He had housed his sheep for the night, and now, seated as the newest corner on the warmest bench near the fire, with a pipe in one hand and a pot of hot ale in the other, he was troubled by the tempest no more.
"At Michaelmas a good fat goose, at Christmas stannen' pie, and good yal awt year roond," said an old man in the chimney corner.

This was Matthew Branthwaite, the wit and sage of Wythburn, once a weaver, but living now on the husbandings of earlier life.

He was tall and slight, and somewhat bent with age.

He was dressed in a long brown sack coat, belted at the waist, below which were pockets cut perpendicular at the side.

Ribbed worsted stockings and heavy shoes made up, with the greater garment, the sum of his visible attire.