“I want to ken what has gone wrong with you?” said Mag Robertson, speaking to Black Jock, whom she had called into her house one morning as he returned from the pit for his breakfast.

“There’s naething wrang wi’ me,” he said with cool reserve. “What dae you think is wrang?”

“Ay, it’s a’ right, Jock,” she said, speaking as one who knew he understood her question better than he pretended. “I can see as far through a brick wall as you can see through a whinstone dyke.”

“Maybe a bit farther, Mag,” he said with a forced laugh, eyeing her coolly. “But what are you driving at?”

“You’ll no’ ken, I suppose?” she retorted. “Sanny has told me a’ aboot it this morning afore he gaed to his work. My! I’d hardly hae looked for this frae you,” she went on, her voice suddenly becoming softer and more soothing as if she meant to appeal to his sense of gratitude if any remained within him. “Efter what we’ve been to yin anither, I never expected you’d dae this. I aye thocht that you’d be loyal as we hae been tae you. We hae made oursel’s the outcasts o’ the district for you, an’ noo you wad turn on us like this. No, I never thocht it o’ you at a’!”

“What are you ravin’ at this morning?” he asked, in a quiet voice, as if he meant to force her into being more definite. “I don’t ken I’m sure what you are drivin’ at.”

“Dae you no?” she broke in quickly, loosing hold of herself as she saw that her method of attack was not going to succeed. “I hae been suspectin’ something for a while. You hinna been in owre my door for three weeks an’ that’s no your ordinär. But I have seen you gaun in tae Tam Granger’s nearly every nicht in that time. An’ I can put twa an’ twa together. Dae you think we dinna ken the reason that Sanny has lost his contracts an’ the reason why Tam Granger has stepped into them? Oh, ay,” she cried, her voice rising as she continued. “I can see hoo things are workin’! I ken a’ aboot it. Wee Leebie, I suppose, will be afore some o’ us noo. The stuck-up limmer that she is. She gangs by folk as brazened as you like, wi’ her head in the air, as if she was somebody. You wad think she never had heard o’ Willie Broonclod, the packman, that she sloped when she left doon the country. Nae wonder she has braw claes to glaik aboot in; for they were gey easy paid. The dirty glaiket limmer that she is. I wonder she disna think shame o’ hersel’.”

“What the hell’s a’ this to me?” asked Walker abruptly breaking in upon her tirade.

“I suppose it’ll no’ mean onything to you,” she returned. “But I just wanted to tell you, that you’re no her first, for Willie Broonclod gaed to her lang afore she cam’ here, an’ she’s left him wi’ a guid penny that he’ll never get. But her man’s a contractor noo, makin’ big money, an’ Jock Walker ca’s in to see her whenever he’s needfu’ an’ there’s naething sae low as a packman noo for her. The brazen-faced stuck-up baggage that she is. Does she think I dinna ken her? Her, with her hair stuck up in a ‘bun’ an’ her fancy blouses an’ buckled shoon, an’ a’!” Mag was now very much enraged and she shouted and swore in her anger.

“Ach, gang to hell,” he said with brutal callousness. “You’re no’ hauf a woman like Leebie. She’s a tippy wee lass, an’ has a way wi’ her. She has some spirit, an’ is aye snod and nate,” and there was a tantalizing smile about his lips that was plainly meant to irritate Mag.

“I was guid enough a gey lang while, an’ ”

“Ay, but you’ve haen a damn’d guid innins,” he interrupted. “A dam’d guid innins, an’ I canna see what the hell you hae to yowl at.”

“A guid innins, you muckle black-hearted brute!” she cried. “By heavens, an’ I’ll see that you get yours afore I hae done wi’ you. Dinna think though I hae been saft wi’ you a’ along, that I’ll ay be like that. Oh, no, I can stand a lot; but you’ll find oot that Mag Robertson hasna selt her a’ tae you, without driving a hard bargain afore she lets you alone. You can gang back to your tippy wee baggage! Gang to hell, baith you an’ her, an’ joy be wi’ you baith! But I’ll put a sprag in your wheel afore you gang far. Mind that! By I will! She’ll nae toss her heid as she gangs past me as if I was dirt. Her, an’ her fine dresses that she never payed for wi’ money an’ her fal-lals. By heaven! But you hae a fine taste!” She finished up exasperated beyond all control by his coolness.

“Ay, it wad seem so,” he laughed brutally. “When I look at you, I begin to wonder what the hell I was lookin’ at. You’re like a damnationed big lump o’ creesh,” and he laughed in her face, knowing this would rouse her more than ever. Then as she choked and spluttered in her anger he said: “But what the hell odds is’t to you, you baggage?” and his eyes and voice were cold and brutal beyond expression. “Leebie Granger is young,” he went on insultingly, in a collected even voice which he strove to make jaunty in tone. “She’s as fresh an’ young. An’ you’re auld, an’ fat an’ as ugly as hell, an’ if I dae gang to Leebie you hae damn all to dae wi’ it. As I said, you’ve had your innin’s, an’ been gey well paid for it, an’ I dinna gie a damn for you.”

“Dae you no’?” she cried now livid with anger and losing all control over her words and actions, her eyes flashing with maddened rage and the froth working from her lips. “I’ll let you ken or no’. I’ll tear the pented face off your new doll; and I’ll sort you too, you dirty black brute that you are.”

“Gang to hell!” he shouted, starting out of the door so suddenly that he almost ran into the next door neighbor who hearing the noise had crept noiselessly on tiptoe to the door the better to hear all that was going on.

“What the hell’s wrang wi’ you?” he demanded turning in rage upon the eavesdropper. “Have you naething else to dae than that? Gang in an’ get your dirty midden o’ a hoose cleaned an’ I’ll see that you don’t stay lang in Lowwood to spy on ony mair folk!” and cowering in shame the poor woman backed into the door and shut it, making up her mind that her man would be sacked that day, and wondering where they would flit to, so as to find work and a house.

Walker strode up the row with Mag Robertson shouting behind him and the neighbors all coming to the doors as they passed, and craning their necks, while keeping their bodies safe hidden within the doorways of their homes.

“We’re surely gettin’ an entertainment the day,” observed one fat old woman to another woman two doors away, as they both looked after Mag as she followed Walker up the row, shouting her worst names at him, and vowing what she’d do with Leebie Granger, when she got hands on her.

“Ay,” replied the other woman stealing along the wall to the doorway of the older woman, and slipping inside as if she were afraid of being detected. “It’s a hell o’ a business when blackguards cast oot.”

“Wheest, Annie, dinna swear,” remonstrated the old woman. “I dinna like to hear folk swearin’ at a’. I wonner the Lord disna open the grün’ to swallow the half o’ the folk noo-a-days; for I never heard sic swearin’ a’ my life.”

“Och, there’s nae harm meant,” returned Annie, taken aback by the old woman’s admonition. “It’s jist a habit that folk get into an’ they canna help it. But listen to her,” she broke off, alluding to Mag Robertson again. “She micht think shame o’ hersel’, the shameless lump that she is. She’d hae been faur better to hae keepit her mouth shut, Phemie.”

“That’s true, Annie,” replied Phemie. “Listen to her. My, she’s no’ canny an’ she’s fairly givin’ him a bellyfu’. But they’re a’ yae swine’s pick an’ no’ yin o’ them decent. I wadna be in her shoon for a’ the money that ever was made in Lowwood. She micht hae kent hoo it wad end. Hark at her. My, but it’s awfu’.”

“Keep in, Annie,” Phemie admonished as they both craned their necks to look up the row as she saw Walker turning to face Mag. “Dinna let him see you or your man will get the sack. My! but she’s layin’ it in tae’ him. What a tongue.”

“Lord bless us! He’s strucken her, Phemie,” said Annie, clutching her neighbor’s shoulder as she spoke. “My, he’s gaen her an awfu’ blow on the mouth an’ knocket her doon. Come inside for as sure as daith it’ll end in a coort case, an’ I’m no wanting to be mixed up in it,” and they went inside and shut the door, looking at each other with frightened eyes. Then Annie, stealing to the window and lifting the curtain a little at the side, gazed sideways up the row, reporting to Phemie everything that happened.

“He’s kicking her, Phemie. Eh, the muckle beast that he is. My God, he’ll kill her afore he’s finished wi’ her. He’s hitting her on the face every time she tries to rise an’ gaein’ her anither kick aye when she fa’s doon again. Oh! my God, will naebody interfere. He’ll kill her as sure as death,” and she stepped back with blanched face sickened at the spectacle she had described.

“Here she comes, Annie,” said her neighbor after a few moments. “My! what a face. Dinna look you at her,” cried Phemie in alarm pushing back Annie who had moved near to the window to get a better view. “In God’s name, woman, dinna you look at her. You shouldna ha’ looked at onything that has taken place. If onything is wrang wi’ your bairn when it is born I’ll never forgi’e’ mysel’ for lettin’ you look at this business at a’. Gang awa’ back an’ sit down an’ try an’ forget a’ aboot what you hae seen. Dinna look up till she gangs back intae the hoose,” and the old woman kept Annie sitting back at the bedside in the corner farthest from the window until Mag staggered to her home, her face streaming with blood.

Not a soul was in sight as Mag returned; but many a pair of eyes watched her from behind curtained windows, and expressions of sympathy were common even though her relations with Walker were common knowledge in the village, and had been censured by everyone in consequence for her misdeeds. They all knew why Mag had “opened out” on Walker that morning and the reason she had been set aside for another who pleased his fancy.

Tam Granger and his wife had recently come into the district from a neighboring village, where Leebie’s name had been coupled with a local draper’s or packman’s in some scandal. Black Jock had soon got into contact with them and finding them willing tools he had deserted Sanny and Mag Robertson. All the contracts were taken from Sanny and given to Tam, and it was this that had made Mag watch for Walker coming in for his breakfast, determined to have it out with him, with the result which is chronicled above.

The encounter between Mag and Black Jock was the talk of the village. Mag was mad with rage, and having washed her bruised face, she ramped out and in all day, washing the floor, clattering among dishes and scouring pots and pans. She was working off her anger and swearing and threatening, until most of the other women in the row grew afraid, and kept as much as possible within doors the rest of the day.

When the men returned from work the whole episode had to be gone through and described to them by their wives.

When Sanny Robertson came home that afternoon, he found Mag with swollen lips and half closed eyes and a face bruised all over. He did not have to wait long for explanations. She railed and swore and raged until one wondered from where she got all the energy, and all the strength. It was amazing why she did not collapse altogether.

Sanny sat quietly listening without comment, then washed himself and sat smoking by the fire for a time. He was a quiet go-as-you-please man, not given much to talking. But finally he could stand it no longer, and he took hold of his wife by the shoulder, saying.

“Noo, jist you listen, an’ for God’s sake shut your mooth. It’ll no dae a bit o’ guid ravin’ like that. We are in a bigger hole noo than ever we hae been in a’ oor lives, an’ mind that. I’ve made up my mind what I am gaun tae dae. Sae listen. I’m gaun straucht awa’ ower to Rundell’s the morn, at the time when Mr. Rundell gangs hame frae the office for his breakfast, an’ I’ll tell him everything aboot the contracts. Then I’m gaun awa’ doon the country tae look for work, an’ I’ll flit oot o’ here an’ tae hell wi’t. Noo shut up an’ gae me peace and quateness for an hoor, so that I can think oot things. You get awa’ tae bed. Maybe by richt I should gang doon tae Black Jock an’ stap a knife in him if for nae ither thing than the way he has treated you the day, I should dae that. But I’m no gaun to dae it the noo. I’m no’ blaming you for what has happened; for I’m mair to blame than you are. But I’ll be even wi’ that black beast, an’ put an end to his rotten career, someway or another. Sae aff you gang to your bed, an’ gie me a quate hoor tae mysel’,” and there was such a quiet authoritative ring in his voice that Mag dared not disobey it, and she went quietly off to bed while he sat by the fireside smoking and thinking, and feeling that his home that night must surely be the most unhappy place on God’s earth.

About midnight he knocked the ashes from his pipe, and placing it on the mantelpiece, went to bed and soon fell asleep, but Mag, an insane decision taking shape in her brain, lay and brooded and tossed till well on in the morning, when she rose, kindled the fire, “redd up” the house, prepared the breakfast and awoke her husband to partake of the meal she had prepared.

Never a word was spoken between them, and at last Sanny, after washing and dressing, walked out without a word, but fully determined in his heart to get equal with Walker before the day was over.

He went straight to Rundell House, and ringing the bell asked to see the mine owner.

He was shown into a room and Mr. Rundell came to him almost before he had been comfortably seated.

“Well, Sanny,” he began genially. “What brings you here this morning?”

“A business that I’d rather no’ been comin’ on,” replied Sanny uneasily shifting on his chair.

“Oh, nothing serious, I hope, is it?”

“Ay, it’s serious enough,” returned Sanny. “Mair serious than you think, Mr. Rundell; an’ I dinna ken what you’ll think o’ me after I hae telt you.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” said the mine owner, becoming serious, and speaking with slow deliberation. “Just let me hear what it is all about, and we’ll see how matters stand after you have told me,” and he sat down in a chair opposite Robertson as he spoke.

“I hae lost my contracts, sir,” began Sanny, not knowing how else to open up the subject. “But I’m gaun to tell you the hale story just in my ain way, so I want you to sit quate and no’ interrupt me; for I hinna jist the knack of puttin’ things maybe as they should be put. But I’ll tell you the hale story an’ then leave you to do as you like, an’ think what you like.”

“Very well, Sanny. Just go on. I did not know you had lost them. But just let me hear about the trouble in your own way.”

“For gey near twenty year,” began Sanny, “I’ve had maist feck o’ the contracts in your pits back and forrit me an’ Tam Fleming. Walker an’ us were aye gey thick, an’ though it maybe was putten doon to you that oor offer to work ony special job was the cheapest, I may tell you that I never put in an offer in my life for yin o’ them. Walker an’ an’” here Sanny stammered a little, “Walker an’ oor Mag were gey thick, an’ I’m ashamed o’ this part o’ the story; for I should hae been man enough to protect her frae him. But the money was the thing that did it, Mr. Rundell, an’ I’m no’ gaun to mak’ excuses noo aboot it. But every bargain I had, I had to share the pay, efter the men was payed, penny aboot, wi’ Walker. That was ay the bargain. He gaed us the job at his ain feegure, an’ we shared the profits wi’ him.

“Noo, jist keep yoursel’ cool a bit,” he said, holding up his hand as Rundell made to speak. “We did gey well,” he resumed in his even monotone, like a man who was repeating something he had learned by heart. “But gey soon I found that I was expected to spend a good share o’ my pay in drink, while Walker took a’, an’ never spent a penny. So it was, that for a’ the money we made we’ve been gey little the better o’t, an’ very much the worse o’ it. Without exception we shared penny aboot with Walker on every bargain we got, an’ I ken he has a guid bank balance, while I hae nane.

“Noo, this is a rotten story frae end to end o’t,” he went on after a short pause to wipe his face with a handkerchief. “I allowed him to ruin my wife’s character. I kent it was gaun on a’ the time; but like mony mair I hae kent, a manager’s favor was mair to me than the honor o’ a wife. I let him tak’ a share o’ the money I made, an’ spent my ain to keep him up on drink. But noo it’s ended a’. A wheen o’ weeks syne, a man ca’d Tam Granger came to the place and his wife being young an’ fresh, an’ guid-looking, besides being free, Walker’s fancy was ta’en wi’ her. So you ken what it means, when a gaffer carries on like that, an’ the man is saft enough as weel as the woman being willin’. Tam got my contracts this week, an’ I have to gang back into a common place and howk coals.

“Weel, the wife couldna’ stand being slighted like thet, an’ Granger’s wife had been tantalizin’ her too, you ken hoo women rave when they are slighted. So she opened oot on Walker yesterday mornin’ an’ followed him up the row, the hale place being turned oot to hear her exposure o’ him. She fair gaed mad wi’ anger I think, an’ lost a’ control o’ hersel’ an’ she followed him shouting so that a’ the neighbors could hear her tauntin’ an’ jibin’ at him, till he could staun it nae länger, an’ he turned an’ struck her, knockin’ her doon on the green, an’ then kickin’ her, till she’s a’ bruised ower the body. She has an’ awfu’ lookin’ face too, an’ she came in bleeding like a sheep.

“So that’s the hale ugly story, Mr. Rundell. As I said I’m gaun to mak’ nae excuses. There’s nane tae mak’; an’ I’m cheap served for it a’. I should hae stood by the wife and protected her. But I’ll dae it noo. She’s mine, an’ if she’s no guid it is me that is to blame. I’m leavin’, an’ I’m gaun awa’ doon the country the morn to look for work; but I thocht I’d tell you the whole rotten story first, then I’ll get Walker, an’ hae a reckonin’ wi’ him an’ be off the morn. I’ll pay off that black-hearted brute this day afore I leave Lowwood an’ then my conscience will be easier.”

Mr. Rundell sat stupefied and amazed at the story just told him by Robertson, and just as both men sat staring at each other and before another word could be said, a miner burst into the room, almost exploding with excitement, crying:

“Oh, Mr. Rundell, you’ve to come to the pit at once. A woman has flung herself doon the shaft.”

“Guid God! That’ll be oor Mag,” cried Sanny, starting up and out at the door, running in the direction of the pit and stumbling every few yards in his excitement.

When Sanny had left the house that morning to go and interview Mr. Rundell, Mag, with the insane decision she had made overnight still holding her mind, dressed herself in her best clothes, and without hesitation set off to the pit.

On her way down the row she stepped into Leebie Granger’s house very excited though she had been fairly quiet all morning; so quiet in fact that Phemie Grey and Annie Watson could not help remarking upon it.

“She’s been awfu’ quate a’ mornin’, Phemie,” said Annie, going into her neighbor’s house. “She has worked away there as if she was gaun to clean the hale place, scrubbing oot the floor, although she washed yesterday; an’ noo, she has on her Sunday best, wi’ her new hat on too, an’ she’s awa’ into Leebie Granger’s. I wonner what’ll hae ta’en her noo.”

“Guid kens,” replied Phemie, “but she’s fair off her heid. Dae ye ken she’s just like a daft body. Did you see the look in her e’en?” and so they discussed poor Mag, who had drawn their attention by the strangeness of her behavior.

“Oh, dinna be feart, Leebie,” began Mag as she saw Leebie’s apprehensive look. “I’m no’ gaun to meddle wi’ you, although I swore yesterday that I would. You’ve only done what I did before you. You are young, an’ mair pleasin’ than I am noo, an’, as he said, I hae had a good innins. But, Leebie, you’ll hae to look for another fancy man. He’ll no’ be lang yours. I’ll see to that. Him an’ me will gang oot thegither, if I can manage it. We’ve baith been rotten, an’ it’s richt that we should gang baith at once, an’ rid the place o’ a dam’d bad sore. Guid day, Leebie. It’s a dam’d puir life to leave, an’ while it maybe is a woman’s lot in life to sell hersel’ for ease and comfort, it’s a’ bad for her when she does it in a way that the world says is a wrang way; for she soon finds that her life isna worth a tinker’s curse. She sells hersel’ an’ it’s no worth while complainin’ if the bargain turns oot a rotten yin.

“If every woman had plenty of honest work, there wad be nae fancy women, for they wadna ned do it. Guid day, Leebie. Maybe you’ll think I’m strange a wee an’ maybe so I am. You micht think I’m daft; an’ maybe so I am. But after a while when you get time to think, you’ll maybe feel that you hae heard mair soond sense oot o’ Mag Robertson when she was mad than ever she spoke when she was supposed to be wise. Guid day, Leebie. Think ower a’ I have said. I’m no gaun to hurt you; but I’m gaun to tak’ Black Jock oot o’ your clutches as shair as daith. You’ve had your innins too; but it has been a dam’d short yin. I’ve had mine, an’ the game is feenished noo. It’s time the hale thing was totaled up so that we can see wha is the winner. I’ve been maybe playin’ a losin’ game, Leebie, but noo we’ll ken afore lang. Guid day, Leebie. I’m off,” and she was out of the door leaving Leebie speechless with fear and amazement.

Mag flew down the brae to the pit almost running, while Leebie and other neighbors looked after her with a strange dread at their hearts.

When Mag arrived at the pit she asked a boy if Walker was up the pit yet for his breakfast.

“I dinna’ think so,” replied the boy. “He’s kind o’ late this mornin’; but there’s the bell chappit three,” he said as the signal was made from the bottom that men were about to come up. “That’ll likely be him coming up.”

The boy had no sooner spoken, than with a mad rush Mag darted forward, and opening the gates at the “low scaffold,” where no one was near, being situated below the pit-head proper, with a loud scream she hurled herself down the shaft.

“God Almichty!” roared the engineman who saw all from the engine house, as he rushed out of the door, calling to the pit-head workers. “Mag Robertson has flung hersel’ doon the shank!” and immediately all was consternation.

The engine keeper had just been in the act of signaling down to Walker, who was ready to ascend when he saw the flying figure dart forward and fling herself into the yawning abyss.

Walker, standing at the foot of the shaft waiting for the answering signal from above, heard the noise and the rush of Mag’s body as it bumped from side to side in its mad descent, and starting back, he was just in time to get clear as the mangled mass of rags and blood and pulpy flesh fell with a loud splashy thud at the bottom, the blood spattering and “jauping” him and the bottomer, and blinding their eyes as it flew all over them.

“In the name o’ Heavens what’s that?” yelled Walker, screaming in terror and jumping aside from the bloody upturned face, with the wide, staring eyes, which he seemed to recognize, as the other parts of the body lay about, still quivering and twitching, and a horrible sickness came over him and terror flooded his mind.

“Bell, three, quick!” cried Walker, frantic with desperation in his voice. “Bell three, dammit. An’ let us up out o’ here. Hurry up, hell to you,” and he drew the bell himself, and without waiting on the signal back from above, jumped into the cage, averting his face from those horrible eyes, which lay staring at him out of the darkness.

“Chap it awa’, man!” he yelled at the bottomer, his voice rising to a scream. “Chap it, an’ let us up to hell oot o’ this,” and the bottomer, no less frightened than he, tore at the bell, and jumping in himself just as the cage began slowly to ascend, clung to the bar, shivering with terror.