Seth

"Seth", by Frances Hodgson
Burnett

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Title: "Seth"
Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett
Release Date: November 4, 2007 [EBook #23325]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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Produced by David Widger

"SETH"
By Frances Hodgson Burnett
Copyright, 1877

He came in one evening at sun set with the empty coal-train--his dull
young face pale and heavy-eyed with weariness, his corduroy suit dusty
and travel-stained, his worldly possessions tied up in the smallest of
handkerchief bundles and slung upon the stick resting on his
shoulder--and naturally his first appearance attracted some attention
among the loungers about the shed dignified by the title of "dépôt." I
say "naturally," because arrivals upon the trains to Black Creek were so
scarce as to be regarded as curiosities; which again might be said to be
natural. The line to the mines had been in existence two months, since
the English company had taken them in hand and pushed the matter
through with an energy startling to, and not exactly approved by, the
majority of good East Tennesseeans. After the first week or so of
arrivals--principally Welsh and English miners, with an occasional
Irishman--the trains had returned daily to the Creek without a passenger;
and accordingly this one created some trifling sensation.
Not that his outward appearance was particularly interesting or
suggestive of approaching excitement. He was only a lad of nineteen or
twenty, in working English-cut garb, and with a short, awkward figure,
and a troubled, homely face--a face so homely and troubled, in fact,
that its half-bewildered look was almost pathetic.
He advanced toward the shed hesitatingly, and touched his cap as if
half in clumsy courtesy and half in timid appeal. "Mesters," he said,
"good-day to yo'."
The company bestirred themselves with one accord, and to the roughest
and most laconic gave him a brief "Good-day."
"You're English," said a good-natured Welshman, "ar'n't you, my lad?"
"Ay, mester," was the reply: "I'm fro' Lancashire."
He sat down on the edge of the rough platform, and laid his stick and
bundle down in a slow, wearied fashion.
"Fro' Lancashire," he repeated in a voice as wearied as his action--"fro'
th' Deepton coalmines theer. You'll know th' name on 'em, I ha' no

doubt. Th' same company owns 'em as owns these."
"What!" said an outsider--"Langley an 'em?"
The boy turned himself round and nodded. "Ay," he answered--"them.
That was why I comn here. I comn to get work fro'--fro' him."
He faltered in his speech oddly, and even reddened a little, at the same
time rubbing his hands together with a nervousness which seemed
habitual to him.
"Mester Ed'ard, I mean," he added--"th' young mester as is here. I heerd
as he liked 'Merika, an'--an' I comn."
The loungers glanced at each other, and their glance did not mean high
appreciation of the speaker's intellectual powers. There was a lack of
practicalness in such faith in another man as expressed itself in the
wistful, hesitant voice.
"Did he say he'd give you work?" asked the first man who had
questioned him, the Welshman Evans.
"No. I dunnot think--I dunnot think he'd know me if he seed me. Theer
wur so many on us."
Another exchange of glances, and then another question: "Where are
you going to stay?"
The homely face reddened more deeply, and the lad's eyes--dull, soft,
almost womanish eyes--raised themselves to the speaker's. "Do yo'
knew anybody as would be loikely to tak' me in a bit" he said, "until I
ha' toime to earn th' wage to pay? I wouldna wrong no mon a penny as
had trusted me."
There was manifest hesitation, and then some one spoke: "Lancashire
Jack might."
"Mester," said the lad to Evans, "would you moind speakin' a word fur
me? I ha' had a long tramp, an' I'm fagged-loike, an'"--He stopped and

rose from his seat with a hurried movement. "Who's that theer as is
comin'?" he demanded. "Isna it th' young mester?"
The some one in question was a young man on horseback, who at that
moment turned the corner and rode toward the shed with a loose rein,
allowing his horse to choose his own pace.
"Ay," said the lad with an actual tremor in his excited voice--"it's him,
sure enow," and sank back on his seat again as if he had found himself
scarcely strong enough to stand. "I--I ha' not 'aten much fur two or
three days," he said to Evans.
There