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[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] CHILDREN OF DARK- NESS. A ROMANCE OF MINING LIFE. By J. MONK FOSTER. Author of "A Miner's Million," "Slaves of Fiile," "A Pit Brow Lassie," A Fropliet of I he Mines," "Ptisiiouls AfiermatV "The Black M'ss Ms,err, Que\:n of the Fat tory." & &c. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED) CHAPTER T. AT BREAK OF DAY. WAS a peaceful autumn morning. In the east the greyish light of dawn was turning to red and gold. I he hour was five of the clock, and the soft, warm air was filled at that moment with the clear, piercing, and far-reaching notes of the steam-whistle, or buzzer," at the Pewfall Collieiy, announcing the time named. The shadows were flitting from the green depths of the woods; the light of the sunrise was play- ing on the yellowing ftelds of grain and lash meadow-lands; and the scent of opening flowers, the cries of awakened birds, made pleasant the dawn of tke morning. Yet, early as was the hour, the inhabitants of the little mining village of Kingsmoss were astir. Down the narrow and picturesque old lane which led from the hamlet to l'ewfall Colliery, and then ran on to Kccleston, a tnwn some three miles distant, the bread- winners of the locality were to be seen making their way. Here and there were men with cans in "heir hands and picks on their shoulders, evidently miner3 on their way to the Pew- faw," as the village pits were termed—and lads of all ages, from ten to twenty, were trudging along the dusty high road, whistling blithely as the summer birds that flitted in the air above, and swinging their Davy lamps jji their fingers, or carrying them slung from their coat-collars. At rarer intervals lasses and women were to seen, all going in the same direction, and the while aprons of some of the females showed that they were cotton operatives on their way to the mills in Eccleston. Now and again, strange figures with the japes of women, but garbed as men, walked leisurely along the green lane. These were pit-brow girls, and their hybrid attire would have sorely puzzled a stranger. Again, the steam whistle at the Pewfall emitted its htridulous scream, telling this time the half hour between five and six had passed; and as the last notes of the noit-y stream of sound quivered upon the quiet morning air, a man came walking down the lane who is to Play a rather important part in this matter-of- fact story. This was a pitman named Reuben Calvert. lIe bad been bred and born, as they say in Lancashire, in the village of Kingsmoss, and there he had lived and laboured all his life Up to the time of writing. Reuben was now a fine-looking young fellow of five-and-twentv comely-featured iiiid stut-dv-liiiibud, and as honest-hearted a lad ss one could have found in all the length and breadth of that well-popu'a'ed shire. lIe was a splendid sample of that order, the British workman," which has done so much towards making England great. He was a 6 hard-working, hard-headed man, and, although his hands were horny and his habiliments of the rudest fashion, he possessed intelligence of no low standard, as this narrative will Prove. Along the lane Reuben went, humming a line or two of a song he had beard in the adjr.cent town some nights previously, when be had visited the place with a lass who was Very dear to him, and whom he expected one day to make his wife. The hard day's toil which lay before the young pitman seemed to trouble him not at all. Walking slowly and singing lowly he trudged on, now and anon plucking and chew- 11 1 ing a leaf from the hedgerow of hawthorn at his elbow. o As Reuben approached the by-path which led to the Pewfall Colliery yard, a bend in the lane revealed a man sitting on the grassy bank at the side of the road. The stranger's appearance bespoke his destitute condition and muttering to himself, Some poor devil of a tranip who's been out all night," Reuben glanced at him, and was passing on when the voice of the tramp arrested his feet. Can you help a poor chap, mate 2" Reuben Calvert had stopped within arm's reach of the man, and he now regarded him with some curiosity. The stranger, whatever or whoever he might be, did not appear to be of the regular tramp order. His fane, bearing, and garments were those of an ordinary work- 1119 man out of work and hard up. What do you want f Reuben asked. "Anything," was the quick response. Either something to eat or a copper or two to buy it, I've tramped a long way and I'm oYIng for a bite and sup." cl "You're a Lancashire man," said Calvert. ) I am. How could you tell ?" By your speech. Well, I've nothing to give thee, lad. Coalers doant carry money on them when they go to the pit. But-" What ?" the tramp asked eagerly, as the other paused. I've my jackbit, meaning the day's food he carried in his breast. "W ilt have that 2" "Won't I? Try me!" the stranger cried with hungry eyes. Without more ado Reuben Calvert laid down his can, and unbuttoning his blue flannel shirt at the breast he took therefrom his day's food and handed it to the other, who, with a hurried word or two of thanks, fell to upon it with great avidity. "Here's my tea-take a drink, lad, if you are dry." The tramp took the offered can, and while he ate and drank, the pitman scanned him with a critical eye. Reuben was in no great hurry. The colliery was close by and it still wanted nearly half an hour to six, the time tixed for descending the mine. The man before him seemed to be of about his own age. He was a tall and well-built fellow; swarthily skinned, black-eyed, and with hair and heavy moustache of the same colour. Dilapidated as he then was, he was not bad looking; a wash and better garments might make of him a handsome man. Reuben found himself wondering who the man could be and whence he had come. Then he spoke. Out of work I reckon ?" The man nodded, his mouth being full of the bread and bacon the kind-hearted pitman had given him. What's your trade ? "I'm like yourself, a miner." You are? Well, that's strange. And do you want any work ? If I ca 11 get it." I want a mate—a drawer at least-will you have the shop? I will. When shall I start P Do you work over there? pointing with bis finger to the el Pewfall Pits. "I do. And when will you start work- p 11 ing ? "This morning — now," the man cried, earnestly, if 1 can. Will you let me ? As lie spoke he Hepped aside, and ivaitedfoi, the lass to cross." But you are stan ed—you have been out all night—you must be sleepy, and-" 1 have slept under the h..dge there. I tell you I will start working this morning if you will give me the chance." I Then I will, owd lad," Reuben Calvert exclaimed. Come along, aid I'll give you a trial." In another moment the miner and his strange companion were v/alking side by side along the road towards the pits at a quick pace, for the hour of six was fast approach- ing, and if they were not upon the pit bank before the hour was passed they would not be permitted to descend the shaft that day. I Hurrying to the lamp-house Reuben Calvert obtained a lamp for his new drawer, and a) few minutes later the pair of them were ) lowered at a rush into the lightless depths of the Pewfall Arley Mine. ) On alighting from the cage at the bottom of the shaft, Reuben led the way to the cabin where the night foreman in attendance examined ,the lamps of himself and his new mate. After the official named had scanned the wire gauzes of the lamps to see that none of the fine meshes were broken, and locked the "Davys," the miner and his companion left the pit eye and proceeded towards the working-place of the former, which lay at the southern extremity of the seam at the top of number three jig. As they walked on, Calvert ventured to remark:— "I forgot to ask your name, mate. Mine is Reuben Calvert. IN-hat is thine ?'' "My name!" the other replied, with a curious tremor in his deep voice. ell, my name is Dick—Dick Orreil." "That's alright, lad," Reuben rejoined in his genial way. "Well Dick. I think you 11 like this pit when you get used to it. W hen yon Vd been here a bit of a while the undei*- manager will find a shop for you. And what part of Lancashire dost come from, owd lad t « LJp Pendleton way," Orrell answered, but I have been in the North for some two or three years. I got on the spree a week or two since, lost my place, and took the road— that's my history, Reuben Cah'ert." The miner thought at the moment that his comrade's sketch of his own history, as he had. called it, was hardly as comprehensive as it 1 might have }WOIl. But he said nothing of j this then. If Richard Orrell did not care to give more details of himself it was no concern of his. But there was one other question Calvert put to his companion. You are single, I suppose ? What else ? I'm not one of the marrying sort. It takes me all my time, Reuben, to keep myself. The working chap that gets wed is a fool! It's easier to keep one's-self without a wife and children. What do you think, Reuben ?" The man spoke in a bitter, cynical way that he did not like, and he retorted warmly "That's nonsense, Dick, and you know it. There's many a worse thing a man can do than marrying a decent less. There's one I'd marry next Sunday if she'd let me." Richard Orrell did not offer any reply to this utterance. He only whistled to himself in a sly way, and the matter dropped. There is no occasion to dwell at any great length upon the incidents of that particular day. It passed like so many of the working days of Reuben Calvert's life had spent them- selves. The stranger he had taken to labour stuck to his work of drawing" the coals like a man, and one used to the work. It was clear Orrell had but spoken the truth when he stated that he was a miner. When noon arrived Reuben found himself much more tired than usual, and his work- mate was quite fagged out with his exertions. This was only natural, as neither of them had tasted food since daybreak. And so by common consent they lmooked off" work for the day, and went up the pit, Reuben taking Orrel home with him. There they had dinner together, and an hour later, when the pitmen had washed them- selves, they sallied forth to find lodgings in the village of King.-moss for the stranger from the North. Calvert had lent his companion a pair of shoes, a decent coat, and a pair of trousers, and as they went along the quiet, old-fashioned village street, Richard Orrell bore few tracss of the disreputable rambler he had appeared when that day bad dawned. And so, with Reuben at his elbow, he had no difficulty in obtaining lodgings with an old widow in the village. CHAPTER II.—BESIDE THE STILE. A few wc-ka have slipped away, and Richard Orrell is still located at Kingsmoss and is still working at the Pewfall Colliery. But he no longer acts as Reuben Calvert's subordinate or drawer. Several days after he commenced working at the Pewfail pits, some new colliers' places had been commenced in the Arley Mine, and in'o one of these Orrell bad been put, owing to Reuben's intervention with the under- manager. And during the last few weeks the new collier had thoroughly justified the confidence I Reuben and the "boss" had placed in him. Steadtly, arduously, he had devoted himself to his work, and everyone in the mine was soon loud in his praises of Orrell as a clever workman. The place which Orrell had been found turned out to be a good one. The coal was soft and the drawing easy, a phrase old pit- men only will comprehend the fui! significance of, and in consequence Dick Orrell was earn- ing plenty of money. About a fortnight after his first appearance j at Kingsmoss, the villagers were astonished one Saturday afternoon by the sight of Dick Orrell rigged out in a new suit of light- coloured tweed, which set off his tall well- knit figure and dark, handsome face to per- fection. No stranger would have dreamed of the gentlemanly and well-dressed pitman's occu- pation and the uncouth, simple labourer among whom he was living told another with sage shrugs and headshaking that the "ohap fro' th' North was no ordinary collier, but some gent in disguise. A few weeks had passed as already recorded, and Orrell showed no signs of quitting the Lancashire mining hamlet. He liked the place, was doing fairly well, saving money each pay-day, and to shift his quarters only meant to again lake the road from which Reuben Calvert had so generously saved him. It was Saturday evening, and the autumn sun was failing towards the horizon. In an hour or so the twilight would be setting in. I he hamlet of Kingsmoss was wearing its best aspect just then. On each side of the wide struggling village street stood a long row of irregularly built tenements, many of them with green garden patches in front of them. The usual wtekly cleaning was over some hours ago, and the small houses now looked as clean as hard work and mops and rubbing- stone could make them. The doorsteps were white as snow, and the red-sanded floors inside looked very homely and comfortable, if they were exceedingly primitive in appear- ance. At many of the cottage doors women in neat, print dresses, white "brats" or apron, and caps, were standing discussing with their neighbours household and village affairs, or, perhaps, arranging to go to the Eccleston market together in the evening. At the lower end of the village, where a wide, shallow brook, spanned by an old stone bridge, ran acrsss the high road, a number of children, brown-faced and sturdy-limbed, were playing at 11 rounders," and now and again a series of childish exclamations of pleasure rang out upon the warm air as the rubber ball was sent whirling from the bat, and the players ran from stone to stone in the circle. further up, in the oentre of the hamlet where the thoroughfare- widened out into a great square, and where the rival hostelries, the Brown Cow and the Black Bull, faced each other, a number of youths, from seven- teen to twenty, were engaged in the highly exciting game of marbles, or stonies." as local phraseology had it. But in the chalked ring where the marbles should have been were a number of halfpence, and at these the players shot their "taws" from betwixt deft finger and thumb, the rule of the game being that one who jinked a coin claimed it. At the door of the Black Bull Reuben Calvert was standing, holding converse with a fellow miner and along the street came Dick Orrell, with hia easy swing and gentlemanly bearing. Hello, Dick Reuben cried out warmly. Are you going to have a drink ?" "I don't think I will, Reuben," Orrell replied, as he paused beside the other. "1 was thinking of having a bit of a stroll." You are welcome, if you will have one, Dick." I know that, lad, but I'd rather be excused I at present," was Orrell's answer. If you are going to town to-night we'll go together, if you like, Yeubeii." All right, then. I'll call at your house about eight." With that Dick Orrell passed on, and left Calvert and his friend at the tavern door. Reaching the end of the hamlet, Orrell came to agate whioh led through the fields to I a patch of woodland dingle, known as Auburn Wood. That way he went, slowly filling a pipe of briar he had pulled from his pocket. Then he lit it, and, slowly traversing the narrow belt of thickly-timbered dell, he emerged on the other side, pausing beside the stile which led through the cornfields to the old farm-house, whose gables were just visible above the trees. Ihere he lingered with his back to the stile, and smoked away in peace. Of what was he thiuking ? His dark, clearly-marked eyebrows were slightly puckered, as if their owner was far away in .thougbtland; and now and anon his strong fingers tugged nervously at the pointed end of his heavy black moustache. Was he thinking of his strange past with all its vicissitudes ? Of the mis-spent years —his fall, and his coming to that quiet spot in Lancashire ? But, whatever his thoughts, he stood there, and presently hi3 pipe was permitted to die out. Just then he heard a low cough behind him, and turning abruptly Dick Orrell dis- covered a girl standing at the stile awaiting to come over. Excuse me, miss," he said blandly as he took off his hat, I did not know I was in your way—in fact, I did not hear you approach." As he spoke he stepped aside and waited for the lass to cross, his keen, black eyes all the while bent with an appreciative gaze upon her face. The lass was, indeed, well worth looking at, and might have excited admiration in the breast of one more refined in his tastes than was Dick Orrell. She appeared to be about nineteen years of age, had a plump, well-developed figure and flowing bust, a comely face, sweet pouting red lips, and a complexion of pure white and red. Altogether she was as fine a specimen of strong, healthy, and handsome womanhood as could be found in the shire, and handsome lasses are by no means rare in Lancashire. With a smile and a half laugh the girl mounted the iron bar and bounded lightly over. She was about to hurry away when the other's voice arrested her feet. "Pardon me, miss, but can you tell me whose farm is that I see yonder ?" This was an artifice of the handsome pit- man's. The lass's beauty had come upon him with some surprise, and he was question- ing her only that he might look again at the pretty face, which looked so piquant beneath its wide, straw bonnet. My father's," she answered. And your father is ?" "John Farrington." May I ask what your name is, then ? Do tell me. You remiild me so much of a sister. 11 have not seen for years, and then you are so pretty that I should like to learn your name." Nonsense she cried, not offended, how- ever, by his banter, and she half-turned away. Surely you will not run away before you tell me," he cried in his deep and not un- musical voice, and with a pleasant smile on his dark, handsome face. One so sweet-looking as yourself can hardly be so cruel." She paused and faced him as if puzzled by his half-serious, half-jesting manner and words. Then she said pertly- I don't know you. What right have you to ask my name?" "None, I admit; but you will tell me for all that. Now won't you ?" Well, it's Mary Farrington there!" Then she turned and hurried away, not at all displeased by his persistency. "I shall come here to-morrow night at this time to meet you, Mary 1, ari-iiigton he cried after the retreating girl. You needn't," she retorted, without pausing or turning to glance at him. But I shall." The next moment the lass disappeared in the wood, and Dick Orrell re-placed his back against the stile, re-filling and re-lighting his pipe as he pondered on the girl's beauty. Dick did not keep his promise to go to town with Reuben Calvert that night. When the hour fixed for their meeting arrived Orrell was still enjoying his solitary ramble in the fields about Kingsmoss village, CHAPTER III.—ON SUNDAY EVENING. The next evening saw Dick Orrell agai strolling in the direction he had tilien on the previous night. Very often during that day. had the comely faced pitman thought of the bonnie farmer's daughter he had met at the stile. The per- sonal attractions Mary Farrington possessed might have caused Dick Orrell to think of her even bad there been no other reason. Still, it was not solely on account of her undoubted good looks that he had dwelt again

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and again upon that chance meeting near the wood, and the lively conversation that fol- lowed thereupon. In a quiet and off-band way Orrell had picked up on Sunday morning from the old lady with whom he lodged a lot of informa- tion concerning Mary Farrington and her father. Mrs. Turton, or "owd Nanny Turton," as Orrell's landlady was called by the villagers, had proved a veritable mine of knowledge respecting the Farringtons past and pre- Sbllt. Owd John Farrington was a widower, and Mary was his only child. lie was reputed to be rich, and the man that married his daughter would have no call to dirty his hands with work. This and very much more which conoerns not the writer or reader the old woman told her lodger, and by the time the autumn after- noon was wearing away Dick Orrell found himself building castles in the air which he and a certain maiden were to inhabit. Why shouldn't he marry Mary Farrington and spend the rest of his days in peace? The lass was pretty, and, with her father's fortune, was well worth winning. Such a prospect was, at all events, better to look forward to than a life of hard work in the mines. Thus ran Orrell's cogitations, and when evening arrived the vow he had uttered in jest about going to the stile to meet Mary he found himself eager to fulfil. She might not be there—in fact, she had said as much to him. But, again, she might come—might even be led by curiosity there in order to see if he kept his word. Then again, Dick argued, he bad nothing better to do, and so be might as well walk through the woods as elsewhere. And so, donning bis best clothes, he sallied forth, and in a little space was in the leafy depths of the dingle. He had been walking at a quick pace, not wishing to miss the lass in case she came, and soon he saw ahead of him, going in the same direction, the well- known form of his friend, Reuben Calvert. He slackened his pace at once to let Reuben clear off, but as Orrell lingered in the shadow of the trees he saw his old workmate coolly seat himself on the stile. Selecting a spot where he could see the stile and remain himself unseen, Dick threw himself on the grass and waited, wondering why Lienben was sitting there, and if Mary Farring- ton would show herself. He had not long to wait. In a few minutes a glimpse of a female form and pretty face was vouchsafed him. It was Mary. He waited with eagerness now, feeling sure that she would come right on when she found he was not at the stile. Another minute brought a great surprise to the man lying in the grass. The lass had stopped and was chatling and laughing with Reuben Calvert, and now and again a word or two of what they said would float on the quiet air to his eager ears. Wi s this the lass Reuben loved and desired to make his wife ? In that case his dreams were idler than the white filmy clouds overhead, and he had been a fool to come there. He would speak to Reuben, and if Mary Farrington was really the girl upon whoM he had set his heart he, Dick, would not give her another thought. That was Orrell's thought at the moment, for he had some liking for the man who had helped him when he required aid so much and it appeared to him then that it would be a very dastardly thing to attempt to cut out the man who had so honestly and truly befriended him. But as Dick Orrell lay there in the !oog, warm grass, he remembered the words Reu- beu bad uttered on the very morning they so strangely became acquainted. If those words meant anything, their mean- ning was this—Reuben was not certain that the lass he loved returned his affection. And, Orrell cogitated, if Mary Farrington did not love Calvert, and had no intention of wedding him, there was no reason why he, Dick, should not try to win her. Let us leave the recumbent miner to his reflections for a while, and repair to the stile beside which Reuben Calvert and the pretty lass he adored were standing. Heuben had a clearly-defined purpose in view when he sought that spot that evenidg. He knew that Mary often strolled about the adjacent fields of an evening, and had waited at the stile feeling pretty certain he would see her. Heuben and Mary had known eaoh other almost all their lives. Both of them had been born and reared within a mile of the spot whereon they now stood, and in the days of their childhood they had romped and played together in the wood, fields, and village with the other children of the hamlet. After that they had gone to the village school together, and in the fashion of young folks had played at sweethearting. The coming of manhood had only served ta deepen and strengthen Reuben's fancy for Mary into real honest love, and the chief ambition of his life was to make the hand* some lassie his wife. But the passing of the years which separate the girl from the woman had not wrought < corresponding change in the mind and feel- ings of Mary Farrington. r She still liked her old playmate, and re* spected him far more than she did the othet young men of Kingsmoss. But she had never done more than tolerate Reubena serious attempts at love-making. She bacl laughed at his loving speeches and ran away when he sought to make her deolare her own feelings.. The fact was that the simple girl had not plumbed her own heart yet, and she was in uq hurry to do so. She had always told Reuben when he became importunate in his suing that they had plenty of time yet, and he had been forced to wait. But Reuben had resolved to be put off no longer with Mary's evasive answers. H would know that night whether she loved hioi or not, and was willing to become his wife