ive little shivers of
comfort, and say, "What ever should we do without a good fire, such
weather as this?" But we dare say very few give a thankful thought to
the miner, whose hard toil has procured this comfort for them.

Perhaps some who read this do not live in a mining country, and have not
read or heard much about coal mines. If so, we think they will like to
follow Charlie as he goes to his work on Monday morning. Hudson Brownlee
called, as he promised, but we are sorry to say Charlie kept him waiting
full five minutes whilst he searched for a comforter. His mother had
told him to get it ready on Saturday night, but he put off until Monday
morning, then he put off until he got back from Harry Greenwell's. Harry
kept him longer than he expected, and he came tearing along just as
Hudson Brownlee reached the door; then the comforter had to be found.
At last they started. When Charlie stood near the great, dark, gaping
mouth of the pit, and remembered that he had to go down there, he
certainly felt as he afterwards described it, "very queer"--not afraid,
oh no, but queer.

The cage, as it is called, had just been let down, with its number of
sixteen men; when it came up again, Hudson Brownlee, Charlie, and some
other men and boys got in. If Charlie felt "queer" before, he felt still
"queerer" now, and when the cage began to descend, he felt almost sick
with the motion; it seemed to him as if they were never going to reach
the bottom. Down, down, down they went; the clatter of the engine above,
and the creaking of the cage, making Charlie fancy every now and then
that the rope was giving way, and that in another second they would all
be dashed to atoms. Whenever he looked up, and remembered that all their
weight was bearing upon that rope, he screwed himself up into the
smallest possible compass, as if that would make him lighter. He could
scarcely see anything at first, the change from broad daylight to the
glimmering light of the lamps that the men carried was so great.

"Are you all right, my boy?" said Brownlee's cheery voice; "keep up your
heart, we shall soon be out of this. He's a new hand," he said, turning
to the others.

"Who is it?" they asked.

"Why," said Brownlee, lowering his voice, "it's that young one that John
Heedman took to keep; his father was drowned, you'll remember--Scott,
the pilot."

On hearing this most of them were silent, but one boy thrust his lamp
forward, and stared rudely in Cha