ny doon
the west country, an' I'm telt he's organizin' an' advocatin' the
formin' o' what he calls a Coal Combine."

"That's a' richt, Tam. I admit it a', though I dinna jist ken what a
Coal Combine means; but I ken that Bob Smillie is makin' great wark wi'
the union he has formed. I ken he has gotten rises in wages for a' the
men who ha'e joined, an' that he is advocatin' an eight hours day. If
that can be done doon there, it can be done here; for there's naebody
has ony mair need o' a eight hours day than miners."

"Oh, I'll turn oot a' richt at the meetin'," said Tam, who was always
credited with seeing farther than most of his workmates, "an' I'll join
the union, too, if it's formed; but ye'll see if ye live lang enough
that the union'll no' be a' ye think it. The ither side will organize to
bate ye every time." And with this encouraging prophecy, Geordie went on
to the next house.

"No, I'm no' comin' to nae meetin'. I want naethin' to dae wi' yer
unions. I can get on weel enough without them," curtly said Dan Sellars,
the inmate. He was what Geordie somewhat expressively called a
"belly-crawler," a talebearer, and one who drank and gambled along with
Walker, Fleming, Robertson and a few others.

"Man, it'll no' do muckle guid," said another, "ye mind hoo' big Geordie
Ritchie ran awa' wi' the money o' the last union we started? It'll gi'e
a wheen bigmouths a guid job and an easy time. That's a' it will do."

"Oh, ay," answered Sinclair, "but that's no' to say that the union'll
ay fail. Folks are no' a' Geordie Ritchies, an' they're no' a' bigmouths
either. We're bound to succeed if we care to be solid thegither."

"I'll come to the meetin', Geordie, although I was sayin' that, but I'll
no' promise to join yer union," was the answer, and Sinclair had to be
content with that.

Thus went Geordie from house to house, meeting with much discouragement,
and even downright opposition, but he was always good-humored, and so he
seldom failed to extract a promise to attend the meeting.

The night of the meeting arrived, and the hall--an old, badly lit and
ill-ventilated wooden erection--was packed to its utmost. There were
eager faces, and dull, listless ones among the audience; there were eyes
glad with expectancy, and eyes dulled with long years of privations and
brutal labor; limbs young and supple and full of energy, and limbs stiff
and sore, crooked and maimed.

Geordie Sinclair was chairman, and when he rose t