Note 1. “On Candlemas Day, you should see a white horse a mile off,” is a proverb in the North, and perhaps elsewhere.
Chapter Fourteen.
Ends with Joyce Morrell.
“Vanished is each bright illusion;
They have faded one by one:
Yet they gaze with happy faces,
Westwards to the setting sun:—
“Talking softly of the future,
Looking o’er the golden sands,
Towards a never-fading city,
Builded not with earthly hands.”
Cyrus Thornton.
“Well, to be sure! My man wouldn’t let me come no sooner—’tis his fault, not mine. But I did want to know which of them lads o’ ours told his tale the Tightest. Here’s Seth will have it you’ve had a thousand left you by the year, and Ben he saith young Master Floriszoon’s to be a lord.”
“Dear! I hope not,” said Hans.
“Well! but they’re a-saying so much all up and down the King’s Street, I can tell you.”