"Like him!" growled Eben, glaring vindictively round at his companions.

"Man enew for me? Sithee: you know me, lads, and what I can do."

There was no reply.

"Yo' all know me, and what I can do, and do you think I'm going to let a bit of a boy, wi' his pretence about his larning and studies, bunch me and ca' me a fool and a brute when I know more about t'mine wi' one o'

my hands than he does wi' his whole body."

Still there was no reply, the men taking up their picks and looking uneasily at the speaker.

"Tell 'ee what. I'm a man, I am, and a man o' my word. I said I'd put my mark on him for this job; and I will. Yo' all hear me, don't 'ee? I say I'll put my mark upon him."

The big miner, with his fierce blackened face and rolling eyes, looked vindictive enough then to be guilty of any atrocity as he seemed to be seeking for an answer.

"Yo' hear me? I say I'll put my mark upon him."

"Not thou, lad," said one of his companions at last.

"I tell 'ee I will. Never mind when or wheer. And now wheer's the man as'll go and tell him what I say?"

No one spoke, and soon after that was heard the regular metallic _chip_--_chip_--_chip_ of the picks in the black wall of coal, Ebenezer Parks muttering to himself the while, and thinking of how he could best revenge himself upon "that boy."

CHAPTER FIVE.

'TWIXT FATHER AND SON.

When her son went home, Mrs Hexton was sitting up very straight and stern-looking in her chair, with a knitted stocking in one hand, a worsted-threaded needle in the other, and a handkerchief tied over her head to keep off the draught, for the new drawing-room was cold.

Mr Hexton was seated in an easy-chair--at least, he was in the easy-chair; but it is not fair to say that he was seated, for he was filling up the chair just as if he had no bones, and making a rather sonorous noise as he breathed.

It was past one o'clock, and the servants had gone to bed at ten, soon after which time Mr Hexton had proposed that they should follow, but Mrs Hexton had declared her intention of sitting up for her son.

"Why, what nonsense!" her husband had said. "Come along to bed."

"You can go, dear," she replied quietly. "I should not be happy if I did not see him safely back. And, besides, he will want a cup of tea and a bit of toast."

"And his face washed, and his feet put in warm water, while his mother brushes his hair, and fusses over him," said Mr Hexton pettishly. "For goodness' sake, don't go on petting and coddling the boy like that."

Mrs Hexton said nothing--only rose from her chair, and placed the tea-tray and the caddy ready, for they had been brought in the last thing by one of the maids. Then she lifted the bright copper kettle out of the fender and placed it on the hob, where it began to sing a song of its own composition, and she ended by taking up three pairs of her son's stockings to darn.

There was not the slightest need for Mrs Hexton to perform such a duty as this, but she had darned her husband's stockings when they were poor people, and she could not easily give up her old habits when they were comparatively rich. And now, as she ran the long, glistening needle in and out amongst the worsted threads, her husband sat back in his chair and said it was absurd; but all the same, as he watched her with half-closed eyes, he thought what a good woman she was, and how happy it made him to think that she was not in the slightest degree spoiled by prosperity, while he fervently prayed that she might continue as she was to the end.

Then, as he sank back lower and lower, thinking how earnestly his son had set about his task of reforming and improving the matters in the mine, he began to recall the terrible accidents that had happened at their pit, and at those in the neighbourhood. It would be a grand thing, he thought, if Philip, with his fresh and earnest mind and his knowledge, could do something to lessen the dangers of the pitman's life; though he rather trembled for the result, knowing as he did how hard it is to get over old prejudices.

Then all became very misty and strange; and to his blurred eyesight it seemed as if Mrs Hexton's grey stocking-covered hand got itself mixed up with her head, and her head appeared to be mixed up with the copper kettle on the hob, and then it was his wife who was singing like the tea-kettle, and then all was blank till he started up wide awake, for there was a noise at the door, and Mrs Hexton immediately began to make the tea.

"Have I been asleep, mother?" said Mr Hexton. "Hallo, Phil! back again?"

"Why, father--mother!" exclaimed the young man, "why haven't you both gone to bed?"

"I thought you'd find a cup of tea so refreshing," said the old lady briskly; and, waiting till it had stood long enough, she poured out a cup, placed a pair of slippers a little more in front of the fire, her work in a basket, and ended by kissing her son and saying good-night.

He followed her to the door, where she laughingly turned round and bade Mr Hexton make haste up, kissed her son once more, and left him with his father.

"Nice to be you, Phil," said the latter. "Oh, she has left out two cups! I'll have a cup of tea with you."

This he took, and then, as father and son sat together, the latter was the first to speak.

"I've had rather a scene to-night, father," he said.

"Scene! What! Not an accident?" said Mr Hexton, nearly upsetting his tea in his excitement.

"No, father, no accident; but the pit was so foul to-night that I believe if I had not interfered the place would have fired."

"They will do it, Phil; they will do it," said Mr Hexton, as soon as his son had finished his narration. "I've tried all I know to stop it, but they'll run any risk, especially if they've tried the same thing before without accident."

"Yes, I see that," said Philip. "It is so hard to make them see that there is danger at one time that does not exist at another."

"Exactly," said the elder seriously. "But I'm very sorry about that fellow Parks. He's a spiteful and dangerous man. I don't like his owing you a grudge."

"I'm not afraid, father," said Philip. "I've right on my side. I believe, too, that he is a great coward."

"Maybe," said Mr Hexton thoughtfully; "but still I would much rather it had not happened. Bother the fellows! it does seem hard; we are always striving to give them the means of working in safety, and in return they fly in your face."

"We'll forgive them that, father," said the young man smiling, "but we must have the rules of the mine strictly carried out."

"I'll back you up, Phil, in anything in reason," said Mr Hexton; "but look here: be careful--don't trust yourself in that fellow's way, my boy. I'm afraid he's an ugly character, and there's no knowing to what lengths spite will lead an ignorant man. What shall you do? Haul him up before the bench for threatening language--have him bound over?"

"No, father," said Philip quietly, as he sipped his tea. "I shall take no further notice. I have shown the men to-night that I mean business, that I am working for their good; and I have no doubt in the end that they will learn to respect me as well as obey."

"And I wanted to stop him from going down the pit," said Mr Hexton to himself, as he sat watching his son.

"It will be a long fight, father," cried Philip, rising and holding out his hand. "Good-night!" he said with a smile; "we've declared war, but I mean to win."

CHAPTER SIX.

IN GREAT PERIL.

There could be no doubt that Philip Hexton did mean to win the fight, and there could also be no doubt that he was going the right way to work to win it. The greater part of the men met his efforts for their good in a surly, churlish way, as people will meet any one who tries to interfere with their cherished notions; but there were others, few though they were, who had the good sense and honesty to own that the young deputy was right, and to join with him in trying to reform the ways of the men in the pit.

Ebenezer Parks went on with his work as usual, showing no disposition to resume the quarrel; but Philip noticed one thing, and that was--the man never would look him in the face. No sooner did the young deputy come in sight than Parks bent over his work, or stooped to trim his lamp with the wire that pa.s.sed through it; he never once gazed frankly and openly in Philip's eyes.

Time wore on, and there could be no doubt about it, the mine regulations were better kept, and hence there was less likelihood of an accident occurring, though, of course, the utmost vigilance could not protect those who worked from mishap.

Philip, with his father's help, devised two or three alterations in the ventilation of the mine, which also made it less fiery, as the pitmen called it; but his great project was to have another shaft.