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Rh these portions remain pure white, whereas the rest comes out a rich orange-brown colour. When this thread is knitted into stockings it produces a pretty mottled pattern—the heather, as it is now called. And in all probability the speckled garments to which old King Brychan owed his name were thus produced.

Bed-straw and madder again yield yellow and red, and alder and bogbean a fine black. So the Lizard, when other trades fail, can go in for dyeing. There is a single windmill in the district.

The story goes that at one time it was rumoured that a second was about to be constructed. The miller was concerned. He went to see the man who entertained the scheme.

"I say, mate, be you goin' to set up another windmill?"

"I reckon I be; you don't object? There 's room for more nor one."

"Oh, room, room enough! But there mayn't be wind enough to sarve us both."

An old chap named Peter Odger lived near Mullion. He was somewhat given to the bottle. One day he went with a cart and horse along the road, and took a keg of cider with him. The day- was hot, the cider got into his head, and he fell asleep. Some boys found the horse standing in the road feeding. They took the brute out and drove it away.

An hour later Peter awoke, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. "Well, if iver!" said he. "Be I Peter Odger or be I not? 'Tes contrary any way. If I