Giving JAN a slice of bread.] There, ye little rascal.
Hold your piping. [Going to the fire, she kneels.] It's going out.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a faint smile.] 'T is all the same!

[JAN begins to blow his whistle.]

MADGE. Tsht! Tsht!--you

[JAN Stops.]

MRS. ROBERTS. [Smiling.] Let 'im play, Madge.

MADGE. [On her knees at the fire, listening.] Waiting an' waiting.
I've no patience with it; waiting an' waiting--that's what a woman
has to do! Can you hear them at it--I can!

[JAN begins again to play his whistle; MADGE gets up; half
tenderly she ruffles his hair; then, sitting, leans her elbows
on the table, and her chin on her hands. Behind her, on MRS.
ROBERTS'S face the smile has changed to horrified surprise. She
makes a sudden movement, sitting forward, pressing her hands
against her breast. Then slowly she sinks' back; slowly her
face loses the look of pain, the smile returns. She fixes her
eyes again on JAN, and moves her lips and finger to the tune.]

The curtain falls.

SCENE II

It is past four. In a grey, failing light, an open muddy space
is crowded with workmen. Beyond, divided from it by a
barbed-wire fence, is the raised towing-path of a canal, on which
is moored a barge. In the distance are marshes and snow-covered
hills. The "Works" high wall runs from the canal across the open
space, and ivy the angle of this wall is a rude platform of
barrels and boards. On it, HARNESS is standing. ROBERTS, a
little apart from the crowd, leans his back against the wall. On
the raised towing-path two bargemen lounge and smoke
indifferently.

HARNESS. [Holding out his hand.] Well, I've spoken to you straight.
If I speak till to-morrow I can't say more.

JAGO. [A dark, sallow, Spanish-looking man with a short, thin
beard.] Mister, want to ask you! Can they get blacklegs?

BULGIN. [Menacing.] Let 'em try.

[There are savage murmurs from the crowd.]

BROWN. [A round-faced man.] Where could they get 'em then?

EVANS. [A small, restless, harassed man, with a fighting face.]
There's always blacklegs; it's the nature of 'em. There's always men
that'll save their own skins.

[Another savage murmur. There is a movement, and old THOMAS,
joining the crowd, takes his stand in front.]

HARNESS. [Holding up his hand.] They can't get