VIThe Railway, that small tavern where my brother lodged, lay almost hidden from the main road to Walsall, in a little hollow surrounded by trees. On one side of it ran the railway line to Willenhall; on the other the broad pockmarked fields that led at last to Bentley Common. This inn was set almost at the furthermost limits of Darlaston, before the ironworks of The Pleck began. I hurried through the damp night towards the cheery orange lights that shone from its low windows into the dusk.
As I descended the wooden steps that led from the highroad to the wicket-gate of the inn, I heard the sound of rough voices raised in song. At other times I should have suspected the singers of being mere drunken colliers; but now their tones came to me as a rude but sincere welcome. Here were living c
