James T. Boulton

Lord'll spare him to mend his ways, I hope so, I hope so. You've
had a sight o' trouble with him, Elizabeth, you have indeed.
But I'm sure he was a good lad wi' me, he was, there's no denying.
I don't know how it is ... Eh! they don't turn out well,
they don't! They run your legs off, an' make you tired out
when they're little, an' when they're big, you sit still wi' more
trouble than you can well carry because of 'em. It is
so----"

The old woman continued to think aloud, a monotonous
plaintive sound, while Elizabeth drove her thoughts fiercely
here and there, arrested once, when she heard the winding-
engine chuff quickly again, and the brakes skirr with a shriek.
Then she heard the engine more slowly, and the brakes made no
sound. The old woman did not notice. Elizabeth sat in a coil
of half-twisted suspense. The old woman talked, with lapses
into silence.

"But he wasn't your son, Lizzie -- an' it makes a difference.
Whatever he was, I remember him when he was little, a beautiful
little lad, as ever your eyes could wish."

It was half-past ten, and the old woman was saying: "You've
nothing left -- but trouble; and you're never too old for trouble,
never too old for that----" when the gate banged, and there
were heavy feet on the steps.

"I'll go, Lizzie, let me go," cried the old woman, rising.
But Elizabeth was at the door. It was a man in pit-clothes.

"They're bringin' 'im, Missis," he said, simply. Elizabeth's
life halted a moment within her. Then it switched on again,
almost suffocating her.

36