“Shone, you are not going to take the child down the pit, surely?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then he must pay his footing!”
“You must give him something, mates, first with which to pay,” said Evans. “Or, hold! he will give you all round a swig at his bottle.”
“His bottle! You have brought that with you?”
“Certainly,” said Evans, and produced a feeder. “Who will have a smack? Drink to the health of the new hand!”
“Not I,” said one, “in milk and water!”
“We would not deprive him of the least taste!” said another.
Instinctively, and at once, these rough men understood and appreciated Shone’s conduct; he might have to, and he did, encounter good-natured jokes—he was called “Mammy Shone,” but nothing was said in ridicule that could wound. In every heart there sprang up great respect for Shone; and as to the babe, he became the pet of the coalpit.