"Well," said Mrs Carey, "I didn't think there was so much
spirit in the place. As Chaffing Jack was saying the other
day--"
"There is no spirit in the place," said Devilsdust, "but we
mean to infuse some. Some of our friends are going to pay you
a visit to-morrow."
"And who may they be?" said Caroline.
"To-morrow is Sunday," said Devilsdust, "and the miners mean
to say their prayers in Mowbray Church."
"Well, that will be a shindy!" said Caroline.
"It's a true bill, though," said Mick. "This time to-morrow
you will have ten thousand of them in this town, and if every
mill and work in it and ten mile round is not stopped, my name
is not MICK RADLEY!"
Book 6 Chapter 9
It was Monday morning. Hatton, enveloped in his chamber robe
and wearing his velvet cap, was lounging in the best room of
the principal commercial inn of Mowbray, over a breakfast
table covered with all the delicacies of which a northern
matin meal may justly boast. There were pies of spiced meat
and trout fresh from the stream, hams that Westphalia never
equalled, pyramids of bread of every form and flavour adapted
to the surrounding fruits, some conserved with curious art,
and some just gathered from the bed or from the tree.
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