nobler than wool, it was wool that was in all his thoughts as his eyes wandered down the long room.
He had his hands in his pockets, but the attitude did not give him that air of indolent unconcern it gives to many men; an observer would have been quite sure that he was only fingering his gold as a stimulus to some calculation of profit and loss. It was strange that the process should have been going on even while he noted each loom, and let the melody of the hymn sink into his consciousness, but it was, and Ben Holden, his chief overseer, when he entered knew it.
"Burley, thou hed better close wi' Dixon for them yams afore he lets them go to somebody else."
"He's welcome to let them go to anybody but me, at that figure."
"If thou hed thy wits about thee thou would take 'em."
"Ben, thou doesn't know iverything. It might be wit to take 'em, but it will be wisdom to let 'em alone. It's a varry queer thing thou will meddle i' my affairs;" but even while uttering the half complaint, he put his hand on Ben's
