David Herbert Lawrence

sides of the waggons, over the white "C.W. and Co.". Colliers, walking

indifferent to the rain, were streaming down the line and up the field,

a grey, dismal host. Morel put up his umbrella, and took pleasure from

the peppering of the drops thereon.

All along the road to Bestwood the miners tramped, wet and grey and

dirty, but their red mouths talking with animation. Morel also walked

with a gang, but he said nothing. He frowned peevishly as he went. Many

men passed into the Prince of Wales or into Ellen's. Morel, feeling

sufficiently disagreeable to resist temptation, trudged along under

the dripping trees that overhung the park wall, and down the mud of

Greenhill Lane.

Mrs. Morel lay in bed, listening to the rain, and the feet of the

colliers from Minton, their voices, and the bang, bang of the gates as

they went through the stile up the field.

"There's some herb beer behind the pantry door," she said. "Th'

master'll want a drink, if he doesn't stop."

But he was late, so she concluded he had called for a drink, since it

was raining. What did he care about the child or her?

She was very ill when her children were born.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling sick to death.

"A boy."

And she took consolation in that. The thought of being the mother of men

was warming to her heart. She looked at the child. It had blue eyes,

and a lot of fair hair, and was bonny. Her love came up hot, in spite of

everything. She had it in bed with her.

Morel, thinking nothing, dragged his way up the garden path, wearily

and angrily. He closed his umbrella, and stood it in the sink; then he

sluthered his heavy boots into the kitchen. Mrs. Bower appeared in the

inner doorway.

"Well," she said, "she's about as bad as she can be. It's a boy childt."

The miner grunted, put his empty snap-bag and his tin bottle on the

dresser, went back into the scullery and hung up his coat, then came and

dropped into his chair.

"Han yer got a drink?" he asked.

The woman went into the pantry. There was heard the pop of a cork. She

set the mug, with a little, disgusted rap, on the table before Morel. He

drank, gasped, wiped his big moustache on the end of his scarf, drank,

gasped, and lay back in his chair. The woman would not speak to him

again. She set his dinner before him, and went upstairs.

"Was that the master?" asked Mrs. Morel.

"I've gave him his dinner," replied Mrs. Bower.

After he had sat with his arms on the table--he resented the fact that

Mrs. Bower put no cloth on for him, and gave him a little plate, instead

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