never will. I somehaa think I had summat to do wi'
spoilin' th' beauty of "their feet" that neet, Mr. Penrose, though
I've played in mony a oratory (oratorio) sin' then, an' mean to do
agen.'

After tea Enoch took Mr. Penrose for a stroll over the moors. The
sun was westering, and cool airs crept up from distant wilds,
playing softly as they swept among the long grasses, and leading
Enoch to say to Mr. Penrose, 'Theer's music for yo'.' The great
hills threw miles of shadow, and masses of fleecy clouds slowly
crossed the deepening blue like white galleons on a sapphire sea.
Along the crests of the far-off hills mystic colours were
mingling, deepening, and fading away--the tremulous drapery woven
by angel hands, behind which the bridegroom of day was hiding his
splendour and his strength. Soft herbage yielded to the tread, and
warm stretches of peaty soil lay like bars across the green and
gray and gold of what seemed to Mr. Penrose the shoreless waste of
moor. On distant hills stood lone farmsteads, their little windows
glowing with the lingering beams of the setting sun; the low of
kine, the bay of dog, and the shout of shepherd, softened into
sweetest sounds as they travelled from far along the wings of the
evening wind. It was the hour when Nature rests, and when man
meditates--if the soul of meditation be his.

After a silence of some minutes Enoch turned to Mr. Penrose and
said:

'Jokin' aside, Mr. Penrose, that owd flute yo' yerd me playin'
this afternoon is a part o' my life. Let's sit daan i' this nook
and I'll tell yo' all abaat it. Three times in mi history it's bin
mi salvation. Th' first wor when I lost mi brass. We lived daan at
th' Brig then, and I ran th' factory. I wor thirty-five year owd,
and hed a tidy bit o' brass, when they geet me to put a twothree
hunderd in a speculation. Ay, dear! I wor fool enugh not to let
weel alone. I did as they wanted me. Me, and Bill Stott's faither,
and owd Jerry o' th' Moss went in together heavy, and we lost
every farthin'. I shall never forgeet it. It wor Sunday mornin'
when th' news coome fro' th' lawyer. I wor i' bed when th' missis
gav me th' letter, and I could tell by her face summat wor wrang.
"What is it, lass?" I axed. "What a towd thee it would be," hoo
said. "We are ruined." "Thaa never sez so!" I shaated. "It's paper
as says so," hoo said, "noan me," and hoo handed me th' lawyer's
letter. I tried to get aat o' bed, Mr. Penrose, but when I set mi
feet