David's Little Lad

either thought or comment. And all the time, God help me, theplace was behind its neighbours. I had not much money to expend on it,and I was content it should be worked on the old system, never thinking,never calculating, that the old system involved danger and loss of life.The mine is not ventilated as the other mines are; in no mine in theneighbourhood do so many deaths occur. You yourself have discovered itto be full of many dangers. So, Owen, what I ask of you is this, helpme to lift this sin of my neglect off my soul. I don't want the money,Owen; it is enough for me, it is more than enough, to see you as you noware; the money, I repeat, is a thing to me of no value, but the people'slives are of much. I can and will raise the sum you require to put themine into a state of safety, to perfect the ventilation, to do all thatcan be done to lessen the danger for the colliers. Do your part in thisas quickly as possible, Owen, and let us think nothing of money gainsfor the present."

  While David was speaking, Owen had again drawn a veil of perfectimmobility over his face. Impossible, with this veil on, to guess histhoughts, or fathom his feelings.

  "Of course, of course," he said, "the ventilation shall be improved andall that is necessary done."

  CHAPTER TEN.

  LITTLE TWENTY.

  I had not forgotten my promise to visit Nan on the day her brother firstwent down into the mine.

  I selected a bundle of illustrated papers--some old copies of _Punch_--as, judging from the delight I took in them myself, I hoped they wouldmake little Nan laugh. I also put a sixpenny box of paints into mypocket. These sixpenny paint-boxes were the most delightful things theTynycymmer children had ever seen, so, doubtless, they would lookequally nice in the eyes of Nan.

  The Thomas's cottage was one of a row that stood just over the pit bank.I ascended the rather steep hill which led to it, entered the narrowpath which ran in front of the whole row of houses, and where many womenwere now hanging out clothes to dry, and knocked at Nan's door. She didnot hear me; she was moving briskly about within, and singing to herwork. Her voice sounded happy, and the Welsh words and Welsh air weregay. I knocked a second time, then went in.

  "I am so glad to hear you singing, Nan," I said. "I was sure you wouldbe in trouble, for I thought Miles had gone into the mine to-day!"

  Little Nan was arranging some crockery on the white dresser. Shestopped at the sound of my voice, and turned round with the large chinatea-pot in her hand. When I had seen her on Saturday, seated weeping onthe old cinder-heap, I had regarded her as a very little child. Now Iperceived my mistake. Nan was no child; she was a miniature woman. Ibegan to doubt what effect my copies of _Punch_ and my sixpenny paintswould produce on this odd mixture; more particularly when she said, in aquiet old-fashioned voice--"But he did go into the mine, Miss Morgan;Miles went down the shaft at five o'clock this mornin'."

  "You take it very calmly when the time comes," I continued; "I thoughtyou would have been in a terrible state."

  "Yes, ain't I easy," said Nan, "I never thought as the Lord 'ud help melike this; why, I ain't frighted at all."

  "But there's just as much danger as ever there was," I said. "Your notbeing frightened does not make it at all safer for Miles down in thepit."

  I made this remark, knowing that it was both unkind and disagreeable;but I was disappointed; I had meant to turn comforter--I was provoked tofind my services unnecessary.

  "There ain't no danger to-day," replied Nan, to my last pleasantassurance.

  "How can you say that?" I asked.

  "'Cause the Lord revealed it to me in a dream."

  Now I, too, believed in dreams. I was as superstitious as the mostsuperstitious Welsh girl could possibly be. Gwen, my isolated life, myWelsh descent, had all made me this; it was, therefore, withconsiderable delight, that, just when I was beginning to place Nan verylow in my category of friends, I found that I could claim her for akindred spirit.

  "You are a very odd little girl," I said; "but I'm sure I _shall_ likeyou. See! I've brought you _Punch_, and the _Illustrated News_, and abox of paints, and _perhaps_ I shall show you how to colour thesepictures, as the children did at Tynycymmer."

  Then I seated myself uninvited, and unrolled my treasures; mynewspapers, my copies of _Punch_, my paint-box with the lid off, wereall revealed to Nan's wondering eyes.

  "Get me a saucer and a cup of water," I said, "and I'll show you how tocolour this picture, and then you can pin it up against the wall foryour father to see when he comes home."

  "If you please, miss," said Nan, dropping a little curtsey, and thencoming forward and examining the print in question with a critical eye,"if you please, miss, I'd rayther not."

  "What do you mean?" I said.

  "Well, miss, I'm very gratified to you; but, father, he don't likepictures pasted up on the walls, and, indeed, Miss Morgan," getting veryred, her sloe-black eyes gleaming rather angrily, "I 'as no time forsuch child's play as lookin' at pictures, and colourin' of 'em, andmakin' messes in cups and plates. I 'as enough to do to wash h'up thecups and saucers as is used for cookin', and keepin' the house tidy, andmakin' the money go as far and as comfort as possible. I'm verygratified to you, miss; but I 'as no time for that nonsense. I ain'tsuch a baby as I looks."

  As little Nan spoke, she grew in my eyes tall and womanly, while I feltmyself getting smaller and smaller, in fact, taking the place I hadhitherto allotted to her. I rolled up my despised goods hastily, roseto my feet, and spoke--

  "You are not half as nice as you looked. I am very sorry that Idisturbed so busy and important a person. As I see you don't want me, Ishall wish you good morning."

  I had nearly reached the door, when Nan ran after me, laid her hand onmy arm, and looked into my face with her eyes full of tears.

  "I ain't a wishin' you to go," she said, "I wants you to set down andtalk to me woman-like."

  "How old are you? you strange creature," I said; but I was restored togood humour, and sat down willingly enough.

  "I'm ten," said Nan, "I'm small for my h'age, I know."

  "You are, indeed, small for your age," I said, "and your age is verysmall. Why, Nan, whatever you may pretend about it, you are a baby."

  "No, I ain't," said Nan, gravely and solemnly, "it ain't years only asmakes us babies or womans, 'tis--"

  "What?" I said, "do go on."

  "Well, miss, I b'lieves as 'tis anxiety. Miles says as I has a veryh'anxious mind. He says I takes it from mother, and that ages one upawful."

  "I've no doubt of it," I said. "I've felt it myself, 'tisoverpowering."

  "I don't think you knows it much, miss," said Nan. "I should say fromthe looks o' you, that you was much younger nor me."

  "Mind what you're about," I said, "I'm sixteen--a young lady full grown.But come, now, Nan, with all your anxiety, you were merry enough when Icame in--you did sing out in such a jolly style,--I thought you such adear little thing; I did not know you were an old croak."

  "Why yes," said Nan, half-smiling, and inclined to resume her song, "I'mas light as a feather this mornin', that's the Lord's doing."

  "What did the Lord do for you, Nan?"

  "He sent me a token, miss, as sure as sure could be, and it came just inthe minute before waking."

  "What was it?" I repeated, for little Nan had paused, her face hadgrown soft and almost beautiful; the hard unpleasing lines of care andanxiety had vanished, and in their stead, behold! the eyes were full oflove and faith, the lips tender, trustful, but withal, triumphant.

  "I was sore fretted," she began, "as father couldn't go down with Miles;he had to stay to go ever the mine with the strange gentleman as is tobe manager, and Miles going down h'all alone, reminded me sore ofStephie. And I was frettin', frettin', frettin', and the prayers, northe hymns, nor nothing, couldn't do me no good, and Miles hisself, atlast, he were fain to be vexed with me, and when I went to bed my heartwas h'all like a lump o' lead, and I felt up to forty, at the veryleast, and then it was that the Lord saw the burden was too big for me,and He sent me the dream
."

  "What was it? Nan."

  "I thought, miss, as I seed the Lord Hisself, all pitiful and of tendermercy. I seed Him as plain as I sees you, and He looked me through andthrough, very sorrowful, as I shouldn't trust Him, and Miles, he wasstandin' on the cage, just afore it went down, and there was an emptyplace near Miles, and I saw that every one had their comrade and friendwith