So in two minutes they were ready. At the threshold of the house
they met John Barton, to whom they told their errand.
"Carsons' mill! Ay, there is a mill on fire somewhere, sure enough
by the light, and it will be a rare blaze, for there's not a drop o'
water to be got. And much Carsons will care, for they're well
insured, and the machines are a' th' oud-fashioned kind. See if
they don't think it a fine thing for themselves. They'll not thank
them as tries to put it out."
He gave way for the impatient girls to pass. Guided by the ruddy
light more than by any exact knowledge of the streets that led to
the mill, they scampered along with bent heads, facing the terrible
east wind as best they might.
Carsons' mill ran lengthways from east to west. Along it went one
of the oldest thoroughfares in Manchester. Indeed, all that part of
the town was comparatively old; it was there that the first cotton
mills were built, and the crowded alleys and back streets of the
neighbourhood made a fire there particularly to be dreaded. The
staircase of the mill ascended from the entrance at the western end,
which faced into a wide, dingy-looking street, consisting
principally of public-houses, pawnbrokers' shops, rag and bone
warehouses, and dirty provision shops.
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