He
lay among the heather and read books, or dreamed of a rosy future, with
her the center of his dreams; but no Mysie came along, and he began to
grow anxious.
He wanted to make enquiries about her, but feared to arouse suspicion of
having too keen an interest in her. By various ways he sought
information, but never heard anything definite.
"I see Matthew Maitland's ither lassie has started on the pit-head," he
said to his mother, as one night they sat by the fire before retiring.
"Ay," answered Mrs. Sinclair. "Matthew has the worst o' it by noo. Wi'
his twa bits o' laddies workin', an' Mysie in service, an' Mary gaun to
the pit-head, it should mak' his burden a wee easier."
"I dinna like the idea o' lasses gaun to work on the pithead," he said
simply. "I aye mind of the time that Mysie an' me wrocht on it. It's no'
a very nice place for lasses or women."
"No," his mother said. "I dinna like it either. Nae guid ever comes o'
lasses gaun there. They lose a' sense o' modesty an' decency, after a
while, an' are no' like women at a' when they grow aulder. Besides, it
mak's them awfu' coorse."
"I wad hardly say that aboot them a'," he ventured cautiously.
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