Ferns Hollow | Page 6

down his cheeks for the first time that day,
Stephen repeated over and over again to himself, 'Our Father! our
Father!'
Stephen would have liked to stay in the church for the evening service,
for which the bells were already ringing; but this did not at all suit the
tastes of his father's old comrades. They made haste to crowd into a

public-house, where they sat and drank, and forced Stephen to drink too,
in order to 'drown his grief.' It was still a painful dream to him; and
more and more, as the long hours passed on, he wondered how he came
there, and what all the people about him were doing. It was quite dark
before they started homewards, and the poor old grandfather was no
longer able to sit up in his chair, but lay helplessly at the bottom of the
cart. Even Martha was fast asleep, and leaned her head upon Stephen's
shoulder, without any regard for her new black bonnet. The cart was
now crowded with as many of the people as could get into it, who sang
and shouted along the quiet Sunday road; and, as they insisted upon
stopping at every public-house they came to, it was very late before
they reached the lane leading up to Fern's Hollow. The grandfather was
half dragged and half carried along by two of the men, followed by
Stephen bearing sleepy little Nan in his arms, and by Martha, who had
wakened up in a temper between crying and scolding. The long, strange,
painful dream of father's funeral was not over yet, and Stephen was still
trying to think in a stupid, drowsy fashion, when he fell heavily asleep
on the bed beside his grandfather.
He awoke by habit very early in the morning, and aroused himself with
a great effort against dropping asleep again. He could realize and
understand his position better now. Father was dead; and there was no
one to earn bread for them all but himself. At this thought he sprang up
instantly, though his head was aching in a manner he had never felt
before. With some difficulty he awoke Martha to get his breakfast and
put up his dinner in a basket which he carried with him to the pit. She
also complained bitterly of her head aching, and moved about with a
listlessness very different to her usual activity. 'I only wish I knew what
was right,' said Stephen to himself; 'they told us we ought to show
respect for father, but I don't think he'd like this. Perhaps if I could read
the Bible all through, that would tell me everything.'
This thought reminded Stephen that he had promised his father to read
his chapter every day of his life till he knew how to read more; and,
carrying the old Bible to his favourite seat on the door-sill, a very
pleasant place in the cool, fresh summer morning, he read the verses
aloud, slowly and carefully, rather repeating than reading them, for he

knew his chapter better by heart than by the printed letters in the book.
Thank God, Stephen Fern did begin to know it by heart!
It was not a bad day in the pit. All the colliers, men and boys, were
more gentle than usual with the fatherless lad; and even Black
Thompson, his master since his father's illness, who was in general a
fierce bully to everybody about him, spoke as mildly as he could to
Stephen. Yet all the day Stephen longed for his release in the evening,
thinking how much work there wanted doing in the garden, and how he
and Martha must be busy in it till nightfall. The clanking of the chain
which drew him up to the light of day sounded like music to him; but
little did he guess that an enemy was lying in wait for him at the mouth
of the pit. 'Hillo!' cried a voice down the shaft as they were nearing the
top; 'one of you chaps have got to carry a sack o' coals one mile.'
The voice belonged to Tim Cole, who was the terror of the pit-bank,
from his love of mischief and his insatiable desire for fighting. He was
looking down the shaft now, with a grin and a laugh upon his red face,
round which his shaggy red hair hung like a rough mane. There were
only two other boys besides Stephen in the skip, and as their fathers
were with them it might be dangerous to meddle with them; so Tim
fixed upon Stephen as his prey.
'Thee has got to carry these coals, Steve,' he said, his eyes dancing with
delight.
'I won't,' replied Stephen.
'Thee shalt,' cried Tim, with an oath.
'I won't,' Stephen repeated stedfastly.
'Then