Seth | Page 2

was not a man on the platform who did not evince some degree
of pleasure at the approach of the new-comer. The last warm rays of the
sun, already sinking behind the mountains, seemed rather to take pride
in showing what a debonair young fellow he was, in glowing kindly
upon his handsome face and strong, graceful figure, and touching up to
greater brightness his bright hair.
The face was one to be remembered with a sentiment approaching
gratitude for the mere existence of such genial and unspoiled good
looks, but the voice that addressed the men was one to be loved, and
loved without stint, it was so clear and light-hearted and frank.
"Boys," said he, "good-evening to you. Evans, if you could spare me a
minute"--
Evans rose at once.
"I'll speak to him," he said to the lad at his side. "His word will go
further with Lancashire Jack than mine would." He went to the horse's
side, and stood there for a few minutes talking in an undertone, and
then he turned to the stranger and beckoned. "Come here," he said.
The lad took up his bundle and obeyed the summons, advancing with
an awkward almost stumbling step, suggestive of actual weakness as
well as the extremity of shyness. Reaching the two men, he touched his
cap humbly, and stood with timorous eyes upraised to the young man's

face.
Langley met his glance with a somewhat puzzled look, which presently
passed away in a light laugh. "I'm trying to remember who you are, my
lad," he said, "but I shall be obliged to give it up. I know your face, I
think, but I have no recollection of your name. I dare say I have seen
you often enough. You came from Deepton, Evans tells me."
"Ay, mester, fro' Deepton."
"A long journey for a lad like you to take alone," with inward pity for
the heavy face.
"Ay, mester."
"And now you want work?"
"If you please, mester."
"Well, well!" cheerily, "we will give it to you. There's work enough,
though it isn't such as you had at Deepton. What is your name?"
"Seth, mester--Seth Raynor," shifting the stick and bundle in uneasy
eagerness from one shoulder to another. "An' I'm used to hard work,
mester. It wur na easy work we had at th' Deepton mine, an' I'm
stronger than I look. It's th' faggedness as makes me trembly--an'
hunger."
"Hunger?"
"I ha' not tasted sin' th' neet afore last," shamefacedly. "I hadna th'
money to buy, an' it seemt loike I could howd out."
"Hold out!" echoed Langley in some excitement. "That's a poor
business, my lad. Here, come with me. The other matter can wait,
Evans."
The downcast face and ungainly figure troubled him in no slight degree
as they moved off together, they seemed to express in some

indescribable fashion so much of dull and patient pain, and they were
so much at variance with the free grandeur of the scene surrounding
them. It was as if a new element were introduced into the very air itself.
Black Creek was too young yet to have known hunger or actual want of
any kind. The wild things on the mountain sides had scarcely had time
to learn to fear the invaders of their haunts or understand that they were
to be driven backward. The warm wind was fragrant with the keen
freshness of pine and cedar. Mountain and forest and sky were stronger
than the human stragglers they closed around and shut out from the
world.
"We don't see anything like that in Lancashire," said Langley. "That
kind of thing is new to us, my lad, isn't it?" with a light gesture toward
the mountain, in whose side the workers had burrowed.
"Ay, mester," raising troubled eyes to its grandeur--"iverything's new. I
feel aw lost some-toimes, an' feared-loike."
Langley lifted his hat from his brow to meet a little passing breeze, and
as it swept softly by he smiled in the enjoyment of its coolness.
"Afraid?" he said. "I don't understand that."
"I dunnot see into it mysen', mester. Happen it's th' bigness, an' quiet,
an' th' lonely look, an' happen it's summat wrong in mysen'. I've lived in
th' cool an' smoke an/ crowd an' work so long as it troubles me in a
manner to--to ha' to look so high."
"Does it?" said Langley, a few faint lines showing themselves on his
forehead. "That's a queer fancy. So high!" turning his glance upward to
where the tallest pine swayed its dark plume against the clear blue.
"Well, so it is. But you will get used to it in time," shaking off a rather
unpleasant sensation.
"Happen so, mester, in toime," was the simple answer; and then silence
fell upon them again.
They