overing her surprise and
mortification by a jaunty air that would not confess defeat.

"And so shall I," said Mr Mountchesney.

"And so shall I," whispered Lord Milford lingering a little behind.

The great and distinguished party had disappeared; their glittering
barouche, their prancing horses, their gay grooms, all had vanished;
the sound of their wheels was no longer heard. Time flew on; the bell
announced that the labour of the week had closed. There was a half
holiday always on the last day of the week at Mr Trafford's settlement;
and every man, woman, and child, were paid their wages in the great
room before they left the mill. Thus the expensive and evil habits which
result from wages being paid in public houses were prevented. There was
also in this system another great advantage for the workpeople. They
received their wages early enough to repair to the neighbouring markets
and make their purchases for the morrow. This added greatly to their
comfort, and rendering it unnecessary for them to run in debt to the
shopkeepers, added really to their wealth. Mr Trafford thought that next
to the amount of wages, the most important consideration was the method
in which wages are paid; and those of our readers who may have read or
can recall the sketches, neither coloured nor exagerated, which we have
given in the early part of this volume of the very different manner in
which the working classes may receive the remuneration for their toil,
will probably agree with the sensible and virtuous master of Walter
Gerard.

He, accompanied by his daughter and Egremont, is now on his way home. A
soft summer afternoon; the mild beam still gilding the tranquil scene; a
river, green meads full of kine, woods vocal with the joyous song of the
thrush and the blackbird; and in the distance, the lofty breast of the
purple moor, still blazing in the sun: fair sights and renovating
sounds after a day of labour passed in walls and amid the ceaseless and
monotonous clang of the spindle and the loom. So Gerard felt it, as he
stretched his great limbs in the air and inhaled its perfumed volume.

"Ah! I was made for this, Sybil," he exclaimed; "but never mind, my
child, never mind; tell me more of your fine visitors."

Egremont found the walk too short; fortunately from the undulation of
the vale, they could not see the cottage until within a hundred yards of
it. When they were in sight, a man came forth from the garden to greet
them; S