se remained silent, Malachi continued: 'Yon
woman's supped sorrow, and no mistak'. Hoo buried her husband six
months afore yon lad wur born. Poor little felley! he never know'd
his faither.'

'Ah! I never knew that. Then she _has_ supped sorrow, as you call
it.'

'Owd Mr. Morell used to say as he could awlus see her deead
husband's face i' hers until th' child wur born, and then it left
her, and hoo carried th' face o' th' little un hoo brought up. But
it'll be a deead face hoo'll carry in her een naa, I'll be bun
for't.'

'How was it his mother sent him to work in the pit?--such a
dangerous calling, and the boy so young.'

'You'll know a bit more, Mr. Penrose, when yo've lived here a bit
longer. His fo'k and hers hev bin colliers further back nor I can
remember; and they noan change trades wi' us.'

'But why need he go to work so young?' asked the minister.

Malachi stopped and gazed in astonishment at the minister, and
then said:

'I durnd know as he would ha' worked in th' pit, Mr. Penrose, if
you'd ha' kep' him and his mother and o'. But fo'k mun eat, thaa
knows. Th' Almeety's gan o'er rainin' daan manna fro' heaven, as
He used to do in th' wilderness.'

Mr. Penrose did not reply.

'Yo' know, Mr. Penrose,' continued Malachi, 'workin' in a
coile-pit is like preychin': it's yezzy (easy) enugh when yo' ged
used to 't. An' as for danger--why, yo' connot ged away fro' it.
As owd Amos sez, yo're as safe i' one hoile (workshop) as
another.'

'Yes; that's sound philosophy,' assented Mr. Penrose.

'Mr. Morell once tell'd us in his preychin' abaat a chap as axed a
oracle, or summat, what kind of a deeath he would dee; and when he
wur towd that he would happen an accident o' some sort, they
couldn't geet him to shift aat o' his garden, for fear he'd be
killed. But it wur all no use; for one day, as he wur sittin'
amang his flaars, a great bird dropped a stooan, and smashed his
yed. So yo' see, Mr. Penrose, if yo've to dee in th' pulpit yo'll
dee theer, just as little Job deed i' th' coile-pit.'

As Malachi delivered himself of this bit of Calvinistic
philosophy, a sound of voices was borne in on the two men from the
vale below, and looking in the direction whence it came, the old
man and Mr. Penrose saw a group of dark figures thrown into relief
on the background of snow.

The sounds were too distant to be distinctly heard, but every now
and then there was mingled with them the short, sharp bark of a
dog.