Don't, mother, don't. I can't bear it. BLACKMORE (_cold and clear_) Where will you have him laid? The men will be here in a moment. MRS. HOLROYD (_starting up_) They can carry him up to bed-- BLACKMORE It's no good taking him upstairs. You'll have to wash him and lay him out. MRS. HOLROYD (_startled_) Well-- BLACKMORE He's in his pit-dirt. GRANDMOTHER He is, bless him. We'd better have him down here, Lizzie, where we can handle him. MRS. HOLROYD Yes. [_She begins to put the tea things away, but drops the sugar out of the basin and the lumps fly broadcast._ BLACKMORE Never mind, I'll pick those up. You put the children's clothes away. [_Mrs. Holroyd stares witless around. The Grandmother sits rocking herself and weeping. Blackmore clears the table, putting the pots in the scullery. He folds the white tablecloth and pulls back the table. The door opens. Mrs. Holroyd utters a cry. Rigley enters._ RIGLEY They're bringing him now, missis. MRS. HOLROYD Oh! RIGLEY (_simply_) There must ha' been a fall directly after we left him. MRS. HOLROYD (_frowning, horrified_) No--no! RIGLEY (_to Blackmore_) It fell a' back of him, an' shut 'im in as you might shut a loaf i' th' oven. It never touched him. MRS. HOLROYD (_staring distractedly_) Well, then-- RIGLEY You see, it come on 'im as close as a trap on a mouse, an' gen him no air, an' what wi' th' gas, it smothered him. An' it wouldna be so very long about it neither. MRS. HOLROYD (_quiet with horror_) Oh! GRANDMOTHER Eh, dear--dear. Eh, dear--dear. RIGLEY (_looking hard at her_) I wasna to know what 'ud happen. GRANDMOTHER (_not heeding him, but weeping all the time_) But the Lord gave him time to repent. He'd have a few minutes to repent. Ay, I hope he did, I hope he did, else what was to become of him. The Lord cut him off in his sins, but He gave him time to repent. [_Rigley looks away at the wall. Blackmore has made a space in the middle of the floor._ BLACKMORE If you'll take the rocking-chair off the end of the rug, Mrs. Holroyd, I can pull it back a bit from the fire, and we can lay him on that. GRANDMOTHER (_petulantly_) What's the good of messing about--(_She moves_) MRS. HOLROYD It suffocated him? RIGLEY (_shaking his head, briefly_) Yes. 'Appen th' after-damp-- BLACKMORE He'd be dead in a few minutes. MRS. HOLROYD No--oh, think! BLACKMORE You mustn't think. RIGLEY (_suddenly_) They commin'! [_Mrs. Holroyd stands at bay. The Grandmother half rises. Rigley and Blackmore efface themselves as much as possible. A man backs into the room, bearing the feet of the dead man, which are shod in great pit boots. As the head bearer comes awkwardly past the table, the coat with which the body is covered slips off, revealing Holroyd in his pit-dirt, naked to the waist._ MANAGER (_a little stout, white-bearded man_) Mind now, mind. Ay, missis, what a job, indeed, it is! (_Sharply_) Where mun they put him?