Thus the mind of Frick was exactly of the sort for Mr. Solomon

Featherstone to work upon, he having more plenteous ideas of the same

order, with a suspicion of heaven and earth which was better fed and

more entirely at leisure. Solomon was overseer of the roads at that

time, and on his slow-paced cob often took his rounds by Frick to look

at the workmen getting the stones there, pausing with a mysterious

deliberation, which might have misled you into supposing that he had

some other reason for staying than the mere want of impulse to move.

After looking for a long while at any work that was going on, he would

raise his eyes a little and look at the horizon; finally he would shake

his bridle, touch his horse with the whip, and get it to move slowly

onward. The hour-hand of a clock was quick by comparison with Mr.

Solomon, who had an agreeable sense that he could afford to be slow.

He was in the habit of pausing for a cautious, vaguely designing chat

with every hedger or ditcher on his way, and was especially willing to

listen even to news which he had heard before, feeling himself at an

advantage over all narrators in partially disbelieving them. One day,

however, he got into a dialogue with Hiram Ford, a wagoner, in which he

himself contributed information. He wished to know whether Hiram had

seen fellows with staves and instruments spying about: they called

themselves railroad people, but there was no telling what they were or

what they meant to do. The least they pretended was that they were

going to cut Lowick Parish into sixes and sevens.

"Why, there'll be no stirrin' from one pla-ace to another," said Hiram,

thinking of his wagon and horses.

"Not a bit," said Mr. Solomon. "And cutting up fine land such as this

parish! Let 'em go into Tipton, say I. But there's no knowing what

there is at the bottom of it. Traffic is what they put for'ard; but

it's to do harm to the land and the poor man in the long-run."

"Why, they're Lunnon chaps, I reckon," said Hiram, who had a dim notion

of London as a centre of hostility to the country.

"Ay, to be sure. And in some parts against Brassing, by what I've

heard say, the folks fell on 'em when they were spying, and broke their

peep-holes as they carry, and drove 'em away, so as they knew better

than come again."

"It war good foon, I'd be bound," said Hiram, whose fun was much

restricted by circumstances.




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