“I will tell you what is in prospect,” said Llewellyn sententiously. “This kid is getting to use his hands. He will lay hold of everything he can touch, and he will put whatever he grips into his mouth. They all do it. I have had fourteen and have raised ten, so I ought to know. This is the most critical period in the lives of little ones, and if you don’t mind, he’ll eat up all your output every day—truckloads of coals he’ll put away, if you let him.” “But I will not allow him.” “Then you must sit over him and watch his every movement.” “I cannot do that.” “There it is that women come in to be of some use in the world. They can look after male babies when they are in the grabbing and devouring age—that’s about teething time. You see how he dribbles. That,” pursued Ebenezer gravely—“that comes of the gums being strained and painful. Babes, at this period, must bite—it’s a necessity. They will bite anything. I’ve had fourteen, so I ought to know. This is a terribly critical time.” Shone left the pit that day depressed and meditative. As it happened, he encountered the doctor, who hailed him— “What, Evans! still nursing your baby?” “Yes, sir,” answered the collier gravely. “I had a bit of difficulty with him to-day; he shovelled about half a ton of coals into his mouth, and Ebenezer Llewellyn and I had a sight of trouble in getting him to disgorge.” “You take my advice as a sensible man,” said the surgeon. “It is, first, if you value the child, to give it more sun and air; it wants it. Sun and air are more than beef and bread. If the little chap were not as black as a hedgehog, curled up there at your back, I should say it was bleached like sea-kale. It won’t do, Shone. The child now must be brought up upon another system; that is, if you desire it to live and be healthy and happy—unless you have insured its life, and want to get it under ground altogether, so as to pocket the insurance money.” Evans turned as blank as he could, considering the grime on his face. His jaw dropped. “But wherever am I to put him?” he asked. “Now, I have been wanting to see you about this for some while,” said the surgeon, who was a thoroughly good-hearted man, and who valued and admired Shone. “There is Shian Thomas, the dressmaker, as good and steady a wench as I know. She is very badly off. She has been caring for her poor little crippled sister for several years. Now the child is dead, and she has had heavy expenses, what with doctor’s bill—mine, you know——” “Ah!” said Evans, “I know better than that. You were never hard on the widow or the orphan. What is hard, is to get you to take anything for your trouble when folks are in need themselves.”