AN- Before the story begins, I warn you, despite what some parts of the fandom seems to believe about Canadian history, it has its black points just as every country does. This is one of the less nasty of them as most of what happened was not a deliberate act by the government but it still is a sad period in our heritage. If you know of the home children (as this program occurred not just in Canada), you will understand what I mean.

Historical notes will be at the end of the story if you're curious, I made this as accurate as my research would let me.

Some religious talk/overtone as it goes with the period from a 'historical perspective' in language and ideas. Does not reflect my personal views or even more modern views in certain instances. Please read with a grain of salt.

***Warning!***

That said – though the overall tone is to be very much family based – this story will have some child abuse because of the subject matter – this is mostly alluded (one instance being the exception) and is not graphic (Thus the T rating). BUT if this is not your cup of tea, please don't read. Once again, this is mostly to be fluff between Arthur/England and Matthew/Canada.

***Warning!***

I do not own Hetalia or much else, not even really my plot considering its based off history.

Matthew cracked his neck as he emerged from the pitch blackness of the mine into the early dawn's light. Despite his muscles being sore and his exhaustion, he also felt the heady feeling that came in with putting in a good day's (or in his case night's) work.

It also helped that today was pay day.

Getting his pay in an envelope from the quartermaster, he exited the Springhill mine yard whistling cheerily and walked down the quiet street to the boarding house he had been living in.

His brother and he had been raised on a farm together out in Iowa but when their old man died, Alfred, being the older son, got the farm and Matthew, well, he got his blessings and that was it.

Which in the end suited him just fine.

While Alfred was happy to stay on his farm under wide blue skies – especially once he met Liberty, in his last letter, Al had told him of his plans to propose – Matthew was bit by some wanderlust and at nineteen, it seemed the best time to roam. After seeing much of the United States, Matthew's feet brought him North. He had worked on some farms out in the developing prairies, stayed a few winters too, before moving on East to the industries in Ontario and Québec before finding himself in the Maritimes.

Now twenty-two, he was settled for the time being in Springhill, Nova Scotia until he got that itch in his feet again to start moving again (and spring) or until Alfred's wedding; either or really. He had quickly gotten a job on the night shift down in the coal mines there and had been working here for a few months and was feeling pretty content to stay for now.

He trudged through the light snow covering the path and the rickety old wood stairs that went up to the small boarding house he was presently living. As he opened the door and stepped inside, he tried to be as quiet as possible, gently closing the door behind him, shaking the dusting of snow off his coat and boots and hanging up his coat. The mistress of the house, Mrs. Doe, didn't take kindly to loud noises at any time and was told if he so much as slammed the door, he'd be out on the streets. However, the cheap rent and the good food she served made up for her general unpleasantness.

As quiet as a mouse, he went up the stairs to his room where he stripped to his long underwear and used the small wash basin to get as much of the coal dust off as possible before diving under the covers of his small cot. He hoped his brother had gotten the small Christmas gift he had sent in the post; he was already appreciating the lovely gloves and the jar of preserves Al had sent him, especially the gloves which he was pulling on now along with an old tuque.

One did not underestimate the cold in January anywhere in this country he had quickly learned; each province seemed to have it's own bite to the season. He snuggled further under the heavy quilt and let the bustling of the house put him to sleep.

It was only once the sun had sunk beyond the horizon more and the clock chimed the ninth hour that Matthew emerged from his warm cocoon, blinking sleep from his eyes and stretching.

Getting his work clothes on again, he groaned, this routine was starting to be a bit much, he was already looking forward to the spring so he could move on. Maybe he'd go tramp through New England before heading back to his brother's farm for the wedding.

He heard a light knocking on the door and upon pulling on his shirt, he opened it to see a young boy, of about eight or nine standing there holding his wash basin. It was filled partially with hot water, steam rising up in the air, thank the Lord.

"Come in, come in." He opened the door wider. "If you could put it down on the dresser, that would be wonderful."

The child padded into the room with a quiet nod.

"Thank you." Matthew said before enquiring, "You're off to bed then?"

Once again he received an enigmatic nod before the boy once again disappeared.

The child was a mystery, Matthew thought as he sighed and closed the door once more before he went and quickly made use of the warm water; he never said a word and was far too serious. While this world sadly made many grow up soon, the world weariness and distrust he saw reflected at him from deadened green eyes made him feel ancient and sad. So far it had been his mission to get the boy to talk to him, but to no avail so far.

All that he did know had come from Mrs. Doe's complaining – her whining about how she had thought taking in a home child would help her around the house but all that it had done was give her another mouth to feed as he was so lazy and she had to constantly watch him... Though he seemed to be nothing of the sort, Matthew, from the little he had seen, knew the boy to be a hard worker. Besides that, he knew that the boy was from England and part of the governments Home Children program, which might be why he seemed so quietly hostile to any adult.

Hard worker, quiet, cynical, English and orphan. Not a lot to go on.

Though the quietness might stem from the fact that Mrs. Doe did nothing but order the poor child around and see to it he had very little rest.

Matthew sighed as he stared back at himself in the mirror; no use dwelling on that, there wasn't much he could do and he had best focus on work. After all, mining was not the easiest or safest job and he ought to have his full attention on what he would be doing.

Going downstairs, he ate a quick breakfast (as Mrs. Doe had just finished preparing dinner for the other lodgers who would be back within the hour) and grabbed the lunch pail that was prepared for him before once more tugging on his coat, tuque, scarf and gloves (he had two pairs so the other pair he wore when sleeping did not get coal dust all over them) and stepping out into the snow.

He didn't understand the lodger in room fourteen.

Mr. Williams paid attention to him for some strange reason, talking to him, being kind to him...it was strange. For the life of him, Arthur could not figure out what the man wanted. Back home, nobody would talk or even look his way unless they wanted something from him.

He was a Nobody.

Orphan.

Street Urchin.

Drain on Society.

The only ones that truly cared were a few of the others in the orphanage, all in the same boat as him. They were their own little makeshift family. Bruce was from Scotland, his father had come to London to find work and had been killed in the collapse of the mine shaft. The Irish twins*, Pat and Kathleen had been left at a foundling hospital, their parents likely too poor, desperate or deceased to look after them. Aneiren had worked with his father and mother in the mills but an accident had crippled his arm and killed his mother. His father then promptly abandoned him as a burden and returned to Wales.

They were the closest thing to family that he had had, the only ones that he trusted. They had come with him to Canada and had all been left at Miss Stirling's house before their placement but since Mrs. Doe had come and gotten him, he hadn't seen them. He hoped that they were doing alright, he prayed for them every day and wished he could see them all even once more.

With them gone... The last ray of light in his life was gone. Now there was no one he could confide in, no one he could trust, no one he could tell about this adult's strange behaviour and no one he could ask advice from. Having his guard up all the time was trying but important as Mrs. Doe seemed to have it out for him. She was the only one who even knew his name here but preferred just to call him "Guttersnipe", "Boy" or "You", he was to be awake before she was and he went to bed typically an hour after she did due to the chores she gave him, he was fed scraps for meals (if at all) and any sort of behaviour that could be viewed as slacking off (such as talking to tenants) she... it wasn't pleasant.

He wished he knew why she was so mean to him as in his experience there always was a reason, though they were usually bad ones, but it was clear he was to keep his head down and mouth shut around her.

Walking down the stairs as quietly as he dared, he then made his way through the kitchen to the door that led to the shed. Pulling his clothes closer to his body, he quickly made sure all his buttons were done up, relishing one more moment of warmth before he opened the door and darted through the snow to the shed. Fingers numb, he struggled to open the latch before opening the door and going inside, closing it behind him. As he entered, the goats greeted him with bleats from their stall though the chickens ignored him. Shivering slightly (it wasn't as cold as outside, but the shed wasn't the warmest of places), he went to the stall in the back where his thin blanket and straw pillow awaited him.

Quickly saying his prayers, he scooted under the blanket before grabbing some dry straw and throwing it over himself for extra warmth before he quickly fell asleep.

Matthew cricked his neck as he once more emerged from the darkness of the mine into the crisp air and wandered over to the gate to return home, shoes crunching pleasantly in the snow.

However, before he could get too far, the overseer cried out "Mr. Williams!"

So, stifling a groan – he wanted to go home and his feet hurt – he turned around and wandered back to the nearby building.

The overseer leaned over the railing and passed him an envelope, "Mr. Williams, we need you to report on the morning shift starting Monday. Mr. Baker broke his leg and had to be let go and we need another steady man to replace him. Be here at eight sharp."

Then without so much as a thank-you or a have-a-good-day, he went back inside to his warmth, slamming the door behind him.

Matthew stared down at the envelope which presumably held his transference papers, before shaking his head. This was going to wreak havoc on his internal clock. At least tomorrow was Sunday and the mine was closed so he could at least adjust a little. Though, Mrs. Doe would likely be pleased, she had been complaining to him about his odd hours quite often as of late.

Matthew didn't really get to sleep when he gets home, same as every week. Instead after washing his hands and face as best he can, he lightly dozed as he watched the sun rise before getting dressed in his Sunday best and heading off to the local church.

He is lucky and manages to snag a seat in the last pew in the back, others filing in after him having to stand.

The service is long and dry, the pastor droning on in a nasally tone and while Matthew could feel his body scream for him to leave and get some shut eye; his ma had raised him proper and as a God-fearing man, he would not fall asleep during a sermon.

No matter how dull or how much he needed the sleep.

No he would not, he would not, would not, would no... Realizing he was nodding off, he dug chipped nails into his palms, the adrenaline from the pain making him a little more alert.

He looked around and sees similar dozy faces of the lads on the same shift as him, all struggling to remain awake, many of their wives taking to pinching their sides in an effort to help in this endeavour.

Trying to focus on the pastor's words, hoping he was near the end of his sermon, Matthew quickly realized that man was just getting going and it took everything in him to not groan. He believed it was important to attend sermons, to hear the word of God, but, Lord help him, he was so tired.

Arthur was up at the crack of dawn, milking the goats (having a sip [just a sip!] from the bucket when he finished though Mrs Doe would thrash him if she found out) and feeding them then fetching any eggs the hens had laid overnight and feeding them before he then brought his spoils up to the house to assist in preparing Sunday breakfast for the lodgers.

Once that is all cooked and on the table for Mrs. Doe to look over with a critical eye and she gives her grudging approval and the men have eaten their fill is he allowed to eat what little is left. Wolfing it down, his stomach growling at him, he then quickly did the dishes then washed off his hands and face in the water. Running dripping fingers through his hair, he tries to neaten it, looking at himself critically in the small mirror before giving up with a sigh. He didn't have any Sunday best; he only had the clothes on his back and this was the best he could do to clean up before going to Church. Looking at the grandfather clock in the parlour from the door (he was forbidden from entering ever, Mrs Doe cleaned this room), he realized he was running late and quickly ran out the servant's door in the back.

He managed to arrive just in time, coming in just as Pastor Davis was walking to the pulpit. He wormed his way forward through those standing in the back to stand by the rear pews where two other home children stood. He loved the sermons, something that was the same as home, the familiar words a healing balm to the hurtful words during the week. God was forgiving, God was loving; even if he was a good-for-nothing orphan with no one to care for him, He did.

He got caught up in the sermon, as he always did, mouthing along familiar psalms and prayers when he noticed the gentleman in front of him struggling to stay awake. It was the strange tenant in room fourteen, Mr. Williams; the poor man still hadn't arrived home when Arthur turned in for the night and had just worked a full shift...

Seeing him lose his struggle to remain awake, Arthur struggled momentarily against his instinct to not bother adults and pity for the man before pity won over and he gently nudged his shoulder, hoping that Mr. Williams wouldn't take offence. He jerked slightly, eyes opening with a start before he seemed to realize he had dozed and looked behind him giving Arthur a grateful nod before turning back to listen.

Arthur suppressed a sigh of relief.

He knew of adults who would've flown into a fury at the thought of someone such as him touching him. Admittedly, Mr. Williams was not of a wealthy class and was a little strange so perhaps he shouldn't have expected any less.

The sermon was done about fifteen minutes after that, and when Arthur turned to leave a warm hand on his arm stopped him. His heart stopping for a moment with fear, before he turned and saw Mr. Williams looking at him, appraising, as a warm albeit tired smile stole across his face.

"Thank you lad." He said, before he slipped a penny into his hand.

Arthur's eyes went round as stared at the coin in his hand, this could buy him some candy or a loaf of bread! A full penny!

A warm chuckle brought him out of his thoughts and a hand ruffled his hair. "Don't spend it all in one place now, you hear?"

"No sir." Arthur answered, still staring at the coin. He would save this as a treat for a Saint's day or would save it along with the few half-pennies he'd found on the ground so when the tanner next came to town he could get his worn shoes resoled or buy a pair of socks from one of the ladies at the church or ... he would think of the best way to spend it later.

A full penny!

It had taken a week or so before Matthew adjusted to his new schedule of working the day shift. Mrs Doe's homechild had been indispensable for that; he quite possibly would have lost his job if the boy hadn't practically kicked him out of the bed in the mornings.

Though he still had yet to learn the small boy's name, much to his annoyance. After all, even if it was only in his mind, having to call his helper 'boy' or 'lad' almost seemed rude. On the other hand, he had made some inroads in getting the child to talk.

Since he had given him the penny in the church, the boy was shyly answering his questions with a "no sir" or "yes sir" and one memorable time "I wouldn't know sir." No, it wasn't a lot, but it was good to see the lad assert himself somewhat even if it was with so few words.

The days passed quickly until it was mid-February and Matthew was surprised that he still had yet to get that itch in his feet that would prompt him to move on. He enjoyed the work he was doing (or at least as much as one can enjoy that kind of work), was making a good, honest living and decent pay and had somehow made friends with the quiet boy at Mrs. Doe's place. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but he had become attached to the child and the child to him (though he still didn't talk much) and was a bit worried by how scrawny and tired he looked at all times. There was also the dark bruises on his skin that he tried to hide that worried him a little less as he and Al had gotten into more then their fair share of scrapes while playing or helping around the farm; in fact, he wouldn't even give a passing thought to them if the boy didn't appear ashamed and eager to hide them.

Going through his morning routine while his mind wandered, Matthew decided that he would try to confront the lad on Sunday for some answers or at least his name. Splashing water on his face to clear off the rest of the shaving cream from his neatly trimmed beard, he turned his thoughts to work.

Yesterday they had lost more time due to an inspection insisted upon by the Miner's Union even after the committee had already gone through not even three days before on Thursday and had reported the mine to be in excellent condition and probably one of the safest mines in the province. The inspector who had gone through on the 20th had agreed with them upon finishing his thorough inspection and now they were going to have to spend all of today and possibly Monday as well making up for the lost time.**

It was a little irritating but at least there was a bit in the way of peace of mind. After all, it wasn't like mines were known to be the safest of places and having the one he worked in pronounced one of the safest was reassuring. In fact, moral was so high (even with the prospect of work to catch up on the following day) that he and the lads after their shift was done had gone by the tavern to celebrate and the one fellow had toasted to it being one of the safest on the continent.

Pulling on his things, he went downstairs for breakfast and gave the boy a grateful smile when he saw his plate already laden with food and waiting for him on the table before he hurried out the door with the other men.

Arthur wiggled his toes experimentally with a groan as he put the last shovelful of snow to the side. All of his muscles ached and now he couldn't feel his toes; his last (and only) pair of socks having been beyond repair and now had only his too-small, resoled-too-many-times-to-count-and-worn-thin boots to protect his feet from the snow. When he (barely) was able to move them, he gave an internal sigh of relief; he did not want to lose his toes to frostbite after all.

He then blinked as a realization struck him and audibly sighed in relief; with the shovelling done, he could now move on to his inside chores and maybe get a bit of lunch while he was at it. Putting away the shovel, he dashed up to the house, slowing only when he reached the back door so as to not attract Mrs. Doe's anger.

Luck was with him and Mrs. Doe was nowhere to be seen so he took his standard lunch (some bread and a bit of cheese) and in casual defiance, he ate inside. He wasn't stupid of course, he hid in the small alcove just out of sight and ate quickly. He knew he was supposed to eat on the back step or in the shed and that what he was doing could get him switched but it was so cold out...

Finishing quickly, he then got the stack of dished by the big bucket full of clean water and began to wash them. A few minutes after the grandfather clock struck one, when he was just finishing up, a sound like sullen thunder rang in the air and the house and windows shook for a moment before it was quiet again.

What in the world?

"Explosion!" Came a cry from outside. "Explosion at the mine!"

I apologize for any OOC – ness, I tried to adapt their character by the social climate, time period and by their age.

*They are actually twins not "Irish twins" (a derogatory term used for two children born to the same mother less than 12 months apart)

** nova-scotia/5265/springhill-ns-coal-mine-explosion-disaster-feb-1891

From what I've been able to gather, a miner in this time period earned somewhere around 11$ a week, which wasn't an exorbitant amount of money but still quite good for the time.

Between 1869 and 1924, over 80 000 children were sent over to Canada from Great Britain. They were mostly orphaned, abandoned or pauper children and it was believed that by sending them over, they would have a better chance of leading a healthy normal life.

Curiously, orphaned just meant from an orphanage, you could have a parent(s) alive that just couldn't afford to keep you so you would be placed there and they would send a small fee to help pay for your keep – many such children were also sent over without the parents even being notified or being told what happened to their kids.

Like indentured servants, the children would be sent to go live and work with a family until they were of age (so 16 or 18 by differing sources) and were usually used as extra domestic and agricultural help. Upon arriving by ship, the children would be sent off to distributing homes and then sent off to farmers in the area, many being separated from siblings. While many did experience the better life hoped for, or at least better than living in English slums, the overall experience for most wasn't especially positive.

Ages were from 4-15 years old and as part of their indenture, they were to be provided with food, clothes, shelter (not just a roof but a bed to sleep in), education, etc.

Sadly, many of the children were beaten, overworked, poorly treated and abused (as seen in the story) – seen almost as slaves, less than human – and most of these stipulations were ignored as, despite there being clerks who were to check in, these checks were infrequent and there were many that slipped through the cracks. Quite a number even ran away to the States

With regards to the mine being closed on Sundays – by law, it was illegal for businesses to be open on the Sabbath day in Canada in this time period. However, it's debatable with regards to industry – mining, forestry and the like, if this was ever enforced as the poor still needed to work to make ends meet and many industry owners didn't like to lose a days work and would do so secretly. For the sake of this story, I decided the mines would be closed.