The father of fourteen, that man of wide experience, obeyed. He sat down, took the infant on his lap, and dexterously with his little finger worked the piece of coal out of the mouth; whereupon the babe set up a howl that rang down the passages of the mine.
“I will tell you what is in prospect,” said Llewellyn sententiously. “This kid is getting to use his hands. He will lay hold of everything he can touch, and he will put whatever he grips into his mouth. They all do it. I have had fourteen and have raised ten, so I ought to know. This is the most critical period in the lives of little ones, and if you don’t mind, he’ll eat up all your output every day—truckloads of coals he’ll put away, if you let him.”
“But I will not allow him.”
“Then you must sit over him and watch his every movement.”
“I cannot do that.”
“There it is that women come in to be of some use in the world. They can look after male babies when they are in the grabbing and devouring age—that’s about teething time. You see how he dribbles. That,” pursued Ebenezer gravely—“that comes of the gums being strained and painful. Babes, at this period, must bite—it’s a necessity. They will bite anything. I’ve had fourteen, so I ought to know. This is a terribly critical time.”
Shone left the pit that day depressed and meditative. As it happened, he encountered the doctor, who hailed him—
“What, Evans! still nursing your baby?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the collier gravely. “I had a bit of difficulty with him to-day; he shovelled about half a ton of coals into his mouth, and Ebenezer Llewellyn and I had a sight of trouble in getting him to disgorge.”