“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.”