ble, still the dinner stood waiting, still the same sense of anxiety
and expectation in the room. The boy could not stand it any longer. He
could not go out and play. So he ran in to Mrs. Inger, next door but
one, for her to talk to him. She had no children. Her husband was good
to her but was in a shop, and came home late. So, when she saw the lad
at the door, she called:

"Come in, Paul."

The two sat talking for some time, when suddenly the boy rose, saying:

"Well, I'll be going and seeing if my mother wants an errand doing."

He pretended to be perfectly cheerful, and did not tell his friend what
ailed him. Then he ran indoors.

Morel at these times came in churlish and hateful.

"This is a nice time to come home," said Mrs. Morel.

"Wha's it matter to yo' what time I come whoam?" he shouted.

And everybody in the house was still, because he was dangerous. He ate
his food in the most brutal manner possible, and, when he had done,
pushed all the pots in a heap away from him, to lay his arms on the
table. Then he went to sleep.

Paul hated his father so. The collier's small, mean head, with its black
hair slightly soiled with grey, lay on the bare arms, and the face,
dirty and inflamed, with a fleshy nose and thin, paltry brows, was
turned sideways, asleep with beer and weariness and nasty temper. If
anyone entered suddenly, or a noise were made, the man looked up and
shouted:

"I'll lay my fist about thy y'ead, I'm tellin' thee, if tha doesna stop
that clatter! Dost hear?"

And the two last words, shouted in a bullying fashion, usually at Annie,
made the family writhe with hate of the man.

He was shut out from all family affairs. No one told him anything.
The children, alone with their mother, told her all about the day's
happenings, everything. Nothing had really taken place in them until it
was told to their mother. But as soon as the father came in, everything
stopped. He was like the scotch in the smooth, happy machinery of the
home. And he was always aware of this fall of silence on his entry,
the shutting off of life, the unwelcome. But now it was gone too far to
alter.

He would dearly have liked the children to talk to him, but they could
not. Sometimes Mrs. Morel would say:

"You ought to tell your father."

Paul won a prize in a competition in a child's paper. Everybody was
highly jubilant.

"Now you'd better tell your father when he comes in," said Mrs. Morel.
"You know how be carrie