西班牙的鞋，丝织的袜，满把戒指顶呱呱，牛奶洗澡乐哈哈。

    歌声划破夜空从远处传来，可以听出他们沉醉于游戏之中。他们就像一群野人在歌唱。这情景也感染了母亲。对他们八点以后回来，个个脸面通红，眼睛发光、说起话来的那种兴奋心情很能理解。

    他们都喜欢斯卡吉尔街这幢房子，这里视野开阔，外面的世界都可以一览无余。夏天的傍晚，女人们常常靠在田间篱笆上聊天，眺望西方的夕阳把天际映成一片血红，德比郡的群山绵延而去，像蝾螈黑色的背。

    夏季，矿井从来不全部开工，尤其是采烟煤的矿井。住在莫瑞尔太太隔壁的达肯太太，在篱笆边拍打炉边地毯，看到慢慢往山上爬的男人，她立刻知道那是矿工们。于是，她等待着。她又瘦又高，看上去精明过人，站在山顶上，似乎在威胁那些往山上爬的矿工。这时才十一点钟。夏日清晨，树木葱郁，青山上那层透明的黑纱似的雾还没有散尽。最前面的一个人上了台阶，他把栅栏门推得“嘎——嘎”直响。

    “怎么，你们停工了？”达肯太太大声问。

    “是的，太太。”

    “真遗憾，他们让你们滚了。”她挖苦地说。

    “是啊。”那人回答。

    “不，要知道，你们盼望着出来呢。”她说。

    这个人径自走了。达肯太太回到自己的院子里，看见莫瑞尔太太出来倒垃圾。

    “我听说敏顿停工了，太太。”她喊道。

    “这多糟糕啊！”莫瑞尔太太愤怒地惊呼起来。

    “哼，我刚才挖苦过约翰·哈奇比。”

    “他们最好还是省点鞋底皮得了。”莫瑞尔太太说着，两个妇人都兴味索然地进了屋。

    这些矿工们，脸上几乎没有沾上黑煤灰，就又一群一群地回 来了。莫瑞尔讨厌回家，喜欢明媚的早晨。但是刚去下井工作，又被遣回来，扫了他的兴致。

    “天哪，这时候就回来！”他刚进门，妻子喊道。

    “我也没办法啊，老婆。”他大声说道。

    “午饭也不够吃。”

    “那么我就吃我带的干粮吧。”他抱怨地说，感到又气又恼。

孩子们从学校回来，很奇怪地看见父亲拿着下井带去又带回来的两片又干又脏的黄油面包当午饭吃着。

    “爸爸为什么现在吃干粮？”亚瑟问。

    “我不吃，有人就抱怨我了。”莫瑞尔生气地说。

    “说的像真的！”他的妻子喊道。

    “难道就让它浪费掉吗？”莫瑞尔说，“我不像你们这些人大手大脚，浪费东西。在井下我掉了一点面包，哪怕沾满灰尘， 我也要吃下去。”

    “老鼠会吃的，”保罗说，“不会浪费的。”

    “好好的黄油面包也不是为老鼠准备的。”莫瑞尔说，“不管脏不脏，我宁愿吃下去也不愿浪费。

    “你可以 把面包屑留给老鼠吃，自己少喝一瓶酒不就有了。”莫瑞尔太太说。

    “哦， 我应该这样么？”他嚷嚷着。

    那个秋天，他们生计很难，威廉刚刚去了伦敦，母亲就想着他的钱。有一两次，他寄来十先令，但他刚刚去那儿，很多地方需要花钱。他每星期按时给家里写封信，给母亲写得很多，把自己的生活状况全告诉了她：他怎么交朋友，怎么跟一个法国人互相学习，他在伦敦玩得多么有趣。母亲又感到如同他在家里一样，陪在她身边。她每星期都给他回一封语气直率、措辞幽默的信。当她收拾屋子时，她整天都思念着他。他在伦敦，他会成功的，他像她的骑士，带着代表她的徽章征战疆场。

    他要在圣诞期间回来五天。家里从来没有这么准备过什么。保罗和亚瑟把地擦得干干净净，准备摆上冬青树、万年青，安妮用老方法做了漂亮的纸花环。吃的东西也从来没有这么丰盛地预备好。莫瑞尔太太准备了一个又气魄又漂亮的蛋糕。她感到自己像位女皇一样，教保罗怎样剥杏仁皮。他仔细地扒掉那些长条形果仁的皮，又数了一遍，确信一个也没丢。据说打鸡蛋最好在凉处。因此，保罗就站在洗碗间，那里滴水成冰。他在那不停地搅动着，直到搅匀，之后激动地冲进来告诉妈妈鸡蛋变浓变白了。

    “看一眼，妈妈！这是不是很好看呀？”

    他挑起一点点蛋沫凑近鼻子，吹向空中。

    “好了，别浪费了。”母亲说。

    每个人都激动万分，威廉将在圣诞前夜回来。莫瑞尔太太在伙房里巡视了一遍，里面摆着一个葡萄干大蛋糕，还有一块米糕，有果酱馅饼、柠檬馅饼和碎肉馅饼——装满了两个大盆子。西班牙馅饼和奶酪饼也快烤好了。屋子里都装饰一新。一束束结着浆果的邀吻冬青树枝上挂着亮闪闪的装饰物。莫瑞尔太太在厨房里做小馅饼时，树枝就在她头上慢悠悠地旋转。炉火很旺，烘糕饼的香味迎面扑来。他应该七点钟到家，不过有可能迟到。三个孩子去接站，只有她一人在家。在七点差一刻时莫瑞尔又进来，夫妻俩谁也没说话，他坐在自己的扶手椅上，激动得不知所措。而她，静静地继续烤饼，只要从她干活时的那种小心翼翼样子，就看出她内心有多么激动。闹钟嘀嗒、嘀嗒走着。

    “他说几点到？”这是莫瑞尔第五次问了。

    “火车六点半到。”她强调地说。

    “那么他会七点十分到家。”

    “唉，火车有时晚点好几个小时呢。”她冷冷地说。不过她希望、盼望他早点回来。莫瑞尔到门口去看看，然后又折回来。

    “天哪，你！”她说，“你像一只坐不住的母鸡。”

    “吃的东西准备好了吗？”莫瑞尔问。

    “还有很长一段时间呢。”她说。

    “我看没多长时间了。”他回答着，在他的椅子上不耐烦地扭来扭去。她开始收拾桌子，茶壶也懂懂地响起来了。他俩焦急地等着。

    此时，三个孩子正站在离家两英里的中部铁路干线塞斯里桥站台上。他们等了整整一个小时，来了一列火车——可没有他。铁路线上红绿灯不停地闪着。天又黑又冷。

    “问问他伦敦的火车是否来了。”当他们 看到一个带鸭舌帽的人，保罗对安妮说。

    “我不去，”安妮说，“你安静点——他可能会赶我们走。”

    保罗却非常希望这个人知道他们在等一个从伦敦坐火车来的人。火车开起来多了不起啊。然而，他太害怕跟别人打交道，他不敢去问一个戴鸦舌帽的人。三个孩子甚至不敢去候车室，怕被赶出来，又担心一离开月台，就会错过接站。因此，他们一直在黑暗和寒冷中等待着。

    “已经晚了一个半小时了。”亚瑟可怜地 说。

    “是啊，”安妮说，“这是圣诞前夜啊。”

    他们都沉默着：他不会回来了。他们望着黑暗中的铁路，哪儿是伦敦！这似乎是一段迢迢无尽的距离。他们觉得这个将从伦敦回来的人可能在路上发生了什么事。他们十分担忧，沉默不语，在寒冷的月台上他们缩成一团。

    两个多小时后，他们看见一辆机车的灯光 出现在远方，从黑暗中疾驶而来，一个搬运工冲了出来。孩子们心里乱跳，往后退开几步。一长列火车，一定是从曼彻斯特来的，停了下来，两扇车门打开，从一个门里，走出了威廉。他们向他扑了过去。他兴奋地把几个包裹递 给他们，立即解释火车原来是不在这停，为了他才特地在塞斯里桥站停的。

    与此同时，这对父母已经火急火燎。桌子摆好了，排骨也摆上桌，一切都准备就绪。莫瑞尔太太戴上黑围裙，穿着自己最漂亮的那套衣服。她坐下来，装着在看书。每一分一秒的时间对她都是一种折磨。

    “呣！”莫瑞尔说，“一个半小时了。”

    “孩子们还在等着！”她说。

    “火车不可能还没到啊。”他说。

    “我告诉你，火车在圣诞夜总是会晚几个小时的。”

    他们彼此有点不开心，焦急得不得了。屋外那颗白蜡树在刺骨的寒风中 呻吟。黑夜里从伦敦往家里赶，这路多么漫长啊！莫瑞尔太太痛苦地想着。时钟嘀嗒嘀嗒的响声，让她心烦意乱。时间越来越晚，也越来越让人受不了。

    终于，传来了说话声，门口听见了脚步声。

    “来了！”莫瑞尔喊着跳了起来。

    他往后让了让，妈妈赶紧朝门口跑了几步，等着。一片嘈杂的脚步声，门突然推开了，威廉出现在那儿，他扔下旅行包，把母亲拥在怀里。

    “妈妈！”他说。

    “孩子！”她喊着。

    就一会儿，她搂住他，亲吻着，然后退后一步，尽力用平常的语调说：

    “怎么这么晚才回来。”

    “是啊！”他转过身去叫父亲，“爸爸！”

    父子俩握握手。

    “嗨，我的孩子！”

    莫瑞尔眼里闪过泪花。

    “我们还以为你不回来了呢。”他说。

    “哦，我回来了！”威廉叫道。

    儿子又回头对着妈妈。

    “你看上去很精神。”她自豪地说笑着。

    “是啊！”他回答，“我想是因为——回家了！”

    他是个很帅的小伙子，身材高大挺直，神情洒脱。他看了看那些冬青树和接吻树枝，又看了炉边铁格子里烤着的小馅饼。

    “天哪，妈妈，一切都不变！”他深感宽慰地说。

     大家楞住了，接着他突然跳过去，从炉边拿起一个馅饼，一下子就把整个馅饼吞进嘴里。

    “哈，你在外面没见过这种小地方的烤炉吧？”父亲大声说。

    他给他们带来许许多多的礼物。花完他所有的积蓄。满屋显示出一种豪华的氛围。他送给母亲一把伞，灰色伞，伞把上涂着金粉。她十分珍惜这把伞，一直保存到她生命的最后一刻。每个人都得到一件漂亮的礼物。此外，还有好几磅叫不出名字的甜食：什么拌砂软糖啊、冰糖菠萝啊，在孩子们的想象中，这些东西只有伦敦才有，保罗在他的朋友中夸耀着说道：

    “真正的菠萝，切成片，再做成蜜饯，好吃极了。”

    家里人都欣喜若狂。家到底是家，不管经历多少苦，他们还深深地爱着家。举行几次庆贺宴会，大家都兴高彩烈，邻居都来看威廉。看他在伦敦变了多少。他们都发现他“天哪，像个绅士，好棒的小伙子！”

    等他要离家时，孩子们各自躲开，不忍看伤别的泪水。莫瑞尔郁郁不乐地上床了。莫瑞尔太太觉得好象吃了麻醉药，浑身麻木，感觉迟钝。她是深深地爱着他的啊。

    那时，威廉在一个律师办事处工作，和一家很大的航运商行有联系。这年仲夏，他的上司给他提供了个好机会，乘商行的船去地中海旅行，只需要花一点钱即可。莫瑞尔太太在信中写道：“去吧，去吧，孩子。也许以后再也碰不到这种机会了。我想到你将去地中海旅行，比你回家还高兴。”不过，威廉还是在家度过了那两个星期的假。虽然地中海是他早已神往的地方，但一旦他可以回家，那个吸引他的南方还是吸引不了他。这给了母亲极大的安慰。

    "My shoes are made of Spanish leather, My socks are made of silk; I wear a ring on every finger, I wash myself in milk."
　　They sounded so perfectly absorbed in the game as their voices cameout of the night, that they had the feel of wild creatures singing. It stirred the mother; and she understood when they came in at eighto'clock, ruddy, with brilliant eyes, and quick, passionate speech.
　　They all loved the Scargill Street house for its openness,for the great scallop of the world it had in view. On summer eveningsthe women would stand against the field fence, gossiping, facingthe west, watching the sunsets flare quickly out, till the Derbyshirehills ridged across the crimson far away, like the black crestof a newt.
　　In this summer season the pits never turned full time,particularly the soft coal. Mrs. Dakin, who lived next doorto Mrs. Morel, going to the field fence to shake her hearthrug,would spy men coming slowly up the hill. She saw at once theywere colliers. Then she waited, a tall, thin, shrew-faced woman,standing on the hill brow, almost like a menace to the poor collierswho were toiling up. It was only eleven o'clock. From the far-offwooded hills the haze that hangs like fine black crape at the backof a summer morning had not yet dissipated. The first man cameto the stile. "Chock-chock!" went the gate under his thrust.
　　"What, han' yer knocked off?" cried Mrs. Dakin.
　　"We han, missis."
　　"It's a pity as they letn yer goo," she said sarcastically.
　　"It is that," replied the man.
　　"Nay, you know you're flig to come up again," she said.
　　And the man went on. Mrs. Dakin, going up her yard,spied Mrs. Morel taking the ashes to the ash-pit.
　　"I reckon Minton's knocked off, missis," she cried.
　　"Isn't it sickenin!" exclaimed Mrs. Morel in wrath.
　　"Ha! But I'n just seed Jont Hutchby."
　　"They might as well have saved their shoe-leather,"said Mrs. Morel. And both women went indoors disgusted.
　　The colliers, their faces scarcely blackened, were troopinghome again. Morel hated to go back. He loved the sunny morning. But he had gone to pit to work, and to be sent home again spoilthis temper.
　　"Good gracious, at this time!" exclaimed his wife, as he entered.
　　"Can I help it, woman?" he shouted.
　　"And I've not done half enough dinner."
　　"Then I'll eat my bit o' snap as I took with me,"he bawled pathetically. He felt ignominious and sore.
　　And the children, coming home from school, would wonder to seetheir father eating with his dinner the two thick slices of ratherdry and dirty bread-and-butter that had been to pit and back.
　　"What's my dad eating his snap for now?" asked Arthur.
　　"I should ha'e it holled at me if I didna," snorted Morel.
　　"What a story!" exclaimed his wife.
　　"An' is it goin' to be wasted?" said Morel. "I'm not sucha extravagant mortal as you lot, with your waste. If I dropa bit of bread at pit, in all the dust an' dirt, I pick it up an'eat it."
　　"The mice would eat it," said Paul. "It wouldn't be wasted."
　　"Good bread-an'-butter's not for mice, either," said Morel. "Dirty or not dirty, I'd eat it rather than it should be wasted."
　　"You might leave it for the mice and pay for it out of yournext pint," said Mrs. Morel.
　　"Oh, might I?" he exclaimed.
　　They were very poor that autumn. William had just gone awayto London, and his mother missed his money. He sent ten shillings onceor twice, but he had many things to pay for at first. His letterscame regularly once a week. He wrote a good deal to his mother,telling her all his life, how he made friends, and was exchanginglessons with a Frenchman, how he enjoyed London. His mother feltagain he was remaining to her just as when he was at home. She wroteto him every week her direct, rather witty letters. All day long,as she cleaned the house, she thought of him. He was in London: he would do well. Almost, he was like her knight who wore HERfavour in the battle.
　　He was coming at Christmas for five days. There had neverbeen such preparations. Paul and Arthur scoured the landfor holly and evergreens. Annie made the pretty paper hoopsin the old-fashioned way. And there was unheard-of extravagancein the larder. Mrs. Morel made a big and magnificent cake. Then, feeling queenly, she showed Paul how to blanch almonds. He skinned the long nuts reverently, counting them all, to see notone was lost. It was said that eggs whisked better in a cold place. So the boy stood in the scullery, where the temperature was nearlyat freezing-point, and whisked and whisked, and flew in excitementto his mother as the white of egg grew stiffer and more snowy.
　　"Just look, mother! Isn't it lovely?"
　　And he balanced a bit on his nose, then blew it in the air.
　　"Now, don't waste it," said the mother.
　　Everybody was mad with excitement. William was coming onChristmas Eve. Mrs. Morel surveyed her pantry. There was a bigplum cake, and a rice cake, jam tarts, lemon tarts, and mince-pies--two enormous dishes. She was finishing cooking--Spanish tartsand cheese-cakes. Everywhere was decorated. The kissing bunchof berried holly hung with bright and glittering things, spun slowlyover Mrs. Morel's head as she trimmed her little tarts in the kitchen. A great fire roared. There was a scent of cooked pastry. He was dueat seven o'clock, but he would be late. The three children had goneto meet him. She was alone. But at a quarter to seven Morel camein again. Neither wife nor husband spoke. He sat in his armchair,quite awkward with excitement, and she quietly went on with her baking. Only by the careful way in which she did things could it be toldhow much moved she was. The clock ticked on.
　　"What time dost say he's coming?" Morel asked for the fifth time.
　　"The train gets in at half-past six," she replied emphatically.
　　"Then he'll be here at ten past seven."
　　"Eh, bless you, it'll be hours late on the Midland,"she said indifferently. But she hoped, by expecting him late,to bring him early. Morel went down the entry to look for him. Then he came back.
　　"Goodness, man!" she said. "You're like an ill-sitting hen."
　　"Hadna you better be gettin' him summat t' eat ready?"asked the father.
　　"There's plenty of time," she answered.
　　"There's not so much as I can see on," he answered,turning crossly in his chair. She began to clear her table. The kettle was singing. They waited and waited.
　　Meantime the three children were on the platform at Sethley Bridge,on the Midland main line, two miles from home. They waited one hour. A train came--he was not there. Down the line the red and greenlights shone. It was very dark and very cold.
　　"Ask him if the London train's come," said Paul to Annie,when they saw a man in a tip cap.
　　"I'm not," said Annie. "You be quiet--he might send us off."
　　But Paul was dying for the man to know they were expectingsomeone by the London train: it sounded so grand. Yet he was muchtoo much scared of broaching any man, let alone one in a peaked cap,to dare to ask. The three children could scarcely go into thewaiting-room for fear of being sent away, and for fearsomething should happen whilst they were off the platform. Still they waited in the dark and cold.
　　"It's an hour an' a half late," said Arthur pathetically.
　　"Well," said Annie, "it's Christmas Eve."
　　They all grew silent. He wasn't coming. They lookeddown the darkness of the railway. There was London! It seemedthe utter-most of distance. They thought anything might happenif one came from London. They were all too troubled to talk. Cold, and unhappy, and silent, they huddled together on the platform.
　　At last, after more than two hours, they saw the lights of anengine peering round, away down the darkness. A porter ran out. The children drew back with beating hearts. A great train,bound for Manchester, drew up. Two doors opened, and from oneof them, William. They flew to him. He handed parcels to themcheerily, and immediately began to explain that this great train hadstopped for HIS sake at such a small station as Sethley Bridge: it was not booked to stop.
　　Meanwhile the parents were getting anxious. The table was set,the chop was cooked, everything was ready. Mrs. Morel put onher black apron. She was wearing her best dress. Then she sat,pretending to read. The minutes were a torture to her.
　　"H'm!" said Morel. "It's an hour an' a ha'ef."
　　"And those children waiting!" she said.
　　"Th' train canna ha' come in yet," he said.
　　"I tell you, on Christmas Eve they're HOURS wrong."
　　They were both a bit cross with each other, so gnawedwith anxiety. The ash tree moaned outside in a cold, raw wind. And all that space of night from London home! Mrs. Morel suffered. The slight click of the works inside the clock irritated her. It was getting so late; it was getting unbearable.
　　At last there was a sound of voices, and a footstep in the entry.
　　"Ha's here!" cried Morel, jumping up.
　　Then he stood back. The mother ran a few steps towardsthe door and waited. There was a rush and a patter of feet,the door burst open. William was there. He dropped his Gladstonebag and took his mother in his arms.
　　"Mater!" he said.
　　"My boy!" she cried.
　　And for two seconds, no longer, she clasped him and kissed him. Then she withdrew and said, trying to be quite normal:
　　"But how late you are!"
　　"Aren't I!" he cried, turning to his father. "Well, dad!"
　　The two men shook hands.
　　"Well, my lad!"
　　Morel's eyes were wet.
　　"We thought tha'd niver be commin'," he said.
　　"Oh, I'd come!" exclaimed William.
　　Then the son turned round to his mother.
　　"But you look well," she said proudly, laughing.
　　"Well!" he exclaimed. "I should think so--coming home!"
　　He was a fine fellow, big, straight, and fearless-looking. Helooked round at the evergreens and the kissing bunch, and the littletarts that lay in their tins on the hearth.
　　"By jove! mother, it's not different!" he said, as if in relief.
　　Everybody was still for a second. Then he suddenly sprang forward,picked a tart from the hearth, and pushed it whole into his mouth.
　　"Well, did iver you see such a parish oven!" the father exclaimed.
　　He had brought them endless presents. Every penny he had he hadspent on them. There was a sense of luxury overflowing in the house. For his mother there was an umbrella with gold on the pale handle. She kept it to her dying day, and would have lost anything ratherthan that. Everybody had something gorgeous, and besides, there werepounds of unknown sweets: Turkish delight, crystallised pineapple,and such-like things which, the children thought, only the splendourof London could provide. And Paul boasted of these sweets amonghis friends.
　　"Real pineapple, cut off in slices, and then turned intocrystal--fair grand!"
　　Everybody was mad with happiness in the family. Home was home,and they loved it with a passion of love, whatever the sufferinghad been. There were parties, there were rejoicings. People camein to see William, to see what difference London had made to him. And they all found him "such a gentleman, and SUCH a fine fellow,my word"!
　　When he went away again the children retired to various placesto weep alone. Morel went to bed in misery, and Mrs. Morel felt asif she were numbed by some drug, as if her feelings were paralysed. She loved him passionately.
　　He was in the office of a lawyer connected with a largeshipping firm, and at the midsummer his chief offered him a tripin the Mediterranean on one of the boats, for quite a small cost. Mrs. Morel wrote: "Go, go, my boy. You may never have a chance again,and I should love to think of you cruising there in the Mediterraneanalmost better than to have you at home." But William came home forhis fortnight's holiday. Not even the Mediterranean, which pulledat all his young man's desire to travel, and at his poor man's wonderat the glamorous south, could take him away when he might come home. That compensated his mother for much.