I belong to Wheal Gooniver, up the valley.
Wheal Vlo there, 'pon the cliff, he's lead.

And the next to him, Wheal Penhale, he's iron.

I came a bit out of my way with you for company." Soon after parting from him they crossed the valley-stream (Taffy had to wade it), and here they happened on a dozen tall girls at work "spalling" the tin-ore, but not busy.

The most of them leaned on their hammers or stood with hands on hips, their laughter drowning the _thud, thud_ of the engine-house and the rattle of the stamps up the valley.

And the cause of it all seemed to be a smaller girl who stood by with a basket in her arms.
"Here you be, Lizzie!" cried one.