mag were gey thick, an' +I'm ashamed o' this part o' the story; for I should hae been man enough +to protect her frae him. But the money was the thing that did it, Mr. +Rundell, an' I'm no' gaun to mak' excuses noo aboot it. But every +bargain I had, I had to share the pay, efter the men was payed, penny +aboot, wi' Walker. That was ay the bargain. He gaed us the job at his +ain feegure, an' we shared the profits wi' him. + +"Noo, jist keep yoursel' cool a bit," he said, holding up his hand as +Rundell made to speak. "We did gey well," he resumed in his even +monotone, like a man who was repeating something he had learned by +heart. "But gey soon I found that I was expected to spend a good share +o' my pay in drink, while Walker took a', an' never spent a penny. So it +was, that for a' the money we made we've been gey little the better o't, +an' very much the worse o' it. Without exception we shared penny aboot +with Walker on every bargain we got, an' I ken he has a guid bank +balance, while I hae nane. + +"Noo, this is a rotten story frae end to end o't," he went on after a +short pause to wipe his face with a handkerchief. "I allowed him to +ruin my wife's character. I kent it was gaun on a' the time; but like +mony mair I hae kent, a manager's favor was mair to me than the honor o' +a wife. I let him tak' a share o' the money I made, an' spent my ain to +keep him up on drink. But noo it's ended a'. A wheen o' weeks syne, a +man ca'd Tam Granger came to the place and his wife being young an' +fresh, an' guid-looking, besides being free, Walker's fancy was ta'en +wi' her. So you ken what it means, when a gaffer carries on like that, +an' the man is saft enough as weel as the woman being willin'. Tam got +my contracts this week, an' I have to gang back into a common place and +howk coals. + +"Weel, the wife couldna' stand being slighted like thet, an' Granger's +wife had been tantalizin' her too, you ken hoo women rave when they are +slighted. So she opened oot on Walker yesterday mornin' an' followed him +up the row, the hale place being turned oot to hear her exposure o' him. +She fair gaed mad wi' anger I think, an' lost a' control o' hersel' an' +she followed him shouting so that a' the neighbors could hear her +tauntin' an' jibin' at him, till he could staun it nae langer, an' he +turned an' struck her, knockin' her doon on the green, an' then kickin' +her, till she's a' bruised ower the body. She has an' awfu' lookin' face +too, an' she came in bleeding like a sheep. + +"So that's the hale ugly story, Mr. Rundell. As I said I'm gaun to mak' +nae excuses. There's nane tae mak'; an' I'm cheap served for it a'. I +should hae stood by the wife and protected her. But I'll dae it noo. +She's mine, an' if she's no guid it is me that is to blame. I'm leavin', +an' I'm gaun awa' doon the country the morn to look for work; but I +thocht I'd tell you the whole rotten story first, then I'll get Walker, +an' hae a reckonin' wi' him an' be off the morn. I'll pay off that +black-hearted brute this day afore I leave Lowwood an' then my +conscience will be easier." + +Mr. Rundell sat stupefied and amazed at the story just told him by +Robertson, and just as both men sat staring at each other and before +another word could be said, a miner burst into the room, almost +exploding with excitement, crying:-- + +"Oh, Mr. Rundell, you've to come to the pit at once. A woman has flung +herself doon the shaft." + +"Guid God! That'll be oor Mag," cried Sanny, starting up and out at the +door, running in the direction of the pit and stumbling every few yards +in his excitement. + +When Sanny had left the house that morning to go and interview Mr. +Rundell, Mag, with the insane decision she had made overnight still +holding her mind, dressed herself in her best clothes, and without +hesitation set off to the pit. + +On her way down the row she stepped into Leebie Granger's house very +excited though she had been fairly quiet all morning; so quiet in fact +that Phemie Grey and Annie Watson could not help remarking upon it. + +"She's been awfu' quate a' mornin', Phemie," said Annie, going into her +neighbor's house. "She has worked away there as if she was gaun to clean +the hale place, scrubbing oot the floor, although she washed yesterday; +an' noo, she has on her Sunday best, wi' her new hat on too, an' she's +awa' into Leebie Granger's. I wonner what'll hae ta'en her noo." + +"Guid kens," replied Phemie, "but she's fair off her heid. Dae ye ken +she's just like a daft body. Did you see the look in her e'en?" and so +they discussed poor Mag, who had drawn their attention by the +strangeness of her behavior. + +"Oh, dinna be feart, Leebie," began Mag as she saw Leebie's apprehensive +look. "I'm no' gaun to meddle wi' you, although I swore yesterday that I +would. You've only done what I did before you. You are young, an' mair +pleasin' than I am noo, an', as he said, I hae had a good innins. But, +Leebie, you'll hae to look for another fancy man. He'll no' be lang +yours. I'll see to that. Him an' me will gang oot thegither, if I can +manage it. We've baith been rotten, an' it's richt that we should gang +baith at once, an' rid the place o' a dam'd bad sore. Guid day, Leebie. +It's a dam'd puir life to leave, an' while it maybe is a woman's lot in +life to sell hersel' for ease and comfort, it's a' bad for her when she +does it in a way that the world says is a wrang way; for she soon finds +that her life isna worth a tinker's curse. She sells hersel' an' it's no +worth while complainin' if the bargain turns oot a rotten yin. + +"If every woman had plenty of honest work, there wad be nae fancy women, +for they wadna ned do it. Guid day, Leebie. Maybe you'll think I'm +strange a wee an' maybe so I am. You micht think I'm daft; an' maybe so +I am. But after a while when you get time to think, you'll maybe feel +that you hae heard mair soond sense oot o' Mag Robertson when she was +mad than ever she spoke when she was supposed to be wise. Guid day, +Leebie. Think ower a' I have said. I'm no gaun to hurt you; but I'm gaun +to tak' Black Jock oot o' your clutches as shair as daith. You've had +your innins too; but it has been a dam'd short yin. I've had mine, an' +the game is feenished noo. It's time the hale thing was totaled up so +that we can see wha is the winner. I've been maybe playin' a losin' +game, Leebie, but noo we'll ken afore lang. Guid day, Leebie. I'm off," +and she was out of the door leaving Leebie speechless with fear and +amazement. + +Mag flew down the brae to the pit almost running, while Leebie and other +neighbors looked after her with a strange dread at their hearts. + +When Mag arrived at the pit she asked a boy if Walker was up the pit yet +for his breakfast. + +"I dinna' think so," replied the boy. "He's kind o' late this mornin'; +but there's the bell chappit three," he said as the signal was made from +the bottom that men were about to come up. "That'll likely be him coming +up." + +The boy had no sooner spoken, than with a mad rush Mag darted forward, +and opening the gates at the "low scaffold," where no one was near, +being situated below the pit-head proper, with a loud scream she hurled +herself down the shaft. + +"God Almichty!" roared the engineman who saw all from the engine house, +as he rushed out of the door, calling to the pit-head workers. "Mag +Robertson has flung hersel' doon the shank!" and immediately all was +consternation. + +The engine keeper had just been in the act of signaling down to Walker, +who was ready to ascend when he saw the flying figure dart forward and +fling herself into the yawning abyss. + +Walker, standing at the foot of the shaft waiting for the answering +signal from above, heard the noise and the rush of Mag's body as it +bumped from side to side in its mad descent, and starting back, he was +just in time to get clear as the mangled mass of rags and blood and +pulpy flesh fell with a loud splashy thud at the bottom, the blood +spattering and "jauping" him and the bottomer, and blinding their eyes +as it flew all over them. + +"In the name o' Heavens what's that?" yelled Walker, screaming in terror +and jumping aside from the bloody upturned face, with the wide, staring +eyes, which he seemed to recognize, as the other parts of the body lay +about, still quivering and twitching, and a horrible sickness came over +him and terror flooded his mind. + +"Bell, three, quick!" cried Walker, frantic with desperation in his +voice. "Bell three, dammit. An' let us up out o' here. Hurry up, hell to +you," and he drew the bell himself, and without waiting on the signal +back from above, jumped into the cage, averting his face from those +horrible eyes, which lay staring at him out of the darkness. + +"Chap it awa', man!" he yelled at the bottomer, his voice rising to a +scream. "Chap it, an' let us up to hell oot o' this," and the bottomer, +no less frightened than he, tore at the bell, and jumping in himself +just as the cage began slowly to ascend, clung to the bar, shivering +with terror. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +BLACK JOCK'S END + + +When Walker reached the surface, he was like a madman. He raved and +swore and frothed like a churn, running here, there and everywhere +nearly collapsing with rage, which sprang from terror. + +Usually cool and calculating, steady and active-minded, he seemed to +have lost all grip upon himself. He had been drinking heavily the night +before and was none too sober in the morning when he was called upon to +go to work. Mag Robertson's attack the night before had sent him to the +drink, and being a heavy drinker he was in a bad state the following +morning. Mr. Rundell found him swearing and raving in a great passion, +sacking men and behaving like a maniac. + +"Look here, Walker," he began at once, his quick temper rising anew as +he thought of the story Sanny Robertson had told him. "I'll give you +twenty-four hours to get out of here and away from the place; and if you +are not gone in that time I shall inform the police. I know the whole +story regarding the setting of the contracts. Sanny has told me, and if +I was doing right I would not give you a single minute." + +Walker seemed to calm down all at once, and his eyes became cringing as +those of a kicked cur as he stood before the angry mine-owner. + +"But I hinna telt you a' he has done," said Sanny Robertson, who came up +just then in time to hear Mr. Rundell's words. "The dirty black-hearted +brute murdered Geordie Sinclair. He telt me himsel' one nicht at the +time when we were drinkin' together. He kent a' aboot Geordie workin' on +the boss ground an' sent him to his death to get rid of him because in a +soft moment I had telt Geordie hoo the contracts were set. He was feart +Geordie wad tell you. He's a black-hearted murderer, an' noo he has +added Mag's death to his list o' damnation. Tak' that! an' that! you +dirty villain! I'll save the hangman the bother o' feenishin' you!" and +Sanny was upon Walker tearing at him like a cat, and clawing his face +with his nails, punching, biting and kicking him as hard as he could +drive his hands and feet. + +The attack was so sudden that Walker went down, and Sanny was on top of +him before anyone could intervene. + +"I'll tear the thrapple oot o' you, you dirty swine!" he squealed, as he +tugged at Black Jock's throat. + +Mr. Rundell and a couple of laborers soon pulled Sanny up, though he +struggled to maintain his hold upon the throat of his adversary. + +"Let me at him," he yelled, striving to get free. "Let me at him, an' +I'll save the hangman a guid lot o' bother stretchin' his dirty neck! +Oh, you swine! You dirty murderin' beast!" he shrieked, as he tried to +break away from the restraining hands which held him. + +But Sanny was soon overpowered, and Walker, bounding to his feet, was +off up the railway towards his home, terror filling his heart, and his +mind reeling with fear. + +Mr. Rundell quickly organized a band of men to descend the shaft and +recover Mag's body, and soon the whole village was in possession of the +news, and the excitement was intense. + +They gathered her up, a mass of dirty, pulpy flesh, scraping the remains +together and shoveling them into a rude improvised box, the head and +eyes being the only part of the body that resembled anything like a +human being. + +"Hell to my sowl, but this is the warst job that ever I got," said +Archie Braidhurst, as he scraped a mass of blood and bones, mud and +rags, together. "It's a hell o' a daith to dee." + +"Ay, puir lassie," replied Adam Lindsay. "She's made a splash at the +hinner end. Mag ay cried that it was best to mak' a splash aboot the +things you did; but, by sirs, she has made yin this time. What an awfu' +mess!" + +"Splash!" echoed Archie with a grim laugh. "She's gane a' into jaups. +She maun hae thocht she was a juck-pool. I would like to dee like a +Christian when I dee, and no' shuffle oot like a scattered explosion, or +a humplick o' mince." + +"Oh, for Heaven's sake shut your mooth, an' let us get her gathered up +an' get oot o' here. Dammit, hae ye nae common sense, swearin' an' +jokin' about sic a thing! It's enough to tempt Providence, an' had it +no' been for the tumblerful o' whisky that Mr. Rundell gied us I dinna +think I could hae faced it. It's awfu'!" + +"What the hell are ye girnin' at?" asked Archie, turning round on him. +"Are ye feart Mag bites ye? Man, she's got a' her bitin' by noo, +although I admit she's made a hell o' a mess at the end. Pit your shovel +in here an' lift this pickle, an' no' stand there gapin' like a grisly +ghost at the door o' hell! Fling it into her gapin' mouth, if you think +she's goin' to bite you!" and the others laughed uneasily at Archie's +sardonic humor. + +It was a nerve-trying experience for most of them, and they felt sick +with horror of it, in spite of the whisky and their grim jokes. The pit +was put idle, and the men went home. A gloom brooded over the whole +place. + +Black Jock saw Mag Robertson's eyes staring at him, as he hurried over +the moor. He had not even stopped to wash himself, but merely stowing +some money into his pocket, was off, not deigning to answer his +daughter's enquiries as to what was wrong, or where he was going. Every +wild bird upon the moor seemed to shout at him in accusation; every +living thing seemed to scream out in terror as he approached. + +He laughed a harsh laugh, like the cry of a wild beast, and the sheep +scampered away in fear. The wind moaned out of the gray clouds, which +lay thick upon the hidden hills, and there was an early iciness in its +breath as it groaned past; A soft, slushy sound rose from the moor at +every step, until it seemed that even earth protested. Eerie and sad the +moor was, gray and threatening the hills. Laughing at intervals that low +gurgle which sprang from fear, as some wild bird would start up at his +approach, he plodded on. + +He did not know where he was going. He had no particular objective. He +did not know what line he would pursue. He only wanted to get away from +the scene of the tragedy, and those terrible eyes staring, which seemed +to follow him from behind every bush or clump of heather, till in the +gray mist it seemed as if the moor were alive with them. + +Eyes everywhere. Eyes that never winked or moved. Eyes that never +trembled with recognition or glimmered with life. Dead eyes, cold eyes, +immovable and clear--horribly clear they were--eyes that simply stared, +neither showing accusation nor denunciation; but there they were at +every tuft of yellow grass, behind every moss-hag, and staring like +pools of clear silent death, which struck horror to his heart. He +bounded sideways as a partridge on whirring wing flew away at his +approach, and almost dropped dead with fright as a muircock, with loud +protesting voice, seemed to scream: "'way back! 'way back! 'way back!" +and then, drawing out into a low grumbling command, as it came to earth +a few hundred yards away, still muttering its orders to him, as he +momentarily stood to recover from his fright. + +The whinny of a horse upon the hillside, the low cry of a young cow, the +bleat of a sheep, all added to his feeling of dread, until the sweat +streamed down his body, as he swung along the moor. + +At last he came to a little village, about six miles from Lowwood, and, +entering the inn, he called for a supply of whisky. + +"It's kind o' cauld the day," the landlady said in an affable way, as he +stepped into the bar. + +"Warm enough where I have been," he replied bluntly. "Gie's something to +drink in whusky!" + +"So it wad seem," she said in reply, noting his beaded forehead, as he +wiped it with a colored handkerchief. + +"You've surely been gey hard ca'd wherever you hae been," and there was +a note of curiosity in her voice. + +"I want a drink," he broke in abruptly, "an' it doesna matter a damn to +you whether I hae been hard ca'd or no'. You're surely hellish keen to +hae news. Dis a' your customers get the Catechism when they come in +here?" he queried. "If they do, I may as well tell you to begin with, +that I came in for whusky, an' no' to staun' an examination." + +She saw at once that he resented her leisurely way and her attempt at +affability, and she hastened to apologize. + +"Look dam'd sharp," he growled, as she attended to his order. "I want +whusky and plenty o' it." + +"You are in an unco' hurry," she replied, getting nettled, as she filled +a glass. "It doesna' do to be so snottery as a' that." + +"Well, dammit, look alive. I'm dying for a drink. Bring in a bottle," as +she placed a glass before him filled with whisky, "an' tak' the price o' +your dam'd poison aff that!" and he flung down a sovereign upon the +table. + +"Look here," said the landlady, "I'll tak' nane o' your snash, so mind +that. If folk come in here to be served, they've got to be ceevil." + +"Oh, there's nae harm," he said apologetically, with a forced laugh, +"but I'm in a hurry, and I want a drink." + +"Weel, I maun hae ceevility. So if you don't gi'e the yin, you'll no' +get the ither." + +"That's all right," he said. "Keep the sovereign. I may need more. Tell +me when it is all spent," and he filled a bumper and drained it without +a halt. + +"Weel, ye may be dirty at many a thing," she observed, as she noted his +action, "but you're a gey clean drinker o' whusky anyway," and she left +him with his bottle to fuddle alone. + +"A gey queer body that," she mused, as she returned to the bar. "Lod! +he's like a wannert thunder-storm, growlin' and grumblin', as if he had +got lost frae the rest o' his company. But he seems to hae plenty o' +siller anyway," she concluded, "an' he can drink whusky wi' anybody I +ever seen try it." + +By and by a village worthy came in, and he was at once hailed by Black +Jock, and invited to have a glass. + +"What are you drinkin', chappie?" he enquired. + +"Same as you," was the reply, while a smile of pleased anticipation +hovered round the worthy's face at this unexpected good fortune. "I jist +ay tak' a moothfu' o' whusky. As a maitter o' fact, I was brocht up on +the bottle, and I hae never been spained yet." + +"Right you are, cocky! Drink up! You're the man I am lookin' for to help +me to spend an hour or twa." + +"That'll suit me a' to bits," was the reply, "an' you are jist the man I +hae been lookin' for. It's a guid thing we hae met, or we'd baith hae +been unhappy." + +So the hours passed, and each newcomer was invited to join the company, +until it grew so large that the "big room" was requisitioned, and it +soon held a laughing, joking, drinking, good-natured set of as drouthy +individuals as ever met together in company. Every worthy for miles +around seemed to get the news of the free drinks, and whisky and beer +flowed like water, and the company grew more and more cheerful and +happy. + +Bottle after bottle of drink was consumed, and as the company got +hilarious, a song was sung or a story was told, until the whole place +had the air of a fair day about it. + +Jock spent his money freely, and his company drank his health as freely +as he paid for the drinks. So the merry hours went past, and the +darkness came on. Yet for all the whisky that Walker consumed, he never +seemed to get drunk. He was certainly a bit intoxicated, but was in that +condition described by one of the company next day as being "sensibly +drunk." + +"Come on, damn you, you son of a tinkler," he urged. "Drink up, an' let +us mak' a nicht o't," and thus urged they drained their glasses, and had +them refilled again and again. + +"Gie's a sang, Geordie," cried one of the company across the room to an +old shaggy-faced individual, who sat and laughed and drank with happy +demeanor, rubbing his bristly chin, which resembled the back of a +hedgehog, with dirty gnarled fingers which seemed made for lifting +glasses, having a natural crook in them, into which the glass as +naturally fitted. "You hinna sung anything yet. Gie's yin o' your ain +makin'." + +"Lodsake, I canna sing," said Geordie, with the air of a man who wanted +to be told he could sing. + +"Ach, you can sing fine," was the chorused reply from nearly everyone in +the company. + +"Come on, Geordie, you ken you can sing fine. Man, there's no' a better +singer in the place, auld and a' as ye are." + +"Och, I canna sing noo, Charlie," replied Geordie, clearing his throat, +"but I'll confess that I hae seen the day when I could lilt it wi' the +best o' them." + +"Oh, but we a' ken fine that you can sing. Man, it's a treat to hear +him," said Charlie, turning to Black Jock. "He could wile the bird aff +the bush. Gie's yin o' your ain, Geordie. It's aye best to hear you at +yin o' your ain." + +"Oh, weel," said Geordie with a show of reluctance, as he rose to his +feet, making a noise in his throat, like the exhaust pipe of an engine, +"seein' that you are all so pressin' on the maitter, I'll gi'e ye a bit +verse or twa." + +A roar of applause greeted Geordie as he sat down, and words of +appreciation broke from everyone in the room. + +"Dam'd guid, Geordie! Fill up your glass. That deserves a richt guid +dram!" cried Black Jock, as he reached across the table and poured a +bumper for Geordie. "Wha's gaun to sing next? Come on, chaps; let us +mak' a nicht o't!" + +"Hear, hear," said Geordie. "I'm just feelin' in gran' fettle for a +nicht. Tammas Fairly will gie's a bit verse maybe. He can sing a fair +guid song." + +"Me sing!" exclaimed Tam. "Gae awa'! Ye ken fine I canna sing like you, +Geordie," and there was a hint of assumed bashfulness in Tam's voice as +he spoke. + +"Come on, Tam. There's to be nae jookin' oot o' it. It's to be a sang +roon' aboot, so you micht as weel begin noo, an' get your turn by." + +"Ay, come on," chimed in Walker. "Let us enjoy oorsel' the nicht, when +we are in a mood for it. Guid kens when we may ever spend a nicht +thegither again. Come on, Tam, get up!" + +"Oh, weel," said Tam with bashful reluctance, "I'll do my best," and +clearing his throat, Tam sang. + +"Hear, hear!" roared Black Jock. "That deserves a bumper too, Tammas. +Fill up your glass. An honest dram's afore a' the simperin' Judies that +ever held up their gabs to be kissed!" and filling another round, they +drank, and roared, and cried their appreciation. + +The fun waxed fast and furious, as song after song was sung, which +sometimes were capped by a rough story or a questionable joke from +someone in the company. + +"But you havena gi'en us a sang yoursel'!" observed Charlie, turning to +Black Jock, after most of the company had obliged with an effort. + +"No, I havena gi'en you a sang," he replied with a coarse laugh, "but I +hae paid for a' the drinks, an' I suppose that'll please the maist o' +you better than a dizzen sangs frae me." + +"Quite true," said Geordie. "You're a gentleman, an' I never met a +better. I only hope we'll hae the pleesure o' meetin' you here again +afore lang. It's been yin o' the best nichts I hae spent for a lang +time." + +"That's true, Geordie," said Charlie. "He has gi'en us yin o' the best +nichts I hae ever spent. In fact I never min' o' haein' a better, an' to +celebrate it, if nane of you hae ony objections, I'll sing anither +sang." + +"Hear, hear," cried Walker heartily. "Order for the sang," and he tapped +the table loudly with a bottle, as he called for quietness amid the din. + +"Order for the sang, boys!" bawled Geordie, "Charlie is gaun to favor +the company," and as the noise immediately ceased, Charlie sang a song +about the fascinating women. + +"That's a guid yin, Charlie," roared Walker, thumping the table as he +roared. "I hae had a lang experience o' weemin' bodies," and he winked +across to Geordie as he spoke, "an' I can say they are rale +blood-suckers. They're like whisky, gran' at the time, but you sing +sorry next day, an' fin' oot what a fool you hae been. They hing on to +you like leeches, an' mak' a mess o' things at the en'. Though you had a +face like a crocodile as long as you had plenty of cash, they'd lick +your feet; when your money's done, they're awa' like swallows at the +first nip o' autumn frost!" + +"Ay, it's a dam'd funny world," he went on in a lower tone, as if half +speaking to himself. "A fu' purse an' you've plenty o' frien's, an' a +woman when you need her, but if your purse is toom, your heart may +grien a hell o' a lang while afore yin wad ever come near you." + +Thus the evening passed till some were lying below the table, unable to +sit up and take their round; and finally the closing hour arrived, and +all had to disperse. + +Black Jock, again left to himself, deserted by all his company, and in +spite of all the drink he had consumed walking fairly steadily, stepped +out upon the country road, neither caring nor knowing in which direction +he went. His head bent forward upon his breast, or rolling occasionally +from side to side, seemed too heavy for his neck to support, as he +swayed from the center of the road to its margin. + +The horrible staring eyes began again to infest his journey, and seemed +to accompany him wherever he went. He could not get away from them. Out +in the lonely night, the whole sky merry with stars, was alive with +staring eyes, that glared down upon him from above with a cold sinister +light. They looked at him from the hedgerows; they glared at him from +behind every bush or knoll by the wayside; they glowered at him from +behind the trees; and they even perched upon his shoulders and peeped at +him in accusation. + +"Damn you!" he growled, striking at them as if he would brush them from +his sight; but still they followed and accused no matter where he +turned. He grew more and more irritated and alarmed, as they seemed to +multiply with every minute that passed; and he quickened his pace, but +in spite of his speed, they still pursued and multiplied. + +Driven mad by the persistence of their stare, he rushed from side to +side of the road, striking at them, hitting out with his hands, and +kicking with his feet; but still they grew in numbers and in immensity. + +He shook himself as if to free his body from them; he rushed ahead, +swearing and muttering; he growled and shouted, sometimes pleading to be +let alone, and sometimes roaring defiance to the night air; but still +the eyes held him relentlessly, implacably, and ever growing in numbers, +until it seemed as if the whole countryside were alive with them. They +came nearer and receded again; they swarmed round him in legions, then +withdrew behind the hedges to stare at him with wide-open lids. They +drew him onward, and he advanced cautiously. Then they rushed at him, +and retired again, as if driven back; but still they were there, just +round the bend of the road, just behind that bush, just over that hedge, +and behind that tree, glaring and looking at him, and ready to rush +forth again as soon as they thought he was sufficiently off his guard. + +"Back!" he roared again, striking out with his fist as they rose only a +couple of yards ahead. "Back! an' be damned to you," as a whole swarm +larger and larger, so that they lighted up the night, came rushing round +him. + +They were hissing and roaring at him this time. They had hitherto been +silent, and he seemed to hear at first a low murmuring whisper, as if +they consulted together as to the best way to attack him. Then the +whisper grew to a louder swishing sound like the noise Mag had made as +her body hurtled from side to side on falling down the shaft. It grew +louder and louder, like the wind coming through far-off trees, gradually +swelling to a roar. The eyes grew in numbers and got larger with the +noise; and finally, with terror clutching at his heart and an oath upon +his lips, he turned to run back, only to find that they had all merged +into two wide, horribly glaring fiery eyes which were bearing down upon +him with the speed and noise of an express train. They were on him +before he could turn, as if they now realized that he was fully at their +mercy, and with the courage of desperation he flung himself bodily upon +them and went down crushed beneath the heavy mass of a motor driven with +reckless speed by a young man rushing to catch a train. + +Walker was down before the young man realized what had happened and the +hoot of the horn had merely spurred Black Jock to the last desperate +leap to death, the lights of the motor having taken on the shape of all +the pursuing eyes that had followed him that night. + +When he was taken from beneath the wheels, his neck broken and his body +smashed, Black Jock had paid the last penalty, and the eyes which +destroyed him flashed out accompaniment to his departing soul. And the +winking skies, still merry with the stars of night, looked down unmoved, +while the night-birds on the moor answered one another in their flight, +and called a last farewell to the spirit of Black Jock. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE CONFERENCE + + +The storm which had been brewing in the industrial firmament grew more +threatening and the clouds grew blacker until it seemed as if nothing +could prevent a commotion on a big scale. + +The demand for a fuller life and more security was being made by the +miners all over the country. Organization was proceeding apace, and a +new idea was being glimpsed by the younger men especially, which filled +their hearts and fired their imagination. + +"Do you think the time has come now, Bob?" asked Robert Sinclair, +speaking to Smillie one day, as they proceeded by rail to a conference +together, "when the whole Federation can try its power in a demand for +something real?" + +"What do you mean by something real, Robert?" asked Smillie, with a keen +look at the young, eager face turned towards him. + +"Some guarantee of comfort in our lives," was the reply. "You know that +we have none now. You and others of us have been teaching the miners to +work towards the day when a standard of ease and comfort will be assured +to all. We have worked for it, and the miners now are looking for +something tangible." + +"Yes, I know; but do you think, Robert, that the time has come to put it +to the test?" and Smillie had gone on to tell of some of the +difficulties they were faced with. + +So they talked and discussed, exchanging opinions and hopes; and all +over the mining world their dreams were being voiced, and had helped to +make the coming crisis. + +Conferences were held, and the whole matter threshed out from every +angle. The miners were united as they had never been before and the +whole of the British miners were determined to use their organization to +enforce their demands. + +It was a triumph for Smillie's genius, the climax of his dream, to have +them united as one body to fight what he called their real enemies. One +federation linked together by common ideals, with common interests bound +by common ties, united by traditions, by creed, by class, by common +tastes shared, by suffering and hardship. It was his monument, and +perhaps he regarded it with no little pride. + +When Robert was appointed delegate to the council of his Union from his +branch, he set himself to master thoroughly, in every detail, its +machinery, and very soon his voice was raised in the debates, and it +amazed even himself to find what a power he seemed to possess over his +fellows. He soon learned to state his case in simple unaffected language +which took a marvelous hold upon his hearers, while at times his warm +glowing imagination would conjure up a living picture that hit with +irresistible force, and made a lasting impression upon those who +listened. + +He gradually became more fluent, and studied how best to impress his +comrades. His earnestness and enthusiasm were unquestioned, and +sometimes were even found to be a serious obstacle to the older type of +leader, men for the most part lacking imagination, and whose older and +more prosaic outlook could not understand the younger man, whose zeal +they regarded with impatience. + +But Smillie soon recognized Robert's talent and his worth, and gave him +more scope than he otherwise might have done. + +Robert's admiration for his chief was unbounded, though it did not keep +him from differing from Smillie at times on matters of detail. On +principles they were generally at one with each other and while it was +rarely that they differed, the occasions upon which they did so were +remembered by all who heard. Smillie soon realized that there was an +unshakable will behind the young man, and watched him under every +difficult occasion with a certain amount of pride, as he grew in +individuality and resource. Robert was not a frequent speaker, but was +always listened to with respect when he did speak. + +An industrial crisis was upon the country and everyone was expectant, +and wondering how it would all end. Keir Hardie's preaching of the +working class gospel was a big factor in Robert's development and the +latter was soon in demand for platform lectures, stirring up the workers +and pleading with them to organize, and teaching them economics through +historical allusion and industrial evolution until he soon became +recognized as one of the coming forces in the working-class movement. He +was as yet very impulsive, and while such a trait had generally a +powerful appeal on the average audience of the working class type, it +often put him into somewhat compromising situations, when dealing with +the more sober and serious work of the organization. Still he was +showing up well, and only time and experience were needed to cure his +defects. So the year ended, and the cloud grew more and more +threatening. + +January brought the crisis to a head, and the Government, recognizing +that nothing could avert a strike and as the foreign situation was +passing through a critical period, requested that a conference should be +called in London, and invited the miners and the mine-owners to come +together so that the Prime Minister and other statesmen could be present +to try and adjust the grievance. It was a historic gathering and one +that marked an epoch in the history of the industrial movement. + +Delegates were present from almost every Miners' Lodge in Great Britain, +while the owners were also fully represented. + +The Prime Minister acted as chairman of the gathering and he was +supported on the platform by other members of the Government, while +Smillie and other well-known leaders represented the men and a number of +the owners represented the Coal Masters' Association. + +The platform party was an imposing one. Men of big reputation were +there, and Robert felt himself wondering, as he looked at them, how +ordinary they looked after all, and he began to speculate as to the +qualities they possessed which had given them such importance. + +"That's the Chancellor o' the Exchequer," said one of the delegates to +Robert, pointing out the individual named. "He's a wee eatin'-an'-spued' +lookin' thing when you see him sittin' there, isn't he?" + +"Ay," answered Robert casually, as he surveyed the group. "I was just +wondering how it was they had a' gained such reputations. In appearance +they are not much to boast about." + +"Ach, they're jist a lot o' oily tongued wheedlers," was the reply, "an' +that wee ferrit-eyed yin is the worst o' them a'. Just wait till he +begins to speak, an' you'll think he's a showman. He can fairly pit on +the butter, an' he'll send us a' away hame in the belief that we're the +finest set o' men he ever met, an' mak' us feel that if we decide to do +anything against what he recommends, the hale country will gang to +ruin." + +"Oh," said Robert, as his fellow delegate paused, "I've read aboot him." + +"Ay, but wait till you hear him. We can a' come up here as angry as +hell, ready to string him up to the nearest lamp-post; but after he has +spoken an' slaivered ower us for a while, we begin to feel differently, +an' finally gang awa hame wi' our minds made up that we are the salt o' +the earth. Man, it tak's a' the sting oot o' bein' dune, to be dune sae +well an' sae completely." + +"Yes, but when you know that why do you allow yourselves to be +wheedled?" + +"Ach, man; it's a' right askin' that question; but efter thae chaps get +round aboot you, wi' their greasy tongues, an' their flatterin' ways, +you jist begin to think that it's nae use to bother ony mair aboot +resistin'. Look at that auld fermer-collier lookin' chiel, wi' his white +heid an' his snipe-nose an' a smile on his face that wad mak' you +believe he was gaun to dae you some big service. That's the smile that +has made him Prime Minister. You'd think frae his face that he was just +a solid easy-gaun kindly auld fermer, who took a constant joy in givin' +jeelie-pieces to hungry weans. But when he speaks, and gets a grip o' +you, he's yin o' the sooplest lawyers that ever danced roun' the rim o' +hell withoot fallin' in. He'd do his faither, that yin. He wad that." + +Robert looked at the various individuals as they were described, keenly +interested and feeling that this comrade of his was describing much of +what he himself had felt about these men, and wondered more and more as +to what it was that had given them their power. + +"They're a fine rogues' gallery when you see them a' sittin' there," +went on the other. "They ken we are up here the day determined to demand +our terms, an' that's the way they are a' turned out. Just you wait till +they begin, an' you'll see a fine bit o' play actin'. They'll play us +aboot as auld Tom Tervit wad play a trout in the Clyde. They hae ony +amount o' patience, an' they'll gae you onything but the thing you want. +They'd promise us the kingdom o' Heaven; an' they'll give us plenty o' +line to run wi'; but a' the time they'll be lookin' for a chance to land +us. An' they'll do it. Jist you wait." + +"Well, it will be our own fault if we let them," said Robert, shortly, +as he listened. "I would not let any of them do that. If we have our +minds made up on what we want, I can't see why we should be wheedled +like that." + +"Neither do I," was the reply. "But it is aye done for all that. Then +there's that ither chiel--I think he's on the Local Government Board or +something. He's a corker, wi' a face like yin o' they pented cupids that +the lasses send to the young men on picture postcards. Look at his nice +wee baby's mooth, an' the smile on it too. It wad dazzle a hungry +crocodile lookin' for its denner. His e'en are aye brighter than ony I +ever saw--an' speak! Guid God! He could speak for a hale June day. He's +gran' at makin' your flesh creep. He blinds you wi' sparks, an' +fire-works, his words are that hot an' glowin', an' he fair dumbfounders +you wi' fine soundin' sentences an' lang words. He's a corker I can tell +you! But here, they are gaun to begin," he broke off hurriedly as the +Prime Minister rose to his feet. Then in a sly whisper, he added:--"Just +you pay attention, an' tell me after if you can tell how we hae been +dune. They are here to do us the day, as sure as daith." + +The Prime Minister's speech was a masterly plea for compromise; but +through it all, it seemed as if he was laying the blame upon the miners +for the critical stage which had been reached. He appealed and cajoled, +asked them to take long views, and talked fine platitudes about +self-sacrifice, and the spirit of brotherhood, which could alone bring +peace and contentment. The country was in danger, and it would be a +terrible crime if the miners forced a strike; for only upon the great +white solitudes of self-sacrifice and mutual help, whose peaks towered +away into the realms of eternity, could real satisfaction be gained, and +much more of a like kind. + +Then followed other ministers, who took their cue from their chief; but +there was no hint that any of them had ever made a serious attempt to +understand the problem which has arisen to confront them so seriously. + +They talked, or so at least it seemed to Robert, who sat in the body of +the hall with the rest of the delegates, to the miners as if they were +children, naughty and spoilt; and of course such an attitude could never +bring about any form of agreement to sensible men, who deal every day +with the life at the rough, raw edges of things. + +So it was, when four of them had spoken after the Prime Minister, and +none of them had shown any attempt to grapple with the subject under +dispute, Robert felt more and more the truth of his fellow-delegates' +description. It was all a masterly bit of wheedling and the Chancellor's +effort especially was designed to win them over to a compromise +settlement. + +He began jocularly with a broad jest which set the delegates all rocking +with laughter, telling how glad he was to be there to talk over with +them the difficulties which had arisen. It always gave him pleasure to +meet them and to get to know their point of view; because usually their +good sense and their large stock of prudence made them amenable to +listening to a reasoned argument. + +He was glad they always recognized there were two sides to most +disputes, and he felt sure whatever the outcome of this conference might +be they would not allow their good sense to stand in the way of a +possible settlement. Gradually he worked into more serious lines, and +with vivid language, putting the case for the opposite side, gently +bringing their minds by degrees further and further away from the +point--the real point of issue. + +Then finally when sufficiently developed, he gathered all the threads +together, and in a great burst of poetic eloquence and fiery fervor he +swept along like a tornado in a grand burst of superb oratory, his eyes +rolling and flashing, his hands and head poised into beautifully +effective gesture, and appealed to them in great rolling, fiery +sentences that completely swept the conference like a whirlwind, and sat +down amid a great burst of applause which broke with splendid +spontaneity from the assembled delegates, and the winning golden smile +upon his face which Robert's companion had described earlier in the day. + +Robert could hardly analyze his feelings. He felt he did not know +whether to admire or condemn, but all the time he felt a slow rising +indignation within him, and that the Conference was being swung away +from what they had met to discuss. Perhaps it was his companions' +conversation that did it. He could not tell; but unable to contain +himself longer his impulsive nature getting the upper hand, he bounced +to his feet, pale and excited, though trying hard to curb and control +himself, and in a low tense voice, which at first halted a little, +electrified the gathering by a speech wrung from his very soul. + +"Mr. Chairman," he began, in this unexpected incident, "I have listened +very attentively to the speeches just delivered by yourself and the +other honorable gentlemen." + +Here some of the other delegates intervened to tell him that he was not +expected to speak, but the Prime Minister, for some reason unknown, told +him to go on and so he proceeded. + +Then Robert proceeded to pour out his soul, stating the miners' +grievances and their rights as men. How they were always put off with +promises, and defeated in dialectics and the game of wits. As he spoke +he felt the assembly gradually thaw, then become liquid, finally it +seemed to join the torrent of his eloquence, and sweep on, blotting out +all resistance. + +When at last he sat down a wild burst of applause rent the air, as he +sat down pale and excited; but glad that he had got the chance at last +of speaking what he felt to the enemies of his class. + +For fully five minutes the delegates went wild in their cheering and +applause. Again and again it broke out afresh, when it had spent itself +a little, and seemed to be dying down, but the memory of it always +stirred them to fresh outbursts until at last, taking advantage of a +lull, the Prime Minister suggested that he and his colleagues would +prefer that the conference should stand adjourned till the next day, and +this was agreed to by the delegates, who were not averse to the holiday. + +Congratulations were showered upon Robert from all sides. Even men who +differed from him on most things grasped his hand and shook it, and told +him how proud they were of his little speech. + +Robert heard and saw all their pleased enjoyment but was vaguely +troubled in his heart, wondering how Smillie would have taken it, and +this pained him more than the pleasant things the other delegates said +to him. + +"Man, Sinclair," said the one who had sat next to Robert in the +Conference, when they got out on to the street, "you've fairly upset the +hale jing bang o' them the day. Lod! But I was like a balloon in a high +wind, fair carried away wi' you. I never thocht you could have done +that. I was in the opinion that Smillie was the only yin that could +stand up to that set o' rogues. It was great. It was that." + +Robert laughed uneasily and bashfully as he answered, "I couldn't help +it, Davie," then adding as an afterthought, "Maybe I hae put my fit in +it. I wonder how Smillie took it a'." + +"Ach, well, it disna matter a damn, onyway. You did fine, an' I canna +see how Smillie has onything ado wi' it. However, we hae a hale day to +oorsel's now, what dae you say to gaun to the length of Kew Gardens? +It's a gran' place, an' I hae a sister oot there in service." + +"Oh, I don't mind. I don't know onything aboot London and as you are +nae stranger, I might as well gang wi' you, as bother onybody else to +show me roun'." + +"There's some of thae chaps'll fairly enjoy this," said Davie, nodding +in the direction of some of the delegates. "That's the way they agreed +to adjourn sae already. They jist leeve for the conferences. It's the +time they like. They booze and get their horns oot for a day or two, an' +I can tell you, Rab, it's maybe jist as well that they dinna bring their +weemin folks wi' them. However, it tak's a' kinds of folk to mak' a +world, I suppose, so let's off, and see as muckle o' London as +possible," and they set off and were soon swallowed up in the great +Metropolis. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE MEETING WITH MYSIE + + +When the London Conference ended, the delegates hurried back to put the +terms of the suggested agreement before the men, and as they journeyed +the whole topic of conversation was of the Conference, and of the terms +which had been suggested as a basis for settlement of the dispute. + +"Well, you can a' say what you like," put in Davie Donaldson, who had +sat beside Robert in the Conference, "but in my opinion we hae been +diddled again. The wee showman wi' the ferret een was too mony for us, +an' he jist twisted us round his wee finger as he liked." + +"Ach, but you are never content," replied another who was of an opposite +opinion. "It doesna matter what kind o' terms you get, you're never +content." + +"I'm no' content wi' thae terms ony way," persisted Davie stubbornly. +"What the hell's the use o' makin' a demand for something, an' sayin' +afore you gang that you mean to hae it, an' then to tamely tak' the hauf +o' it, an' gang awa' hame as pleased as a wheen weans wha have been +promised a penny to tak' castor oil? I'd be dam'd afore I'd tak' that." + +"You're owre ill to please," said the other. "You're never satisfied wi' +a fair thing. Didn't you hear as weel as me that there was a danger o' +war breakin' oot at the present time, an' we couldna possibly hae a +strike at a time like this." + +"War!" retorted Davie, heatedly. "They'll aye hae a war or something +else to fricht you wi', when you show that you mean business. Wha the +hell hae we to quarrel wi' onyway, I'd like to ken?" + +"Oh, it micht be France, or Germany, or Russia, or some ither o' thae +cut-throat foreign nations." + +"An' what are you gaun to quarrel aboot?" yelled Davie still more +heatedly. + +"What the hell do I ken?" was the answer. + +"Then, if you don't ken, why the damn should you quarrel? It's a dam'd +silly thing to fecht at ony time, but it's a dam'd sicht sillier to +fecht withoot haein' a quarrel at a'," cried Davie, now fairly roused. +"That's jist hoo they diddle us. They diddle the workers o' France an' +ither countries in the same way. Maybe the French Government is telling +the French colliers that there is a danger o' a war wi' Britain at this +minute, to keep them quate; an' if they are, do you an' me ken anything +aboot what the war will be for? No' a thing does yin o' us ken. Wars are +no' made by workin' folk at all! They are made wi' the ither crowd, an' +they laugh in their sleeves when they hae sent us awa' back to our work +an' oor hames as quate as mice," and Davie looked round in triumph, +asking with his eyes, and in the tones of his voice, for confirmation of +his views from the others. + +Thus they talked and discussed, exchanging opinions about all things in +strong but expressive language, as the train sped northwards bearing +them home. District meetings were organized, and the leaders put +persuasively the arguments for the acceptance of the terms laid down. +All through the crisis the men had behaved admirably, for they had +learned to trust Smillie, even when they felt doubtful of his policy. +Robert took a big share in the organizing of these meetings and in +addressing them. He flung himself into this work whole-heartedly. The +terms certainly did not please him; but, as the majority at the London +Conference had decided to recommend them to the men, he thought it his +duty to sink his personal opinions, and in the interests of discipline +and the unity of the organization--as he had already had his say and had +been found in the minority--he put all his efforts into trying to get +the men to accept the suggested terms, and go forward as one united +body. His persuasive powers of appeal, and his straight, direct way of +argument, commended him to his comrades. By the time that the ballot had +been carried through in the various districts, it was mid-February, and +the Scottish delegates met in Edinburgh to give the result of the +voting among the rank and file. + +Robert attended the Conference, and while he had appealed to the men to +accept the terms of the London Conference, he secretly hoped that the +ballot vote of the men would decide to fight; for, like Davie Donaldson, +he believed they had again been side-tracked. He wondered how Smillie +regarded the matter. He had not had an opportunity of talking with +Smillie to learn his opinion, but he felt sure that his leaders did not +like the terms either. + +If, however, the men had agreed on acceptance, he could not help +matters; but a direct refusal from the rank and file would, he thought, +be an intimation to the more reactionary leaders that the spirit of +revolt was growing, and would give the rebels the chance for which they +were looking. But he would soon know, he thought, as he hastened to the +Synod Hall, where the Conference was to be held; for the result of the +ballot was to be announced at the end of the first part of the +Conference. + +There was some routine business to get over when it opened, and after a +while the President rose and gave the result of the ballot, which showed +a considerable majority for acceptance, and this brought the adjournment +for dinner. + +Robert felt that he wanted to spend a quiet five minutes or so before +the Conference resumed; so he hurried through with his dinner and then +strolled out into Princes Street Gardens, which attracted him very much. +His mind seemed to want peace and quietness, and as he walked along, +turning over the situation and examining it from all points of view, the +fluttering of early mating birds among the shrubs soon shifted his +thoughts to other things; and, as they romped and courted, and fought +among the bushes, his thoughts went back to the moor at home, and the +little wood, and the memories of other things. + +The vague stirrings of power within him had become more pronounced +during the last six months, and he felt conscious of a growing sense of +importance. It was not that he was conceited, but his mental muscles, as +it were, seemed to have gained in power from the strenuous exertions +which they had lately undertaken. + +He knew that he possessed talents far above the average of his class. He +was sensible of a certain superiority, yet it was not from the +contemplation of this that he drew his elation. He saw the issue quite +clearly and knew the pathway which must be trodden. He was not +personally ambitious for the sake of making an impression or gaining +power. He knew that in too many cases men had in the past made their +position a sinecure in the Labor Movement and he condemned their action. +The Movement must be served and not lived on. Not personal betterment, +but the betterment of the whole lot. Whatever it demanded of service +from anyone should be given willingly, no matter in what direction the +call were made. + +Musing thus, he strolled along among his hopes of the future. His life's +work lay here, working for his own class--for humanity. There was +nothing else to win him; for like most young men in like circumstances +he had already concluded that now, since Mysie was not to be his, there +was nothing else to which he could better devote his life. + +Where was Mysie, he wondered? What had happened to her? She had +completely gone out of everybody's knowledge, and no one seemed to know +anything about her. + +He moved slowly along and at the thought of Mysie his former decision +seemed a cold one and he felt that she still held a big place in his +life. Moving towards a seat a little way ahead so that he might enjoy +this mood, the figure of a girl started up as if to go, and immediately +he rushed forward, all his pulses afire, and his whole being stirred +beyond words. + +"Mysie!" he exclaimed, jumping forward, "Guid God! where have you come +from? Where have you been?" and his hands were holding hers, and his +eyes greedily scanning her face as if he would look into her very soul, +and read the story of the last few months. + +"Oh, Rob," she said, with a gasp, "I didna think I wad meet you here." + +"Sit down," he said hurriedly, as he recovered himself. "Sit down and +rest. You're ill. What's the matter? Where have you been? Tell me all +about it!" There were tears in Mysie's eyes too, as she weakly sat down, +unable to do anything else. She had recognized him as he approached, and +had started up to get away; but he had also recognized her, and she was +too late. + +"Hoo is my mither an' my faither?" she enquired, after a short silence, +as she tried to recover herself. "Hoo are they a' at hame?" the greedy +heart hunger for loved ones drove her to the impatient enquiry. "Did +they miss me muckle, Rob? Were they awfu' vexed at what I did? Tell me +a' aboot it then, I want to ken." + +"But you must tell me first aboot yoursel', Mysie," he replied +evasively, searching in his mind the best way to adopt in telling her of +the things he knew would wound her. "Come, Mysie," he urged, "you surely +can trust me. I have always been your friend, and I only wish now to +hear all about you. Why did you go away?" + +She saw him look at her, and a quick flush overspread her thin, pale +cheeks as she detected his look. He had no need to ask further. + +"Oh, Rob, I wish--I wish I had died a year syne!" and a wild burst of +sobbing came over her as she spoke. + +"Dinna greet, Mysie," he said, as his hand reached out and began to +stroke her hair tenderly. Then after a short pause, "Wha was he, Mysie? +Tell me, an' I'll tear the black heart oot o' him!" + +But Mysie only cried, uncontrollably, and hid her face in her hands; for +the homely doric on Robert's tongue touched her and it came readier to +him in moments like these, and the tender touch of his hand upon her +head gave her comfort, soothing her, and staying her grief, as a child +is quieted by the loving hand of a mother. + +"I'll tell you a' aboot it, Rob," she said at last after a short time. +"An' I hope you'll no' tell onybody. There's naebody to blame but mysel' +for a' that has happened, an' I maun bear the punishment if there is +punishment gaun," and bit by bit, with many an effort to compose herself +as she spoke, she told him the whole sad story from beginning to end. + +"There was naebody to blame, Rob--naebody but mysel'! I should hae kent +better. But I never thocht it wad hae turned oot as it has done. I hae +been gey ill, an' I maun say that Peter has been awful guid to me. He's +done his best to get me better, so that he can marry me afore it +happens. I lay for nearly six months, an' I wasna carin' whether I died +or no'! I was fair heartbroken, an' didna mind what happened. This is +the first day I hae been oot. He cam' this mornin' frae his lodgings tae +ask me tae gang oot a wee while in the sunshine, seein' that it was sic +a guid day, and Mrs. Ramsay brocht me oot here, and warned me to sit +till she cam' back. When I saw you comin' I got up to run awa', but I +dinna ken whaur to run to; for this big toon is a' strange to me, an' +I'm feart." + +"Oh, if I had only kent! You maun keep yoursel' as free frae worry as +possible, an' try an' get better," he went on, trying to speak as +lightly as possible. "Keep up your spirits, an' you'll maybe soon be a' +better." + +"Aye, Rob," she said, "but it's no' easy. An' I hae been gettin' waur +instead o' better. I ken mysel' that I'm no' improvin', an' I often +think it wad hae been better if I had died. When folk don't want to +live--when they've nothing to be happy aboot they are better to dee!" + +"But you maunna talk like that, Mysie," he said again. "You'll get +better yet, an' be as happy as ever you were. It is only because you are +ill noo an' you sae weak, that mak's you talk like that. An' forby you +maun mind that there are ither folk wha'll be vexed if you dinna get +better. Your faither and your mither wad like to see you weel an' happy, +an' oh, Mysie, Mysie, I want you to get weel!" he broke out +passionately--pleadingly, the misery in his voice going to her heart as +it cried to her, ached for her, and suffered for her. "Wad you hae +married me, Mysie, if I had asked you afore you went awa'?" and his +hands were again stroking tenderly the brown hair and patting the thin +cheeks as he spoke and plead. + +"Ay, Rob," she answered simply, "I wad hae married you. I sometimes +think yet that I'll never marry onybody else. As a lassie I aye dreamed +in my ain mind that I'd be your wife. It's awfu' hoo the things that +folk want maist are aye the things they never get!" + +"Mysie, wad you marry me yet?" he asked, impulsively. "Jist this minute? +An' I'll tak' you hame, an' naebody will ken onything. I'll take a' the +blame, an' you can say that it was me. I'll nurse you back to health +again wi' my mither's help an' naebody need ken the richt wye o' it!" + +"No, Rob," she said after a short pause. "I couldna dae that. It wad +neither be fair to you or me, nor to onybody else." + +"But, Mysie," he went on in the low tender voice that was so difficult +to withstand, "you don't like Peter weel enough to be his wife. You say +you never intended to be onybody's wife but mine; an' what wye should +you no' do as I propose? You ken I'll never do onything else but love +you. You ken that, Mysie!" + +"Ay, Rob," she answered, "I ken a' that. Naebody kens it better than me +noo; and that's what mak's it sae awfu' hard to refuse. But it wadna be +richt at a', an' that's a' that can be thocht aboot it. You maunna ask +me ony mair." + +"But I will ask you," he cried in another burst of passion, "an' I'll +keep on askin' you. You ken you are mine, an' naebody else has a richt +to you. I love you, Mysie! Oh, can you no' see, lassie, that it wad be +a' richt if you'd do as I want you?" + +"No, no, Rob. Dinna say that. It wadna be richt at a', an' I'd be doin' +anither wrang thing if I did." + +"But you said jist the noo, that you sometimes thocht you wadna marry +onybody else?" + +"Yes, I ken I said that," she replied. Then with pain in her voice as it +grew more pitiful, "Dinna ask me, Rob, to do that. I ken it wadna be +richt, an' you munna ask me ony mair; for though I said that I sometimes +thocht I wadna marry onybody else, I canna marry you noo. Oh! if only my +mither kent, it would break her heart, an' my faither wad dee o' the +disgrace! What do they think o' me, Rob? Tell me a'--hoo are they, an' +if they miss me very much." + +"Your faither and mither nearly broke their hearts," he said simply, +"an' at nicht your mother lies an' thinks an' wonders what has come owre +you. You ken hoo a mither grieves an' worries aboot her bairns. She +never thocht o' sic a thing happening in her family. She was aye sae +prood o' them a'. I heard her say ane day to my mither that she dootit +you maun be deid, or you wad hae sent her word; and that you wadna hae +gane wrang. She never, she said, kent o' you takin' up wi' men, an' was +sure that naething o' that kind had happened." + +"Did she really think that, Rob?" asked Mysie, glad to know that her +mother had believed in her virtue, yet pained. "Rob, if only mithers wad +be mair open wi' their lassies an' tell them o' the things they +shouldna' do, an' the dangers that lie afore them. But tell me aboot +them a'. What did my faither say aboot it? How are they a' keepin'?" + +This was the question which Robert had feared most, for although Matthew +Maitland had said very little, everybody knew that he grieved sorely +over his daughter's disappearance, and at the time was lying very ill. +He was fast nearing the end, which most colliers of the day reached--cut +off in middle life, made old by bad ventilation in the mines, and black +damp. His condition was almost despaired of by the doctor, and when +Robert left Lowwood that evening for Edinburgh, he was in a very +critical state. Two months before, the oldest boy, who was some two +years younger than Mysie, had been taken suddenly ill, and had died +after a few days' illness. + +How was he to tell Mysie of this? How tell her that John was dead, and +her father perhaps dying? How tell of her mother eating out her heart in +the hungry longing for news of the missing girl, and killing herself +with work and worry? + +"Your faither's no' very weel, Mysie," he began evasively, his eyes +turned away from her, in an attempt at hiding what he felt. + +"What's wrang wi' him, Rob?" she asked, the quick alarm in her voice +cutting his heart as she spoke. + +"He hasna been workin' for fully a fortnicht," he replied. + +"But what's wrang?" she persisted. "Is he ill?" + +"Mysie, I'd raither onything than be the means o' painin' you, for you +are no' in a fit state to be worried." + +"You maun tell me, Rob," she cried fiercely, her face showing +excitement. "What is it that is wrang? Is he awfu' ill?" + +"He's lyin' gey bad, Mysie, an' when I cam' awa' this mornin', I didna +like the look o' him at a'. He was kind o' wanderin' in his mind, an' +speakin' to you an' John, jist as he used to speak when we were a' +bairns thegither. He was liltin' some o' thae auld sangs he used to sing +to us. But dinna greet, Mysie, you'll mak' yoursel' waur. You are no +very strong, you ken, an' if you worry it'll mak' you waur. You should +raither try an' bear up, an' get strong, an' maybe gang an' see him. +He'd be awfu' prood to see you, an' so wad your mither." + +"No, no," she cried. "I canna gang. It wad kill them to see me noo, an' +I couldna bear't, if they should be angry wi' me. I couldna face their +anger, Rob." + +"Weel, Mysie," he said, drawing a long breath, as if to face a stiff +proposition, "there is no other way out of it, but that you'll hae to +marry me now--just this minute, an' gang back wi' me. If you do that, I +can tak' you back wi' me, an' gang to your faither an' say that it was +me that was responsible. It can be done, Mysie, if only you'll agree to +it. Come, Mysie!" he cried in a burst of passionate pleading. "I want +you. Mysie, Mysie! Say that you'll come." + +Robert looked at her pale, thin, emaciated face with greedy pleading in +his eyes. He saw the thin-looking, hungry body as it shook with her +sobs, and that terrible cough, which seemed as if it would carry her +away before his eyes. "Say you'll come, Mysie!" he pleaded, his hands +held out appealingly. "Say you'll come, an' it'll be so easy." + +"No, no," she sobbed vehemently, "I canna do that. Dinna ask me ony +mair, Rob, I canna do that. It wadna be fair." + +A hopeless look came into his eyes as he listened to her words, for he +knew that Mysie could never consent to his proposal. Frail as she was, +and torn by her wish to agree, yet he knew she meant it, when she said +no. + +"Where do you live, Mysie?" he enquired at last, thinking to find some +way of helping her. "Wad you gie me your address, so that I'll ken where +you bide?" + +"No, I dinna want to tell you, Rob. You'd better gang awa' noo. Mrs. +Ramsay will soon be comin' for me. Gang awa' an' leave me. I want to be +a wee while by mysel'. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' leave +it a'!" + +Robert stole away on tiptoe, as if he were afraid longer to intrude upon +her grief--his mind in a whirl, and his heart heavy with sorrow. He +returned to the Conference to find that the debate was in full swing, +and that Davie Donaldson, was laying about him in vigorous style, +denouncing the leaders for recommending the terms to the men, and +telling them that the "wee chocolate-moothed Chancellor had again +diddled them." + +But he felt no interest in Davie's denunciation, and could not smile at +his picturesque language. His mind would revert to the gardens in +Princes Street, and he saw the thin white figure on the seat, the +picture of hopeless misery, her frail form torn with sobs; and heard the +wail in her voice as she moaned, "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I could dee +an' leave it a'!" + +Some of the young delegates wondered why Sinclair remained silent in +such an important debate. They had succeeded in raising a question which +at any other time would have brought him to his feet; but he sat +impassive and silent, and above all the clash and glamor, above the +applause and the interruptions, above all the witty sallies which +brought unexpected laughter, he saw only the thin, white lonely +figure--the dejected and outcast, the poor plaything of fate, and heard +the heart-breaking cry, "Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' leave it a'!" +and in every syllable there was a stab of pain. + +The Conference ended, and the delegates made homeward. The terms had +been agreed to, so far as Scotland was concerned, and all pointed to +peace. + +"You didna speak the day, Sinclair, and I fairly thocht you wad hae been +into the fecht," said one delegate to Robert, as the train moved away +from the station. + +"No, I wasna feelin' up to the mark," he returned, in a tone that +hinted that he did not want to be troubled, and he sat back in his +corner in silence. In the gray quick gloaming the moors and the hills, +viewed from the train, seemed to him a country without hope. There was +sadness in it, and pain, and the gray wintry sky brooded of sorrows to +come. + +Occasionally a few sheep would start away from where they had been +grazing close to the railway, startled by the noise of the train. Thin +wisps of gray ragged clouds hung low, as if softly descending upon the +hills, in fateful sinister storms, and a fiery flash of yellow left a +strip of anger on the western horizon, where the sun had gone down a +short time ago. + +Gray mists and grayer moors, with occasionally a solitary tree standing +out in the distance, as if to accentuate the loneliness and the sorrow +of the world in their ragged branches, which seemed ready to pierce the +sky in defiance of the anger of the, as yet, unleashed storm. + +On rushed the train, and through the mists there kept coming before his +eyes the white lonely figure, moaning in fatal grief--grief inexorable +and unrelenting, while the flying wheels groaned and sobbed and clicked, +with the regular beat of a breaking heart, as if they were beating out +the sorrows of the world, and over all they sang the dirge of the broken +life of a maid. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I could dee an' leave it +a'!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +MYSIE'S RETURN + + +When Mrs. Ramsay returned she found Mysie in a fainting condition, +thoroughly exhausted, and on the point of collapse. Mrs. Ramsay saw, by +her red swollen eyes, that she had been weeping. With the help of her +daughter the kind woman, who had done so much for Mysie during the past +few months, got her to the street, and procuring a cab, got her back to +the house, much alarmed by the patient's condition. + +All night Mysie tossed and raved in a high fever and delirium, while +Mrs. Ramsay sat by her bedside, trying to soothe and quieten the +stricken girl. As she seemed to get no better the older woman grew more +alarmed. + +"Oh, my puir faither!" moaned the girl. "Oh, mither, I am vexed at what +has happened. Oh, dear, I wonder what I'll do!" + +"There now, dearie!" said Mrs. Ramsay in warm sympathetic tones, as she +stroked the burning hands and brow. "Try and quieten down and go to +sleep. You were getting on very well, you know, and making fine +progress, but you'll make yourself worse than ever if you carry on like +that. There now, dearie! Try and get to sleep, and you'll soon be better +again!" + +But Mysie was silent only for a moment, and the low moan soon broke from +her lips again, like the wail of some stricken thing at night upon the +moor, and still she tossed and tumbled feverishly in her bed. + +In the morning the doctor came and shook his head. Mysie was ill, very +ill. Her condition was serious, and it was little he could do. Only care +and good nursing and try to keep her from worrying. He left a +prescription, and Peter soon had the necessary medicine, and later the +patient grew calmer, and finally sank into a deep sleep; and so the old +fight had to be fought over again, to get her strength restored and her +vitality increased. + +Mysie did not mention another word of home. She lay quiet, hardly even +moving and seldom speaking; but the burning fire that consumed her was +apparent in her hectic cheeks and glowing eyes, and one could see that +her mind was away, never dwelling upon her surroundings, but was +wandering among the heather hills and quiet valleys, where the call of +the curlew and the shout of the lapwing stir the primitive impulses of +those who love the haunts of the moorland life, and weave so much +romance into the lives and souls of the country bred people, who never +grow to love the ugly towns, but whose hearts remain with their first +love--the moors, and the hills, and the mountain brooks for ever. + +She seemed to grow a little stronger as the days passed. She took her +medicines regularly and without protest; but deep down in her heart she +felt that she would never get better, and her only desire, that had been +shaping itself ever since Robert had told her of her father's condition, +was to be strong enough, to go home to Lowwood, just to see her parents, +her brothers and sisters, once more; then she could die in peace. If +only she could do that, she would not care what happened. Nothing else +mattered; but she must get home. Nothing would prevent her from doing +that. + +It was the instinct of the wounded animal, dragging itself home to +die--home to its home in the kindly earth, away from contact with other +things--just to be alone, to nurse its suffering and its misery, till +the last shred of strength had gone, and the limbs stiffened out, while +the glazing eyes looked forward as the pain increased, across the +barriers of other worlds to a land of plenty--a land of green shrubs, +and sweet waters bubbling from scented hillsides, overhung with blue +skies which never brewed storms. A land of bud and bloom and blossom, +scented and sweet, with every desirable weed and tasty herb--a land of +life full and beautiful, of warm suns, calling up dreams from a +blossoming mist of bluebells, creating the freshness and the happiness +of youthfulness in every living thing. A land where far vistas and wide +horizons, bounded by green hills, brought visions from the inner self, +with joyous abundance through lusty life, and glorious passionate +being--a land sweet and fruitful, and never-ending in its beauty and its +means of happiness! + +Slowly the days passed, and her strength gradually increased little by +little, until a month had gone past, and she was able to be about the +house again; but this determination in her heart to go home grew +stronger with every day that passed, and it seemed to give her strength +and vitality, and her hope became more definite and more sure. + +She pictured her home again, as she had known it; the little kitchen, +with its white scrubbed floor and a few newspapers spread over its newly +washed surface to keep it clean from muddy feet; the white-washed jambs +of the fireside, and the grate polished with blacklead; the clear-topped +fender, with its inscription done in brass in the center, "Oor ain +fireside"; the half-dozen strong sturdy, well-washed chairs; the +whitewood dresser, with its array of dog ornaments and cheap vases, and +white crocheted cover; and the curtains over the two beds in the +kitchen. All these things she loved to think about, and she saw them +pictured in her mind as real as they'd ever been to her when her own +life was centered in them, and her fancy took delight in these secret +joys. It was her home she saw always, the humble "but and ben" with the +primitive conditions of life, the crude amenities, the sweet joys of +simple unaffected people; but it was her home. + +One day, Mrs. Ramsay had gone out on an errand that detained her some +time, Mysie seized suddenly again in a more intense form by her desire +to go home, feverishly dressed herself, and hastily scribbling a note of +thanks to her good friend and nurse, she stole out on to the street, a +poor, forlorn, weak girl, but thoroughly determined to go home to where +her heart called her. + +Out upon the street, she grew frightened. She did not know anything +about the city, nor in which direction to turn. She had no idea how far +it was to the station. She was helpless and alone, and very much +excited. + +A boy passed her, whistling as she had often heard her own brothers +whistling, and hastily calling to him she accosted him thus: + +"Could you tell me hoo far it is to the station?" + +"Whit station?" asked the boy, and she suddenly remembered it was +Princes Street, and mentioned it. "Oh, ay; it's no' faur," he said +airily, as he pointed in the direction of it. "Jist gang alang that +way," and he turned away as if to leave her. + +"Wad you tak' me to it, an' I'll gie you a shillin'?" she asked, and he +eagerly turned at once to close the bargain. + +"Oh, ay," he agreed, "I'll soon tak' you there," and the two set off; +and guided by the boy, whose knowledge of the city seemed to her +wonderful in one so young, they arrived at the station, with Mysie very +tired and half-fainting with excitement. + +"Hae you a ticket?" asked the boy, judging from her appearance that she +needed to be reminded of such things. + +"No, I forgot I hadna got yin," replied Mysie. "I wonder where I'll hae +to gang to get yin. Hoo much will it be, think you?" + +"Oh, I dinna ken," said the boy. "Come alang here to the bookin' office, +an' ask a ticket for the place you want to gang to, an' the clerk will +soon tell you the price o't." + +Luckily Mysie had a few pounds in a purse which Peter had given her some +time ago, in case she might want to go out, he said, and buy something +she might want. Going to the booking office, and guided by her little +friend, she timorously made known her wants, and a ticket was given her; +and she returned under her youthful escort, who enquired the time of the +trains leaving of a porter, and conducted her to the platform, and +helped her into the train, which soon started off on the homeward +journey. + +"Thenk you," said the boy, his eyes glowing with pleasure at the two +shining half-crowns which Mysie had given him, and he waved his hand to +her as the train steamed out of the platform. + +"Going home, going home," sang the wheels as the train rushed along. +"Going home," with every beat of her heart they answered her with their +cheery monotone. "Going home," they gurgled, as they freely ran down the +gradients. "Going home, going home," as they ran along the flat moor. +"Going home, going home," they panted up the inclines, but still joyous +in the thought of getting there. + +Home, aye, home, they were taking her. Home to the cheery fireside, with +the homely fare and the warm hearts! To the cosy corner by the fender at +her father's feet, to the music of her mother's clicking needles as she +knitted; to the sweet comfort of the love and kindness of brothers and +sisters; to the warmth of glowing smiles and loving hearts. Home! Home! +Oh, God! Comfort of weary and battered humanity, dragging its wounded +and broken life to the shelter and the sanctity of love. So rose her +hopes, and her heart sang as the brooding night lowered and the wind +rose, bringing the rain lashing from the spring clouds to burnish the +moor with storms. Home to the hearts that loved her first, and would +love her to the end. + +At last the train steamed into the little station from which she had +first gone to the great city, and everything looked just the same as +upon that night, when she had stolen across the moor to run away where +she expected to hide her shame, and try and redeem that one mistaken +impulse, which had been so thoughtlessly indulged, and so terribly paid +for in suffering and tears. The station-master looked at her keenly as +she passed. She seemed so frail and weak looking to be abroad in such a +night; but she passed on and out upon the country road that ran across +the moor, where the darkness always lay thickest, and where the terrors +of the timid were greatest, and the storms raged fiercest. + +On she battled, already feeling weak and tired; but always the thought +of home waiting for her impelled her onward. Home was waiting over +there--waiting just two miles off, where she could see the twinkling of +the lights from the pithead at which she had worked, and where she had +been so happy at the dreams conjured by six and sixpence per week. Down +rushed the wind from the hills, careering along the wide moor, driving +the rain and hail in front, as if he would burst the barriers of the +world and go free. + +She halted and turned her back upon the blows, as if she would fall; but +there were light and warmth, and love and cheerfulness over there, if +only she could hold out till she reached them. + +She turned again, and a sheep scampered across the moorland path just in +front, and the soft bleat of an early lamb soothed the quick excited +leap in her heart. The rain ceased, and a pale glitter of the rim of a +moon, like the paring of a giant's nail in the sky, glinted from behind +the dark cloud, and flung a silver radiance over the bog-pools around, +which glittered like patches of fairy silver upon a land of romance. + +She was wet, but not cold. The fever in her blood raged and she +staggered forward again, slowly and tottering. A smile was playing about +her lips and eyes. Her lips were parted, and her breast rose and fell +like the heaving beat of an engine. But home beckoned and lured her +onward, and the hope of a long dream filled her soul. Again a sharp +scurry in front drove her heart to her mouth, as two hares battled and +tore at each other for the love of the female which sat close by, +watching the contest. + +The sharp swish of the wings of lapwings, as they dived towards her, +filling the moors with their hard rasping double note, and also battling +for possession of a mate, stirred her frightened blood; and at every +step some new terror thrilled her, and kept her continually in a state +of fear. + +Still she plodded on, and another squall of rain and hail followed, +giving place soon to the glory of the cold moon, and again obscuring it +in a quick succession of showers and calm moonshine. But there was home +in front, and she was always drawing nearer. Just a little while now, a +few hundred yards or so, and she would be there. + +Weak and exhausted, stumbling and rising again, driven by that +unrelenting, irresistible desire, this poor waif of humanity, impelled +by sheer force of will, staggered and crawled towards its hope, forward +to its dream, and at last stood by the window of the home it had sought. + +Panting and utterly worn out, she stood holding on to the window ledge, +her will now weakened, her strength of mind gone, and her desire +forsaking her now that she was there. + +The wind fell to a mere whisper, and she stooped to look in at a chink +in the shutter, the tears running in hot, scalding streams from her eyes +and blinding her vision. The soft stirring of little limbs beneath her +heart brought back the old desire to hide herself from everyone she had +known. + +Oh, God! It was terrible thus to be torn; for she had sung the song of +all motherhood in her own simple way--the song of the love that +recreates the world. The same song that enables motherhood to commune +with God. "I will walk in the pure air of the uplands, so that your life +shall be sweet and clean. I shall bathe my body in the sweet waters of +the earth, so that you shall be pure; I shall walk in meditation and +solitude, so that your thoughts shall be worthy thoughts; I shall dwell +on the hillsides, so that your mind shall be lofty; I shall love all +living things, so that you shall be godly in the love of your kind; I +shall be humble, so that you shall not be proud; I shall be tender, +wandering among the sweet flowers, so that you shall never be rough or +unkindly; I shall serve, so that you shall be kingly in your service to +others. + +"Down in the valleys I shall linger, drinking in the music of sweet +streams; and the songs of the morning and the eventide shall make you +gentle and happy. The tender grass shall be my couch upon the moor, so +that you can know the restfulness and comfort of love. The grateful +trees shall shade me from the fierce heat of the sun, so that you shall +be restful, yet active in kind deeds. Oh, I shall clothe me in the +sweetest thoughts, and sing the sweetest songs, speak the kindliest +words, and do the friendliest deeds--I shall lie down in gratitude for +all that has ever been rendered to me, and shall keep faith with love, +so that you--you who are me, you who are my heart and mind, my body and +soul shall be ushered into the world as a savior of the race; and the +lyrics of the dawn and the dayfall, of the golden, glorious day, and the +silver radiant night, shall all be thine to interpret, in spirit and in +word and service." + +Thus had motherhood sung in all ages, weaving the dreams of hope about +the soul which she had called from eternity, after having gone upon that +long perilous journey into the land of Everywhere to bring back a new +life to the world. Mysie dashed the warm tears from her eyes, and looked +again through the chink in the shutter. + +She had a full view of the kitchen. It was the same cosy, bright place +it had always been, when she had sat there on the corner of the fender +o' nights, her head against her father's knee, as he read out the news +from the evening paper, while her mother sewed, or darned, or knitted. + +Her father sat in the easy chair, pale and thin and weak. He looked ill, +and it seemed as if he were merely out of his bed, so that her mother +might change the linen, for she was busy pulling off pillow-cases and +putting clean ones on, and turning the chaff-filled tick to make it +easier for his poor bones to lie on. + +He lay back in his chair, his eyes half closed, as if tired. + +"The wind has surely gane doon noo," Mysie heard her mother observe, as +she spread out the clean white sheet upon the bed. + +"Ay, it seems to hae quietened," returned Matthew weakly. "It has been +an awfu' nicht, and gey wild." + +"Ay, it has that. Peety ony puir body that has been oot in it," said her +mother, with a deep sigh, as she folded back the blankets. "It's an +awfu' nicht for the homeless to be oot in." + +Silence reigned for a short time, and only the whisper of the wind +outside prevented the sobs of the poor waif at the window being heard. + +"You are lookin' a wee better the nicht, Matthew," said Mrs. Maitland +after a long thoughtful pause, as she drew in her chair beside his. + +"Ay, I'm feelin' no' sae bad," he answered feebly. Then, as if having +made up his mind about something, he went on, as he looked into the +glowing fire, "Do you ken, wife, I hae been thinkin' a lot aboot oor +Mysie a' day. I wonder what'll be the cause o't? But a' day she has been +in my mind, an' I only hope naething has come to her." + +"I dinna ken, Matthew," she said; for this was the first time he had +spoken about their missing daughter since the day they had learned of +her disappearance. He had always remained silent when she had given +expression to her thoughts regarding Mysie; but thinking this an +encouragement, she spoke about her, and he too, in a way that made her +wonder; for he was never talkative at any time, and it seemed as if his +heart was hungering to talk of their bairn. + +"I wonder what wad hae come owre her, that nae spierin's o' her could be +got. Puir Mysie! I liket that wean, wife--liket her maybe owre weel; an' +my heart has been sair for her mony a time, wonderin' what has come o' +her!" + +Mrs. Maitland lifted a corner of her rough apron and wiped her eyes, as +she cried softly at hearing her husband thus speak of their missing +daughter. + +"Do you think she'll be living, Matthew?" she asked looking through her +tears at her husband anxiously. + +"That's hard to say, wife," he replied, a break in his voice. "Sometimes +I think she maun be deid, or she wad hae come back to us in some way. I +think we liket her weel enough, an' she kent it, and she was ay a guid +lassie at a' times." + +"Ay, she was," replied the mother, "a guid bairn, an' a clever yin aboot +the hoose; an' I never had an angry word frae her a' my days. Oh, +Matthew," she cried out, again bursting into tears, and sobbing +pitifully, "what is't we hae done to be tried like this? Mysie gane, an' +guid kens where she is, an' John ta'en awa' jist when oor battle was +beginnin' to get easier. Noo you hae been laid aside yoursel', an' God +kens hoo we are to do, for hinna a penny left in the hoose! Oh, dear, +but it's a hard lot we hae to suffer!" and she sobbed in silence, while +her husband stroked her pale, thin, toil-worn hands that hid her weeping +eyes. + +"Wheesht, lassie!" he said brokenly. "Dinna you break doon noo, for you +hae been the mainstay o' us a', when we wad hae lost heart often. I used +to think that oor lot couldna be harder, when the bairns were a' wee, +an' we were struggling frae haun' to mooth, to see them fed an' cled. +But wi' a' the hardships, thae days were happy. We were baith young, an' +I was aye fairly healthy an' when we locked the door at nicht, we were +satisfied that a' that belanged to us were inside, an' in safety, even +though their wee stomachs maybe werena' ower fu'. But noo we canna do +that, wife. Some hae gane to where want an' poverty canna hurt them, an' +that is a consolation; but where will oor lassie be, that never gi'ed us +a wrang word a' her days? Is she in want this nicht, the same as we are +oorsels? Will she be hungry an' homeless, ill clad, an' oot in the +storm? If she is, then God peety her. If only we had her aside us, +hunger wad be easier tholed for us a'," and Matthew, unable to control +himself longer, completely broke down and wept, mingling his tears with +those of his wife, because of their misery and poverty and suffering. + +The girl outside could hardly restrain herself at thus hearing her +parents speak. She sobbed and held on to the window ledge, her eyes +fixed greedily upon the open chink in the shutter, listening to, and +looking at her parents in their misery, as they sat and talked so kindly +and anxiously about her--talked so that every word was a stab at her +heart; for she had never heard them open their hearts like this before. + +"Ay, wife," he said after a time, "it was a sair blow to me. I could hae +fain dee'd at the time; I was fair heartbroken. It's a gey queer world +that brings the keenest pangs frae them that yin likes best. I could hae +dee'd gladly to hae saved that bairn frae the slightest hurt!" + +"Matthew," said the mother, speaking with all her soul in her eyes, as +she looked at him, "if by ony chance it should turn oot that Mysie gaed +wrang an' fell into disgrace, wad ye tak' her back, if she should come +hame again?" and there was a world of pleading in the mother's voice as +she spoke. + +"Tak' her back! Oh, God, I'd dae onything to hae her here at this +meenit, nae matter though it should be proved that she was guilty o' the +warst sin under the sun. Tak' her back! Oh, wife! my heart is breakin' +for her!" and he lifted his thin worn hand to his eyes and sobbed in his +grief. + +"Weel, Matthew," returned the wife, "if ever she does come back, nae +matter when it may be, or hoo it may be, I'm glad you'll no be harsh wi' +her. You'll just speak to her as if naething had happened; for I ken +she'll be mair feart to face you than onybody else. Jist try an' mak' +her believe, when you speak, that she had gane awa' to the store a +message, or to the well for watter, an' that she had bidden owre lang, +as she an' ither weans used to do when they got started the play, an' +forget to come hame. Jist speak to her that way, Matthew, an' the +hame-comin', if ever it comes, will no' be sae hard for the puir bairn. +For God knows, it micht be hard enough for her!" + +The girl outside, listening eagerly to every word, tried to cry out with +the pain of all this talk by her parents, but her tongue clove to her +parched mouth, and her lips were stiff and dry. + +"I'll never be harsh wi' a bairn o' mine, wife," he replied brokenly. "I +liket Mysie owre weel ever to be harsh wi' her. Oh, if only I could see +her afore me this nicht, I wad gie a' I ever had in the world. To hae +her sittin' here, as she used to sit, her wee heid wi' its soft hair +against my knee, an' my haun clappin' it, an' her bonnie een lookin' up +at me, as if I was something she aye looket up to, as bein' better than +ony living being she ever kenned, wad be mair pleasure for me this +minute than if I got a' the money in the world. I'd swap heaven and my +chances o' salvation, wife, jist to hae her sittin' here on the fender, +as she used to sit. Hunger an' a' the rest wad be easy borne for that." + +There was a soft rustling sound at the window as he spoke, and a slow +step was heard, which seemed to drag along towards the door, then a +fumbling at the sneck, the handle lifted, and the door opened slowly +inwards, as if reluctant to reveal its secret. + +It was a tense poignant moment for all; for both the father and mother, +weak as the former was, rose to their feet expectantly, their eyes +searching the slowly opening door, as a thin pale draggled figure +entered and staggered forward with a low pitiful cry of "Faither! +Mother! I've come hame!" and tottering forward, fell at Matthew's feet, +clasping his knees with the thin fragile hands, while the tears of a +heart-breaking sorrow flowed from the appealing eyes, upturned to the +amazed parents. + +"Mysie! Mysie!" he sobbed, clasping her to his thin worn knees, and +kissing the bent head, as she sobbed and cried. "Oh, Mysie! Mysie! but +you hae been a lang time at the store!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +HOME + + +"Oh my puir wean! My bonnie bairn!" crooned Mrs. Maitland, as she bent +over the figure of her daughter who, clinging to Matthew's knees, was +looking up into his face, as he lay back in his chair where he had +fallen, when Mysie fell at his feet. "Oh, my puir lamb, you're wet to +the skin, an' fair done; for God knows its an' awfu' mess you hae cam' +hame in." + +"Puir thing," she wailed and crooned, again breaking out after having +kissed and fondled Mysie's wet face. "We hae lang hungered for +you--hungered for you for a gey lang time, an' noo you hae cam' hame, +near to daith's door. But we'll nurse you back. We'll mak' you strong +and healthy again. Oh, Mysie, my puir lassie. What ails you? Where hae +you been? What has happened to you a' this time? But what am I thinking +aboot," she broke off, "sitting here, when I should be gettin' some dry +claes for you, an' a bed ready." + +She rose and began to busy herself shaking up a bed and diving into +drawers, bringing clean clothes forth and hanging them over a piece of +rope which stretched across the fireplace, so as to air and heat them, +the tears streaming from her eyes and occasionally a low moan breaking +from her as if forced by some inward pain; while Matthew, nearly +overcome with excitement, could only lie back in his chair, his eyes +closed and his hands stroking tenderly the wet young head that lay +against his knee. + +"Faither," murmured Mysie, brokenly and weakly, "oh, faither, I've come +back. Jist let me lie here near you. I jist want you to clap my held, to +lean against you, an' gang to sleep. Are you angry wi' me, faither? Are +you--" and Mysie's eyes closed in a faint, as she lay limp against his +knee. + +Just then the door opened and Mrs. Sinclair came in. She always came in, +after she had got everyone in the house to bed, to see how Matthew felt. +It was her first errand in the morning and her last before retiring at +night. She was generally the last visitor, and the door was always +locked and barred when she went away. + +"Oh, Nellie, come awa' in," said Matthew. "You're a God's send this +nicht. I'm glad to see you. Mysie's jist cam' back, an' she has fented. +Gie's a bit haun' wi' her to get her into bed. Puir thing. She's fair +done up," and Matthew tried to raise up the prostrate figure of his +bairn; but sank back too weak, and too overcome to do anything. + +"Dinna you trouble yourself, Matthew," said Mrs. Sinclair, gathering the +prostrate girl in her arms and raising her up on her knee like a child. +"Bring some dry claes. Jenny, an' get some warm watter bottles in the +bed. Puir thing, she's in an awfu' state. She's a' tremblin' an' maun +hae been awfu' ill," and she worked with and stripped the wet clothes +from the girl and soon had her in bed, but in spite of all her efforts +Mysie remained unconscious. She then left to get the doctor summoned, +leaving the sorrowing parents to look after the girl till she returned. + +When she did come back, Matthew was in bed and his condition very much +worse. The excitement had been too much for him in his weakened state +and he lay exhausted, crying like a child. + +Soon the doctor came and did all in his power. At the end of an hour +Mysie's eyes opened and she looked about her. + +"Where's my faither?" she asked weakly. "Oh, I'm gled I'm hame." + +"He's in bed," answered Mrs. Sinclair. "An' you're no' to talk the +nicht, Mysie. Jist lie still, like a good lass, an' drink this, an' in +the mornin' you'll may be a bit better." And Mysie drank, and with a +sigh of happy contentment, she turned her face to the wall, glad she was +now at home--home with her wounded spirit and broken life. + +The soft easy chaff bed gave her more of rest and satisfaction than if +it had been eiderdown. She traced as of old the roses upon the cheap +paper with which the box bed was papered, and which had been her +mother's pride when it was put on. Mysie watched the twining and +intertwining of the roses, as they reached upward toward the ceiling +through a maze of woodbine and red carnations, and noted that the +curtains upon the bed were the same as they were when she had last slept +there. + +The old wag-at-the-wa' clock which had belonged to her grandfather, +wheezed wearily from the corner and the shrill eerie call of a courting +cat outside broke familiarly upon her ear. Thus surrounded by the sights +and sounds of old, a glad contentment in her heart, she soon dozed off +into a deep sleep. + +When Mrs. Sinclair went home just as midnight was striking she found +Robert sitting by the fire wondering at her absence. He had just +returned from a meeting at a neighboring village, and finding his +brothers and sisters all in bed and his mother not in the house with his +tea ready for him as usual, he wondered what was the matter. + +"I was owre at Matthew's," she replied in answer to the question she +knew he was going to ask. + +"Is he waur the nicht?" he asked quickly. + +"Weel, it's no' him, although he's gey upset too; but Mysie has cam' +hame the nicht, an' puir lassie she is in an awfu' state," and she was +quick to note the soft blanching of his cheek as she spoke. + +"Mysie hame," he echoed with quick interest. + +"Ay, puir lassie; but I doot if I'm no' cheated that Mysie'll no' be +lang anywhere. The doctor says she's to be keepit quate; for she's gey +low. In fact he felt me at the door that he dinna think she could last a +week." + +Robert sat a long time looking into the fire, while his mother got ready +his tea, and described to him all that she knew of Mysie's return and of +her sad condition. + +"You'd hardly ken her," she went on. "She's that thin and white and faur +gane lookin', forby havin' a boast that wad fricht you. Puir lassie, I +was vexed for her an' Matthew too is gey upset aboot it. Dae you ken, +Rob, I believe they mun be gey hard gruppit. Wi' Matthew being off +work, and John deein' an' a' the ither troubles they had this while, I +think they canna be ower weel off." + +"Ay," he said, "they canna be ower weel off; for they hae had a lot to +dae this while. You micht look to them, mither. We are no sae ill off +noo, an' we can afford tae help them." + +"Weel, Rob, I've been aye givin' them a bit hand, buying beef for soup +an' that' an' daein' a' I could. But I'm awfu' puttin' aboot ower puir +Mysie. She's gey faur gane, an' wherever she has been she's been haein a +bad time of it." + +"I saw her at Edinburgh," he said quietly, as she paused to pour out the +tea. + +"In Edinburgh?" + +"Ay," he replied. "Last month when I was at the conference," and Robert +told his mother the whole story of his meeting with Mysie and of her +disappearance and all that had happened to her from the time she had +gone away. + +"But you never telt yin o' us, Rob," she said after he had come to the +end of the story. + +"No, I never telt ony o' you; for Mysie made me promise no' to tell; an' +forby she wadna' gi'e me her address. But I was that upset that day that +I couldn't collect mysel' an' I minded o' a lot o' things I should hae +done an' said after I left her. It was terrible," and he relapsed into +silence again, as he went on with his supper. + +His mother saw all the pain in his heart that night, though neither +spoke much of the state of his feelings for Mysie; but it was evident to +her who saw all the cross currents of fate, perhaps more clearly than +Robert knew. + +She looked at him with furtive pride. There was no showy parading of +what he felt, but only the set of the mouth was a little firmer perhaps +than usual and the eyes a little softer and glistening. That was all. + +"Ay, Robin," she said brokenly, unable to hide her pride and weakness. +"I ken a' that you hinna telt me. I guessed it years syne; but I'm sure +noo. An' I'm awfu' vexed, laddie; ay, I'm awfu' vexed," and with that he +withdrew to his room, more touched with her simple words of sympathy +than anything she had ever said to him in all her previous life. + +Mrs. Sinclair went to bed, but she knew her laddie had not done so. She +heard him in his room and knew that in the silence of the night and in +the privacy and secrecy of his own room he was fighting out his battle +with fate, and she knew that no one could help him--that only the fiber +of his own soul could help him through. + +In the morning he rose early and went for a walk, for it was Sunday. +Returning, he found his mother with the latest news of Mysie's +condition. She waited until the other members of the house had gone out, +and then with a sigh observed very quietly but with a world of tender +sympathy in her voice: + +"Mysie's sinkin' fast, Robin. I think you should gang ower and see her. +She canna' last very lang, puir thing, an' she was askin' aboot you when +I was ower. I think she wad like to see you. You'll gang ower and see +her, Rob," she entreated, a sob in her throat as she spoke. "She'll be +awfu' pleased to see you." + +"Ay, I'll gang ower, mither," he replied simply. "I'll gang ower efter a +wee while." + +But it was drawing near to the darkness when he managed to summon +sufficient resolution to face the ordeal. + +Mysie was lying in the room and he went in to see her--her whom he would +have given his own life to restore to activity and health again. A low +moan occasionally escaped her as she panted and battled for breath and +the color came and faded from her cheeks in quick fleeting waves. + +Oh God! Was this Mysie--this faint apparition of the girl whom he had +loved? Even in the short month when he had seen her in Edinburgh a very +great change had been wrought upon her. The eyes, softly glowing with a +quiet radiance as they rested upon his face, were sunk, and the voice +faint and weak. A thin white hand lay upon the coverlet and the great +waves of brown hair which had been his pride, were tumbled about the +thin face framing it in a tangled oak brown frame of deepest beauty. + +She lifted her hand as he approached, a sweet smile breaking through +her pain, caught him in radiance of love. "I'm glad you've come, Rob," +she panted. "I jist wanted to see you again--an'--an' tak' good-by wi' +you," and the quick catch in her words gripped his heart as he knelt +beside the bed, taking the thin hand between his while the tears started +from his eyes and fell upon the white bed cover. + +"Oh, Mysie," he said brokenly. His voice refused to go further and he +bent his head upon the bed, trying hard to control himself and keep from +breaking down before her. + +"I'm awfu' vexed, Rob," she said, after a while. "It was a' a mistak' +an' naebody's to blame. I ought to hae kent better mysel'," and she +paused again for breath. "I--I should hae kent better, that nae guid +could come--oot o' it--I was just carried awa'. Dinna ever blame +lasses--nor men either, when things happen. They--they canna help +themsel's--" and here again she paused for breath, gasping and fighting +at every word. + +"It's a' a mistake, Rob, an' I think it's a' in the way folk look at +thae things." Another pause, while her chest heaved and panted. "Maybe +we dinna look at thae things richt," she again resumed. "We--we mak' +mistak's and canna help oorsel's; but God dinna mean it as--as a +mistak'. It's a' because we think it is. Everything's richt--but we mak' +them wrang in the way we look at them. It wad hae--been a' richt--in oor +mind, if I had been married afore--afore it happened--but because we +werena married--it was wrang. It's a' a mistak' Rob, a' a--" and a burst +of coughing nearly choked her and a flood of blood began to gurgle in +her mouth. + +Robert grew alarmed and lifting a cloth began to wipe the blood from her +mouth, looking on her so concerned and anxious that she tried to smile +to him to reassure him. + +Presently she lay back with eyes closed and her hand limp in his. A wild +fear took possession of him as he looked upon the scarcely moving +breast, a fear which seemed to communicate itself to the sufferer, and +she opened her eyes again, but the voice was weak and very far away. + +"Dinna be angry wi' onybody, Rob. It was you I liket, it was you I +wanted--but it was a' a mistake." + +"I'm no' angry, Mysie," he said stifling his sobs, his tears falling +upon the white thin face. "Oh, Mysie, I'm only vexed. I'm only vexed +aboot the hale sad business. There now, dearie," he said bending low +over her and kissing and stroking the pallid brow and caressing the face +so dear to him. "There noo, I'm no' angry. You're mine, Mysie. You've +always been mine, an' I'm no' angry. But oh, I love you, Mysie, an' it's +breaking my heart to part frae you. Oh, God!" he groaned in agony. "What +does it a' mean? I canna' bear it,--I canna' bear't," and a wild burst +of grief swept over him as he flung his head and arms upon the bed in a +vain attempt to control his sobbing sorrow. + +A long pause--then the white hand was raised and crept slowly over his +shoulder, working its way among the thick shaggy hair of his head as the +fingers strayed from curl to curl, patting him and soothing him as a +child is soothed by a mother's hand. It rested upon his bent head and +the eyes opened again. + +"Ay, Rob, I'm vexed for your sake--but it was a' a mistake." She went on +halting and very weak. "It was a' a mistak'--an' naebody is to blame. We +are just--driven alang, an'--we canna help oorsel's--it's awfu' to +hae--sic feelin's--an'--an' no' hae any poo'er--to guide them +richt--it's ay the things we want maist--that we dinna get. Kiss me, +Rob--kiss me, as you kissed me--yon--nicht on the muir. Haud me like +you--an' I think I can--gang content. Oh, Rob,--ay liket you--it was you +I wanted a' the time!" + +He clasped her tenderly in his arms as he kissed her mouth, her eyes, +her brow, her hair, stroking her and fondling the dear face, catching +hungrily the smile that came to the pale lips, and lingered there like a +blink of sun upon a hillside after the rest of the landscape is clothed +in shadow. + +Again there was a pause while he searched the pale face with the +lingering smile, noting the veined, almost discolored eyelids, +transparent and closed over the tired suffering eyes. Then a burst of +coughing again and the blood in thick clots gurgled up from the throat. +Then after a little she spoke again. + +"Oh, Rob, you hae made me very happy. But I'm vexed aboot you--an'--an' +Peter. He tried to dae what was richt; but it wasna to be--I hope +you'll--no'--be angry wi' him. He was like me--he couldna' help it." + +"Oh, Mysie, I'm no' angry wi' him," he replied brokenly, trying hard to +make his voice sound dearly. "I'm no' angry wi' onybody." + +"I'm glad o' that, Rob," she said, her hand caressing his head. "You was +ay a guid hearted laddie--I'm awfu' glad." Then her mind began to wander +and she was back in Edinburgh speaking of her father and John. + +"Oh, faither," she rambled on. "Dinna be angry wi' me. There's naebody +to blame. Dinna be angry." + +Then Robert was conscious that others were in the room, and looking up +he beheld his mother and Jenny Maitland and behind them with anxious +face and frightened eyes stood Peter Rundell, the picture of misery and +despair. + +"She's kind o' wanderin', puir thing," he heard the mother say in +explanation to the others. "She's kind o' wanderin' in her mind." + +It was a sad little group which stood round the dying girl, all anxious +and alarmed and watchful. Then after a while she opened her eyes again +and there was a look of startled surprise as if she were looking at +something in the distance. Then she began to recognize each and all of +them in turn, first Robert, who still held her hand, then her mother and +Nellie, and Peter. A faint smile came into her eyes and he stepped +forward. Her lips moved slowly and a faint sound came falteringly from +them. + +"Dinna be angry wi' onybody," she panted. "It was a'--a--mistake." + +Then raising her hand she held it out to Peter, who advanced towards the +bedside and placing his hand on Robert's she clasped them together in +her own. "There noo--dinna be angry--it was a' a mistake. It was Rob I +liket--it was him--I wanted. But it--was--a' a mistak'. Dinna be--" and +the glazed sunken eyes closed forever, never to open again, a faint +noise gurgled in her throat, and the dews of death stood out in beads +upon the pale brow. A tiny quiver of the eyelids, and a tremor through +the thin hands and Mysie--poor ruined broken waif of the world--was +gone. + +"Oh, my God! She's deid," gasped Robert, clasping the thin dead hands in +a frenzy of passionate grief. "Oh, Mysie! Mysie! Oh God! She's deid," +and his head bent low over the bed while great sobs tore through him, +and shook his young frame, as the storm shakes the young firs of the +woods. Then suddenly recollecting himself as his mother put her hand +upon his bent head saying: "Rise up, Robin, like a man. You maun gang +oot noo." He rose and with tears in his eyes that blinded him so that he +hardly saw where he was going, he stumbled out into the darkness under +the pale stars--out into the night to the open moor, his grief so +burdening that he felt as if the whole world had gone from his +reckoning. + +"Oh, my poor Mysie," he groaned. "It was all a horrible mistake," and +the darkness came down in thick heavy folds as if the whole world were +mourning for the loss of the young girl's soul, but it brought no +comfort to him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +A CALL FOR HELP + + +It was a quiet night in early April, full of the hush which seems to +gather all the creative forces together, before the wild outburst of +prodigal creation begins in wild flower and weed and moorland grasses, +and Robert Sinclair, who had walked and tramped over the moors for +hours, until he was nearly exhausted, his heart torn and his mind in an +agony of suffering, sat down upon a little hillock, his elbows on his +knees and his hands against his cheeks. + +The moor-birds screamed and circled in restless flight around him. They +were plainly protesting against his intrusion into their domain. They +shrilled and dived in their flight, almost touching the bent head, with +swooping wing, to rise again, cleaving the air and sheering round again; +but still the lonely figure sat looking into darkness, becoming numbed +with cold, and all unconscious of the passage of time. + +Gradually the cold began to tell upon him, and he started to his feet, +plodding up the hill, through the soft mossy yielding soil. Back again +he came after a time, his limbs aching with the long night's tramping; +but yet he never thought of going home or turning towards the village. + +"Oh, Mysie!" he groaned again and again, and all night long only these +two words escaped his lips. They came in a low sad tone, like the wind +coming through far-off trees; but they were vibrant with suffering, and +only the moor-birds cried in answer. + +"Oh, Mysie!" and the winds sighed it again and again, as they came +wandering down out of the stillness between the hills, to pass on into +the silence of the night again, like lost souls wandering through an +uncreative world, proclaiming to other spheres the doom that had settled +upon earth. + +"Oh, Mysie!" groaned a moorland brook close by, which grumbled at some +obstruction in its pathway, and then sighed over its mossy bed, like a +tired child emerging exhausted from a long fever, to fall asleep as +deeply as if the seal of death had been planted upon the little lips. +Occasionally he shifted his position, as his limbs grew cramped, or rose +to pace the moor again to bring himself more exhaustion; but always he +came back to the little knoll, and sat down again, groaning out the sad +plaintive words, that were at once an appeal and a cry, a defiance and a +submission. By and by the first gray streaks of dawn came filtering +through the curtains of the cloudy east, touching the low hills with +gray nimble fingers, or weaving a tapestry of magic, as they brightened +and grew clearer, over the gray face of the morn. + +Soon the birds leapt again from every corner, climbing upon the ladders +of light and tumbling ecstasies of mad joy to welcome the day, as if +they feared to be left in the darkness with this strange figure, which +merely sat and groaned softly, and looked before it with silent agony in +its eyes; and now that the light had again come, they shouted their +protest in a louder, shriller note; they mounted upon the waves of light +and swooped down into the trough of the semi-darkness, expostulating and +crying, not so much in alarm now, as in anger. For with the light comes +courage to birds as well as men, and fear, the offspring of ignorance, +which is bred in darkness, loses its power when its mystery is revealed. + +But even with the coming of the day the still silent figure did not +move. It continued to sit until the birds grew tired of protesting, and +even the mountain hare wandered close by, sniffing the breeze in his +direction, and cocking its ears and listening, as it sat upon its hind +legs, only to resume its leisurely wandering again, feeling assured that +there was nothing to fear in the direction of this quiet, bent figure of +sorrow, that sat merely staring at the hills, and saw naught of anything +before him. The things he saw were not the things around him. He was +moving in a multitude again. He was walking among them with pity in his +heart--a great pity for their ignorance, their lack of vision; and he +was giving them knowledge and restoring light to their eyes, to widen +their range of vision, so that they could take things in their true +perspective. He was full of a great sympathy for their shortcomings, +recognizing to the full that only by sowing love could love be reaped, +only in service could happiness be found--that he who gave his life +would save it. + +The great dumb mass of humanity needed serving--needed love. It passed +on blindly, wounding itself as it staggered against its barriers, +bruising its heart and soul in the darkness, and never learning its +lessons. Saviors in all ages had lifted the darkness a bit, and given +knowledge, and sometimes it had profited for a while till false prophets +arose to mislead. + +It was a seething feverish mass, stamping and surging towards every +blatant voice which cried the false message to it, rousing it to anger, +and again misleading, until it often rose to rend its saviors instead of +those who had duped it so shamelessly. + +All the tragic procession filed past, and he gave them peace and +knowledge. By and by they grew to a long thin stream, feverish and +agitated, seemingly all converging towards a point--pain and anxiety in +every quick movement, and suffering in every gesture. He looked with +still more and more compassion upon them, with a greater love in his +breast, but it did not calm them as before, and at last in desperation +he stretched out his hands in appealing pity for them, his whole being +aglow with the desire to help and pity and love, and he found that the +scene changed. He was on the moor, and there was the discomfort of cold +in his limbs; but--yes, he was looking at the pit, and there was a long +stream of men, women and children, principally women and children, +running frantically across the moor towards the pit, and he could hear +the faint sound of their voices, which clearly betokened suffering, +anxiety and alarm. Something had happened. He must have been looking at +that procession for a long time, he realized, and pulling himself +together, he bounded to his feet and was off in a long striding race +through the moor towards the pit, his heart telling him that something +had happened which was out of the ordinary kind of accident that +regularly happened at a coal mine. He bounded along, knowing as he went +that there was something more of sorrow for his mother in this, whatever +it was. He felt so, but could not account for the feeling, and as this +thought grew in intensity in his mind, he changed his course a bit, and +made for home, to ascertain what had really happened. It was something +big, he felt, but whatever it was, his mother must again be called upon +to suffer, and his alarm grew with his pace, until he arrived breathless +at the house. One look at her face, and he knew his instincts had told +him the truth. + +She was white and strained, though tearless, but her eyes were full of +an awful suffering. + +"What has happened, mother?" he demanded, as if he could hardly wait for +her to answer. + +"The moss has broken in, an' twenty-three men are lost. Jamie an' Andra +are among them. They gaed oot themselves this morning, telling me they +could work fine, even though you werena there. Oh, Rob! What will I do! +Oh, dear! Oh, dear! My bonnie laddies!" and with a sob in her voice she +turned away, and Robert was again out of the house, and running through +the moor to the pit, as hard as desperation could drive him. His two +brothers were down there, and they must be got out. Even as he ran he +wondered what strange freak of fate it was, that had kept him out there +on the moor all night and so saved him from this terrible fate. + +He could understand how his brothers would feel at the chance of working +one day by themselves. He had always been their guide and protector. +They had gone into the pit with him when they left school, and had just +continued working with him since, learning their trade from his greater +experience, and trusting always to his better judgment when there was +danger to avoid. They would go out that day with the intention of +working like slaves to produce an extra turn of coal. Even though it +were but one extra hutch, they would fill it, and slave all day with +never a rest, so that they could have the satisfaction of seeing +approval in his eyes, when they told him at night how many they had +turned out, and how well things had gone generally with them in his +absence. + +He reached the pit, to find that the moss was already rising in the +shaft, and that there was no possibility of getting down to try and save +these twenty-three men and boys who were imprisoned in the darkness +beneath. + +He came across Tam Donaldson, who was the last to get up. + +"Tell me aboot it, Tam," he said. "Is there no chance of getting down? +Do you think any of them will be safe so far?" and a whole lot of other +anxious questions were rattled off, while Tam, dripping wet from having +to wade and fight the last fifty fathoms toward the pit bottom, through +the silent, sinister, creeping moss that filled the roadways and +tunnels, stood to give him an account of what had taken place. + +"They were a' sitting at their piece, Rob--a' but James and Andra. They +were keen to get as muckle work done as possible, an' they had some coal +to get to fill oot a hutch, when a' at yince we heard Andra crying on us +to rin. Had they a' ran doon the brae we'd a' hae been safe, for we +could hae gotten to the bottom afore the moss; but some ran into the +inside heading, an' hadna time to realize that their outlet was cut off, +an' there they are; for the moss was comin' doon the full height of the +road when I ran back to try an' cry on them to come back. So I had to +rin for't too, an' jist got oot by the skin o' my teeth. + +"I kent fine it wad happen," he went on, as Robert stood, the tears in +his eyes, as he realized how hopeless the position was of ever being +able to restore these men and boys again to their homes. There was anger +in Tam's voice as he spoke. "It's a' to get cheap coal, an' they ought +to hae known, for they were telt, that to open oot that seam into long +well workings so near the surface, an' wi' sic a rotten roof, was +invitin' disaster, wi' as muckle rain as we hae had lately. They are a +lot o' murderers--that's what they are! But what the hell do they care, +sae lang as they get cheap coal!" + +Robert turned away sick at heart. It was certainly a foolish thing, he +had thought at the time, for the management to change their method of +working the coal; for even though the seam had grown thinner, he felt +that it could have still been worked at a profit under the old system. +He knew also that the men were all upset at the time by this change, but +the management had assured them that there was no danger, and that it +would mean more money for the men, as they would be enabled to produce +more coal. + +This certainly had happened for a week or two, but the rates were soon +broken, because they were making too high wages; and the men found, as +usual, that their increased output had merely meant increased work for +them, and increased profits for the owners. + +Was there nothing to be done? Robert wondered, as he paced restlessly +back and forth, his mind busy, as the mind of every man present, and +anxious to make any sacrifice, to take any risk, if by so doing they +might save those imprisoned in the mine. Even while his mind was +working, he could not help listening to the talk of those around him. +There were strange opinions expressed, and wild plans of rescue were +suggested and discussed and disputed. Everyone condemned the coal +company for what had happened, but over all there were the white-faced +women and the silent children; the muffled sobs, the tears, and the +agony of silent wet eyes that spoke more pain than all the tragedies +that had ever been written. + +Robert could not help listening to one man--a big, raw, loosely-built +fellow, who stood in the midst of a group of women laying off his idea +of a rescue. + +"I'm rale glad to be out of it," he said, "for Jean's sake, an' the +bairns; but for a' that I'd gang doon again an' try an' get them oot if +there was ony chance o' doin' it." + +"Hoo is Jean?" one woman interposed to enquire about his wife, who had +been ill a long time. + +"Oh, she's gettin' on fine noo, an' the doctor has a hopeful word o' +her," he answered. "In fact, I was just feeding the birds the last time +he was in, an' asked him hoo she was doin'." + +This man, Dugald McIntosh, had one god--his canaries. He read all he +could get to read about them, and studied the best conditions under +which to rear them, sacrificed everything he could to breed better +birds, and this was always a topic for him to discourse upon. + +"I was just busy feedin' them when he cam' in, and after he had examined +her, I asked him hoo she was gettin' on." + +"Fine," he said, "gi'e her plenty o' sweet milk noo, and fresh eggs, an' +she'll sune be on her feet again. Fresh eggs! mind you, an' me canna get +yin for my canaries! I thocht it was a guid yin!" + +Robert turned away; but there was working in his mind an idea, and he +ran round to the colliery office to the manager, who was nearly mad with +grief and anxiety at what had happened. + +"Come in, Sinclair," he said simply. "Can you suggest anything to help +us? Whatever is done, it can only be done quickly; for the moss is +rising rapidly in the shaft, and even though some of the men are safe in +the upper workings, it is only a question of a very short time till the +moss will rise and suffocate them, or until the black damp does so. If +you have any idea that can help, out with it and let us make a trial, +for the inactivity is killing me." + +"I have been thinking, Mr. Anderson," replied Robert, "that we might go +down the old air-shaft over in the moss there, and run along the top +level, which is not far from the surface, and try and blast it through +on the heading into which the moss broke." + +It might be full of moss too, for no one knew the extent of the breakage +in the metals, and even though it were clear, the damp would be lying in +it; but surely they might make an attempt on it. Robert remembered +working this level to within about nine feet from going through on the +heading. If he had plenty of hands, just to go down and drill a hole in +anywhere, and blast out the coal with a shot or two wherever he could +best place them, he might succeed in getting through to the men. It +might be that after the first rush filling the roadways, the flood of +moss had drained off, and was not now running so thickly down the +heading. + +"Let me go and try, sir," he pleaded eagerly. "I think I can manage, if +the level is still unbroken. We can work in short turns, so as not to +be overcome with the damp. Will you let me have a try? I believe it's +the only chance we have, and if we do succeed, look what it will mean to +the women in the village. Will you let me try?" + +"Yes," replied Anderson, reaching for his lamp, "and I shall be one of +the triers too. Go out and pick seven or eight men. I'll get the +necessary tools and get off over the moor to the old air shaft. It may +still be open. It is a pity we let it go out of repair, but we can have +a trial." + +Robert ran out, a hope filling his heart, telling his news to those +round about, and the first man to step forth, before he had finished, +was Dugald McIntosh, the man who had put more value on his canaries than +on his wife's health, who quietly lifted up the drills the manager had +brought, and slinging them lightly over his shoulder, was off across the +moor at a run, with a dozen men at his heels, all eager to get to grips +with the danger, and try to rescue their imprisoned comrades. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +A FIGHT WITH DEATH + + +Robert Sinclair seemed to be the one man who knew what to do--at least, +he seemed to be the only one who had a definite aim in view and as if by +some natural instinct everyone was just ready to do his bidding. He was +the leader of the herd towards whom everyone looked ready for a new +order to meet any new situation which might arise. Initiative and +resource were a monopoly in his hands. He was silent, and worked to get +ready to descend the old air-shaft, with grim set lips. Yet there seemed +to be no sense of bustle, only the work was done quickly and orderly, +his orders being issued as much by signs as by speech, and soon a +windlass was erected with ropes and swing chair fastened, into which he +at once leaped, followed by another man. Tools and explosives were +packed in and lamps lit and the order given to lower the chair. + +Robert felt a queer sort of feeling as he stood waiting on the first +motion of the little drum round which the rope wound. He was cool and +clear brained--in fact he wondered why he was so collected. He felt he +was standing out of all this maelstrom of suffering and terror. Not that +he was impervious to anxiety for the men below, not that he was unmoved +by all that it meant to those standing round; but after that first wild +throb of terror that had clutched at his heart when his mother had told +him the dread news and that his two brothers were imprisoned in the +mine, something seemed suddenly to snap within him, the load and the +intensity of the pain lifted, and from that moment he had been master of +the situation. + +He glanced round him as he waited quietly in his swinging seat. He felt +as he looked, no sense of fear or impending doom. He knew that black +damp probably lay in dense quantities down in that yawning gulf below +him, he knew that the sides of the shaft were in a bad state of +disrepair, and that they might give way at any time as the swinging rope +must inevitably touch them, and bring the whole thing in upon him, with +hundreds of tons of debris and moss. + +Yet it was not of these things he thought. Perhaps he did not think of +anything particularly, but a far-off lilt of a children's game which was +played at school, kept iterating and reiterating through his brain, and +everything seemed done to that tune. + + "Don't take a laddie, oh, + Laddie oh, laddie oh, + Don't take a laddie oh, + Take a bonnie wee lassie." + +It sang continually within him and men seemed to move to its regular +beat, as they hurried to get ready. He looked at the hills, and noted +how quiet everything seemed, their curving outlines gave such a sense of +eternal rest. There was a patch of lovely blue sky above him, he noticed +where the clouds opened up and a glint of golden glorious sunshine came +through; but it looked garish and it closed again and the white clouds +trailed away, their lower fringes clinging to the hill tops like veils +of gossamer woven by time to deck the bride of Spring. A lark rose at +the edge of the crowd of weeping women and children as if unmindful of +the tragedy over which it sang so rapturously, and he noted its +fluttering wings and swelling throat as it soared in circles of glad +song. + +All these things and more he noted though it was but a momentary pause. + +"Are you right?" came the question from the men at the windlass, far +away it seemed and unconnected with the scene. + +"Right," he answered with a start, and looking round he seemed to become +aware of the white-faced, red-eyed women among whom his mother's face +seemed to stand out. She was not weeping, he noticed, but oh God! her +face seemed to turn him with the intensity of the suffering in her eyes. +He realized that he had not noticed her before, and now with a wild +throb of pity he stretched out his hands towards her, a look of +suffering in his eyes, as if he were feeling the pains of humanity +crucified anew, and the chair began to drop slowly below the surface, +swinging down into the darkness and the evil dangers that lurked below. +Her face was the last thing he saw--a face full of agony yet calm with a +great renunciation coming to birth in her eyes, her lips drawn thin like +a slit in her face and all the color gone from them, the head bent a +little as if a great blow had fallen upon her--an island of agony set in +a sea of despair. + +A wild impulse seized him to go back. It was too much to ask of a woman, +he felt. Too great a burden of tragedy to heap upon one soul, as he cast +his mind back through the suffering years and viewed all the pain she +had borne, and the terrible Gethsemane which her life had been; but as +the chair swung round he clutched the swaying rope and with the other +hand steadied it from crashing against the side of the shaft as they +slowly dropped lower and lower into the darkness and the evil smells +which hung around. + +"Things look bad here," said his comrade as they passed down where at +some time a huge portion from the side had fallen out and down into the +bottom of the old shaft. + +"Ay," answered Robert, "everything seems just ready to collapse," and +they dropped lower and lower, swaying from side to side, cautiously +guiding their swinging chair from the moss-oozing side, their nerves +strained as they listened to the creeking rope as it was paid out from +above. + +"Holy God," cried his mate, "that was a near thing," as a huge mass of +rocks and slimy moss lunged out a little below them and hurtled away in +a loud rumbling noise. + +Robert pulled the signal cord to stop and looked up to see the white +clouds passing over the narrow funnel-like shaft in which they hung. +Then he gave the signal to let out again noting how thick with damp the +atmosphere was becoming, and having difficulty with his light. + +Lower and lower they swung and dropped down into the old shaft and as +the rope creaked and crazed above them it lilted: + + "Choose, choose, wha' you'll tak', + Wha' you'll tak', wha' you'll tak', + Choose, choose wha' you'll tak', + A laddie or a lassie." + +And the memory of the old lilt brought back other scenes again and he +found himself guiding the chair from the shaft side steering it off with +his hand at every rhythmic beat of the child song. + +Soon they reached the bottom of the shaft, for it was not very deep, and +found a mass of debris, almost choking up the roadways on either side of +the bottom. But they got out of their chair and soon began to "redd" +away the stones though they found very great difficulty in getting the +lamps to burn. Occasionally, as they worked, little pieces came tumbling +from the side of the shaft, telling its own tale, and as soon as Robert +got a decent sized kind of opening made through the rocks which blocked +the roadway he sent up the other man to bring down more help and to get +others started to repair the old shaft by putting in stays and batons to +preserve the sides and so prevent them from caving in altogether. + +He found his way along the level which had been driven to within nine +feet of going through on the heading in which the inbreak of moss had +taken place. He noticed the roof was broken in many places and that the +timber which had been put in years before was rotten. Strange noises +seemed to assail his senses, and stranger smells, yet the lilt of that +old childish game was ever humming in his brain and he saw himself with +other boys and girls with clasped hands linked in a circle and going +round in a ring as they sang the old ditty. + +"Three breakings should dae it," he said as he looked at the face of the +coal dripping with water from the cracks in the roof. "If only they were +here to put up the props. I could soon blow it through," and he began to +prepare a place for batons and props, pending the arrival of more help +from those who were only too eager to come down to his aid. + +It was almost an hour before help came in the shape of two men carrying +some props. Then came another two and soon more timber began to arrive +regularly and the swinging blows of their hammers as they drove in the +fresh props were soon echoing through the tunnels, and Robert set up his +boring machine and soon the rickety noise of it drowned all others. He +paused to change a drill when a faint hullo was heard from the other +side. + +"Hullo," he yelled, then held his breath in tense silence to hear the +response which came immediately. "Are you all safe?" he roared, his +voice carrying easily through the open coal. + +"Ay," came the faint answer; "but the moss is rising in the heading and +you'll have to hurry up." + +Robert knew this, and one of his helpers had gone down an old heading to +explore and had returned to say that it was rising steadily and was now +within two hundred feet from the old shaft down which he had descended. + +"Where away did the roof break?" roared Robert as he changed his second +drill. + +"Half way doon the cousie brae," came the answer, "an' we're all shut in +like rats. Hurry up and get us oot," and again the rickety, rackety +noise of the boring machine began and drowned all other noises. + +He soon drilled his holes and he could hear them on the other side +singing now some ribald song to keep up their courage, while others who +were religiously inclined chanted hymns and psalms, but all were +wondering whether Robert and his men would be able to break through the +barrier in time to save them before the persistently rising moss claimed +them. + +He charged his shots and called them to go back, telling them the number +of his charges, then lit his fuse and ran out of the old level to wait +in a place of safety while the explosion took place. + +Soon they boomed out and the concussion put them all in darkness; but +they soon had the lamps re-lit and were back in among the thick volumes +of powder smoke, groping about and shading their lamps and peering in to +see what their shots had done to lessen the barrier between them and +their imprisoned comrades. + +Then the shovels set to work and tossed the coal which the shots had +dislodged back into the roadway and soon the boring machines were busy +again, eating into the coal; for those tireless arms of Robert's never +halted. He swung the handle or wielded the pick or shovel, never taking +a, rest, while the sweat streamed from his body working like some +mechanical product for always in his mind he was calculating his chances +for being able to blast it through the barrier before the moss rose. + +"It has only a stoop length an' a half to rise now," reported one of the +men. "It's creeping up like the doom o' the day o' judgment. But I think +we'll manage. If these shots do as well as the last ones we should be +within two feet of them, an' surely to God we can bite the rest of it, +if we canna blaw it. Let me stem the shots, Rob, an' you take a rest." + +"You go to hell," was the unexpectedly astounding reply; for no one had +ever heard Robert Sinclair use language like this before. "As soon as +thae shots are off an' if they blaw as well as the others we'll turn out +the coal an' then you can gang up the pit, every yin o' you. I'll soon +blow through the rest of it, and if you are all up by then it will make +for speed in getting the others out. We're going to have a race for it +even though we manage as I'm thinking to. So get out of the way and +don't talk. Again the air's getting too dam'd thick for you all +remaining here. There's hardly as muckle as would keep a canary living," +and again he called to those on the other side to beware of the shots, +and again ran out to a place of safety while the explosions took place. + +Once more the result of the shots was good; but the smoke choked and +blinded them and one man was overcome by the fumes. They carried him out +the road a bit and after he showed signs of coming round, Robert gave +instructions for him to be taken to the surface. + +"Oh, Lod, but it's nippin' my e'en," said one as he rubbed his eyes and +blew his nose, sneezed and finally expectorated. "It's as thick as soor +milk, be dam'd!" + +"Well, get him up, and I'll away back and redd out the shots and try +and get it through again. The moss is rising quicker noo an' it has only +aboot eighty feet to come." + +So back he went among the thick choking volume of smoke, tripping and +stumbling and staggering from side to side as he scrambled on. Would he +be in time to blast the barrier down before the steadily creeping moss +rose to cut off his only avenue of escape? + +"My God! What's that?" he asked himself as he paused while a rumble and +crash behind him told him that the old shaft had caved in burying his +comrades in rocks and moss and water. + +He ran back but could get no further than within a stoop length of the +old shaft. There were hundreds of tons of debris and all was finally +lost. For the first time terror seized him and he tore desperately at +the bowlders of stone, cutting his fingers and lacerating his body all +over with cuts and bruises. He raved and swore and shouted in +desperation, the sweat streaming from every pore, his eyes wild and +glaring, but he was soon driven back by the moss which was oozing and +percolating through the broken mass of bowlders and gradually it forced +him back with a rush as it burst through with a sudden slushing sound as +if suddenly relieved from a barrier which held it. Back he rushed, his +light again becoming extinguished, the flood pursuing him relentlessly, +the air now so heavy that he could hardly breathe, but groping his way +he reached the first end roadway down which for the moment the flood ran +to meet the rising moss creeping up relentlessly from below. + +Choking and only half conscious he staggered on with all sense of +disaster gone from his mind, with no thought of his comrades on the +other side waiting so impatiently to be released, and singing their +frothy songs in the hope that all was well, his legs doubling below him, +and his lungs heaving to expel the poison which the thick air contained. +Down at last he fell, his head striking against the side of the roadway, +and he lay still. + +The moss might rise hungrily over him now, the rotten roof might fall +upon him, all the dangers of the mine might conspire together against +him; but nothing they might do could ever again strike terror into the +young heart that lay there, feebly throbbing its last as it was being +overcome with the deadly poison of the black damp. + +He was proof against all their terrors now, the spirit could evade them +yet; for though the old shaft might collapse and imprison his body and +claim it as a sacrifice to the King Terror of the Underworld, no prison +was ever created that could contain the indomitable spirit of man as +God. He was free--free, and was happy and could cry defiance to the +dangers of the mine, to the terrors of time itself. He could clutch the +corners of the earth, and play with it as a toy of time, among the Gods +of Eternity. + +"Choose, choose wha' you'll tak'," throbbed the young heart and a smile +of triumph played upon the lips as the pictures of bygone times flitted +across his dying brain. He was again the happy infant, hungry it may be, +and ill-clad, but Heaven contained no happier soul. The little stomach +might not be filled with sufficient food; but the spirit of him as it +was in younger years knew no material limits to its laughter in the +childish ring games of youth. Again he was waiting in the dark wintry +mornings on Mysie, so that she would not be afraid to go to work on the +pit-head; ay, and he was happy to take the windward side of her in the +storm, and shield her from the winter's blast, tying her little shawl +about her ears and making her believe he did not feel the cold at all. + +He was back again at his mother's knee, listening to her glorious voice +singing some pitiful old ballad, as she crooned him to sleep; or lying +trying to forget the hunger he felt as the glorious old tune seemed to +drown his senses while he waited to say his prayer at night. + + "Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me, + Bless Thy little lamb to-night, + In the darkness be Thou near me, + Keep me safe till morning light." + +Then there was the "good-night" to everyone and the fond kiss of the +best of all mothers, the sinking into sleep that billowed and rocked +the weary young spirit of him, crushed and bruised by the forces of the +world, and finally the sweet shy smile of a young girl blushing and +awkward, but flooding his soul with happiness and thrilling every fiber +of him with her magic as she stood upon the hill crest, outlined against +the sunset with a soft breeze blowing, kissing the gray hill side, +bringing perfumes from every corner of the moor and beckoning him as she +rose upward, he followed higher and higher, the picture taking shape and +becoming more real until it merged into spirit. + +And the creeping moss moved upward, hungry for its prey and greedy to +devour the fine young body so fresh and strong and lusty; but it was +balked, for it claimed only the empty shell. The prize had gone on the +wings of an everlasting happiness and the spirit of the moor, because +there is no forgetting, triumphed over the spirit of destruction, so +that in the records of the spirit he shall say: + + "I shall remember when the red sun glowing + Sinks in the west, a gorgeous flare of fire; + How then you looked with the soft breeze blowing + Cool through your hair, a heaving living pyre + Fired by the sun for the sweet day's ending; + I still shall hear the whirring harsh moor-hen, + Roused from her rest among the rushes bending + I shall remember then. + + "I shall remember every well-loved feature, + How, on the hill crest when the day was done, + Just how you looked, dear, God's most glorious creature, + Heaven's silhouette outlined against the sun; + I shall remember just how you the fairest, + Dearest and brightest thing that God e'er made, + Warmed all my soul with holy fire the rarest, + That vision shall not fade." + +But pain and tragedy forever seem to have no limit to their hunger; and +in the clear spring air above the place where the bodies of her boys +lay, Mrs. Sinclair's heart was again the food upon which the tragedy of +life fed. All the years of her existence were bound up in the production +of coal, and the spirits of her husband and of her sons call to-day to +the world of men--men who have wives, men who have mothers, men who have +sweethearts and sisters and daughters, stand firm together; and preserve +your women folk from these tragedies, if you would justify your manhood +in the world of men. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNDERWORLD*** + + +******* This file should be named 15503.txt or 15503.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/0/15503 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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