James T. Boulton

"Ah, that's what I can do!" said Rigley with relief. He
put on his cap again, and they went out.

"Good night, Mrs. Bates. I'm sure it'll be all right!
Don't you bother now!"

As they went up the entry, Elizabeth Bates heard Rigley's
wife run across the yard and open her neighbour's door. Then
suddenly all the blood in her body seemed to switch away from
her heart.

"Mind!" warned Rigley. "Ah've said many a time as
Ah'd fill up them ruts in this entry* , sumb'dy'll be breakin'
their legs yit."

She recovered herself and walked quickly along with the miner.
She wanted to get home--for fear there should be anything.

"I don't like leaving the children in bed, and nobody in
the house," she said.

"No, you dunna!" he replied, with all his courtesy and
sympathy in his tones. They were soon at the gate of the cottage.
All was still.

"Well, I shanna be many minutes. Dunna thee be frettin'*
now, 'e'll be a' right," said the butty.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Rigley," she replied, and the
pathos and gratitude of her voice upset him.

"It's a' right--dunna mention it--you quite welcome!* "
he stammered, moving away. "I shanna be many minutes."

The house was quiet. Elizabeth Bates took off her hat and
shawl, and rolled back the rug. Then she turned up the lamp
and began to straighten the house. She took the pudding and
the stew jar into the pantry, emptied the potatoes on a plate,
and put these away too. She was in a hurry to straighten the
house, even to lay the children's clothes neatly on the sofa arm.
Somebody would be coming, she knew. She folded her sewing

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