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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