I walked on,
stopping for him on the nearest edge of the quarry, which commanded
a full view of the men below. They seemed to be waiting very hard
for something just then, and they stared at me, as the rest had
done; but in a few minutes, just as I began to hear the paymaster's
footsteps behind me, the man at the nearest end of the quarry called
"Shorrock!" and a sudden activity woke up along the line. Shorrock
then pointed to a corner of the delph where two of these poor
fellows had been killed the week before, by stones thrown out from a
fall of earth. We went down through the delph, and up the slope, by
the place where the older men were at work in the poorhouse grounds.
Crossing the Darwen road, we passed the other delphs, where the
scene was much the same as in the rest, except that more men were
employed there. As we went on, one poor fellow was trolling a snatch
of song, as he hammered away at the stones. "Thir't merry, owd mon,"
said I, in passing. "Well," replied he, "cryin' 'll do nought,
wilt?" And then, as I walked away, he shouted after me, with a sort
of sad smile, "It's a poor heart at never rejoices, maister.
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