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.