Page 103 - sons-and-lovers

This story of Taffy would go on interminably, and every-
body loved it.
Or sometimes it was a new tale.
‘An’ what dost think, my darlin’? When I went to put my
coat on at snap-time, what should go runnin’ up my arm
but a mouse.
‘Hey up, theer!’ I shouts.
‘An’ I wor just in time ter get ‘im by th’ tail.’
‘And did you kill it?’
‘I did, for they’re a nuisance. The place is fair snied wi’
‘em.’
‘An’ what do they live on?’
‘The corn as the ‘osses drops—an’ they’ll get in your
pocket an’ eat your snap, if you’ll let ‘em—no matter where
yo’ hing your coat— the slivin’, nibblin’ little nuisances, for
they are.’
These happy evenings could not take place unless Morel
had some job to do. And then he always went to bed very
early, often before the children. There was nothing remain-
ing for him to stay up for, when he had finished tinkering,
and had skimmed the headlines of the newspaper.
And the children felt secure when their father was in
bed. They lay and talked softly a while. Then they started
as the lights went suddenly sprawling over the ceiling from
the lamps that swung in the hands of the colliers tramping
by outside, going to take the nine o’clock shift. They listened
to the voices of the men, imagined them dipping down into
the dark valley. Sometimes they went to the window and
watched the three or four lamps growing tinier and tinier,

10 Sons and Lovers