NE evening, about a month after the events of the last chapter, Charlie was sitting near the window reading, when, to his astonishment, he saw a lady open the garden gate and walk to the door. It was Mrs. Greenwell, who lived in the large house with the beautiful garden, that was Charlie's great admiration. He knew Mrs. Greenwell quite well, because she had often stopped to speak to him, and ask him about his school, and the garden, and other things; indeed, she was Charlie's favourite lady—he was sure there was not another in the place like her.
You must not think he was vain, if we tell you that he gave a hasty glance in the glass to see if hishair was tidy, and his face and collar clean. He need scarcely have done so, for it was seldom that either was untidy or dirty; he had so often heard his mother say it was no disgrace to be seen in old clothes, so long as they were well brushed and mended, but it was a very great disgrace to be seen with dirty hands and face, and unbrushed hair.
Charlie ran to the door, wondering very much what Mrs. Greenwell could have called about. She spoke a few kind, pleasant words to him, and asked to see his mother. Charlie ushered her into the best room, placed a chair for her with great state, closed the door quietly, and then hastened upstairs to find his mother, taking two stairs at a time, missing one, and coming down on his hands and knees in a lump.
"Dear me, Charlie," said Mrs. Heedman, who had come in at the back door, and was standing at the foot of the stairs looking on in amazement at his extraordinary scrambling; "what ever are you doing? is it a mouse?" remembering he had once chased a mouse upstairs with much the same sort of noise.
"A mouse! no, mother," said Charlie, coming down very mildly. "I wanted to tell you that Mrs. Greenwell is here, and waiting for you."
Mrs. Greenwell's errand was to ask if Charlie could be spared to attend a Bible class at her house twice a week. As well as instruction in the Bible and catechism, she intended to read instructive books to them on different subjects: natural history, travels in foreign lands, English history, the lives of good and noble men who had risen from theworking classes, and on many other subjects that would be interesting and give them a taste for reading. Charlie was younger than most of the boys she expected, but she knew he was more intelligent and thoughtful than the generality of boys of his age, principally because he had such good home training.
Mrs. Heedman very gladly agreed for him to attend regularly. As for Charlie himself, his delight knew no bounds, especially when he heard that they were all to have tea, and spend the evening at Mrs. Greenwell's the next day. The moment she had left and the door was closed, Charlie broke into a dance of triumph round the room that would have done credit to a wild Indian, and kept it up so long that Jumper became seriously concerned: he stood at a safe distance, barking, as if asking for an explanation, or expostulating with his master; but Charlie only snapped his fingers at him, and went on with his dance. Poor Jumper thought it was an order to sit up, and sat up accordingly, but soon finding his mistake out he dropped his fore-feet disconsolately. At last, as if a bright thought had struck him, he made a sudden rush at poor puss, who was sitting very upright with her tail over her toes, gazing innocently at the fire, and I am sorry to say he caught her rather savagely by the ear. Jumper knew puss to be his own particular enemy, and whenever anything went wrong he always seemed to conclude that she must be at the bottom of it.
This brought the dance of triumph to an end, much to Mrs. Heedman's satisfaction.
You should have seen Charlie the next day, when he started for Mrs. Greenwell's, in his best suit, a shining white collar, and new necktie; his brown hair arranged in his best style, and his bright face lit up with happy expectation. It was the first time he had ever formally gone "out to tea."
It would take two or three chapters to tell you all that Charlie saw and thought and heard on that eventful evening, but we must be content with a hasty sketch.
When Charlie first went into the room with its beautiful pictures, its handsome furniture, its bright lights, and many strange faces, he felt quite dazzled; but Mrs. Greenwell came up to him, and taking him by the hand, led him up to a boy about two years older than himself, who was lying on a couch. "This is my son," she said, kindly; "he is quite anxious to know you, Charlie, so you had better sit down beside him." Harry Greenwell shook hands heartily, and made room for him, but did not rise from the couch.
"He must be very proud or very idle," thought Charlie; and yet, as he looked admiringly at him, he felt that he did not look as if he were either one or the other. Charlie had seen him out driving sometimes with his mother, but had never been close to him before. Harry lay there quite unconscious of Charlie's opinion and admiration, his delicate, expressive features full of animation, and his eyes sparkling with pleasure as he watched the boys talking and looking about them. He had begged very hard that they might come into the drawing-room. Harry liked to have pictures andornaments and beautiful things round him, and he thought they would enjoy it too.
"How happy he must be," thought Charlie, "in this beautiful house, with servants to do everything for him, a carriage to ride in, and I dare say he chooses his own clothes, and can have whatever he likes for dinner! It must be very nice to be him," thought Charlie, rather enviously.
Just then a move was made for the room where tea was prepared. "You go on, Charlie," said Harry, in a kind tone; "don't wait for me; I'll follow." Charlie happened to glance back.
Harry Greenwell was lame.
He told Charlie later in the evening how it happened. The two boys were standing together at a small table apart from the rest; Harry, who had taken a great fancy to Charlie, was showing some of his drawings. There was genuine admiration in Charlie's face and tone as he exclaimed, "How splendid they are, Master Harry! They must have taken you a long time to do."
"Well, yes," answered Harry; "you see I have had a good deal of quiet time to occupy ever since my hip was hurt; I haven't been able to play at any outdoor games like other boys, or even to walk much. You can't think how thankful I am that I have a taste for drawing; one cannot always be reading, and it makes the time pass so pleasantly."
"Was it long since? How did it happen?" asked Charlie, full of sympathy, and wondering almost that Harry could be thankful for anything under such circumstances.
"It was about three years ago, when I was elevenyears old. I was out riding; something startled the pony, and he threw me. You see my leg is not deformed," holding it out as he spoke, "but I walk lame; the doctor says I must rest well now, and not overtax my strength, or I shall never be any better. It pains me a good deal even now sometimes."
"Did you always feel as—as quiet about it as you do now?" asked Charlie, rather at a loss for the right word.
"No," said Harry; "for a whole year all sorts of wicked, bitter thoughts were in my heart. I thought God was behaving hardly and unkindly to me. I wanted to die, rather than live to be a cripple. I almost hated people who were well and strong. When mamma had visitors I kept out of the way. Sometimes I stayed in my own room for weeks together. I couldn't bear any one to see me. It was a great trouble to mamma." Harry was carried away by the recollections of that sad time, and had spoken in a low rapid tone, more to himself than to Charlie.
The boys turned over the contents of a portfolio in silence for a few moments.
Harry placed before Charlie a beautiful engraving of our Saviour on the cross. "He bore all that for me, and I am trying to bear my pain willingly and patiently for His sake, because I love Him; and I know He loves me, and helps me to bear my pain, and would not let me suffer it at all if it was not for my own good in the end," said Harry.
I have let you listen to this little bit of quiet talk between Charlie and Harry that you may determine, as Charlie did, to try to follow Harry'sexample, not to be discontented and impatient in sickness, or trial of any kind; to be often thinking of, and feeling thankful for, the blessings God has granted you; to love the Lord Jesus, and trust Him.
You must not suppose that the evening at Mrs. Greenwell's was passed in talking only. After tea, which was thoroughly enjoyed by the boys, they looked at pictures, books, shells, and other things. Mrs. Greenwell had so many little histories to tell about them, and talked so pleasantly, that the boys enjoyed it very much; but the great wonder and attraction was a microscope, or "magnifying glass," as Charlie called it.
Many of the boys had never seen or even heard of one before, and it puzzled them very much to be told that what looked to them very like a small lobster's claw was the foot of a fly.
"What beautiful little feathers!" exclaimed one boy.
"You know the sort of dust that sticks to your fingers if you touch the wings of a moth or a butterfly, don't you?" asked Harry.
"Yes, sir,"' answered the boy.
"Then that is some of it, magnified; the wings are covered with those beautiful little feathers, although we cannot distinguish them without the microscope."
But I cannot attempt to tell you one half of the wonders that the microscope revealed to them that night, or the lessons it taught them of the power and wisdom of the Creator. Mrs. Greenwell pointed out to them the immense inferiority of man's best and most careful work when compared with thesimplest work of God, A piece of delicately woven silk, of the finest texture, that looked perfect to the eye, when placed under the microscope appeared rough, coarse, and uneven—rather like a common door-mat, in fact; but the wing of a fly, the hair of a mouse, the eye of an insect, the scale of a fish, the dust of a moth's wing, the leaf of a plant—anything made by God, and owing nothing to the hand of man—the more it was magnified, the more beauties you discovered. Examine by the microscope the humblest and most minute of God's creations, and you will always find beauty, order, and perfection.
T is Charlie's birthday: two years have passed away since the great going out to tea at Mrs. Greenwell's, and he is now fourteen years old. It is a very quiet and a very sad birthday for Charlie. His father is ill—his good, kind father. This illness had been coming on for the last six months. Many of his neighbours and fellow-workmen had noticed for some time that "John Heedman had a bad look," and would shake their heads and look significantly at each other as he passed by, with his slow gait, his stooping shoulders, and loud, hollow cough, now almost constant, and more painful thanever. Often when Charlie awoke in the night he would hear his father pacing the room, unable to rest, or even lie down. The first time he heard him, he thought "Father must be ill; he has gone downstairs," and springing out of bed, he crept lightly down to see what was the matter.
The shutters were thrown open, and the blind pulled up to the top. Charlie saw it was a calm, still night, and that every part of the sky visible from the window was spangled with a countless multitude of brilliant stars. His father stood at the window—he was leaning slightly forward—with clasped hands, and gazing up with eager, questioning eyes. Charlie felt that he was praying, and crept softly back. He sat down at the foot of the stairs to wait, feeling cold and shivering, and with a strange fear at his heart. He had not sat many minutes when he heard his father moving; then he called softly at the door, "Are you ill, father? can I do anything for you?"
"Why, Charlie, how is this?" said his father, taking him by the hand and bringing him into the room.
"I heard you down here, and I was afraid you were ill. Are you ill?" asked Charlie, anxiously.
"Not altogether ill, perhaps, Charlie, and yet not well. My cough is very bad to-night, I can get no rest; when I lie down I feel as if I should be suffocated. But how cold you are, my boy! run away to bed," he said, trying to speak more cheerfully, "or we shall be having you laid up next."
The cheerful tone did not deceive Charlie; he clung to him. "Father, you are worse than you say—tell me all; do not treat me like a little child; I am nearly fourteen years old."
His father stood for a moment undecided, then he sat down and drew Charlie to him and told him all; how he had felt lately that his cough was getting worse and worse, and his whole frame weaker; that he was afraid some disease of the lungs had taken a firm hold, and that he intended to take a rest the next week and see a doctor if he did not feel any better. "You must not think I am going to die at once," he said, feeling Charlie tremble; "even if I have disease of the lungs I may live a long while yet, if it is God's will. I want you to be a brave boy, and not let your mother see you going about grieving and looking sad, and adding to her sorrow, but do all you can to help and comfort her. If you love me, you will try to do this." Charlie promised to try, and after a few more words of comfort and encouragement John Heedman persuaded him to go to bed. "My dear boy," he said, "you know that your love is a great happiness to me, but you must not come down again if you hear me up in the night; it will make me unhappy if I think I keep you awake."
After this, although Charlie often heard his father of a night, he never came down again; but he crept softly out of bed and knelt down and prayed for him. He asked God to grant—if it were His will—that his father might get better; if not, that He would help him to bear his pain, for Jesus Christ's sake. It was not at all a grand, well-worded prayer, but it was simple, earnest, and heartfelt—just the sort of prayer God loves to listen to.
On the morning of Charlie's birthday, about a fortnight after that night he went down to his father, John Heedman was quite unable to go out to his work; he had been obliged to give up at last, and the doctor was called in. When Charlie was sent out of the room until the doctor's visit was over, he rushed out of the house, unable to bear the suspense, and wandering down to the beach, he lay down to think with his face hidden in his cap, as if to shut out the too joyous sunlight.
As he listened to the low, mournful surging of the waves, all his past life seemed to rise up before him; he remembered with bitter self-reproach how ill he had repaid the love and kindness of those dear ones at home; how often he had caused his mother hours of anxiety by his carelessness and procrastination; for Charlie had not altogether succeeded in conquering his great fault; how selfish he had been in every way. He remembered with shame how he had begged and worried for things without caring or thinking whether they could afford it; he had denied himself nothing, and now all this expense of his father's illness was coming upon them. If they had not taken him to keep when he was friendless, they would have had plenty of money saved, and would have wanted for nothing.
As Charlie thought of all this, he determined that he would be a burden to them no longer, he would try to earn some money; there were boys far younger than himself, he knew, at work, and if he only earned a small sum at first, it would help. Full of this determination he made his way home. The doctor was just leaving as he went in, and Charlie heardfrom his mother that he held out no hope of his father's recovery; the disease had gone too far. He was on no account to go down the mine again, even if he fancied he felt strong enough; the impure air had already aggravated the disease. The doctor had said that if he took great care of himself he might, perhaps, be spared to them for some time.
Charlie's heart was too full then to speak to his father; he went into his own room, shut the door, and stood for a moment as if uncertain what to do. "If only Mrs. Greenwell had been at home," he thought, "I could have told her all about it, and she would have advised me."
"Tell it to God, He is always to be found, and can help as well as advise," something within him seemed to whisper. He listened to the voice, and kneeling down, poured out all his trouble, and sorrow, and anxiety, asking God to help him for Jesus Christ's sake. He then got up, bathed his face in cold water, for his eyes were swollen with tears, and started off to the chemist's with the doctor's prescription that his mother gave him.
"Wait for the medicine," she said, "and bring it home with you."
He was waiting in the shop until it was ready, and turning over all sorts of plans for the future in his mind, when one of Mrs. Greenwell's servants came in. "Is that you, Charlie Scott?" she exclaimed. "Master Harry was just inquiring after you, if you had been at the house lately."
"How long have they been at home?" he asked in surprise.
"About two hours; they came this morning."
Charlie picked up the medicine that the chemist had placed before him, and set off home as hard as he could run.
"I'm just going to Mrs. Greenwell's, mother dear," he said, giving it in at the door; "I'll soon be back."
Harry Greenwell saw in a moment by Charlie's face that he was in trouble, and asked anxiously what was the matter. He liked Charlie, and from the first they had been as close friends as the difference in their station and education would allow. Charlie always went to Mrs. Greenwell and "Master Harry" when he was in trouble; indeed, Mrs. Greenwell had succeeded in making all the boys who went to her Bible class feel that she was theirfriend, and interested in all concerning them; and many of them were thankful for her advice and kind, encouraging words, when they were in trouble or anxiety.
Charlie told them of his father's illness, of his own selfishness, his repentance, his self-reproach, and his anxiety to do something to help at home.
"My dear boy," said Mrs. Greenwell, "I am so glad you have come to me; but I trust you have already laid all this before your great Friend and Father in heaven."
"Oh yes, ma'am," answered Charlie; "but I feel so ashamed of having so often to ask God to forgive me; I feel almost afraid that He will be tired of me, and refuse to listen."
"We might be afraid of that," said Mrs. Greenwell, "if we asked forgiveness in our own unworthy names—if the Saviour had never died for us. Butas you know, He came into the world to save sinners. He gave Himself for our sins. 'He was wounded for our transgressions: He was bruised for our iniquities, and with His stripes we are healed.' 'The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin.' He has said, 'Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in My name, He will give it you;' and if we doubt His word we are lost. If we repent, and are sincerely sorry for our sin, and ask God to forgive us, for Jesus Christ's sake, He will do so, no matter how often we go to Him. It is Satan who tries to put hard thoughts of God into our hearts. And now, in your trouble, Charlie, you do not know how the Saviour loves you and sympathizes with you. He knows what it is to suffer. He is waiting at the door of your heart, longing to come in and help and comfort you. He says, 'Behold, I stand at the door and knock;' do not refuse Him entrance, Charlie."
Tears stood in Charlie's eyes when Mrs. Greenwell finished speaking, tears of thankfulness for such a Saviour, and of gratitude to Mrs. Greenwell.
When they began to talk of what Charlie could do to help at home, and earn some money, Harry asked him what he would like to do best.
"I should best like to be amongst engines, and machines, and those things," said Charlie. "Father meant me to be an engineer—a working engineer, if all had gone on well; he meant to apprentice me. But, of course, that is all over now," he said, with a sigh; "it would be so long before I could earn anything like good wages."
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Greenwell, turning over all sorts of plans in her mind. "You see," she wenton, "errand boys get so little, and tradesmen will not give wages to inexperienced boys for shop work, when they can get apprentices. Haven't you thought of anything yourself?" she asked, after a pause.
"There's the pit," answered Charlie, with a sigh; "I could get six shillings a week, as trapper, directly. Joe Denton gets more than double that now."
"Oh, Charlie!" exclaimed Harry, "surely you will not have to go down those terrible mines?"
Mrs. Greenwell reminded Harry that was not the way to help Charlie. "I know he will feel it hard at first if he goes; but still I am sure he is a brave boy and will not shrink from it, if he feels it to be his duty. You would not have him idling about at home, thinking only of his own comfort, and picking and choosing his work, when his father, who has done so much for him, is suffering from a lingering illness, and wanting so many little comforts that cannot be bought without money?"
After a good deal of thought, Mrs. Greenwell said, "I believe, Charlie, it is the only thing for you. It will be a great trial to you, I know, to give up all your dreams about engines and machines, and being a clever man, and getting rich, and having instead to go down into a dark, dreary coal-pit day after day, to a life of hard toil; but it appears, as far as we can see, to be God's will and your duty. You remember those words of our Saviour,—'If any will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.' We have all a cross of some kind to bear, and this is your cross, Charlie; take it up patiently, bravely, and willingly. He will not give you more than you can bear. TrustHim. There is no doubt some great blessing is in store for you, if you do not shrink from this trial of your faith."
Charlie had two or three very busy days before Saturday night came. As soon as he had decided to go down the mine, he went to a fellow-workman of his father's, Hudson Brownlee, and asked him if he would let him go down with him the first time. Brownlee was a kind-hearted man, and took an interest in Charlie. He promised to see about his work for him, and call on Monday morning at ten o'clock. Charlie kept it quite a secret from his father and mother until Saturday night, then, putting on some of his oldest clothes that he had routed out ready for Monday, and taking his father's lamp in his hand, that he used in the mine, he walked into the room where they were, made a bow, twisted himself round in front of them, and with a cheery face and merry tone said, "Do I look like work, father? shall I do?" At first they looked at him in amazement, but gradually his meaning came upon them.
"My dear boy," said Mrs. Heedman, laying down her knitting, "what do you mean?"
"I mean this," said he, putting down his lamp, and taking each of their hands in his, "I am not going to be an idle, selfish fellow any longer. It's all settled and done. I am going down the pit on Monday, with Hudson Brownlee, and I shall have six shillings to bring home on Saturday night; think of that, mother, and I shall soon get twice as much. Father shall want for nothing."
Tears of love and pleasure stood in John Heedman's eyes, for he knew what it must have cost Charlie to make up his mind to it. "You know how happy it makes your mother and myself to hear you speak so bravely and gratefully," he said; "but are you quite sure, Charlie, that you have counted the cost? Take another week to think of it; thank God, we are not likely to want for some time, there is a little store put by. Remember it is a hard and dreary life to a young ambitious spirit; think it over again."
"I have thought of it, father, ever since the doctor came to see you on Tuesday; it is quite settled. Mrs. Greenwell and Master Harry both seem to think it is my duty. They say I can serve God the same, and I shall be just as dear to Him as if I was ever such a rich engineer; and no honest work is a disgrace."
"That is true," his father began; he was going to say something else, but Charlie seemed anxious to finish his say.
"Master Harry says, father, I must think of what I have been taught, and try to do my duty in that state of life to which it has pleased God to call me. He says if I am obliged to work with my hands, I can work with my head too. Master Harry has offered to give me lessons in the morning before I go to work, and he will lend me books to read, and I shall have that to think about whilst I am down the pit. It won't seem half so dreary when I have busy, pleasant thoughts. And, father, Mrs. Greenwell says I have had such good training at home, and been able to get to Sunday school and Bible class so regularly, that I ought to be quite a missionaryamongst the boys I shall meet, who have not had such opportunities."
Application was made for him to be engaged at the pit, and it was agreed that Charlie should begin his new duties on Monday.
LL boys and girls know the pleasure of drawing up to a nice, bright, sparkling fire on a cold winter night. They give little shivers of comfort, and say, "What ever should we do without a good fire, such weather as this?" But we dare say very few give a thankful thought to the miner, whose hard toil has procured this comfort for them.
Perhaps some who read this do not live in a mining country, and have not read or heard much about coal mines. If so, we think they will like to follow Charlie as he goes to his work on Monday morning. Hudson Brownlee called, as he promised, but we are sorry to say Charlie kept him waiting full five minutes whilst he searched for a comforter. His mother had told him to get it ready on Saturday night, but he put off until Monday morning, then he put off until he got back from Harry Greenwell's. Harry kept him longer than he expected, and he came tearing along just as Hudson Brownlee reached the door; then the comforter had to be found. Atlast they started. When Charlie stood near the great, dark, gaping mouth of the pit, and remembered that he had to go down there, he certainly felt as he afterwards described it, "very queer"—not afraid, oh no, but queer.
The cage, as it is called, had just been let down, with its number of sixteen men; when it came up again, Hudson Brownlee, Charlie, and some other men and boys got in. If Charlie felt "queer" before, he felt still "queerer" now, and when the cage began to descend, he felt almost sick with the motion; it seemed to him as if they were never going to reach the bottom. Down, down, down they went; the clatter of the engine above, and the creaking of the cage, making Charlie fancy every now and then that the rope was giving way, and that in another second they would all be dashed to atoms. Whenever he looked up, and remembered that all their weight was bearing upon that rope, he screwed himself up into the smallest possible compass, as if that would make him lighter. He could scarcely see anything at first, the change from broad daylight to the glimmering light of the lamps that the men carried was so great.
"Are you all right, my boy?" said Brownlee's cheery voice; "keep up your heart, we shall soon be out of this. He's a new hand," he said, turning to the others.
"Who is it?" they asked.
"Why," said Brownlee, lowering his voice, "it's that young one that John Heedman took to keep; his father was drowned, you'll remember—Scott, the pilot."
On hearing this most of them were silent, but oneboy thrust his lamp forward, and stared rudely in Charlie's face.
"Why, if it isn't that Miss Nancy fellow, Scott!" he exclaimed, in either real or pretended astonishment. "But it can't be," he went on, in a mocking tone, "and yet it is; why, how ever has it happened that such a nice, good boy, the ladies' pet, has come down amongst us roughs? I thought he was going to be made a gentleman of—dear, dear! and he hasn't got his white collar on; and his mother isn't with him."
"Come, hold that saucy tongue of yours, White Bob," said Brownlee, in an angry tone, "or it will be worse for you."
The boy's proper name was Bob White. He was a tall, thin, singular-looking lad, about fifteen years old, with a pale face. When he first went to work in the mine some of the boys called him White Bob, in nonsense, and the name had stuck to him.
He was certainly silent after Brownlee spoke to him, but he kept throwing back his head, lifting up his hands, turning up his eyes, and expressing his mock astonishment in so many odd ways, that the rest of the boys, although they bore no ill-will to Charlie, were convulsed with laughter. As for Charlie himself, he was in a great passion; it was fortunate that just at this moment the cage reached the bottom, and in the general scramble to get out he lost sight of Bob.
"Now, my boy, keep close to me," said Brownlee, "never mind those fellows: keep your temper, and they'll soon tire of it. Now look about you; you are many hundred feet under ground." It was astrange scene to Charlie. Look where you would, nothing but black met the eye—black walls, black floor, groups of black men standing about—every one and every thing was covered with the bright coal dust that glittered and sparkled in the rays of the lamps, like black diamonds.
"Now," said Brownlee, "we must get to work. I'll take you to your place, as it is in my way;" and they turned up a sort of road or gallery that had been cut out of the slate and coal. On each side of this branched, right and left, other roads or galleries that had been formed by the taking away of the coal; from these again branched other roads, and so on, that you might walk for miles under ground, in and out of the workings of the mine. As the coal is hewn away the roof is supported by props of wood. In some places it was so low that Brownlee had to walk stooping. Of course Charlie did not find all this out at first, for they only had the light given by their lamps to guide them and relieve the intense darkness.
"What is that?" asked Charlie, as a little spark of light like a glowworm appeared in the distance, and a low rumbling noise met their ears.
"You'll see in a minute," said Brownlee, smiling at Charlie's wonder.
The light came gradually nearer and nearer, and then Charlie saw it was a lamp carried by a boy who had charge of a little pony and some coal tubs—sort of square tubs on wheels. Brownlee told him that the boys who had that work were called putters; they were occupied in taking empty tubs to the men who hewed the coal, and in bringing away the fulltubs, and that they earned good wages: they had a shilling a score for the tubs they removed.
"I should think the poor ponies have a hard life of it," said Charlie. "Do they take the tubs right away to the mouth of the pit?"
"No, they only go so far, then the engine pulls them to the shaft, and they are drawn up to bank, to be emptied and sent down again."
"We seem to have come a long way," said Charlie.
"About a mile," answered Brownlee; "but we've worked a deal further out that way," pointing to the left. "We're either under the sea or close at the edge, out there."
Charlie gave a little shudder. "Where is my work, please?" he asked.
"Oh, we've passed your place; the door we came through last is the one you have to take care of. I'm just taking you round a bit, as you're new to it. Mind your head," he called, as they turned up a low gallery to the right, and they both went along stooping. "Stop there," said Brownlee, creeping along by himself a little further, and sitting on his heels opposite a wall of bright coal. "There," he said, "how would you like to sit cramped up like this for six hours, hewing coal, and hearing the stone above you crack like a gun, and move about as you work, expecting every moment you'll have to run for your life—that is, if you have the chance? I had a narrow escape last winter," he said, as he joined Charlie again; "two of us were working together, and all of a sudden there was an awful crack, like a cannon going off. It was who could scramble upand run quickest, I can tell you. It was my luck to be last, and down came a tremendous piece; the end of it just dropped on my foot as I was running, and it held me as fast as if a mountain had been on the top of me, although I was free all but my foot. None of them durst venture to me for a good bit, for there was an awful noise going on round me, and there I laid as fast as could be, expecting every moment would be my last."
"What dangerous work!" exclaimed Charlie. "I should think nobody durst do it if they didn't know they had God to protect them and take care of them."
"I'll see you to your work now," said Brownlee, turning the subject. "Here we are," he said; "do you see this seat behind the door? then all you've got to do is to sit here and pull that rope that opens the door when the putters or any of the men want to come through. The boys stay down twelve hours, but I'll see you again before I go up. It'll be lonely for you at first," he said, kindly.
"Rather," said Charlie; "but I must remember that I am not alone."
Brownlee looked at him inquiringly.
"I mean, you know, that we areneveralone; that He is always with us," said Charlie, simply, with an upward glance and movement of the head.
"Oh, aye," said Brownlee, hesitatingly, and moving off, as if he felt it was a subject he could not say much upon.
It was strange how that thought clung to the miner—not alone; not alone! It haunted him, and often as he worked he glanced uneasily over hisshoulder into the darkness beyond, with a sort of feeling that he was being watched—that there was a presence, an invisible something or some one hovering near, and listening to his very thoughts.
It was quite a relief when a putter or any one came near that he could speak to. Hudson Brownlee had known perfectly well ever since he was a child that "God is everywhere," but he had never thought about it; he wasrealizingHis presence for the first time, and it made him nervous to feel that he was alone with God, who was powerful, and whom he had neglected.
We must now go back to Charlie. His duty, if it was dull and lonely, was simple and easily attended to. He had opened the door for a great many boys and men, but he had not seen anything more of Bob White. Charlie remembered he was an old enemy, and had often waylaid himself and the other boys on their way to Mrs. Greenwell's class, and ridiculed them. His saucy, mocking tongue made him the terror of most of the boys in the mine. He had had the run of London streets for ten years, before his mother removed into the north, and was more than a match for most of the north country boys in a battle of words.
HARLIE'S morning had passed away pretty well, and he began to think it must be dinner time; at any rate he felt hungry, so he sat down and looked to see what his mother had packed up for his dinner. There was a nice little beefsteak pie, just about as much as he could eat, and two or three of his favourite little round cakes to finish with; so Charlie in high glee, spread the cloth they were wrapped in over his knees, said grace, asked himself very politely if he would take a little pie, said thank you, and took the dish. He had eaten about half of it, and was enjoying himself very much when who should he see coming along but Bob White. What should he do? Should he try to wrap his dinner up and put it out of sight, or go on eating? but before he could decide, Bob was upon him.
"Why," exclaimed Bob, pretending to start with surprise, "if here isn't the ladies' pet! and getting his dinner too," said Bob, stooping down to look curiously in the dish that was on Charlie's knee.
"Pie," he remarked, "and very good it looks; what else? Oh, cakes! well, I'm in luck's way to-day, I am," breaking a piece off one and putting it in his mouth. "What's in the can?" he asked, pointing to it with his foot.
"Water," answered Charlie, trying hard to keep his temper.
"Well, you're a one to know manners," saidBob, "never to offer one a place to sit down on—move along. I'll hold the dish;" and suiting the action to the word, he snatched it up, and before Charlie had recovered himself, the rest of the pie was half eaten.
CHARLIE AND THE PIE.CHARLIE AND THE PIE.
"Give me that dish," said Charlie, trembling with passion.
Bob paused, and put on an injured countenance. "Can't you wait until I've finished? shouting out for the dish like that."
Unseen by them both a gentleman was standing in the shade, watching the whole affair, and just as Charlie was rushing upon Bob like a little whirlwind, he stood out in front of them in the lamplight. Bob dropped the dish in his fright, and stood with his hands hanging down and his mouth open, staring in dismay at Mr. Carlton, the viewer.
Mr. Carlton took out his note-book, and turning to one of the pages, quietly said, "This is the third time, White, that I have found you quarrelling with and tantalizing boys younger than yourself, and neglecting your work. Now this shall be the last time; you leave on Saturday night."
All the impudence had faded out of Bob's face. "Oh, sir," he begged, clasping his hands in his earnestness, "please look over it this once. What shall I do if you turn me off? I dare not tell my mother; you know, sir, that she is ill, and what I earn is all we have. I deserve it perhaps, sir, but she doesn't—just this once!" he pleaded.
Mr. Carlton felt some one touch his sleeve; it was Charlie. "I beg your pardon, sir," said Charlie, in a low tone, "but will you please forgive him this time?"
Mr. Carlton looked at him with surprise. "Are you begging for him? have you forgiven him?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," answered Charlie. "I am very sorry I lost my temper so. I have been well taught, and perhaps he hasn't."
Mr. Carlton considered for a moment.
Bob could not hear what Charlie was saying, but he fancied from his manner that he was telling his wrongs, and a sullen, angry expression spread over his face.
"Come here, White," said Mr. Carlton. "I have consented to look over your bad conduct once more; but remember you owe it to this boy," putting his hand on Charlie's shoulder; "he has pleaded for you; he has returned you good for evil: see that you are not ungrateful." He then left them, after asking Charlie his name.
Bob stood still, feeling and looking very awkward. Charlie went up to him, and held out his hand. "You'll shake hands and be friends, Bob, won't you?"
Bob shook hands shyly, and turned away to his work without speaking; but Charlie fancied he saw tears in his eyes.
Soon after it was time for the men to leave. They came pouring out in all directions from the workings of the mine, and Charlie was kept busy. Hudson Brownlee came nearly last.
"How do you get on?" he asked kindly.
"Oh, pretty well; I'm getting more used to it already."
"Good-bye," said Brownlee, taking a step forward, and then standing still. "What was it you were saying about not being alone?" putting on a careless, off-hand tone.
"Oh," said Charlie, "I meant I should not feel lonely or afraid, because I knew God was with me. I remember father reading out of the Bible, 'Fear not, for I am with thee;' and I know it is true, don't you?"
"No," said Brownlee, thoughtfully, "I can't say that I do."
"If I had my Bible here, I think I could find the words directly."
"Ah," said Brownlee, "that's a book I don't know much about. You see I'm no scholar. I was careless about learning when I was young, and what little I did know I have almost forgot. It takes me such a while to spell out the words that I lose the meaning."
"What a pity!" exclaimed Charlie, "You see it's almost impossible to get on right at all without the Bible, because God tells us in it what we are to do, and what we're not to do," he went on impetuously. "I was just thinking, as we came along down here with our lamps, about that text, 'Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.' If we had not had lamps we should have been groping about in the dark, stumbling over things, knocking up against the props, hurting ourselves, and losing our way; but our lamps showed us the right path, and how to keep out of danger. And we should go groping and stumbling through the world in darkness, too, falling into all sorts of sin and temptation, hurting our souls, andlosing ourselves altogether, if we had not the light of God's word to guide us."
"Where do you get all your learning from? you seem to know a deal for a boy," said Brownlee.
"Oh, father reads these things from the good book every day. I dare say he feels them comforting to himself when he's in the pit. Besides, I've been to a Sunday school."
"Well, they are true," said Brownlee, thoughtfully; he held up his lamp and looked at it. "For twenty years this has been the only sort of lamp I've troubled myself about, but please God, if it's not too late——" Charlie could not hear the rest, for he waved his hand and followed the other men.
At the end of the twelve hours Charlie was preparing to follow some men and boys to the shaft, when Bob White made his appearance. "It's rather queer," said Bob, shyly, "finding your way about here; will you go up with me?"
"Thank you," said Charlie heartily, setting off with him, and talking away as freely as he could to put Bob at his ease.
You may be sure Charlie was very glad to get home and rest after he had told his father and mother what he had seen and done. So ended his first day down the mine.