ew had
thought better of it, and had been cowed into submission. When darkness
began to fall, however, Andrew sauntered out and visited every home in
the village, soliciting aid on behalf of Geordie Sinclair. There were
few houses from which he did not get a donation, though the will to give
was often greater than the means. In each house Andrew had to give in
detail the interview between Black Jock and himself in the pit.

"The muckle big, black, dirty brute that he is!" the good-wife would cry
in indignation. "It's a pity but he could ken what starvation is
himsel'. It might make him a bit mair like a human bein'."

"That's true," Andrew would agree.

In one or two houses he met with a blank refusal, but in these he was
not disappointed, for he knew that the men would not risk Walker's
disapproval by contributing. Again, some were wholly hostile. They were
the "belly-crawlers," as Geordie Sinclair had once dubbed them at a
meeting, those who "kept in" with the management by carrying tales, and
generally acting as traitors to the other men.

"No, I'll no' gi'e ye onythin'," would be the reply; "he can just be
like me an' gang an' work for his bairns. Forby, look at yon stuck-up
baggage o' a wife o' his. She can hardly pass the time o' day wi'
ye--she thinks hersel' somethin'."

"Very well," Andrew would reply, "maybe ye ha'e mair need o't for other
things." And he would pass on to the next house.

He had gathered between three and four pounds, contributed sometimes
even in pennies, and going to Geordie's house, he knocked at the door.
This was the most uncomfortable part of his work, and he stood shifting
from one foot to the other, wondering what he would say when he entered.
Mrs. Sinclair was busy washing the floor and cleaning up, after having
been at work all day washing for someone in the village. She wiped her
hands and opened the door.

"How are ye a' keepin' the night?" inquired Andrew, as he stepped inside
at Mrs. Sinclair's invitation, feeling more and more uncomfortable. It
was a hard enough matter to go and ask others whom he knew had little
to spare, but now, having got the money, he did not know how he was
going to hand it over to Nellie. He ruminated for a time as to how he
would break into the subject. He knew that Nellie Sinclair must have
heard of the collection, and guessed his errand, for he saw that she,
too, was uneasy and agitated.

"How are ye a' the night?" he again enquired, to break