He was free--free, and was happy and could cry defiance to the
dangers of the mine, to the terrors of time itself. He could clutch the
corners of the earth, and play with it as a toy of time, among the Gods
of Eternity.
"Choose, choose wha' you'll tak'," throbbed the young heart and a smile
of triumph played upon the lips as the pictures of bygone times flitted
across his dying brain. He was again the happy infant, hungry it may be,
and ill-clad, but Heaven contained no happier soul. The little stomach
might not be filled with sufficient food; but the spirit of him as it
was in younger years knew no material limits to its laughter in the
childish ring games of youth. Again he was waiting in the dark wintry
mornings on Mysie, so that she would not be afraid to go to work on the
pit-head; ay, and he was happy to take the windward side of her in the
storm, and shield her from the winter's blast, tying her little shawl
about her ears and making her believe he did not feel the cold at all.
He was back again at his mother's knee, listening to her glorious voice
singing some pitiful old ballad, as she crooned him to sleep; or lying
trying to forget the hunger he felt as the glorious old tune seemed to
drown his senses while he waited to say his prayer at night.
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