“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.