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into the bowels of Caledonian earth, and lived there ever after,

from father to son. They were but plain miners. They labored



like convicts at the work of extracting the precious combustible.

It is even believed that the coal miners, like the salt-makers



of that period, were actual slaves.

However that might have been, Simon Ford was proud



of belonging to this ancient family of Scotch miners.

He had worked diligently in the same place where his ancestors



had wielded the pick, the crowbar, and the mattock.

At thirty he was overman of the Dochart pit, the most important



in the Aberfoyle colliery. He was devoted to his trade.

During long years he zealously performed his duty.



His only grief had been to perceive the bed becoming impoverished,

and to see the hour approaching when the seam would be exhausted.



It was then he devoted himself to the search for new veins

in all the Aberfoyle pits, which communicated underground



one with another. He had had the good luck to

discover several during the last period of the working.



His miner's instinct assisted him marvelously, and the engineer,

James Starr, appreciated him highly. It might be said that



he divined the course of seams in the depths of the coal mine

as a hydroscope reveals springs in the bowels of the earth.



He was par excellence the type of a miner whose whole

existence is indissolubly connected with that of his mine.



He had lived there from his birth, and now that the works

were abandoned he wished to live there still. His son Harry



foraged for the subterranean housekeeping; as for himself,

during those ten years he had not been ten times above ground.



"Go up there! What is the good?" he would say, and refused

to leave his black domain. The place was remarkably healthy,



subject to an equable temperature; the old overman endured

neither the heat of summer nor the cold of winter.



His family enjoyed good health; what more could he desire?

But at heart he felt depressed. He missed the former



animation, movement, and life in the well-worked pit.

He was, however, supported by one fixed idea. "No, no! the mine



is not exhausted!" he repeated.

And that man would have given serious offense who could have ventured



to express before Simon Ford any doubt that old Aberfoyle would

one day revive! He had never given up the hope of discovering



some new bed which would restore the mine to its past splendor.

Yes, he would willingly, had it been necessary, have resumed



the miner's pick, and with his still stout arms vigorously attacked

the rock. He went through the dark galleries, sometimes alone,



sometimes with his son, examining, searching for signs of coal,

only to return each day, wearied, but not in despair, to the cottage.



Madge, Simon's faithfulcompanion, his "gude-wife," to use

the Scotch term, was a tall, strong, comely woman. Madge had no



wish to leave the Dochart pit any more than had her husband.

She shared all his hopes and regrets. She encouraged him,



she urged him on, and talked to him in a way which cheered the heart

of the old overman. "Aberfoyle is only asleep," she would say.



"You are right about that, Simon. This is but a rest,

it is not death!"



Madge, as well as the others, was perfectly satisfied to live

independent of the outer world, and was the center of the happiness



enjoyed by the little family in their dark cottage.

The engineer was eagerly expected. Simon Ford was standing at his door,



and as soon as Harry's lamp announced the arrival of his former viewer

he advanced to meet him.



"Welcome, Mr. Starr!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing under

the roof of schist. "Welcome to the old overman's cottage!



Though it is buried fifteen hundred feet under the earth,

our house is not the less hospitable."



"And how are you, good Simon?" asked James Starr, grasping the hand

which his host held out to him.



"Very well, Mr. Starr. How could I be otherwise here,

sheltered from the inclemencies of the weather?



Your ladies who go to Newhaven or Portobello in the summer time

would do much better to pass a few months in the coal mine



of Aberfoyle! They would run no risk here of catching a heavy cold,

as they do in the damp streets of the old capital."



"I'm not the man to contradict you, Simon," answered James Starr,

glad to find the old man just as he used to be. "Indeed, I wonder why



I do not change my home in the Canongate for a cottage near you."

"And why not, Mr. Starr? I know one of your old miners who would



be truly pleased to have only a partition wall between you and him."




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