Their
conversation was principally upon cow-drinks. One of them said there
was nothing in the world like "peppermint tay an' new butter" for
cows that had the belly-ache. "They'll be reet in a varra few
minutes at after yo gotten that into 'em," said he. As evening came
on the weather settled into one continuous shower, and I left
Preston in the heavy rain, weary, and thinking of what I had seen
during the day. Since then I have visited the town again, and I
shall say something about that visit hereafter.
CHAPTER IX.
The rain had been falling heavily through the night. It was raw and
gusty, and thick clouds were sailing wildly overhead, as I went to
the first train for Preston. It was that time of morning when there
is a lull in the streets of Manchester, between six and eight. The
"knocker-up" had shouldered his long wand, and paddled home to bed
again; and the little stalls, at which the early workman stops for
his half-penny cup of coffee, were packing up. A cheerless morning,
and the few people that were about looked damp and low spirited. I
bought the day's paper, and tried to read it, as we flitted by the
glimpses of dirty garret-life, through the forest of chimneys,
gushing forth their thick morning fumes into the drizzly air, and
over the dingy web of Salford streets.
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