Had there been any tendency to forget their loss, the solemn faces
and tearful eyes of those who were older than they would have been
a constant reminder.
As Robert Burnham had been universally beloved, so his death was
universally mourned. The miners at Burnham Shaft felt that they had
especial cause for grief. He had a way of coming to the mines and
looking after them and their labor, personally, that they liked. He
knew the names of all the men who worked there, and he had a word of
kindly greeting for each one whom he met. When he came among them out
of the darkness of heading or chamber, there seemed, somehow, to be
more light in the mines, more light and better air, and a sense of
cheeriness and comfort. And, after he had gone, you could hear these
men whistling and singing at their tasks for hours; the mere fact of
his presence had so lightened their labors. The bosses caught this
spirit of friendliness, and there was always harmony at Burnham
Breaker and in the Burnham mines, among all who labored there in any
way whatever. But the screen-room boys had, somehow, come to look upon
this man as their especial friend. He sympathized with them. He seemed
to understand how hard it was for boys like they were to bend all day
above those moving streams of coal. He always had kind words for them,
and devised means to lessen, at times, the rigid monotony of their
tasks. They regarded him with something of that affection which a
child has for a firm, kind parent.
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