254 Poachers and Poaching. 



of dalesfolk walking leisurely towards us, and 

 wanting to know, "What o'clock it might be- 

 by the day." At another point along the line we 

 stopped to replenish the engine with water. 

 This was done from a disused grocery box, into 

 which the tricklings from the hill-side were di- 

 rected by a bit of wood hollowed in the form of 

 a spout. The engine-boy sat upon the box, 

 whistling through the process, which occupied 

 an unconscionable time. He was a lad with a 

 pleasant face, who amused himself when the 

 train was in progress by pelting the birds 

 and sheep with bits of coal from the tender. 



Before long, I take it, all trace of the White 

 Quartz Valley Railway will have vanished. Its 

 plant is decaying, and soon will fall away. 

 Swallows have built beneath the rafters of the 

 miners' sheds, at evening bats fly in and out at 

 the open doors, and a pair of screech-owls that 

 have taken up their abode declare the place as 

 desolate. There is only one person in the coun- 

 try-side who has yet any lingering faith in the 

 railway, the mine, or the mountain. This is an 

 old miner, himself like a nugget of iron ore. 

 He has infinite faith in a deep compensating 

 future, and bides his time. When mellowed by 

 ale and the soothing fumes of a short black pipe, 

 he assures you that he will stand by the moun- 

 tain through fair weather or foul. And if you 

 evince any interest in his oft-told tale and have 



