looked at the child. It had blue eyes,
and a lot of fair hair, and was bonny. Her love came up hot, in spite of
everything. She had it in bed with her.

Morel, thinking nothing, dragged his way up the garden path, wearily
and angrily. He closed his umbrella, and stood it in the sink; then he
sluthered his heavy boots into the kitchen. Mrs. Bower appeared in the
inner doorway.

"Well," she said, "she's about as bad as she can be. It's a boy childt."

The miner grunted, put his empty snap-bag and his tin bottle on the
dresser, went back into the scullery and hung up his coat, then came and
dropped into his chair.

"Han yer got a drink?" he asked.

The woman went into the pantry. There was heard the pop of a cork. She
set the mug, with a little, disgusted rap, on the table before Morel. He
drank, gasped, wiped his big moustache on the end of his scarf, drank,
gasped, and lay back in his chair. The woman would not speak to him
again. She set his dinner before him, and went upstairs.

"Was that the master?" asked Mrs. Morel.

"I've gave him his dinner," replied Mrs. Bower.

After he had sat with his arms on the table--he resented the fact that
Mrs. Bower put no cloth on for him, and gave him a little plate, instead
of a full-sized dinner-plate--he began to eat. The fact that his wife
was ill, that he had another boy, was nothing to him at that moment.
He was too tired; he wanted his dinner; he wanted to sit with his arms
lying on the board; he did not like having Mrs. Bower about. The fire
was too small to please him.

After he had finished his meal, he sat for twenty minutes; then he
stoked up a big fire. Then, in his stockinged feet, he went reluctantly
upstairs. It was a struggle to face his wife at this moment, and he was
tired. His face was black, and smeared with sweat. His singlet had
dried again, soaking the dirt in. He had a dirty woollen scarf round his
throat. So he stood at the foot of the bed.

"Well, how are ter, then?" he asked.

"I s'll be all right," she answered.

"H'm!"

He stood at a loss what to say next. He was tired, and this bother was
rather a nuisance to him, and he didn't quite know where he was.

"A lad, tha says," he stammered.

She turned down the sheet and showed the child.

"Bless him!" he murmured. Which made her laugh, because he blessed by
rote--pretending paternal emotion, which he did not feel just then.

"Go now," she said.

"I will, my lass," he answered, turning