After offering a
suitable blessing, he turned away, not without a withering glance at
the weaver, who was muttering rather too audibly an adaptation of the
rhyme,--
I'll set him up on yon crab-tree,
It's sour and dour, and so is he.
"I reckon," continued Matthew to little Reuben Thwaite, by his side,
as the procession started afresh,--"I reckon yon auld Nick," with a
lurch of his thumb over his shoulder, "likes Ash Wednesday better ner
this Wednesday--better ner ony Wednesday--for that's the day he curses
every yan all roond, and asks the folks to say Amen tul him."
The schoolmaster had walked demurely enough thus far; nor did the
departure of the clergyman effect a sensible elevation of his spirits.
Of all the mourners, the "laal limber Frenchman" was the most
mournful.
It was a cheerless winter morning when they set out from Shoulthwaite.
The wind had never fallen since the terrible night of the death of
Angus. As they ascended the fell, however, it was full noon. The sun
had broken languidly through the mists that had rolled midway across
the mountains, and were now being driven by the wind in a long white
continent towards the south, there to gather between more sheltered
headlands to the strength of rain.
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