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The long street of Cliffe leads northwards to South Malling; here is a conventicle named "Jireh" erected by J. Jenkyns, W.A. These cryptic initials mean "Welsh ambassador." In the cemetery behind is the tomb of William Huntingdon, the evangelist, whose epitaph is as follows: "Here lies the coalheaver, beloved of his God, but abhorred of men.
This absurd faith, this faith that knows no shadow of uncertainty, this faith of the stupid coalheaver, joins hands with an absurd incredulity, the incredulity that knows no shadow of uncertainty, the incredulity of the intellectuals who are afflicted with affective stupidity in order that they may not think about it.
The two friends told each other their plans for the future, drew together in the evenings, and made their first life-studies from a friendly coalheaver whom they persuaded to sit to them. After a few months of hard work, Haydon was summoned home to take leave of his father, who was believed to be dying.
The garden on the opposite shore was unfenced, or rather, its rotten palings had collapsed with time and the pressure of a rank growth of elder bushes. "So long, an' th' Lord bless yer!" Tilda took the boy's hand and jumped ashore. "Same to you, an' wishin' you luck!" responded the young coalheaver cheerfully.
And at these words, holding out his hand to the regent, he began to scale the roof, drawing him after him. Ravanne brought up the rear. At this sight, as there was no longer any doubt of their intention, the coalheaver uttered a malediction, and the man in the cloak a cry of rage.
But the coalheaver always sticks close to the attire of his station; he alone wears the consistent and befitting garb of his forefathers; he alone has not discarded "the napless vesture of humility," to follow the always expensive, and often absurd fashions of his superiors. All ungalled of him is each courtier's heel or great man's kibe.
At this moment the clock of the Palais Royal struck nine. The young man drew from his pocket a watch, whose diamond setting contrasted strangely with his simple costume. He set it exactly, then turned and went into the Rue des Bons Enfants. On arriving opposite No. 24, he found the coalheaver. "And the singer?" asked the latter. "He is gone." "Good."
"Nothing particular. They say that Coalheaver can't run for the Leger." "What's the matter?" asked Dolly vigorously. "Broke down at Ascot. But I daresay it's a lie." "Sure to be a lie," said Dolly. "What do you think of Madame Scholzdam, Miss Boncassen?" "I am not a good judge." "Never heard anything equal to it yet in this world," said Dolly. "I wonder whether that's true about Coalheaver?"
"And the postchaise?" asked the man in the cloak. "It is waiting at the corner of the Rue Baillif." "Have they taken the precaution of wrapping the wheels and horses' hoofs in rags?" "Yes." "Very good. Now let us wait," said the man in the cloak. "Let us wait," replied the coalheaver. And all was silent.
It was up hill and down hill, with an occasional half-frozen stream across it. My friend was impeded with an enormous cloak lined with fur, which in itself was a burden for a coalheaver. Our guide, who was a clerk out of the colonel's office, carried an umbrella and a small dressing-bag, but we ourselves manfully shouldered our portmanteaus.
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