The old woman had been in bed some time; and all the noise the servant could make at the door was to no purpose: at last the light from the lantern, which he held at the hole of the window shutter, awoke her, and she screamed out in great terror, supposing it was a thief,—“Murder! murder! marcy! marcy! don’t murder me. I ha’rnt got but eighteen pence in the house: if you won’t murder me, I’ll let you in; and you shall have it all.” In a few minutes, she unbarred the door. The servant held up the lantern to his face, that she might know him at once; she looked at him a moment, and exclaimed, “Marcy on’s,—the Squire’s sarvant: why what now!”
The servant, knowing that he could not make her understand his errand, looked about in search of the keys; which he presently found hanging behind the door; taking them away, therefore, he hurried off, leaving the poor woman in amazement at what might be the meaning of this strange visit.
At length the keys arrived: the doors were presently unlocked; and Harold, grasping his Papa’s hand, was very happy to find himself on his way home.
A servant was sent early the next morning with the little boy and the parcel to Farmer Rand’s, to explain the reason of his detention, and to make an apology for what had happened.
When Archibald appeared in the breakfast room, he was too much ashamed of his own conduct to raise his head, or look at any one.
“Archibald,” said his Papa to him, “I have often told you that the love of mischief and true courage are seldom found together: Do you feel, now, that this is true?”
“Yes, Papa, indeed I do.”
VIII.
THE TINNER’S SON.
On the roads in Cornwall that lead from the copper mines to the sea-port towns, one often meets large droves of mules, driven by a man and one or two boys. Each mule has a wooden saddle, across which two sacks are placed, filled with copper ore. The ore is emptied into large bins, not far from the sea-side; whence it is afterwards taken in small vessels, by sea, to Swansea; and there it is melted ready for use. The copper ore, before it is sent in this way from the mine, is broken small, washed, and pounded; it then looks like dark greenish fine mould, or earth.
Thomas Trewellan was employed, along with a man and another boy, in driving mules from a copper mine, in the western part of Cornwall, to a small sea-port town on the northern coast: he went and returned with the drove once every day.