He gathered a few for
her to wear.
"Though, really," he said, as he fitted them into the breast of her
coat, "you ought to object to my getting them, because of the birds.
But they don't care much for rose-hips in this part, where they can
get plenty of stuff. You often find the berries going rotten in the
springtime."
So he chattered, scarcely aware of what he said, only knowing he was
putting berries in the bosom of her coat, while she stood patiently for
him. And she watched his quick hands, so full of life, and it seemed to
her she had never SEEN anything before. Till now, everything had been
indistinct.
They came near to the colliery. It stood quite still and black among the
corn-fields, its immense heap of slag seen rising almost from the oats.
"What a pity there is a coal-pit here where it is so pretty!" said
Clara.
"Do you think so?" he answered. "You see, I am so used to it I should
miss it. No; and I like the pits here and there. I like the rows of
trucks, and the headstocks, and the steam in the daytime, and the lights
at night.
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