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+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.
+
+
+
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