I mun turn off to 'Dick o' Rough-cap's' up Musbury
Road. I want to bargain about yon heifer. He's a very fair chap, is
Dick,--for a cow-jobber. But yo met as weel go up wi' me, an' then go
forrud to our house. We'n some singers comin' to neet."
"Nay," said I, "I think I'll tak up through Horncliffe, an' by th'
moor-gate, to't 'Top o'th Hoof.'"
"Well, then," replied he, "yo mun strike off at th' lift hond, about a
mile fur on; an' then up th' hill side, an' through th' delph. Fro theer
yo mun get upo' th' owd road as weel as yo con; an' when yo'n getten it,
keep it. So good day, an' tak care o' yorsel'. Barfoot folk should never
walk upo' prickles." He then turned, and walked off. Before he had gone
twenty yards he shouted back, "Hey! I say! Dunnot forget th' cat."
It was a fine autumn day; clear and cool. Dead leaves were whirling
about the road-side. I toiled slowly up the hill, to the famous
Horncliffe Quarries, where the sounds of picks, chisels, and gavelocks,
used by the workmen, rose strangely clear amidst the surrounding
stillness. From the quarries I got up by an old pack horse road, to a
commanding elevation at the top of the moors. Here I sat down on a rude
block of mossy stone, upon a bleak point of the hills, overlooking one
of the most picturesque parts of the Irwell valley.
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