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Updated: May 22, 2025
The whole world flashed and glittered around the boy and girl; the white gulls fishing, the swallows chasing one another across the dunes, the lighthouse on the distant spit, the white-washed mine-chimneys on the ridge beside the shore. Away on the rises of the moor one hill-farm laughed to another in a steady flame of furze blossom laughed with a tinkling of singing larks.
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.
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