Many persons of Penzance and its neighbourhood, whose memories take them back fifty years or more, may recollect an aged man, usually called Dick Rastram, who for some weeks before Christmas, and after it, used to be heard calling around the market,—

The almanacks he sold were supplemented with advertisements of patent medicines and other special articles kept by his master.

On the whole Dick must have been a good servant, or his master would never have had the patience to bear with his provoking ways for so many years as he did. Dick was very fond of arguing the point as to the best mode of doing any job he was set about, and the time wasted in settling the matter was more than would have sufficed to do the work many times over; but he would exert himself with double vigour when allowed to have his own way. Sometimes, however, the master becoming tired of his man’s pig-headedness, would say “do the work as thou art told to; whether right or wrong no blame will rest on thy shoulders.” Then Dick would keep a sharp look-out for a mistake, and if his master made any, by a “slip of the tongue,” he would be sure to execute it to the very letter.

One morning this precious man-servant was sent to the bake-house in Back Lane, for a twopenny loaf of the proper age for mixing with other ingredients in making pills. In a few minutes he returned, placed the pence on the counter, and said “there’s no bread there stale enough; where must I go next?” Then he was told some other place, and as often returned without bread, asking each time where he was to go next? So he dawdled away great [49]part of the forenoon, when everyone knew that if he had a mind he would find a suitable loaf in some shop best known to himself, in a few minutes. The last time he returned with the two-pence and asked, “Where must I go next?” his master, provoked beyond measure, said go to —, naming a place said to be very hot; and to soften the angry expression, added the word “stone” in a lower voice; but the man heard this cooling word, took up the pence, and went out to get the bread, it was supposed from some shop of his own choice. Night came, however, but no Dick; and the following day passed without his having been seen or heard of in Penzance.

A little after the usual closing time Mr. Harvey was in his shop with a few of his neighbours, wondering what had become of his man, and getting rather uneasy at not having had any tidings of him, and was about to have his shop closed, when Dick entered, put a two-penny loaf on the counter, and said, “Here’s a loaf that’ll please ’e I ’spose. I’ve ben where you told me to go for ut. You will, of course, pay me for what it cost me in lodgings in Helston last night, and for meat and drink on the road. I went as cheap as I cud; ’tes only two and twenty pence; seeman to me you have kept the shop open very late, and all the lamps burnan, when every shop round the market es shut up except the two grocers’ that are always the last.”

Dick then put up the shutters, turned down all the lamps except one near his master’s desk, and asked if there was anything more for him to do that night. “If there esn’t,” said he, “I’d like to go home and go to bed at once, that I may rise early in the mornan.”

Dick’s master being one who always saw the humourous side of a matter—and who had a keen relish for it, couldn’t, for his life, keep a stern look when he replied, “go into the kitchen and get thy supper and don’t let me see thee any more to night.”

Yet, with all the man’s deviltry, he was extremely proud of his master’s repute as a skilful chemist and a clever man; as well as of the old-established business, to which he regarded himself as a most important adjunct.

The warehouses where Dick reigned supreme, as far as he could, were extensive and somewhat scattered. The shop was a large one for those times, with groceries on one side and drugs on the other. Grocers’ kitchens were then the usual places in which their regular country customers left their baskets when their marketing was finished; and there, too, boiling water was kept that country-folks might make themselves tea, after which the warehouseman helped them take their marketing to the inn-yard, at which their horses were left (market-carts were but few then.) All were anxious to keep in with Dick, to have his assistance, for he was as “ugly” as sin with some who gadded about to new shops, that they might pick up things sold cheap as a draw for a short time. [50]

Amongst the old regular customers, to whom Dick paid much attention, was Mary Angwin, or Chygwin, the wife of a well-to-do miner in St. Just Churchtown, who also cultivated a few acres of land, in his spare time. A few weeks before Hallantide1 Mary invited Dick to come out the Feasten Sunday, and he promised to come.

On Feasten Eve, Mary and Jackey, her husband, were both in Penzance, to get meat and other things for the feast. They didn’t want to kill their pig for winter’s store before it was fat, and sell one side of it on the Thursday before the Feast, as many did that they might buy beef and other good things for the Tide. “Be sure you come early, in time to go to Church,” said Jackey, when his wife had reminded Dick of his promise to come. St. Just folks, and others in Feasten time, were proud to show a goodly number of visitors in Church. “And now, Dick,” said she, when ready to leave the shop, “if you will take one side of the basket, with me, Jackey will shoulder the sack of meat. The basket is heavy with Hallan apples, the largest I could get, and with other things; the old mare will groan and grunt at some rate, all the way home, as she always do, the creature, when there’s a few pounds more than usual on her back.”

After Mary had jogged away, seated on a bow-pad, with the heavy basket on her knees and the sack across the beast, Jackey stayed awhile waiting for some comrades who were going to tramp it home as well as himself. “You can find our house, mate, without any trouble,” said he to his expected feaster, “’tes nearly the first you will come to on entering Churchtown by the Penzance road; and you will know et by the largest turf-rick you’ll see close to the end of et, and ’tes sure to be sanded all about, from the door to the turf-rick and pigs’ crow. I’ve ben along to Percurnow on purpose for a load; none else will please Mary, for the Feast, but the sand from that Cove; and I brought home ‘gard,’ (decomposed granite) from the Tinpit Hill, in St. Levan, too, that she may scour the life out of tembran things,—the dairy door and all, as well as the benches; she’s a capital wife, she es. Now good night, and be sure to come early.”

By 10 o’clock Dick arrived, and was treated to a dram, first thing, whilst Mary laid before him a substantial breakfast. The only one there before, except those belonging to the house, was an old maid, a mantua-maker of Kelynack; she was a staid old dear, yet not out of hopes of getting married. Hearing that Dick Rostram was expected she had invited herself to come and help Mary cook the feasten dinner; and it was funny to see this dry [51]old creature “setting her cap” at old Dick all the time he was there. Next came an elderly couple from Sancras; then two blooming damsels, sisters, from Morvah. And when all those expected were come, Mary said, “Jackey, my son,” (though speaking to her husband) “es time for thee to take our Feasters to Church, for I and Cousin Gracey want all the room to cook dinner. You’ll stop a spell in the public-house as usual, and all will be ready to place on the board by the time you come in.”

Though late for service in Church they had one comfort, as Jackey said, “they would be out as soon as the rest.”

About two o’clock the feasters came home and found the big crock lifted off the brandes (trivet) on to the hearth. In the large vessel were boiled a rump of beef, a couple of fowls, and a nice piece of streaky pork to eat with them; as well as turnips, carrots, and other vegetables, all in kipps (net-bags) to keep them separate and for convenience in taking up. The vegetables were placed to drain on bars called “kipp sticks,” placed across the crock; the beef was dished up on a round pewter platter; the fowls had melted butter and parsley—some of the butter poured on them, the rest served in a boat. A rabbit-pie was steaming on the chimney stool; and a baked figgy (plum) pudding was on the dresser, turned out of the baker on to another pewter platter, and powdered over with white sugar. On one end of the hearth, over a few embers, stood a little pot, the very model of the larger vessel but not more than a tenth of its size, containing choice red-apply potatoes, steaming under a cloth, all the water having been poured off. At the sight of this Dick clapped his hands and cried “what a dear little crock!”

When the female guests came down, with their dresses pinned up, that they mightn’t be foust (soiled or rumpled) they found dinner served. Mary took from the dresser pewter flagons, which shone like silver and were only used on grand occasions, to serve the ale. If the feasters didn’t make a good dinner it was from no fault of their entertainers, for it was “cut and come again” till all declared they were “choke full and ready to burst.” Then they had a nip of brandy all round, to settle their stomachs. Jugs of hot toddy were next placed on the board, with a little tray of shag tobacco and long pipes. Crocks and pans put away, the fire was gathered to one end of the hearth; fresh turves put on; and the chimney-stool put back to its place on the other end of the roomy hearth, that those who liked best to smoke in the chimney corner might sit there. The men being made comfortable as their hearts could desire, Mary and her female friends went upstairs to have a cosy chat to themselves; and there they had a bottle of old sweet-drink (mead) which had been kept for the feast. Didn’t their tongues go, two or three together, talking over the births and [52]marriages that had lately taken place or were likely soon to occur amongst their acquaintances; the new dresses seen in Church; and scores of other matters dear to female hearts.

When weary of being without the men, down they came to have a look round the “hale” (hall?) Jackey asked if they,—the two blooming ones—would like to have a run down to the Cape? “No thank ’e, Jackey dear,” said the elder, “’tes too cold a place this time of the year, but well enow in summer. After we have warmed ourselves a bit we want to see the pretty things in your hale, brought home, from over sea, by your cousin, Tom Hattam.” “You shall, my dears, and take a glass of hot toddy to warm ’e all through. I spose your sweethearts will be here soon?” “No not yet, for hours,” said the elder again; “es time enow for them to come here when we want to be going home, and that won’t be yet awhile. But I shouldn’t wonder if Nanny’s Tom es here before long to know where he shall meet you and some other San Tusters to-morrow to go rabbit shooting. You must come over to Morvah, he said, for he can tell you where a hare’s likely to be found and rabbits in plenty. Her boy, Tom es roving mad sometimes to get married and be off over sea to a place where many of his comrades went some years ago, and are doing well there, so Tom says. What’s the place called Nancy, that thee art always dreaman about?” “Dodgeville,” replied the younger; “es near Mineral Point.”

Jackey having set the Morvah girls a-talking about their sweethearts, and the subject of their discourse being of little interest to any but themselves, the Sancras man, taking Jackey’s two elder children, went to visit some relatives of his and theirs in another part of Churchtown. His wife was asleep on Mary’s bed, being tired after her walk from Trannack and a hearty meal. At last when the girls paused a moment they and the rest went to look at the pretty things in Mary’s hale.

Whether Jackey Angwin’s best room be called a hale or a parlour, it was a very neat little place,—almost too bright and nice and full of nick-nacks for one’s eyes to rest on anything.

The mantel-shelf was so crowded with china cattle, chiefly cows and sheep, with a shepherd and shepherdess under a tree, taking care of them, that they had scarcely room either to lie or to stand amidst crystals of quartz, or Cornish diamonds, and other choice specimens, and foreign shells. There were also two circus horses, red and white ones, rearing on their hind legs, on either end of the shelf, and ready for a spring down on the floor.

Hanging on the walls over the mantel was that red-hot picture of Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples, which seamen so often bring home from some Levantine port to let their friends know something of the wonders they have seen. “Come here, Dick, and the rest of ’e, and tell us about this picture and other foreign things that [53]Cousin Jack brought home on his return from his first voyage abroad.” Dick looked at the picture and said, “This is the same that one may see in almost every house in Capens Row, and in many on Sandy Bank. Sailors all tell a story about it and say that a long while ago, a vessel was becalmed for three days and two nights within sight of that burning mountain. About one o’clock, or earlier, on the third night, they heard a loud voice, coming from that mountain, say, ‘the hour es come, but the man esn’t come.’ Lookan to windward just after, the sailors saw a black cloud rising from out over the sea and coming straight towards them. When just over the main-tops they saw plainly that what they had taken for a cloud was a company of infernal spirits, carrying off among them a man they had known. He was a Barbary pirate whose vessel they had sunk with all on board not long before. The men heard dreadful cries as the infernal spirits bore the pirate away right to the mountain that had only ben smoakan for days before; but as the infernals approached and took the man down et blazed up and roared like thunder. Then a gale sprung up and brought the ship into port—thereabouts, where you see the red-lookan housen,” said Dick pointing to Naples.

[This sounds much like an old kmonish legend, and it probably is one adapted from the ancient myth which tells of Etna and Vesuvius being the chimney-tops of Tartarus.]

“Can that story be true?” asked Gracey, looking at the picture as if she expected to see the cloud of infernals. “I don’t know I’m sure,” Angwin replied, “for Jack told us the same; but sailors spin such queer yarns, and so besmeared with their tarbrush, that one can’t ever tell what’s in them of truth. Now when Jack brought us this picture (and other things we’ll see bem by) Granny was here. She put on her spectacles to have a good look, but couldn’t make out what it was. When Jack told her et was a burnan mountain she said ‘Hold thy tongue; I’ll never believe that; es a bad picture of a house a fire I spose.’ ‘Well, old dear,’ replied he, ‘you won’t credit me weth haven sen many things that you havn’t. You wan’t believe praps that when on the Red Sea shores I seed the axle-trees of Pharoah’s chariots stickan out of the sand weth the linch-pins still in them. The wheels and the other tember was rotten and washed away.’ ‘Perhaps I may believe that,’ said she. ‘An old ship-mate of mine,’ continued Jack, ‘who had ben a long way inland told me he had sen Lot’s wife turned into rock-salt. ’Tes still standan in that dry climate, and he cracked off the little finger of her right hand. It’s grown again: fingers and toes shoot out, or sprout anew, during a flowing tide.’ ‘Why what is become of the finger?’ asked she. ‘That, at the bottom of the sea, now,’ replied he, ‘weth many other strange things, such as Eve’s apples, very fair to see but all full of ashes [54]within jest like ‘colebrands’ (smutty ears of wheat.) His ship was sunk with a blow from a whale’s tail, and he wed a ben drowned, ef by good luck he hadn’t a got hold of a dolphan, which he mounted when sinkan, and the good fish, always friendly to sailors, bore him safe to shore.’ ‘Now I wan’t heer any more of thy stories,’ said Granny, ‘for one can’t tell what to believe of them.’”

When Jackey ceased talking the company passed on towards a large table, with turned-down leaves, which stood against the wall opposite the window. Resting on this table and supported by the wall was an oval mahogany tea tray of the old fashion, and above it pictures of the four Evangelists, seemingly painted on glass. The saints’ raiment was of as deep a dye as the lurid flames of Vesuvius or the purple waters of Naples Bay. In front of the tea tray was a pile of books, and at either end a large foreign shell, so turned as to show the delicate pink of its inner surface. “Put one of these to your ear, my dear,” said Dick to the younger Morvah damsel, “and you will hear waves surging on the shores from which they were brought, and that’s over the water which you expect soon to cross.” Nancy having placed a shell to her ear and listening, said, “I surely hear it murmuring as if in grief to be taken from its old home and companions. What do you hear, sister?” “Much the same, I think,” replied the other sister. “Oh, what a lot of things you townsmen know,” said Gracey; “I should dearly love to live in Penzance; one can hear and see so much more there than in the country.” “Come and live with me then, my dear,” said Dick; “I’ve a lot of pretty things to show ’e and we’re a suitable couple,—just of a height,” continued he, taking Gracey’s arm in his, whilst she looked down and simpered in a way she thought would seem modest.

Leaving the table, all Mary’s guests came to a corner-cupboard or “buffet,” as it was usually called. About a third of its height was closed with doors; over which were three open shelves. On the lower shelf, or cupboard-bed, was a rare old china punch-bowl, turned on its mouth, with old china plates lining the sides, and around the bowl, basins and small cups, without handles, all of rare old India china. On the middle shelf was a china tea-set. On the upper one many curious old glasses, some of them coloured, with high twisted stems, and patterns cut on their inner surfaces. Whilst looking over these, Gracey spoke of her feet being cold, and the gallant Dick led her to the kitchen fire. When they had passed out Mary opened the cupboard doors and took out a variety of such trifles as sailors usually bring home from foreign parts; and these were, most of them, either from Quebec or South American ports, to which ships in the timber trade resort. Amongst the former were moccasons and pouches of curious [55]patterns, worked by the squaws of Indian Lorrett, about ten miles from Quebec; strings of those rare seeds called Indian shot, the product of Canadian plants. (The larger ones, looking like bits of pear-shaped porcelain, and just as hard, are often strung for rosaries: although so hard that their sides, when dry, cannot be pierced with steel, they have a natural cavity from end to end, running lengthwise, through which a fine needle and thread may be passed.) Next a clear broad-mouthed bottle, full of smaller foreign products, was taken out and brought to the window, when Mary noticed that the day was darkening, and, looking up at the old eight-day clock, which stood beside the fireplace, was surprised to find it so late, and said she must be off to get tea, opened the door a little, then closed it, and came back and said to Jackey, “I be hanged ef old Gracey and Dick ain’t upon the chimney-stool sitting as close as they can get, head to head, courtan. Who but they! She’s ben tryan all she cud do in that way ever since Dick es here.”

Mary then went to the dairy to make a cake. The window being darkened by many choice plants, chiefly roses, they brought the bottle of wonders up to the kitchen table and turned out its contents.

One may remark, before going farther, that the clock was made by Matthew Wearne, of St. Erth, early in the last century. Many of them are still in this neighbourhood, keeping good time.

Suspended from a beam, near the middle of the room, was a silvered-glass globe reflecting objects around. Against vacant places on the walls were placed the usual six chairs and two armed ones, all furnished with neat, patch-work covered cushions. The bottle being emptied on the table, there were found various small tropical shells and seeds, strung together like necklaces; also some of those bean-shaped seeds frequently picked up on our sands, and on all shores laved by the Gulf Stream. In the West Country these have no particular name that we know of, but they were often perforated, strung, and hung from children’s necks to make them cut their teeth easily; and were worn as amulets for preventing diseases. It is pretty well known that those seeds of tropical trees being found on many shores of Europe, and not being those of any known trees in the Old World, learned men concluded before the time of Columbus, that they must be produced in lands either in, or beyond, the Atlantic; consequently, they had something to do with the discovery of America.

The bottle repacked and put away tea was ready and all the guests assembled.

Besides the heavy cake just baked,—black with currants, and too rich with cream for any one to eat much of, there were risen cakes; and apple-cakes, baked on Saturday; with bread, cream, and honey. [56]

Tea being over, the old Sancras couple left. They wern’t much missed, for they were a dull old pair, who passed nearly all their time either eating, drinking, or sleeping. The old man had walked down to Nancherrow, ’tis true, but then he went to visit an old acquaintance, were he was sure to have more drink; yet he tasted every thing on the table at tea-time, finishing with bread and honey, as he said the cream was too “quaffing” (luscious) to eat with honey.

In the meantime Jackey had placed on the embers a faggot of furze, and on it a few heathy turves, to keep in the flames and gradually kindle the whole. Then a high-backed settle was brought to the hearth from the stair-rail against which it usually stood. The settle-back could be turned down to rest on the ends, so as to form a table if wanted. Mary sat back by the table, feeling too warm, with all her moving about, to sit nearer the fire; and looked around with pride on her dresser-shelves, full of rare old earthenware (the queer faces in her old clome jugs grinned with joy in the warm firelight;) then on her bright brass warming-pan, candlesticks, pewter flagons, and other things on the chimney-piece, and she was not less pleased to see the white “valance,” called the chimney-cloth, which hung along the “cravel” (mantel-stone or tree.) Old housewives were just as careful to have clean chimney-cloths as caps. They kept everything about their fire-places as clean as if they venerated the hearth as an altar.

Come to Mary’s house at any time, you would always find this room dry and comfortable. All sloppy work was done in a pretty large room at the back, under a lean-to roof all the length of the dwelling.

At one end of this scullery, or back kitchen, a portion was screened off for a dairy. Over this, and projecting a few feet, was a “talfat” (loft) where some of the children’s beds were placed. At the other end, a few feet were taken up with a spence; near which was an outer door opening to a court, with the peeth, large stone-trough, fuel-ricks, &c.

Shortly after the old Sancras “pigs’ ” departure, in came two sturdy young fellows,—one from the north of St. Just, the other from Morvah.

“Will ’e have a cup of tea? We’ve only just finished” asked Mary. “They don’t care for the women’s drink,” Jackey answered for them; “make a jug of toddy.” “They had no business to come yet,” said that talking elder sister, “we shan’t go yet for a good while.” “But Tom and I must go early,” said Hannibal, that sister’s sweetheart; “Tom to be up early and after the rabbits. I must work the first core to bal or be spaled (fined.) Es hard that a worken man can’t have a day or two once a year, to hold the Feast, when those we work for have a feast every day, all the year [57]round. Besides, we’ll all be here early to-morrow evening that we may dance altogether. Perhaps it’ll be the last time for many years.”

“My dear Nanny,” said Tom to the younger sister, as she laid her head on his shoulder and wept, “what art a-cryan for? Thinkan about beean far away from father and mother, next year this time? Cheer up, my darling, for we shall soon have a comfortable home there and they will come to us, perhaps, before next Feast; who can tell? Older folks than they are going away to their children every day, and taking much longer voyages too. Come now, when over there thy Tom may hunt better game than any here, without so much as askan leave or licence, and you will make venison pasties instead of dry ‘fuggans’ or ‘hoggans.’ ”

“Catch thy dears first,” said the teasing elder sister.

“Well, Nelly,” replied he, “west a believe what Simon Mitchell wrote home? He’s only been there about two years and he said that he wouldn’t be home agen for the fee of Boscarn, and that workan men there may, and do, have turkeys on their tables oftener than we can get rabbits. Now I’ll tell thee, sister Nell,” continued he, rising and taking Nanny to the door, “ef I’d been in thy Honny’s place I’d jest say ef thee westn’t go thee may’st stay, and then we should hear another tune.”

“Never mind her, Tom,” replied Hannibal, “es only that I may court her the more.”

Soon after they had settled on a place to meet next morning with Jackey, the blooming damsels and their lovers left, with a promise to come again early to-morrow evening.

Shortly after the young peoples’ departure Dick got out of his warm corner on the chimney-stool and said “Es time for me to be goan, for I’ve further to go than any of your other feasters.”

“No, no,” said Mary, “stop over to-morrow and till servy day” (Feasten Wednesday) “if you will, and go with me and Grace to the fiddler, for I can shake my shoes in a three-handed reel yet and shall for years to come, I hope.”

“I trust thee west,” said Jackey, “for my old grandmother danced of a Feasten Monday till she was eighty-two, and a better woman there never was. Now do ’e stop,” said he to the guest, “and keep a ‘Mazed Monday’ for once. Master won’t mind et. Whilst I’m after the rabbits, only for a few hours, early in the morning, the boy will go with you to see the youngsters’ games. To be sure they arn’t kept up now like in old times when there was hurling and wrestling, and all the gentle folks of the parish came to see, or join in the sports; a hundred years ago there were many of their old family seats occupied by the owners (one may count five or six of them now, let as farm houses, at no great distance from the road leading through St. Just, from Sennen to Morvah, beginning with Brea and ending with Pendeen.) The [58]prize-wrestling was left till Feasten Monday, the standards having been all made many weeks before hand. Though the weather was often bad and grass wet and slippery, the youngsters in their well barked canvas jackets, didn’t mind a trifle of mud, and the ladies encouraged their lovers’ or brothers’ manliness.

“I’d like to stay and see anything like it now,” said Dick; “but our people have been expectan goods for a long time. Only yesterday the Furley came in and Captain Hosking es goan to have the cargo broken out to-morrow. So I must be home to stow our things in the warehouses; else I shall find everything in a ‘migle-cum-por’ (confusion or mess.) You see the weight of the business es upon my shoulders. How shud’na be, for I’ve ben weth our people all my life-time—, weth my present master’s father first, when I was no bigger than your boy Jackey; so I must love ’e and leave ’e, and you will be sure to come in and see me Madron Feasten Sunday won’t ’e Mary? You shall go to our grand Church and hear the organ. Lots of people go a purpose to hearn, and you’ll see grand folks and things sure nuf.”

“Well, thank ’e,” said Mary, “I’d like to go very well, but don’t see how I can leave Jackey; he’d be like a fish out of water of a Sunday, home without me.”

“Jackey must come too,” replied Dick, “and little Mary and John, ef you will.”

“The four younger ones,” said Mary to her husband, “might be left with their grandmother, the same as to-day, ef she’ll be troubled weth them agen so soon, for I should dread to leave them here weth anybody but myself. They will be always playan weth the fire when they arn’t ploshan in the water, and our wood-corner is a dangerous one.”

“Now I’ll tell ’e how you can manage et,” said Grace. “The Sunday I’ll come over early, to see that you are all to-rights, and the children shall go home weth me; then you can put out the fire, turn down the brandes on the bakan-ire, cross the fire-hook and prong, sweep up the hearthstone, put on it a basin of spring water, for the ‘Smale People (fairies) and good luck,’ like as the old folks ded, and some do still before leaving their houses shut up, then touch the cravel before crossing the drussel, lock the door, and away to Feast. I’ll come and see that you are all smart and tidy to go to Penzance Church and hear the organ. I’ll come over very early and titevate ’e off, for the credit of the parish, before you go to Penzance Feast to see grand people and things; and I’m sure you’ll be made very welcome weth Mr. Rostram.”

“Oh cuss ’e,” cried Dick, “that esn’t my name; that’s a nickname some blackguards put upon me, years ago, and fools keep it up still. I’d as soon hear thunder.”

“Oh laws,” sighed Gracey, “I ded’n know that, and have ben [59]thinkan all day what a pretty name that es and how I shud like to be called by’n.”

“Then take’n and welcome,” said Dick, going outside the door.

“Stop a minute,” said Mary “for me to put on my bonnet and shawl; Jackey and I will go along wh’y to the North Road or farther.”

They didn’t offer a parting dram, knowing that he had taken enough for his old crazy head to bear, nor try to detain him, lest Gracey might shoot more fools’ bolts. Among other talk, by the way, Dick remarked that the elder Morvah damsel seemed unwilling to leave home with the rest.

“That’s only her way of teazing those best liked by her,” Mary replied, “ef Honney were less eager to go with Tom and Nancy then the other would urge him to go, for she likes her sister, and the two men have always been the same as twin brothers.”

“And capital fellows they are,” said Jackey, “to get on in any land where their native tongue is known. Hannibal es as good a man for underground work as may be found; besides, he can do any rough carpenters’ work better than many who served a time to learn the trade, and can make a strong wall in the old fashion by laying the stones to bind each other, without mortar, like they were in our old castle walls, such as Choon; and Tom, besides beean a good miner es very handy with blacksmiths’ tools and so well acquainted with a fire-engine that he’s often trusted to work her, in place of the regular engineman. There’ll few be found in Yankey-land to beat them. And their intended wives can turn their hands to any kind of work fit for women.”

“Well ef I’m never married in this world, I’ll never have old snuffy Gracey,” said Dick to himself. “How can one after seean such dear Morvah maidens?”

“We’re on the great road now to Penzance,” said Jackey, “and I think, mate, that you’ll get home very well ef you don’t try to make any short cuts across the fields. The longest way round is often the shortest way home.”

“Good night, and I wish ’e well,” said Dick. “You’r coman in to Madron Feast, and be sure you come early one and all of ’e.”

After parting, Dick called back several times, “Be sure to come early Madron Feasten Sunday.”

[60]