“Oh? don’t go yet,” cried Dick, laughing; “I want to hear Will say his miner’s catechism.”
“Oh! very well,” said Mr Temple, smiling. “What is mundic, then, my lad?”
“A mussy me! as if every lad here didn’t know what mundic was!” cried Josh to himself; but he spoke loud enough for the others to hear.
“Well, what is mundic, then?” said Mr Temple quickly to Josh.
“What’s mundic?” growled Josh, picking up a yellow metallic-looking piece of rock; “why, that is, and that is, and that is. There’s tons of it everywhere.”
“To be sure there is, my man; but what is it?” said Mr Temple.
“Well, ain’t I showing of you!” growled Josh. “This here’s mundic.”
“The gentleman means what is it made of?” whispered Will, and then he added two or three words.
“Why, how should I know? Made of! ’Tain’t made of anything, nor more ar’n’t tin. I suppose it grows.”
“Do you know?” said Mr Temple.