Our John Willie/Centennial/Harlequin/Eric [antikvár]

One The water rushed at them. It was as if the floor of the pit had opened and the sea were pouring in. Even in the light of the swinging lamps the top of it still looked like the floor of the pit, because it was covered with coal dust; only the dead chilliness around Davy Halladay's legs, then his thighs and now his waist told him it was water all right. He was yelling to his father, "Da! Da! Where's John Willie? Da! John Willie . . . he's gone." His voice was almost lost amid that of others, men yelling directions as they grabbed at the pitprops supporting the rock roof. "Da! Da! Aw! . . ." The filthy water choked his next cry. The last thing he saw before being drawn into the melee of struggling bodies was his father's head going under the black scum. And then he was borne forward, thrashing, gasping, and he knew he was about to die and go to hell as Miss Peamarsh had said he would. He should have known that her prophecy would come true, because she had said it on a Sunday. It was when he pulled their John Wilhe through a gap in her wall, a gap hidden by brambles. He had only gone into her grounds to gather blackberries, for in the great tangled garden of Gorge Manor the bushes were laden with fruit. . . . And then he had seen her cow. Everybody knew it gave