He was secretary to the Miners Union for his colliery, and had heard a good deal of silly wrangling that left him nettled.
He strode over a stile, crossed two fields, strode another stile, and was in the long road of colliers' dwellings.

Just across was his own house: he had built it himself.

He went through the little gate, up past the side of the house to the back.

There he hung a moment, glancing down the dark, wintry garden.
"My father--my father's come!" cried a child's excited voice, and two little girls in white pinafores ran out in front of his legs.
"Father, shall you set the Christmas Tree ?" they cried.

"We've got one!" "Afore I have my dinner ?" he answered amiably.
"Set it now.