An old man instructed them in their duties.
"You'll staun here," he panted, indicating a little platform about two
feet broad, and running along the full length of the "scree." "You'll
watch for every bit stane that comes doon, an' dinna' let any past. Pick
them oot as soon as you see them, an' fling them owre there, an' Dickie
Tamson'll fill them into the hutch, an' get them taken to the dirt
bing."
"A' richt," said Robert, as he looked at the narrow platform, with its
weak, inadequate railing, which could hardly prevent anyone from falling
down on to the wagon track, some fifteen or twenty feet below on one
side, or on to the moving "scree" on the other.
"Weel, mind an' no' let any stanes gang past, for there are aye
complaints comin' in aboot dirty coals. If ye dinna work an' keep oot
the stanes, you'll get the sack," and he said this as if he meant to
convey to them that he was the sole authority on the matter.
He was an old man, and Robert, as he looked at him, wondered if he had
ever laughed. "Auld Girnie" they called him, because of his habit of
always finding fault with everything and everybody, for no one could
please him.
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