Mrs. Morel sat waiting. He had not any money, she knew, so
if he stopped he was running up a bill. She was very tired of him
--tired to death. He had not even the courage to carry his bundle
beyond the yard-end.

As she meditated, at about nine o'clock, he opened the door
and came in, slinking, and yet sulky. She said not a word. He took
off his coat, and slunk to his arm-chair, where he began to take
off his boots.

"You'd better fetch your bundle before you take your boots off,"
she said quietly.

"You may thank your stars I've come back to-night," he said,
looking up from under his dropped head, sulkily, trying to be
impressive.

"Why, where should you have gone? You daren't even get your
parcel through the yard-end," she said.

He looked such a fool she was not even angry with him. He
continued to take his boots off and prepare for bed.

"I don't know what's in your blue handkerchief," she said. "But
if you leave it the children shall fetch it in the morning."

Whereupon he got up and went out of the house, returning
presently and crossing the kitchen with averted face, hurrying up-
stairs. As Mrs. Morel saw him slink quickly through the inner
doorway, holding his bundle, she laughed to herself: but her heart
was bitter, because she had loved him.

DURING the next week Morel's temper was almost unbearable.
Like all miners, he was a great lover of medicines, which, strangely
enough, he would often pay for himself.

"You mun get me a drop o' laxy vitral," he said. "It's a winder
as we canna ha'e a sup i' th' 'ouse."

So Mrs. Morel bought him elixir of vitriol, his favourite first
medicine. And he made himself a jug of wormwood tea. He had
hanging in the attic great bunches of dried herbs: wormwood, rue,

-48-