I noticed that the woman wore a bit of black crape on her hat, and there was something in her face that inclined me to stop and speak to her.
"You look young to have two children," I said.
"Yes'm; I aint twenty yet," she said, shifting the great boy to the other arm.
"And you are in mourning."
"Yes'm. I've lost Jim. He was a good husband, a real steady man; never drunk nor nothin'. Him and me'd knowed each other ever sence we were little uns. We was raised in Edinburgh, miss, and come over when we was married. Then Jim got sick, and it cost all we brought to cure him. So we came up here a year ago, and was doing quite well, miss."
"Was it an accident in the mines?" I ventured to ask.
"Oh, no, miss, it was a cruel murder; he was killed by them Molly Maguires!" and her lips trembled, and the tears started to her eyes.
I was sorry I had asked her, and was silent from sympathy.
"They're all very good to me about here. They've give me something to do, and Ruby, here, takes care of the baby like a little woman while I'm in the mine at work."