mind, Geordie," she said remonstratingly, "I'll do it myself
in the morning. You've had your own work to do in the pit, an' you need
all the rest you can get."

"No," he said decisively. "You sit doon, lass. I'll no' be lang. Just
you sing a bit sang to me, just as you used to sing, Nellie, an' I'll
wash out the floor," and he was soon on his knees, scrubbing away as if
it were a daily occurrence with him. And Nellie, pleased and happy
beyond expression, sat in the big chair by the fireside and sang his
favorite ballad, "Kirkconnel Lea."

Oh, that I were where Helen lies,
For nicht and day on me she cries,
Oh, that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirkconnel Lea.

Oh, Helen fair, beyond compare,
I'll mak' a garland o' your hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair
Until the day I dee.

And Nellie Sinclair never in all her life sang that song so well as she
did that night; and she never sang it again. Robert, who was lying in
the room, heard her glorious voice, and marveled at the complete mastery
she showed over the plaintive old tune. It was as if her very soul
reveled in it, as the notes rose and fell; and it stirred the boy into
tremendous emotional excitement, as the tragedy was unfolded in the
beautiful words and the sadness of the old tune.

It was a memorable night of quiet happiness for all, and there was so
much of tragedy lying behind it unseen and unknown. But so often are the
sweetest moments of life followed by its sadness and its sorrow.

CHAPTER IX

THE ACCIDENT

Next morning at five o'clock Robert leapt from his bed, full of
importance at the prospect of going down the pit. Stripping off his
sleeping shirt, he chattered as he donned the pit clothes. The blue
plaid working-shirt which his mother had bought for him felt rough to
his tender skin, but unpleasant as it was, he donned it with a sense of
bigness. Then the rough moleskin trousers were put on and fastened with
a belt round the waist, and a pair of leg-strings at the knees. The
bundles of clothes, separately arranged the night before, had got mixed
somewhat in Robert's eagerness to dress, with the result that when his
brother John rose, with eyes half shut, and reached for his stockings,
he found those of Robert instead lying upon his bundle.

"Gie's my socks," he ordered grumpily, flinging Robert's socks into the
far corner of the kitchen. "You've on the wrong drawers too. Can ye no'
look what you're doin'?"