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
"I suppose it's an awfu' big fall. He had been workin' on the top o'
some auld workin's, an' I suppose they wadna ken, an' it fell in. It
maun hae been an awfu' trial for wee Rob, poor wee man. His first day in
the pit, an' his father an' brither killed afore his een!"
"Hoo has Nellie taken it, Jenny?" enquired the neighbor, after a little,
when her sobs had subsided.
"Ye'd break yir heart if ye could see her," replied Jenny sorrowfully.
"I gaed owre when oor yin gaed out wi' the pieces--he cam' hame at fower
o'clock to get mair pieces, for they're goin' to work on to ten the
nicht--an' I never saw onything sae sad-lookin' as her face. She has
never cried the least thing yet. Never a tear has come frae her, but
she'd be better if she could greet."
"Do ye tell me that! Puir Nellie! It's an awfu' hand fu' she is left
wi', too," commented the neighbor.
"Ay, she jist looks at ye sae sad-like wi' her big black een; never a
word nor a tear, but just stares, an' she's that thin an' white lookin'.
I look for her breakin' doon a'thegither, an' when she does I wadna like
to see her. The bits o' weans gang aboot the hoose wonderin' at her, and
she looks to them too, but ye'd think she'd nae interest in onything.
She jist looks out o' the window an' doon the brae to the pit. It's
awesome to look at her."
"Oh, puir body!" and again the kindly neighbor was overcome, and Jenny
joined her tears too in silent sympathy.
"The minister was owre last nicht," said Jenny after a little, "but I
dinna think she ever spoke to him. He cam' in just when I was comin'
oot, an' I dinna like to leave her. He talked away a wee while an' then
put up a prayer; but there was nae consolation in't for onybody. I think
the sicht o' her face maun hae been too muckle for him. He didna stay
very lang, and gaed awa' saying he'd come back again. Nellie has
everything ready--the bed a' made, wi' clean sheets an' blankets on
them--an' there she stan's always at that window, lookin' doon the brae.
It would break yer heart to see her, Leezie, she's that vexed lookin'."
So they wept and sorrowed together.
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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