"What is that horrible din?"
"That's the steam-gong," said Gerty, with the air of one doing the honours. "It can be heard nine miles."
"I should think it might be heard nine hundred," said Marion; "and do look, Gerty! What are these?" As the street suddenly became filled with an immense crowd of black, demoniac-looking figures, each bearing a small lighted lamp on his forehead.
"What are they?" asked Marion, in wonder. "They look like demons of the pit."
"That is just what they are—demons of the coal-pit," said Gerty, laughing. "They are the coal-miners, child; there are ever so many mines in the city."
"But how many lame people there are among them!" said Marion. "See, there is a man with one leg, and there is another; and oh what a horrid scar that poor cripple has on his face!"
"Yes, they are always getting hurt," said Gerty, indifferently. "Not a week passes that some of them are not killed, or crippled for life."
"What a dreadful thing!" said Marion.
"A great deal of it comes from their own carelessness, they say. Not but there are unavoidable accidents, of course. What with the furnaces and engines, and the dozens of railroad tracks, people are always being killed."
"How horrid!" said Marion, shuddering. "It would be as bad as living in the front of an army. I am glad I don't live in Coaltown."