'd rather find a soft spot in somebody than have a dollar give me,
sure's my name's Margery. What business has he to have any feelin's,
workin' year after year down there in the coal? Why haven't people been
good to _me_? I never come up here into this grease; people sent me; an'
when hit's the game I'll do my part. I hope his girl's a comfort to him;
he'll be proud enough of her some time, you see.'

Adam seated his girl again, opened the doors one after another, and
raked and fed the fires; then he shut them, and stood his rake in the
corner, and seated himself.

'Well, it's come out,' he said; 'but I didn't mean ye should know, yet.
Margery's ill willed, but it's like she didn't think.'

'I oughtn't to have told you till after to-morrow, father.'

'There's how't seems hard, thet it must come to Christmas. An' when I've
been here so long, twenty year noo, Net.'

'Oh, don't call me that any more, father; I don't like it.'

'Why nawt, little girl? What should I call her? You used to love to hear
it.'

'Not now, not now,' said the girl, in a choking voice, 'not to-day, not
till Christmas is over. Call me Jane.'

'Yes, twenty year ago I come here, an' I've been settin' on them piles
o' cender ever sence. 'Deed I most love them doors an' the rake an'
poker. I've hed my frets about it sometimes, but I doan' want to go
though.'

'And I say it's a shame in them to use you so!' cried the girl. 'Making
their money hand over hand, and to go and grudge you this ash hole, for
the sake of saving! They'll get no good from such reckoning. I wish
their cruel old mill would burn down!'

'No, Jane, hold hersel'! Here's fire--should _I_ do it?'

'It's Cowles's work. I hate him.'

'The mill's their own, Jane; they gev me what they liked; I've no claim.
Mr. Cowles do as he think best for t'mill.'

'Then to do it just now! I hope _his_ dinner'll be sweet.'

'I nawt meant my girl to knaw't till Christmas wor done. But ye'll nawt
mind it, Jane, ye'll nawt! We'll nawt lose Christmas, too, for it come
for us. Mr. Cowles doan' own _thet_. We'll hev thet anyhow, an' keep it.
She'll nawt fret hersel', my little girl!'

Jane did not answer.

'We'll get on somehoo, Lord knaws hoo. We never starved yet, an' you've
got a good place. It'll all be right, an' Christmas day to-morrow!'

'I got a good place! Oh, father!'

'Why, Jane, I thought so. Doan' they use her well?'

'Yes, they do,' quickly answered the girl; 'I don't know why