It is a
blessed truth that the mind cannot stay long in a _bree_. It gets tired
of ballooning, and comes down to hands and feet again. Eh? What?"
"I think you mean kindly, squire."
The confidence touched him. "I do, Steve. Don't be in a hurry, my lad.
There are some things in life that are worth a deal more than
money,--things that money cannot buy. Let money take a backward place."
Then he voluntarily asked about the processes of spinning and weaving
wool, and in spite of his prejudices was a little excited over
Stephen's startling statements and statistics.
Indeed, the young man was so interesting, that Sandal went with him to
the hall-door, and stood there with him, listening to his graphic
descriptions of the wool-rooms at the top of the great Yorkshire mills.
"I'd like well to take you through one, squire. Fleeces? You would be
wonder-struck. There are long staple and short staple; silky wool and
woolly wool; black fleeces from the Punjaub, and curly white ones from
Bombay; long warps from Russia, short ones from Buenos Ayres; little
Spanish fleeces, and our own Westmoreland and Cumberland skins, that
beat every thing in the world for size. And then to see them turned into
cloth as fast as steam can do it! My word, squire, there never was magic
or witchcraft like the steam and metal witchcraft of a Yorkshire mill."
"Well, well, Steve. I don't fret myself because I am set in stiller
ways, and I don't blame those who like the hurryment of steam and metal.
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