g kindly to
Stephen's quiet directions, they were soon laden with the household
goods, which were scanty and easily removed. Two or three journeys were
sufficient to take them all; and when the labourers returned for the last
time to their work of destruction, Stephen took little Nan in his arms,
and Martha led away the old man; while the sound of the pickaxes and the
crash of the rough rubble stones of their old home followed their slow
and lingering steps over the new pasture, and down the hillside towards
Botfield.

CHAPTER X.

THE CABIN ON THE CINDER-HILL.

The cinder-hill cabin was situated at the mouth of an old shaft, long out
of use, but said to lead into the same pit as that now worked, the
entrance to which was about a quarter of a mile distant. The cabin was
about the same size as the hut from which the helpless family had been
driven; but the thatch wanted so much mending that Stephen and Martha
were obliged to draw over it one of their patchwork quilts, to shelter
them for the night from the rain which was threatened by the gathering
clouds. The door from the hut at Fern's Hollow was fortunately rather too
large instead of being too small for the doorway; and William Morris
promised to bring them a shutter for the window-place, where there was no
glass. Altogether, the cabin was not very inferior to their old home;
but, instead of the soft green turf and the fragrant air of the hills,
they were surrounded by barren cinder-heaps, upon which nothing would
grow but the yellow coltsfoot and a few weeds, and the wind was blowing
clouds of smoke from the limekilns over and round the dismal cabin.
Stephen, with the profound silence that began to frighten Martha, made
every arrangement he could think of for their comfort during the
quickly-approaching night; and as soon as this was finished, he washed
and dressed himself, as upon a Sunday morning, before going to meet Miss
Anne in the Red Gravel Pit. He was leaving the cabin without speaking,
when little Nan, who had watched everything in childish bewilderment and
dismay, set up a loud, pitiful cry, which he soothed with great
difficulty.

'Stevie going to live here?' said the little child at last, with a deep
sob.

'Ay, little Nan,' he answered; 'for a bit, darling. Please God, we'll go
home again some day. But little Nan shall always live with Stevie.
That'll do; won't it?'

'Ay, Stevie,' sobbed the child; and Stephen, kissing her tenderly, put
h