Do you see them are swallows, said the Clockmaker, how
low they fly? Well I presume we shall have rain right
away, and them noisy critters, them gulls how close they
keep to the water, down there in the Shubenacadie; well
that's a sure sign. If we study natur, we don't want no
thermometer. But I guess we shall be in time to get under
cover in a shingle-maker's shed about three miles ahead
on us. We had just reached the deserted hovel when the
rain fell in torrents.

I reckon, said the Clockmaker, as he sat himself down on
a bundle of shingles, I reckon they are bad off for inns
in this country. When a feller is too lazy to work here,
he paints his name over his door, and calls it a tavern,
and as like as not he makes the whole neighbourhood as
lazy as himself--it is about as easy to find a good inn
in Halifax, as it is to find wool on a goat's back. An
inn, to be a good concarn, must be built a purpose, you
can no more make a good tavern out of a common dwelling
house, I expect, than a good coat out of an old pair of
trowsers. They are etarnal lazy, you may depend--now
there might be a grand spec made there, in building a
good Inn and a good Church. What a sacrilegious and
unnatural union, said I, with most unaffected surprise.
Not at all, said Mr. Slick, we build both on speculation
in the States, and make a good deal of profit out of 'em
too, I tell you. We look out a good sightly place, in a
town like Halifax, that is pretty considerably well
peopled, with folks that are good marks; and if there is