Aarons Rod | Page 5

staggering, with his face
averted.
"Mind where you make a lot of dirt," she said.
He lowered the box with a little jerk on to the spread-out newspaper on
the floor. Soil scattered.
"Sweep it up," he said to Millicent.
His ear was lingering over the sudden, clutching hiss of the tree-
boughs.
A stark white incandescent light filled the room and made everything
sharp and hard. In the open fire-place a hot fire burned red. All was
scrupulously clean and perfect. A baby was cooing in a rocker- less
wicker cradle by the hearth. The mother, a slim, neat woman with dark
hair, was sewing a child's frock. She put this aside, rose, and began to
take her husband's dinner from the oven.
"You stopped confabbing long enough tonight," she said.
"Yes," he answered, going to the back kitchen to wash his hands.
In a few minutes he came and sat down to his dinner. The doors were
shut close, but there was a draught, because the settling of the mines
under the house made the doors not fit. Aaron moved his chair, to get
out of the draught. But he still sat in his shirt and trousers.
He was a good-looking man, fair, and pleasant, about thirty-two years
old. He did not talk much, but seemed to think about something. His

wife resumed her sewing. She was acutely aware of her husband, but he
seemed not very much aware of her.
"What were they on about today, then?" she said.
"About the throw-in."
"And did they settle anything?"
"They're going to try it--and they'll come out if it isn't satisfactory."
"The butties won't have it, I know," she said. He gave a short laugh,
and went on with his meal.
The two children were squatted on the floor by the tree. They had a
wooden box, from which they had taken many little newspaper packets,
which they were spreading out like wares.
"Don't open any. We won't open any of them till we've taken them all
out--and then we'll undo one in our turns. Then we s'll both undo
equal," Millicent was saying.
"Yes, we'll take them ALL out first," re-echoed Marjory.
"And what are they going to do about Job Arthur Freer? Do they want
him?" A faint smile came on her husband's face.
"Nay, I don't know what they want.--Some of 'em want him--whether
they're a majority, I don't know."
She watched him closely.
"Majority! I'd give 'em majority. They want to get rid of you, and make
a fool of you, and you want to break your heart over it. Strikes me you
need something to break your heart over."
He laughed silently.
"Nay," he said. "I s'll never break my heart."

"You'll go nearer to it over that, than over anything else: just because a
lot of ignorant monkeys want a monkey of their own sort to do the
Union work, and jabber to them, they want to get rid of you, and you
eat your heart out about it. More fool you, that's all I say--more fool
you. If you cared for your wife and children half what you care about
your Union, you'd be a lot better pleased in the end. But you care about
nothing but a lot of ignorant colliers, who don't know what they want
except it's more money just for themselves. Self, self, self--that's all it is
with them--and ignorance."
"You'd rather have self without ignorance?" he said, smiling finely.
"I would, if I've got to have it. But what I should like to see is a man
that has thought for others, and isn't all self and politics."
Her color had risen, her hand trembled with anger as she sewed. A
blank look had come over the man's face, as if he did not hear or heed
any more. He drank his tea in a long draught, wiped his moustache with
two fingers, and sat looking abstractedly at the children.
They had laid all the little packets on the floor, and Millicent was
saying:
"Now I'll undo the first, and you can have the second. I'll take this--"
She unwrapped the bit of newspaper and disclosed a silvery ornament
for a Christmas tree: a frail thing like a silver plum, with deep rosy
indentations on each side.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it LOVELY!" Her fingers cautiously held
the long bubble of silver and glowing rose, cleaving to it with a curious,
irritating possession. The man's eyes moved away from her. The lesser
child was fumbling with one of the little packets.
"Oh!"--a wail went up from Millicent. "You've taken one!--You didn't
wait." Then her voice changed to a motherly admonition, and she began
to interfere. "This is the way to do it, look! Let me help you."

But Marjory drew