Bed-straw and madder again yield yellow and red, and alder and bogbean a fine black. So the Lizard, when other trades fail, can go in for dyeing.
There is a single windmill in the district.
The story goes that at one time it was rumoured that a second was about to be constructed. The miller was concerned. He went to see the man who entertained the scheme.
“I say, mate, be you goin’ to set up another windmill?”
“I reckon I be; you don’t object? There’s room for more nor one.”
“Oh, room, room enough! But there mayn’t be wind enough to sarve us both.”
An old chap named Peter Odger lived near Mullion. He was somewhat given to the bottle. One day he went with a cart and horse along the road, and took a keg of cider with him. The day was hot, the cider got into his head, and he fell asleep. Some boys found the horse standing in the road feeding. They took the brute out and drove it away.
An hour later Peter awoke, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. “Well, if iver!” said he. “Be I Peter Odger or be I not? ’Tes contrary any way. If I be Peter Odger, I’ve lost an ’orse; if I bain’t, why I’ve gained a cart.”
Peter and his wife did not get on very “suant” together. At last Peter could endure domestic broils no longer; so one day he took every penny he had, and started for the United States. He shipped from Liverpool.
As the vessel neared the Newfoundland coast it got into the cold current setting down from the north, and an iceberg hove in sight. This was too much for Peter. “I likes warmth,” said he, “and the only warmth I don’t like is when my wife gives it me. I reckon I’ll go home.” So he covenanted to work his passage back, and by some means or other he did not surrender his ticket for the passage across.