'I am sure of it, sir. Do not you lose heart.'
'I have made such a failure of life, John, that I have ceased to be sanguine. I can see nothing in the retrospect but blunders and losses.'
'No, sir, you have made mistakes, but all must do that before reaching success. Upaver was your own discovery.'
'That is true, very true. I think we will christen this mine Wheal Battishill.'
'Do you not think Wheal Cicely would sound better?' asked John Herring.
'My suggestion is the best,' said Cicely, colouring. 'Let it be Wheal Friendship.'
A bright and cosy supper. The great fireplace full of crackling flame. A white cloth on the black oak table near the fire, and silver and glass upon it sparkling in the candlelight, and the flicker of the flames embracing a huge faggot.
'Good luck never comes alone,' said the Squire. 'What do you think! My dear old friend, John Northmore, has sent me a couple of pheasants. I have not seen him for many years, and I do not know how he comes to remember me now; however that may be, he has, and most opportunely. Here comes one of his pheasants to table. I thought I was forgotten of all the world, but—I hope it is an omen of coming success to Wheal Friendship—old friends are beginning to remember that there is such a man as Richard Battishill, J.P.'
'Shall we sit down?' asked Cicely. 'Everything is ready.'
'Although my cates be poor, take it in good part,
Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart,'