stly struck by a sudden new curiosity, but it was meet for him to
behave like a man now, and to ask manly questions.

"Runcorn," said the Sunday scornfully. "Can't you see it painted all
over the boat?"

"Why do they bring clay all the way from Runcorn?"

"They don't bring it from Runcorn. They bring it from Cornwall. It
comes round by sea--see?" He laughed.

"Who told you?" Edwin roughly demanded.

"Anybody knows that!" said the Sunday grandly, but always maintaining
his gay smile.

"Seems devilish funny to me," Edwin murmured, after reflection, "that
they should bring clay all that roundabout way just to make crocks of it
here. Why should they choose just this place to make crocks in? I
always understood--"

"Oh! Come on!" the Sunday cut him short. "It's blessed well one
o'clock and after!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FOUR.

They climbed the long bank from the canal up to the Manor Farm, at which
high point their roads diverged, one path leading direct to Bleakridge
where Orgreave lived, and the other zigzagging down through neglected
pasturage into Bursley proper. Usually they parted here without a word,
taking pride in such Spartan taciturnity, and they would doubtless have
done the same this morning also, though it were fifty-fold their last
walk together as two schoolboys. But an incident intervened.

"Hold on!" cried the Sunday.

To the south of them, a mile and a half off, in the wreathing mist of
the Cauldon Bar Ironworks, there was a yellow gleam that even the
capricious sunlight could not kill, and then two rivers of fire sprang
from the gleam and ran in a thousand delicate and lovely hues down the
side of a mountain of refuse. They were emptying a few tons of molten
slag at the Cauldon Bar Ironworks. The two rivers hung slowly dying in
the mists of smoke. They reddened and faded, and you thought they had
vanished, and you could see them yet, and then they escaped the baffled
eye, unless a cloud aided them for a moment against the sun; and their
ephemeral but enchanting beauty had expired for ever.

"Now!" said Edwin sharply.

"One minute ten seconds," said the Sunday, who had snatched out his
watch, an inestimable contrivance with a centre-seconds hand. "By Jove!
That was a good 'un."

A moment later two smaller boys, both laden with satchels, appeared over
the brow from the canal.

"Let's wait a jiff," said the Sunday to Edwi