said this as if he meant to
convey to them that he was the sole authority on the matter.

He was an old man, and Robert, as he looked at him, wondered if he had
ever laughed. "Auld Girnie" they called him, because of his habit of
always finding fault with everything and everybody, for no one could
please him. His mouth seemed to be one long slit extending across his
face, showing one or two stumps sticking in the otherwise toothless
gums, and giving him the appearance of always "grinning."

The women workers' appearance jarred upon Robert. So far women to him
had always been beings of a higher order, because he had always thought
of them as being like his mother. But here they were rough and untidy,
dressed like goblins in dirty torn clothes, with an old dirty sack
hanging from the waist for an overall. Instinctively Robert felt that
this was no place for women. One of them, who worked on the opposite
side of the scree from Robert--a big, strong, heavily-built young woman
of perhaps twenty-five--in moving forward tore her petticoat, which
caught in the machinery, and made a rent right up above her knee.

"Ach, to hell wi' it," she cried in exasperation, as she turned up the
torn petticoat, displaying a leg all covered with coal grime, which
seemed never to have been washed.

"Is that no' awfu'? Damn my soul, I'll hae to gang hame the nicht in my
sark tail," and she laughed loudly at her sally.

"I'll put a pin in it, it'll do till I gang hame," she added, and she
started to pin the torn edges together. But all day the bare leg shone
through the torn petticoat, and rough jokes were made by the men who
worked near by--jokes which she seemed to enjoy, for she would hold up
the torn garment and laugh with the others.

The women and boys never seemed to heed the things that filled Robert
and Mysie with so much amazement. The two children bent over the
swinging tables as the coal passed before them. They eagerly grabbed at
the stones, flinging them to the side with a zeal that greatly amused
the older hands.

"Ye'll no' keep up that pace lang," said one woman. "Ye'll soon tire, so
ye'd better take it easy."

"Let them alone," broke in the old man, who had a penny a day more for
acting as a sort of gaffer. "Get on wi' yer own work, an' never mind
them."

"Gang you to hell, auld wheezie bellows," replied one woman coarsely,
adding a rough jest at his breathlessness, whilst the others laughed
loudly, adding, each one,