Story 6—Chapter 7.

There was deep sorrow and tears and groans in the mining village of Wallford that night. Those who had gone forth to their work in the morning in health and spirits, the bread-winners of the family, were never to return. The widows and orphans sorrowed for husbands and fathers, and it was natural that they should sorrow for themselves.

Among those who had good cause to look forward with dread to the future, was Mrs Kempson, and yet she did not fear it as once she would have done. She believed that her husband had fully accepted Christ’s gracious offer of salvation, and that he was prepared for death; and she also knew that God protects the fatherless and widows who trust in Him. Still she had a good deal to try her faith.

Dick was the only one of the family who could work for their support; he could gain but little, and she trembled when she thought that any day he, too, might be cut off. He, like a good son, was doing his best to comfort her.

“Don’t take on so, mother, don’t take on so,” he said, putting his arm round her neck. “I shall soon be big enough to work as a hewer, and you shan’t want while I can earn good wages, and God will look after us all. Don’t fear, mother, don’t fear.”

Dick had not forgotten his friend David, but, while attending to his mother, he had had no time to ask about him. He now said that he would go out to see Mrs Adams, and learn if he had recovered.

Dick looked in at Mrs Adams’s open window. It was a comfort to him in his own sorrow to see his friend sitting up, though looking very ill. He felt inclined to go away again without speaking, but Mrs Adams saw him, and, coming out, brought him in.

“You have saved my boy’s life twice, Dick,” she exclaimed. “I can’t thank you enough, and never can. But David and I and all of us can pray for you. God will reward you. He will bless you.”

There had been cries and shrieks and tears on the day of the explosion. A still sadder day was that when, the mine being put in order, the bodies were brought up from below, and the poor women came round to claim their husbands and sons.

It was difficult to recognise some of the bodies, but the full number of those who had been working in the pit were found, and hope left the hearts of those who had trusted till now that by some means those they loved had escaped.

Dick set to work as soon as the pit was open, and toiled on bravely; still all his wages could only just support his mother and brothers and sisters.

Bad times came too, made bad by the folly of the people themselves. The men in some of the collieries made up their minds that they would get higher wages. They banded themselves together, and tried to make the people of all the collieries in the district join them. When David and Dick heard of it, they agreed that they were content with their wages, and that all the men about them were well off, and that they would go on working without grumbling.

They had not their choice, however. There was a general strike of the labourers underground and above ground throughout the whole district, and the pits were closed. They, and others who had not joined the league, were threatened with severe punishment if they offered to work.

Mrs Kempson and Mrs Adams and many other widows were in a sad way. They had saved but little money, so they soon spent all they had. Then they had to pawn some of their things, and then they had to go on credit, hoping that the lads would soon go to work again. Food was running very short. They could barely afford bread and cheese; often they ate nothing but dry bread and drank warm water, for the tea was so weak it was little better.

Mrs Kempson, who had for so long lived well, felt as if she was dying of hunger. Dick was pretty nearly starving also. He had not been idle though, as had most of the people, for he had been hard at work making all sorts of models.

“I’ll take them to Newcastle, to-morrow. May be I’ll get something for them, mother, and bring back food for you and the rest; if not, I’ll look out for some other sort of work. I’m determined to be at play no longer, to please any set of men.”

The miners always speak of being at play, when they are not at work.

Just then a young man, well dressed in seafaring style, passed the window.

“Do any people of the name of Kempson live hereabouts?” Dick heard him say.

“Yes, sir,” said Dick. “That’s our name. What do you want?”

The young man made no answer, but walked in and sat down on a chair Mrs Kempson offered him. He looked round for a minute without speaking—first at Mrs Kempson, then at Limping Lawry, then at little Nelly, and then at the other children, and over and over again at Dick.

“I think that I have seen you all before; but it was years ago,” he said at last, and his voice trembled. “Some time back, as I was reading an account of a dreadful accident which happened in one of the coal-pits hereabouts, I saw the name of Samuel Kempson and his son Benjamin among the list of sufferers.”

“Yes, sir; those were my poor husband and son,” said Mrs Kempson, with a sigh, and the tears came to her eyes.

“Did you ever live in Suffolk?” asked the stranger. “Yes, sir; and I wish that we had never left it,” answered Susan.

“And had you a son you called Jack?” inquired the visitor.

“Yes, I had; I had a fine hearty boy, but he went away to sea, and I fear has long since been drowned,” cried Susan, lifting her apron to her eyes.

“I don’t think so,” answered the stranger. “Do you think that you should know him again?”

“I’m sure I should, my own bright boy. Oh! speak, young man. Who are you? Don’t deceive me,” exclaimed Susan, starting up and taking the stranger’s hands. “Are you my son Jack?”

“Indeed I am, mother,” answered Jack Kempson, for the young stranger was her long-lost son.

He returned her embrace affectionately, and soon all his young brothers and sisters were clustering round him. He had heard of the strike, and of the state of affairs, and guessing that provisions would be welcome, before he could talk further, went out with Dick and got a good supply for supper.

While the family were seated round a better meal than they had had for many a day, he told them how he had gone to sea in a collier running between Newcastle and London; how he then had sailed to far distant lands; how once, when ill-treated by the master, he had made up his mind to quit the sea and had come to look out for work in the mines; how he soon saw that he should not change for the better.

“Yes, we know the widow woman you spoke to, and she told us all about the sailor lad, who had come, thinking to get work, and had gone off again.”

“That is strange,” cried Dick, “that we should have been so near, and not have seen each other.”

“Well, I went back to the ship,” continued Jack, “and I made up my mind to stick to the sea. I was soon afterwards made second mate, and then first mate; and a year ago, in a foreign voyage, the captain, who was given to drink, fell overboard, and I brought the ship home, and the owners were so pleased that they made me captain. I am now bound back to London, and though I say it’s generally best for every man to stick to the trade he is brought up in; yet as the people here won’t let Dick work in it, I want him and you all to come away with me. You cannot be worse off, and you may be much better; and at all events, I have enough wages to keep you all comfortable.”

Poor Mrs Kempson thankfully accepted her son’s offer. A good and affectionate son he proved. Dick was well pleased to change, but he could not make up his mind to part from David Adams.

“I will take him and his mother and the rest of them too,” said the generous sailor. “I have saved money, and cannot spend it better than in helping the widow and orphan. I dare say we shall find some place in the old county where our mother and Mrs Adams can settle down among green fields, and where you may find work for which you are suited.”

As soon as supper was over, Mrs Kempson and Jack and Dick set off to visit Mrs Adams. Dick had put up a basket full of provisions—bread and butter, and cheese, and herrings, and tea and sugar, and other things which he well knew from experience would be welcome. “This is doing to others as I would be done by, or indeed as I have been done by,” he thought. “Yes, God has been very merciful to us—just when we were well-nigh starved, and now Jack come to life again!”

Mrs Adams was very grateful for the good food Dick had brought. She did not at first remember Jack, but he soon convinced her who he was. Great was her joy when the generous young sailor offered to carry her and David and the rest of her children to the neighbourhood of her old home.

“But I can never, never repay you, young man,” she said.

“Never mind that,” answered Jack, unconsciously looking upwards, “Some one else will.”

A happy party sailed down the river Tyne on board the brig, Good Hope, bound for the Thames. The young captain was as good as his word. Little Nelly was sent to an institution, where she was very happy, and was taught to do many useful things. Limping Lawry went to another, where he recovered his strength, and learned to gain his daily bread; and Dick and David got employment as engineers; and in a few years Dick rose to be foreman of some extensive works, with his old friend as his assistant.