Then Elizabeth heard Matthews, the manager of the pit, say: “You go in first, Jim. Mind!” The door came open, and the two women saw a collier backing into the room, holding one end of a stretcher, on which they could see the nailed pit-boots of the dead man. The two carriers halted, the man at the head stooping to the lintel of the door. “Wheer will you have him?” asked the manager, a short, white-bearded man. Elizabeth roused herself and came from the pantry carrying the unlighted candle. “In the parlour,” she said. “In there, Jim!” pointed the manager, and the carriers backed round into the tiny room. The coat with which they had covered the body fell off as they awkwardly turned through the two doorways, and the women saw their man, naked to the waist, lying stripped for work. The old woman began to moan in a low voice of horror. “Lay th’ stretcher at th’ side,” snapped the manager, “an’ put ’im on th’ cloths. Mind now, mind! Look you now——!” One of the men had knocked off a vase of chrysanthemums. He stared awkwardly, then they set down the stretcher. Elizabeth did not look at her husband. As soon as she could get in the room, she went and picked up the broken vase and the flowers. “Wait a minute!” she said. The three men waited in silence while she mopped up the water with a duster. “Eh, what a job, what a job, to be sure!” the manager was saying, rubbing his brow with trouble and perplexity. “Never knew such a thing in my life, never! He’d no business to ha’ been left. I never knew such a thing in my life! Fell over him clean as a whistle, an’ shut him in. Not four foot of space, there wasn’t—yet it scarce bruised him.” He looked down at the dead man, lying prone, half naked, all grimed with coal-dust. “‘’Sphyxiated,’ the doctor said. It _is_ the most terrible job I’ve ever known. Seems as if it was done o’ purpose. Clean over him, an’ shut ’im in, like a mouse-trap”—he made a sharp, descending gesture with his hand. The colliers standing by jerked aside their heads in hopeless comment. The horror of the thing bristled upon them all. Then they heard the girl’s voice upstairs calling shrilly: “Mother, mother—who is it? Mother, who is it?” Elizabeth hurried to the foot of the stairs and opened the door: “Go to sleep!” she commanded sharply. “What are you shouting about? Go to sleep at once—there’s nothing——” Then she began to mount the stairs. They could hear her on the boards, and on the plaster floor of the little bedroom. They could hear her distinctly: “What’s the matter now?—what’s the matter with you, silly thing?”—her voice was much agitated, with an unreal gentleness. “I thought it was some men come,” said the plaintive voice of the child. “Has he come?” “Yes, they’ve brought him. There’s nothing to make a fuss about. Go to sleep now, like a good child.” They could hear her voice in the bedroom, they waited whilst she covered the children under the bedclothes. “Is he drunk?” asked the girl, timidly, faintly.