“沃尔特·莫瑞尔！”那个响亮的声音传来。
“在这儿！”保罗尖声回答。但声音又细又弱。
“莫瑞尔——沃尔特·莫瑞尔！”掌柜的又喊了一次。他的食指和拇指捏着那张工资单，准备翻过去。
保罗害羞的不知所措，他不敢也不愿大声答应，大人们的身体 把他完全挡住了，幸好温特博特姆先生帮了他一把。
“他来了，他在哪儿？莫瑞尔的儿子？”
这个胖胖的，脸色通红的秃头小矮个，敏锐的眼睛往四周看了看，他指了指火炉，矿工们也四处搜寻，往旁边让了让，才看到了孩子。
“他来了！”温特博特姆先生说。
保罗走到柜台前面。
“十七英镑十一先令五便士。刚才喊你时，为什么不大声答应？”布雷恩韦特先生说。他砰的一声把内装五镑一袋的银币放在清单上，然后做了一个优雅的手势，拿起十镑的一小叠金币放在银币旁边。金币像发亮的小溪倾倒在纸上，掌柜的数完钱，孩子把钱捧到温特博特姆先生的柜台上，给他交房租和工具费。又该他难堪了。
“十六先令六便士。”温特博特姆先生说。
孩子心慌神乱，也顾不得数钱了。他把几个零的银币和半个金镑推了进去。
“你知道你给了我多少钱吗？”温特博特姆先生问。
“没长舌头吗？不会说话吗？”
保罗咬着嘴唇，又推过去几个银币。
“上小学时别人没教你数数吗？”他问。
“只教了代数和法语。”一个矿工说。
“还教怎样做个厚睑皮。”另一个人说。
保罗让后面的人等了很久，他抖着手指把钱放到包里，冲了出去。在这种场合，他总是被这些该死的家伙们弄得好苦。
他来到外面，沿着曼斯菲尔德路走着，长长地舒了一口气。公园墙上到处是青苔，几只金黄和白色的鸡在果园树下啄食吃。有三三两两的矿工往家走。他害羞地挨着墙根窜。矿工中 有很多人他认识，他们浑身灰尘，满面尘垢无法辨认。这对他来说又是一种折磨。
他到布雷蒂新酒馆时，他父亲还没来。酒馆老板娘沃姆比太太认识他。过去，保罗的奶奶和沃姆比太太是朋友。
“你爸还没来呢。”老板娘说，声音里似乎有点嘲讽，又 有点笼络的意味。这就是专和男人来往的女人特有的腔调。“请坐吧。”
保罗在酒吧里的长凳的上头坐下。有几个矿工在墙角算帐、分钱。还有些人走进来，大家瞥了这孩子一眼，但谁也没说话。终于，莫瑞尔喜滋滋地飘进了酒馆。尽管满脸煤灰，却煞有介事。
“嘿，”他十分温和地对儿子说：“敢 和我比一比吗？要喝点什么？”
保罗和别的几个孩子从小滴酒不沾。当着这么多人即使让 他喝一杯柠檬汁，也要比拔一颗牙还难过的多。
老板娘从头到脚打量了他一遍，心里可怜。但对他那毫不动情、循规蹈矩的态度很不满。保罗默默地往家走，气乎乎地进了门。星期五是烤面包的时候，家里总是有一只热热的小圆面包留给他，母亲把面包放在他面前。
突然，他恼怒地转过身去对着她，眼睛里充满怒火。
“我再也不去领工资的办公室了。”他说
“哦。怎么啦？”母亲吃惊地问。对他的发火，觉的有些好笑。
“我再也不去了。”他大声说。
“哦，好极了。你去和你爸爸说吧。”
他狠狠地咬着面包，好象面包是泄气的对象。
“我不——不去领工资了。”
“那就叫卡林家的孩子去吧，他们能挣到六便士会非常高兴的。”莫瑞尔太太说。
这六便士是保罗的唯一收入，这笔钱大都用来买生日礼物。毕竟它是一笔收入，他十分珍惜它。但是……
“那么，让他们去挣吧。”他说，“我不想要了。”
“哦，很好。”他母亲说，“但你也不用冲我发火呀。”
“他们真可恶，又俗气，又可恶，我不去了。布雷恩韦特先生连‘H’音都发不出来，温特博特姆先生说话时语法也不通。”
“你不愿意去，就因为这个吗？”莫瑞尔太太笑了。
孩子沉默了一会儿，他脸色苍白，眼神郁郁不乐。母亲正忙着干家务活儿，没注意他。
“他们总是挡着 我，让我挤都挤不出来。”他说。
“哦，孩子，你只需叫他们让一下就行了。”她回答。
“而且艾尔弗雷德·温特博特姆说：‘小学里他们教了你些什么？’”
“他们确实没教给他什么。”莫瑞尔太太说。“这是真的——又没礼貌，又不聪明。——他的油猾是从娘胎里带来的。”
就这样，她用自己的方法安慰着他。他的可笑的敏感让她心疼。有时，他眼里的狂怒振奋了她，使她沉睡的心灵受到了惊动。
“领了多少钱？”她问道。
“十七英镑十一先令五便士，扣去十六先令六便士！”孩子回答说，“这星期不错，爸爸只扣了五先令零用钱。”
这样，她就可以算出她丈夫到底挣了多少钱，如果他少给了钱，她就可以让他算帐。莫瑞尔一向对每个星期的收入保密。
星期五晚上既要烤面包又要去市场。保罗像平常一样在家里烤面包。他喜欢在家里看书画画，他非常喜欢画画。安妮每星期五晚上都在外面闲遛跶。亚瑟像平时一样高兴地玩耍。所以，家里只有保罗一人。
莫瑞尔太太喜欢到市场采购。这个小市场坐落在小山顶上，从诺丁汉、德比、伊克斯顿和曼斯菲德沿伸过来的四条大路在这里汇合，这里货摊林立。许多大马车从周围村子涌到这儿。市场上的女人摩肩接踵，街上挤满了熙熙攘攘的男人，简直让人惊异。莫瑞尔太太总是和卖花边的女人讨价还价。与卖水果的那位叙叙叨叨的人合得来，不过水果商的妻子不怎么样。莫瑞尔太太来到鱼贩子的摊前。他是个不顶用的家伙，不过逗人发笑，她以拒人千里的态度对待亚麻油毡贩子。要不是盘上印的矢车菊图案吸引她，她才不去陶器摊，对待他们的态度冷淡而客气。
“那小盘子要多少钱？”她说。
“七便士。”
“谢谢。”
她放下盘子就走开了，可她不会不买它就离开市场的。她又从摆着那些坛坛罐罐的摊子旁走过，偷偷地再看看那只盘子，又装做没看的样子。
她是个很矮的女人，戴顶无檐帽，穿一身黑衣服。这顶帽子已戴了三年，这让安妮看着心里很不舒服。
“妈！”姑娘带着恳求地说，“别戴那顶圆乎乎的小帽子了。”
“那我应该戴什么？”母亲尖酸地说，“我相信这顶帽子不错。”
这顶帽子原来有个尖顶，后来加了几朵花，现在只剩下黑花边和一块黑玉了。
“这帽子有点垂头丧气的样子，”保罗说，“你为什么不修整修整？”
“我应该揍扁你的脑袋，说话没有一点分寸。”莫瑞尔太太说着，勇敢地把黑帽子的帽带系在下颌。
她又瞥了那个盘子一眼。她和对手——那个卖陶器的，都感到不自在。好象 他们之间有什么隔阂似的。突然，他大声喊道：
“五便士你想买吗？”
她吃了惊，停了下来，拿起那只盘子。
“我要了。”她说。
“你帮了我的忙，对吗？”他说，“你最好再对盘口吐口唾沫，就像别人送给你什么东西，你还嫌弃似的。”
莫瑞尔太太冷冷地给了他五便士。
“我不觉得你把它送给了我！”她说，“如果你不愿意五便士出手，你可以不卖给我。”
“这个破地方，如果能白送掉东西，倒是幸运了。”他生气地喊道。
“是啊，买卖有赔有赚。”莫瑞尔太太说。
她已经原谅了这个卖陶器的男子。他们成了朋友。她现在敢摸摸那些陶器了，并因此而高兴。
保罗在等她，他盼着她回来。她通常这时候心情最好——得意而疲惫，大包小包的满载而归，而且，精神上也很充实。他听见她的轻快的脚步从门口传来，就从他的画架上抬起头来。
“唉！”她叹了口气，站在门口冲着他笑。
“天啊，你拿了这么多东西”他惊呼着，放下他的画笔。
“是的。”她喘着气，“该死的安妮还说来接我。太重了！”
她把网兜大包小包扔在桌上。
“面包好了吗？”她问着向烤炉走去。
“烤最后一炉。”他回答，“你不用看，我记着呢。”
“哦，那个卖陶器的！”她说着关上烤炉的门。“你记得我以前说他是怎样一个无赖吗？现在，我觉得他没有那么坏。”
“是吗？”
孩子被她的话吸引了。她摘下了那顶黑色的圆帽子。
“是的，我觉得他挣不了多少钱——不过，现在人人都说他发了——就让人讨厌 他。”
“我也会这么看的。”保罗说。
“是啊，这也难怪。最后他还是卖给我了——你猜我用多少钱买下这个的？”
她打开包盘子的破报纸拿出那只盘子，站在那里喜形于色地看着它。
“让我看看。”保罗说。
两个人就站在那儿，心满意足地欣赏这个盘子。
“我可喜欢矢车菊图案装饰的东西。”保罗说。
“对了，我想起你给我买的那个茶壶……”
“一先令三便士。”保罗说。
“五便士！”
“太值了，妈妈。”
“是的，你知道吗，便宜得几乎像是偷来的呢。不过，我今天花的钱已经够多的了，再贵我就买不起了。而且，如果他不乐意，他可以不卖给我。”
“是啊，他不愿意卖，就不用卖嘛。”保罗说。他们彼此都在安慰对方别以为是坑了那个卖陶器的。
“我们可以用它来盛炖水果。”保罗说。
“还可以盛蛋糕或果子冻。”母亲说。
“要不，就盛水萝卜和葛芭。” 他说。
“别忘了正在烤的面包。”她说，声音里充满喜悦。
保罗看看炉子里面，拍了拍底层的那只面包。
“好了。”他说着把面包递给她。
她也拍了拍面包。
“好。”她一边回答一边开始打开包，“哦，我真是一个爱乱花钱的女人，我知道这样会倾家荡产的。”
他心急地凑到她旁边，想看看她买了些什么贵东西。她打开报纸，露出几株紫罗兰和深红色的雏菊。
“用了四便士呢。”她抱怨着。
“真便宜！”他大声说。
“是啊，可是这个星期根本不应该买这些。”
“它们多漂亮呀！”他赞叹道。
“是的！”她说，乐得忘乎所以，“保罗，你看那朵黄色的，像个老头的脸。”
“像极了！”保罗喊 到，弯下腰来闻着花，“真香！不过花上尽是泥。”
他冲到洗碗间，拿了块绒布，仔细地擦洗着紫罗兰。
“看这些水灵灵的花。”他说。
“真好看！”她赞叹着，觉得心满意足。
斯卡吉尔街上的孩子们交朋友十分挑剔。莫瑞尔家住的那一头没有多少小孩子。因此，这几个孩子更加要好，男、女孩子们一起玩，女孩子参加打仗和一些粗鲁的游戏，男孩子们也加入到跳舞、转圈和过家家游戏。
安妮、保罗、亚瑟很喜欢没有雨雪的冬夜，他们在家里等到矿工们全都进了家门，天色完全黑下来，街上不再有人时，才围上围巾出去。 他们跟其他矿工的孩子一样，不愿意穿大衣。门外一片漆黑，四周朦朦胧胧，看不清任何东西，坡下有簇簇灯火，这就是敏顿矿井，对面远处也有一些灯光。那是席尔贝矿井。最远处那些微弱闪烁的灯火似乎穿破了黑暗，一直沿伸出去。孩子们焦急地顺着大路向田间小道尽头的灯柱望去。如果那光亮处没人他们就双手插在口袋里站在路灯下面，在夜色里可怜兮兮地望着那些黑乎乎的屋舍。突然，看见一位上身穿件短外套、下着裙子，两腿修 长的小姑娘飞跑过来。
“比利·菲林斯和你家的安妮，还有艾迪·达肯在哪？”
“不知道。”
不过这也没关系——他们现在已经三个人了。他们围着路灯柱做起游戏来。后来，别的孩子喊叫着冲出家门，他们就更高兴更热闹了。
附近只有一根灯柱。后面是茫茫一片，仿佛整个黑夜都在那儿孕育。路灯柱前面，另外是一条宽宽的通往山顶的黑暗土道。偶尔有人从大道上来，沿着这条小路走向田间。不到十几英尺，黑暗就吞没了他们。孩子们继续玩。
孩子们在一起非常亲密，因为他们和外界隔绝，很少与其他的孩子交往。如果发生一场争吵，一场游戏就泡汤了。亚瑟爱发火，比利·菲林斯——实际上是菲力浦斯——脾气更糟糕。这时，保罗必须站在亚瑟一边，爱丽思又在保罗一边，而比利·菲林斯老有埃米·利姆 和艾迪·这肯撑腰。此时六个孩子就会打起来，彼此咬牙切齿，打完架就逃回家去。保罗永远忘不了，有一次，双方激烈地打了一仗后，看见一轮硕大的红月亮像一只慢慢往上飞的大鸟似的在通往山顶的荒凉的小路上徐徐升起。他不由自主地想起《圣经》上说，这月亮会变成血。第二天，他就赶紧和比利·菲林斯讲和了。于是，在一片黑暗中，他们又围着路灯柱，继续玩那种野蛮、激烈的游戏。莫瑞尔太太只要走进起居室，就可以听见孩子们在远处唱：
"Here!" piped Paul, small and inadequate.
"Morel--Walter Morel!" the cashier repeated, his fingerand thumb on the invoice, ready to pass on.
Paul was suffering convulsions of self-consciousness, and couldnot or would not shout. The backs of the men obliterated him. Then Mr. Winterbottom came to the rescue.
"He's here. Where is he? Morel's lad?"
The fat, red, bald little man peered round with keen eyes. He pointed at the fireplace. The colliers looked round, moved aside,and disclosed the boy.
"Here he is!" said Mr. Winterbottom.
Paul went to the counter.
"Seventeen pounds eleven and fivepence. Why don't youshout up when you're called?" said Mr. Braithwaite. He bangedon to the invoice a five-pound bag of silver, then in a delicateand pretty movement, picked up a little ten-pound column of gold,and plumped it beside the silver. The gold slid in a bright streamover the paper. The cashier finished counting off the money;the boy dragged the whole down the counter to Mr. Winterbottom,to whom the stoppages for rent and tools must be paid. Here hesuffered again.
"Sixteen an' six," said Mr. Winterbottom.
The lad was too much upset to count. He pushed forward someloose silver and half a sovereign.
"How much do you think you've given me?" asked Mr. Winterbottom.
The boy looked at him, but said nothing. He had not thefaintest notion.
"Haven't you got a tongue in your head?"
Paul bit his lip, and pushed forward some more silver.
"Don't they teach you to count at the Board-school?" he asked.
"Nowt but algibbra an' French," said a collier.
"An' cheek an' impidence," said another.
Paul was keeping someone waiting. With trembling fingers hegot his money into the bag and slid out. He suffered the torturesof the damned on these occasions.
His relief, when he got outside, and was walking along theMansfield Road, was infinite. On the park wall the mosses were green. There were some gold and some white fowls pecking under the appletrees of an orchard. The colliers were walking home in a stream. The boy went near the wall, self-consciously. He knew many of the men,but could not recognise them in their dirt. And this was a newtorture to him.
When he got down to the New Inn, at Bretty, his father was notyet come. Mrs. Wharmby, the landlady, knew him. His grandmother,Morel's mother, had been Mrs. Wharmby's friend.
"Your father's not come yet," said the landlady, in the peculiarhalf-scornful, half-patronising voice of a woman who talks chieflyto grown men. "Sit you down."
Paul sat down on the edge of the bench in the bar. Some colliers were "reckoning"--sharing out their money--in a corner;others came in. They all glanced at the boy without speaking. At last Morel came; brisk, and with something of an air, even inhis blackness.
"Hello!" he said rather tenderly to his son. "Have you bested me? Shall you have a drink of something?"
Paul and all the children were bred up fierce anti-alcoholists,and he would have suffered more in drinking a lemonade before allthe men than in having a tooth drawn.
The landlady looked at him de haut en bas, rather pitying,and at the same time, resenting his clear, fierce morality. Paul went home, glowering. He entered the house silently. Friday was baking day, and there was usually a hot bun. His motherput it before him.
Suddenly he turned on her in a fury, his eyes flashing:
"I'm NOT going to the office any more," he said.
"Why, what's the matter?" his mother asked in surprise. His sudden rages rather amused her.
"I'm NOT going any more," he declared.
"Oh, very well, tell your father so."
He chewed his bun as if he hated it.
"I'm not--I'm not going to fetch the money."
"Then one of Carlin's children can go; they'd be glad enoughof the sixpence," said Mrs. Morel.
This sixpence was Paul's only income. It mostly went in buyingbirthday presents; but it WAS an income, and he treasured it. But---
"They can have it, then!" he said. "I don't want it."
"Oh, very well," said his mother. "But you needn't bully MEabout it."
"They're hateful, and common, and hateful, they are,and I'm not going any more. Mr. Braithwaite drops his 'h's', an'Mr. Winterbottom says 'You was'."
"And is that why you won't go any more?" smiled Mrs. Morel.
The boy was silent for some time. His face was pale, his eyesdark and furious. His mother movedabout at her work, taking no notice of him.
"They always stan' in front of me, so's I can't get out,"he said.
"Well, my lad, you've only to ASK them," she replied.
"An' then Alfred Winterbottom says, 'What do they teach youat the Board-school?'"
"They never taught HIM much," said Mrs. Morel, "that is a fact--neither manners nor wit--and his cunning he was born with."
So, in her own way, she soothed him. His ridiculous hypersensitiveness made herheart ache. And sometimes the fury in his eyesroused her, made her sleeping soul lift up its head a moment, surprised.
"What was the cheque?" she asked.
"Seventeen pounds eleven and fivepence, and sixteenand six stoppages," replied the boy. "It's a good week;and only five shillings stoppages for my father."
So she was able to calculate how much her husband had earned,and could call him to account if he gave her short money. Morel always kept to himself the secret of the week's amount.
Friday was the baking night and market night. It was therule that Paul should stay at home and bake. He loved to stopin and draw or read; he was very fond of drawing. Annie always"gallivanted" on Friday nights; Arthur was enjoying himself as usual. So the boy remained alone.
Mrs. Morel loved her marketing. In the tiny market-place onthe top of the hill, where four roads, from Nottingham and Derby,Ilkeston and Mansfield, meet, many stalls were erected. Brakes ranin from surrounding villages. The market-place was full of women,the streets packed with men. It was amazing to see so many meneverywhere in the streets. Mrs. Morel usually quarrelled withher lace woman, sympathised with her fruit man--who was a gabey,but his wife was a bad 'un--laughed with the fish man--who wasa scamp but so droll--put the linoleum man in his place, was coldwith the odd-wares man, and only went to the crockery man when shewas driven--or drawn by the cornflowers on a little dish; then shewas coldly polite.
"I wondered how much that little dish was," she said.
"Sevenpence to you."
"Thank you."
She put the dish down and walked away; but she could not leavethe market-place without it. Again she went by where the potslay coldly on the floor, and she glanced at the dish furtively,pretending not to.
She was a little woman, in a bonnet and a black costume. Her bonnet was in its third year; it was a great grievance to Annie.
"Mother!" the girl implored, "don't wear that nubbly little bonnet."
"Then what else shall I wear," replied the mother tartly. "And I'm sure it's right enough."
It had started with a tip; then had had flowers; now wasreduced to black lace and a bit of jet.
"It looks rather come down," said Paul. "Couldn't you giveit a pick-me-up?"
"I'll jowl your head for impudence," said Mrs. Morel, and shetied the strings of the black bonnet valiantly under her chin.
She glanced at the dish again. Both she and her enemy,the pot man, had an uncomfortable feeling, as if there were somethingbetween them. Suddenly he shouted:
"Do you want it for fivepence?"
She started. Her heart hardened; but then she stooped and tookup her dish.
"I'll have it," she said.
"Yer'll do me the favour, like?" he said. "Yer'd better spitin it, like yer do when y'ave something give yer."
Mrs. Morel paid him the fivepence in a cold manner.
"I don't see you give it me," she said. "You wouldn't let mehave it for fivepence if you didn't want to."
"In this flamin', scrattlin' place you may count yerself luckyif you can give your things away," he growled.
"Yes; there are bad times, and good," said Mrs. Morel.
But she had forgiven the pot man. They were friends. She dare now finger his pots. So she was happy.
Paul was waiting for her. He loved her home-coming. Shewas always her best so--triumphant, tired, laden with parcels,feeling rich in spirit. He heard her quick, light step in the entryand looked up from his drawing.
"Oh!" she sighed, smiling at him from the doorway.
"My word, you ARE loaded!" he exclaimed, putting down his brush.
"I am!" she gasped. "That brazen Annie said she'd meet me. SUCH a weight!"
She dropped her string bag and her packages on the table.
"Is the bread done?" she asked, going to the oven.
"The last one is soaking," he replied. "You needn't look,I've not forgotten it."
"Oh, that pot man!" she said, closing the oven door. "You know what a wretch I've said he was? Well, I don't think he'squite so bad."
"Don't you?"
The boy was attentive to her. She took off her littleblack bonnet.
"No. I think he can't make any money--well, it's everybody'scry alike nowadays--and it makes him disagreeable."
"It would ME," said Paul.
"Well, one can't wonder at it. And he let me have--how muchdo you think he let me have THIS for?"
She took the dish out of its rag of newspaper, and stoodlooking on it with joy.
"Show me!" said Paul.
The two stood together gloating over the dish.
"I LOVE cornflowers on things," said Paul.
"Yes, and I thought of the teapot you bought me---"
"One and three," said Paul.
"Fivepence!"
"It's not enough, mother."
"No. Do you know, I fairly sneaked off with it. But I'dbeen extravagant, I couldn't afford any more. And he needn'thave let me have it if he hadn't wanted to."
"No, he needn't, need he," said Paul, and the two comfortedeach other from the fear of having robbed the pot man.
"We c'n have stewed fruit in it," said Paul.
"Or custard, or a jelly," said his mother.
"Or radishes and lettuce," said he.
"Don't forget that bread," she said, her voice bright with glee.
Paul looked in the oven; tapped the loaf on the base.
"It's done," he said, giving it to her.
She tapped it also.
"Yes," she replied, going to unpack her bag. "Oh, and I'ma wicked, extravagant woman. I know I s'll come to want."
He hopped to her side eagerly, to see her latest extravagance. She unfolded another lump of newspaper and disclosed some roots ofpansies and of crimson daisies.
"Four penn'orth!" she moaned.
"How CHEAP!" he cried.
"Yes, but I couldn't afford it THIS week of all weeks."
"But lovely!" he cried.
"Aren't they!" she exclaimed, giving way to pure joy. "Paul, look at this yellow one, isn't it--and a face just like anold man!"
"Just!" cried Paul, stooping to sniff. "And smells that nice! But he's a bit splashed."
He ran in the scullery, came back with the flannel, and carefullywashed the pansy.
"NOW look at him now he's wet!" he said.
"Yes!" she exclaimed, brimful of satisfaction.
The children of Scargill Street felt quite select. At theend where the Morels lived there were not many young things. So the few were more united. Boys and girls played together,the girls joining in the fights and the rough games, the boys takingpart in the dancing games and rings and make-belief of the girls.
Annie and Paul and Arthur loved the winter evenings,when it was not wet. They stayed indoors till the collierswere all gone home, till it was thick dark, and the street wouldbe deserted. Then they tied their scarves round their necks,for they scorned overcoats, as all the colliers' children did,and went out. The entry was very dark, and at the end the wholegreat night opened out, in a hollow, with a little tangle of lightsbelow where Minton pit lay, and another far away opposite for Selby. The farthest tiny lights seemed to stretch out the darkness for ever. The children looked anxiously down the road at the one lamp-post,which stood at the end of the field path. If the little,luminous space were deserted, the two boys felt genuine desolation. They stood with their hands in their pockets under the lamp,turning their backs on the night, quite miserable, watching thedark houses. Suddenly a pinafore under a short coat was seen,and a long-legged girl came flying up.
"Where's Billy Pillins an' your Annie an' Eddie Dakin?"
"I don't know."
But it did not matter so much--there were three now. They setup a game round the lamp-post, till the others rushed up, yelling. Then the play went fast and furious.
There was only this one lamp-post. Behind was the great scoopof darkness, as if all the night were there. In front, another wide,dark way opened over the hill brow. Occasionally somebody cameout of this way and went into the field down the path. In a dozenyards the night had swallowed them. The children played on.
They were brought exceedingly close together owing totheir isolation. If a quarrel took place, the whole play was spoilt. Arthur was very touchy, and Billy Pillins--really Philips--was worse. Then Paul had to side with Arthur, and on Paul's side went Alice,while Billy Pillins always had Emmie Limb and Eddie Dakin to backhim up. Then the six would fight, hate with a fury of hatred,and flee home in terror. Paul never forgot, after one of these fierceinternecine fights, seeing a big red moon lift itself up, slowly,between the waste road over the hilltop, steadily, like a great bird. And he thought of the Bible, that the moon should be turned to blood. And the next day he made haste to be friends with Billy Pillins. And then the wild, intense games went on again under the lamp-post,surrounded by so much darkness. Mrs. Morel, going into her parlour,would hear the children singing away:
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