Many colliers were waiting their turns to go up, talking noisily.
Morel gave his answers short and disagreeable.
"It's rainin', Sorry," said old Giles, who had had the news from the top.
Morel found one comfort.

He had his old umbrella, which he loved, in the lamp cabin.

At last he took his stand on the chair, and was at the top in a moment.

Then he handed in his lamp and got his umbrella, which he had bought at an auction for one-and-six.

He stood on the edge of the pit-bank for a moment, looking out over the fields; grey rain was falling.