For the Companion.
IN THE MINING REGIONS.
At the Station.
The cars stopped at a rude station. A little girl standing by a cow was the only human being to be seen. The girl was barefoot; her white hair looked as if it had not been touched by any comb for a week.
Grandly the hills stretched out, summit after summit. Here and there could be seen a little home, plain enough and poor enough, but made beautiful by its emerald setting.
"Do you work in the mills?" I asked the child with the white head. She stuck her forefinger in her mouth, looked shyly down, and shook her head.
Aunt Sally.
"Is that your cow?" was the next question. She nodded this time, and looked up at us with pleasant blue eyes.
"Can you show as where the mine is?"
"Yes, I can," she said, brightening at the small bit of money I held out, "It's yenter,–coom an' I'll tell ye."
We followed her to a fissure in the side of the hill, a place of rough beams, and bare of verdure. It seemed singularly deserted, for it wanted nearly half an hour to working time. We looked into the shaft with a shudder. It led in a slanting direction into the deep earth, and it seemed like going into a grave to enter it.