They sat down to tea. John, at the end of the table near the door, was almost lost in the darkness. Their faces were hidden from each other. The girl crouched against the fender slowly moving a thick piece of bread before the fire. The lad, his face a dusky mark on the shadow, sat watching her who was transfigured in the red glow. “I do think it’s beautiful to look in the fire,” said the child. “Do you?” said her mother. “Why?” “It’s so red, and full of little caves—and it feels so nice, and you can fair smell it.” “It’ll want mending directly,” replied her mother, “and then if your father comes he’ll carry on and say there never is a fire when a man comes home sweating from the pit. A public-house is always warm enough.” There was silence till the boy said complainingly: “Make haste, our Annie.” “Well, I am doing! I can’t make the fire do it no faster, can I?” “She keeps wafflin’ it about so’s to make ’er slow,” grumbled the boy. “Don’t have such an evil imagination, child,” replied the mother. Soon the room was busy in the darkness with the crisp sound of crunching. The mother ate very little. She drank her tea determinedly, and sat thinking. When she rose her anger was evident in the stern unbending of her head. She looked at the pudding in the fender, and broke out: “It is a scandalous thing as a man can’t even come home to his dinner! If it’s crozzled up to a cinder I don’t see why I should care. Past his very door he goes to get to a public-house, and here I sit with his dinner waiting for him——” She went out. As she dropped piece after piece of coal on the red fire, the shadows fell on the walls, till the room was almost in total darkness. “I canna see,” grumbled the invisible John. In spite of herself, the mother laughed. “You know the way to your mouth,” she said. She set the dustpan outside the door. When she came again like a shadow on the hearth, the lad repeated, complaining sulkily: “I canna see.” “Good gracious!” cried the mother irritably, “you’re as bad as your father if it’s a bit dusk!” Nevertheless she took a paper spill from a sheaf on the mantelpiece and proceeded to light the lamp that hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room. As she reached up, her figure displayed itself just rounding with maternity. “Oh, mother——!” exclaimed the girl. “What?” said the woman, suspended in the act of putting the lamp glass over the flame. The copper reflector shone handsomely on her, as she stood with uplifted arm, turning to face her daughter. “You’ve got a flower in your apron!” said the child, in a little rapture at this unusual event. “Goodness me!” exclaimed the woman, relieved. “One would think the house was afire.” She replaced the glass and waited a moment before turning up the wick. A pale shadow was seen floating vaguely on the floor. “Let me smell!” said the child, still rapturously, coming forward and putting her face to her mother’s waist.