The Project Gutenberg EBook of "Seth", by Frances Hodgson Burnett

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Title: "Seth"

Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett

Release Date: November 4, 2007 [EBook #23325]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "SETH" ***

Produced by David Widger

"SETH"

By Frances Hodgson Burnett

Copyright, 1877

He came in one evening at sun set with the empty coal-train--his dull
young face pale and heavy-eyed with weariness, his corduroy suit dusty
and travel-stained, his worldly possessions tied up in the smallest
of handkerchief bundles and slung upon the stick resting on his
shoulder--and naturally his first appearance attracted some attention
among the loungers about the shed dignified by the title of "depot." I
say "naturally," because arrivals upon the trains to Black Creek were so
scarce as to be regarded as curiosities; which again might be said to be
natural. The line to the mines had been in existence two months, since
the English company had taken them in hand and pushed the matter through
with an energy startling to, and not exactly approved by, the
majority of good East Tennesseeans. After the first week or so of
arrivals--principally Welsh and English miners, with an occasional
Irishman--the trains had returned daily to the Creek without a
passenger; and accordingly this one created some trifling sensation.

Not that his outward appearance was particularly interesting or
suggestive of approaching excitement. He was only a lad of nineteen or
twenty, in working English-cut garb, and with a short, awkward figure,
and a troubled, homely face--a face so homely and troubled, in fact,
that its half-bewildered look was almost pathetic.

He advanced toward the shed hesitatingly, and touched his cap as if
half in clumsy courtesy and half in timid appeal. "Mesters," he said,
"good-day to yo'."

The company bestirred themselves with one accord, and to the roughest
and most laconic gave him a brief "Good-day."

"You're English," said a good-natured Welshman, "ar'n't you, my lad?"

"Ay, mester," was the reply: "I'm fro' Lancashire."

He sat down on the edge of the rough platform, and laid his stick a