The underworld: The story of Robert Sinclair, minerWelsh, James C.
General
The underworld: The story of Robert Sinclair, miner
Welsh, James C.
Coal miners -- Fiction; Coal mines and mining -- Fiction
The girl outside could hardly restrain herself at thus hearing her
parents speak. She sobbed and held on to the window ledge, her eyes
fixed greedily upon the open chink in the shutter, listening to, and
looking at her parents in their misery, as they sat and talked so kindly
and anxiously about her--talked so that every word was a stab at her
heart; for she had never heard them open their hearts like this before.
"Ay, wife," he said after a time, "it was a sair blow to me. I could hae
fain dee'd at the time; I was fair heartbroken. It's a gey queer world
that brings the keenest pangs frae them that yin likes best. I could hae
dee'd gladly to hae saved that bairn frae the slightest hurt!"
"Matthew," said the mother, speaking with all her soul in her eyes, as
she looked at him, "if by ony chance it should turn oot that Mysie gaed
wrang an' fell into disgrace, wad ye tak' her back, if she should come
hame again?" and there was a world of pleading in the mother's voice as
she spoke.
"Tak' her back! Oh, God, I'd dae onything to hae her here at this
meenit, nae matter though it should be proved that she was guilty o' the
warst sin under the sun. Tak' her back! Oh, wife! my heart is breakin'
for her!" and he lifted his thin worn hand to his eyes and sobbed in his
grief.
"Weel, Matthew," returned the wife, "if ever she does come back, nae
matter when it may be, or hoo it may be, I'm glad you'll no be harsh wi'
her. You'll just speak to her as if naething had happened; for I ken
she'll be mair feart to face you than onybody else. Jist try an' mak'
her believe, when you speak, that she had gane awa' to the store a
message, or to the well for watter, an' that she had bidden owre lang,
as she an' ither weans used to do when they got started the play, an'
forget to come hame. Jist speak to her that way, Matthew, an' the
hame-comin', if ever it comes, will no' be sae hard for the puir bairn.
For God knows, it micht be hard enough for her!"
The girl outside, listening eagerly to every word, tried to cry out with
the pain of all this talk by her parents, but her tongue clove to her
parched mouth, and her lips were stiff and dry.
"I'll never be harsh wi' a bairn o' mine, wife," he replied brokenly. "I
liket Mysie owre weel ever to be harsh wi' her. Oh, if only I could see
her afore me this nicht, I wad gie a' I ever had in the world. To hae
her sittin' here, as she used to sit, her wee heid wi' its soft hair
against my knee, an' my haun clappin' it, an' her bonnie een lookin' up
at me, as if I was something she aye looket up to, as bein' better than
ony living being she ever kenned, wad be mair pleasure for me this
minute than if I got a' the money in the world. I'd swap heaven and my
chances o' salvation, wife, jist to hae her sittin' here on the fender,
as she used to sit. Hunger an' a' the rest wad be easy borne for that."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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