Such of them as intended to accompany the remains of their fellow-dalesman to their resting place at Gosforth came on mountain ponies, which they dismounted in the court and led into a spare barn.

Many came on foot, and of these by much the larger part meant to accompany the _cortege_ only to the top of the Armboth Fell, and, having "sett" it so far, to face no more of the more than twenty miles of rough country that lay between the valley and the churchyard on the plains by the sea.
Matthew Branthwaite was among the first to arrive.

The old weaver was resplendent in the apparel usually reserved for "Cheppel Sunday." The external elevation of his appearance from the worn and sober brown of his daily "top-sark" seemed to produce a corresponding elevation of the weaver's spirit.

Despite the solemnity of the occasion, he seemed tempted to let fall a sapient proverb of anything but a funereal tone.
On stepping into the kitchen and seeing the provision that had been made for a repast, he did indeed intimate his intention of assisting at the ceremony in the language of the time-honored wren who cried "I helps" as she let a drop of water fall into the sea.

At this moment the clergyman from the chapel-of-ease on the Raise arrived at the Moss, and Matthew prepared to put his precept into practice.
The priest, Nicholas Stevens by name, was not a Cumbrian.