“It is only the miners and the carters in the kitchen making merry,” said one of the girls.
“Is there a good fire there?” said I.
“O yes,” said the girl, “we have always a good fire in the kitchen.”
“Well then,” said I, “I shall go there till supper is ready, for I am wet to the skin, and this fire casts very little heat.”
“You will find them a rough set in the kitchen,” said the girl.
“I don’t care if I do,” said I; “when people are rough I am civil, and I have always found that civility beats roughness in the long run.” Then going out I crossed the passage and entered the kitchen.
It was nearly filled with rough, unkempt fellows smoking, drinking, whistling, singing, shouting or jabbering, some in a standing, some in a sitting posture. My entrance seemed at once to bring everything to a dead stop; the smokers ceased to smoke, the hand that was conveying the glass or the mug to the mouth was arrested in air, the hurly-burly ceased and every eye was turned upon me with a strange inquiring stare. Without allowing myself to be disconcerted I advanced to the fire, spread out my hands before it for a minute, gave two or three deep ahs of comfort, and then turning round said: “Rather a damp night, gentlemen—fire cheering to one who has come the whole way from Llandovery—Taking a bit of a walk in Wales, to see the scenery and to observe the manners and customs of the inhabitants—Fine country, gentlemen, noble prospects, hill and dale—Fine people too—open-hearted and generous; no wonder! descendants of the Ancient Britons—Hope I don’t intrude—other room rather cold and smoking—If I do will retire at once—don’t wish to interrupt any gentlemen in their avocations or deliberations—scorn to do anything ungenteel or calculated to give offence—hope I know how to behave myself—ought to do so—learnt grammar at the High School at Edinburgh.”
“Offence, intrusion!” cried twenty voices. “God bless your honour! no intrusion and no offence at all—sit down—sit here—won’t you drink?”
“Please to sit here, sir,” said an old grimy-looking man, getting up from a seat in the chimney-corner—“this is no seat for me whilst you are here, it belongs to you—sit down in it,” and laying hold of me he compelled me to sit down in the chair of dignity, whilst half-a-dozen hands pushed mugs of beer towards my face; these, however, I declined to partake of on the very satisfactory ground that I had not taken supper, and that it was a bad thing to drink before eating, more especially after coming out of a mist.
“Have you any news to tell of the war, sir?” said a large rough fellow, who was smoking a pipe.