if somebody can't quiet 'em."

Suddenly the buzzing groups behind the foreman parted, and a young
broad-shouldered workman, grimed from head to foot, his blue eyes rolling
in his black face, came staggering through.

"Gie ma a drink," he said, clutching at the old woman; "an let ma sit
down!"

He almost fell upon an iron barrow that lay face downwards on the path.
Laura, sitting crouched and sick upon the ground, raised her head to look
at him. Another man, evidently a comrade, followed him, took the mug of
cold tea from the old woman's shaking hand, lifted his head and helped
him drink it.

"Blast yer!--why ain't it spirits?" said the youth, throwing himself back
against his companion. His eyes closed on his smeared cheeks; his jaw
fell; his whole frame seemed to sink into collapse; those gazing at him
saw, as it were, the dislocation and undoing of a man.

"Cheer up, Ned--cheer up," said the older man, kneeling down behind
him--"you'll get over it, my boy--it worn't none o' your fault. Stand
back there, you fellows, and gie im air."

"Oh, damn yer! let ma be," gasped the young fellow, stretching himself
against the other's support, like one who feels the whole inner being of
him sick to death, and cannot be still for an instant under the anguish.

The woman with the tea began to cry loudly and ask questions. Laura rose
to her feet, and touched her.