“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.”