could now pick and choose; and they chose,
as the tenant of their second-floor room,
Allan Marsh, a young man who came from
the north of England, to work upon the railway.
They liked, from the first, his open,
good-humoured countenance, full of health
and cheerfulness—to say nothing of its being
very handsome—with the thick bright hair
curling above his broad forehead. They
liked his frank manner, and his way of
speaking to the children, and they agreed,
after one interview, that they had no doubt
he was an honest man, who would pay his
way and be sober. So it proved. He paid his
bill on the first Saturday night; and during
that week and the next, the comrades he
brought home to spend an hour with him, or
engage the room above, were as respectable
as himself. Allan made himself quite at
home; called Mrs. Ewing "Mother "; played
with the little ones; and told the elder ones
all about his way of life as a miner in the
north. He had not liked his way of life as a
miner; and had come south on that account.
Moreover, he hoped his brother would soon
follow his example; for no man could keep
his health long who had to sleep in a lodging-
shop.

"A lodging-shop!" exclaimed Jack Ewing.
"What is that?"

"Something like a beehive, only not by
any means so sweet.  Very far from it,
indeed."

And Allan told how he and his brother
used to divide the week—the one going forth
on the Sunday night, with wallet on shoulder,
containing three days' provisions, and clamber-
ing up the mountain to the place of work,
near which stood the lodging-shop; and the
other setting out in the same way on the
Wednesday night. The work was so hard
that no man undertook more than half a
week of it; and it was this which saved
many lives; for no man could long survive
sleeping seven nights in a week in a lodging-
shop. The brothers usually met at a certain
spot in the ascent, and sat down for half-an-
hour's talk; and very pleasant those talks
were; but Allan had sent a message to his
brother, that they could here, in the south,
work together for six days in the week, and
have every evening for talk, and seven nights
of such sleep as could never be had in a
lodging-shop.

"But what is a lodging-shop?" asked Jack
again.

"It is a great house of two stories, with no
opening at the back or sides, except the
chimney of the fire-place below, and only two
windows in each floor, on the fourth side; so
that there is not air enough for so many
people to breathe. Pah! I seem to smell the
bad air now."

"How many people?"

"Sometimes above a hundred. There were
the beds, row above row, up to the ceiling;
the upper rows on posts, with ladders to get
up to them; and sometimes three of us in
a bed, with a fourth sleeping across the
foot."

"I should never have slept, in such a way
as that."

"You must, if you wanted to sleep at all.
There was no other place to sleep in, up that
mountain."

"But did you sleep?"

"Not much. Among so many, there were
always some that had coughs; and they
disturbed the rest. Then some came in late
up to midnight, and they were cooking their
suppers, frying their bacon at the fire below;
and the smell came up among the bad breath.
I used to think the night seemed as long as a
week. We got up more tired than we went
to bed."

"Could not you go somewhere else?"

"No: the nearest public-house was seven
miles off. And if we had made any difficulty,
we should have been discharged. It was
only for three nights out of seven; but that
has killed off many good fellows who ought
to be living now. It shall not be so with my
brother. I will find somebody to write him
a letter from me, begging him to come and
work on the railway, and lodge here, where
he can breathe free, and not lose his precious
strength from bad air."

Before any answer arrived to message or
letter, a dreadful change had come over
Allan's state and prospects. He went out
merrily to his work, one morning, when he
had been about three weeks at the Ewings';
little dreaming that he should never go forth
to work more. As he passed through the
passage, he bade the children be good at
school. When he got to the door, he saw the
pretty, bright-haired little Betsy Holt, three
years old, peeping at him, and begging play
from an opposite entrance; and he stopped a
minute to give the child a toss, and pretend
to run after her: and this was the last time
he was seen on his feet. While at work that
day, he set his foot on a round lump of chalk,
which began to roll; and, before he could
recover himself, he was carried over the verge
of the cliff, and fell to a great depth.

When taken up, he said he was a dead
man; and those who climbed to the slope
where he lay, told the people who began to
gather below that his back was broken. A
hurdle was brought, and he was carried down
and along the beach, as gently as possible, but
groaning so as to sicken the hearts of those
who heard him. They were going to take
him to the nearest public-house; but now he
showed that he was sensible. He begged
them not to stop anywhere, but carry him to
"Mother's." He tried hard to stop groaning;
that they might not be disheartened at the
way they had to go.

"Mother " was at home, busy baking, while
little Jane took care of the children. In a
moment, Mrs. Ewing comprehended the case.
She wiped the flour from her hands, handed a