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Updated: May 27, 2025
But there 'twas a poor spirit that never rejoiced. "Which do you belong to?" Taffy nodded toward the mine-chimneys on the sky-line high on their left, which hid the sea, though it lay less than half a mile away and the roar of it was in their ears just such a roar as the train makes when rushing through a tunnel. "Bless you, I'm a tinner. I belong to Wheal Gooniver, up the valley.
"What's the beam like?" the Squire called up to someone aloft. "Sound as a bell," answered a voice. "I said so. We'll have en hoisted by Sunday, I'll send a waggon over to Wheel Gooniver for a tackle and winch. Damme, up there! Don't keep sheddin' such a muck o' dust on your betters!"
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