Seth

Publisher Marketing: "SETH" Classics of Literature By Frances Hodgson Burnett He came in one evening at sun set with the empty coal-train-his dull young face pale and heavy-eyed with weariness, his corduroy suit dusty and travel-stained, his worldly possessions tied up in the smallest of handkerchief bundles and slung upon the stick resting on his shoulder-and naturally his first appearance attracted some attention among the loungers about the shed dignified by the title of "depot. " I say "naturally," because arrivals upon the trains to Black Creek were so scarce as to be regarded as curiosities; which again might be said to be natural. The line to the mines had been in existence two months, since the English company had taken them in hand and pushed the matter through with an energy startling to, and not exactly approved by, the majority of good East Tennesseeans. After the first week or so of arrivals-principally Welsh and English miners, with an occasional Irishman-the trains had returned daily to the Creek without a passenger; and accordingly this one created some trifling sensation. Not that his outward appearance was particularly interesting or suggestive of approaching excitement. He was only a lad of nineteen or twenty, in working English-cut garb, and with a short, awkward figure, and a troubled, homely face-a face so homely and troubled, in fact, that its half-bewildered look was almost pathetic. He advanced toward the shed hesitatingly, and touched his cap as if half in clumsy courtesy and half in timid appeal. "Mesters," he said, "good-day to yo'." The company bestirred themselves with one accord, and to the roughest and most laconic gave him a brief "Good-day."