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thatch; and when the smoke is oozing out, thin and blue,
from the hole in the centre, or the children are about the
fire in front, where the great pot is boiling, the sketcher
cannot but stop and dash down the scene in his book. The
children will say he is "spying fancies," - as they say of
every one who sketches, botanizes, or in any way explores;
and perhaps somebody may have the good taste to advise him
to come at night, when the glow from the fires makes the
thicket a scene of singular wildness and charm. A sad story
about a charcoal-burner belongs to this neighbourhood. On
two farms lived families which were about to be connected by
marriage. The young lover was a "coaler," - a
charcoal-burner; and one stormy day, when he was watching
his fire, and sitting on a stone near his hut to take his
dinner, he was struck dead by lightning. The poor crazed
survivor, his Kitty Dawson, went to that hut after the
funeral, and would never leave it again. She did nothing but
sit on that stone, or call his name through the wood. She
was well cared for. There was always food in the hut, and
some kind eye daily on the watch,- though with care not to
intrude. One day in winter, some sportsmen who were passing
took the opportunity of leaving some provision in the hut.
They became silent, and silenced their dogs. But she could
never more be disturbed. They found her dead.
It is eight miles hence to the cheerful little Town of
Ulverstone, which is now reached by the railway from
Whitehaven; and from Ulverstone, the railway stretches
south, past Furness Abbey, to the
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