"Ay, an' may the coals they howkit the day roast them forever," added
another. Though they prayed thus, yet once again they found that the
"prayer of the wicked availeth naught." Buckets of water, however, and
even bits of stone and scrap iron were surreptitiously flung down the
shaft; and when the blacklegs did appear, they were nearly frightened
out of their senses. It would have gone hard with them as they left the
cage, but someone whispered, "Here's the polis!" and so the crowd had to
be content with beating their tin cans; and keeping time to the songs
improvised by Tam Donaldson, they escorted the blacklegs to their homes.
Next morning a large number of the strikers gathered at the Lazy Corner,
enjoying themselves greatly.
"They tell me," said Tam Donaldson, "that our fren's ha'e slept in this
morning."
A laugh greeted this sally, which seemed to indicate that most of them
knew about the sleeping-in and the reason for it.
"Ay, they'd be tired oot efter their hard day's work yesterday," replied
another.
"Ay, an' they dinna seem to be up yet," said a third, "for I see the
doors are still shut, an' the bairns are no' awa' to the school.
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