likes o' her don' make narra splash. But in the mewnlight I seen the water in that pool turn all thick and green; for green's the colour o' merry-blood . . . and only lu'warm, so 'tis. Well, sir, I never could bide the sight of maiden or man bleedin'! So I heaves alongside to ax if I could be of service. 'Don't 'ee be downdaunted, missis,' saith I, 'come home 'long o' I to supper. 'Tis starry-gazy-pie 1 us'll get.' But she jest rised up, give a great flop of her tail, an' she was through I, an' wrigglin' in the breakers; an' I wer' in sech a shape 2 ye could a' swep me up with a showl.3 Iss, sure! "How are ye, Uncle Simon?' saith she. Brave an' steady,' saith I, though I felt—dun know how's I did feel! 'An' how's yerself, Auntie ? saith I. Charmin',' saith she; an' then I seen only the split of her li'l tail winkin' at me to top of a curlin' breaker. Sure, us Christians don't count so much as foam to they merry-maids—without 'tis Her on Chapel Rock. Ah! Her b'longs fine an' dutiful, Her du!" As Simon thus completed his testimony, he straightened his back by an inch or two; and his eyes, climbing at last to the great man's face, seemed to calculate with a crucial eye the vast coffin that would some day be needed to put away such well-fed dignity. The quizzical look made the old man's free speech harder to pardon, although the Archdeacon well knew how independent, if tolerant, the Cornish folk are in their attitude to their social superiors. But somehow Captain Muggetty realized that he had given offence-a misfortune difficult for him to understand in face of the universal welcome which his yarn-spinning was accorded for many a mile around. But he was neither proud nor shy he could not allow the great gentleman to leave 1 Pilchard pie with the heads projecting through the crust. 2 Mess. 3 Shovel. • A phrase used of one who has given up the drink. him in displeasure. Himself was never down-daunted, and his gift of story-telling seldom allowed another to suffer long. So now, as the Archdeacon turned away, "Sir, sir," Simon called, hobbling after him, " 'tedn' the end o' the droll 1; thicky ain't; but I'll sing 'ee a li'l song as'll hearten ye fine." Thank you, my man," replied the other, thinking to conceal his resentment, "but I've heard quite enough; I am much obliged." They were now standing in the churchyard by the granite four-hole cross, with its archaic diminutive figure carved upon it. Set 'ee down here on the step, sir," added Simon, taking from his neck his Sunday-clean, red cotton nackin and spreading it out on the plinth of the cross. "Set 'ee down, an' ye shall have the whole song.' "Nay, nay, my friend," said the cleric, lifting a hand in protest; you forget what day it is!' Set 'ee down, sir, set 'ee down," insisted Simon in the tone of one accustomed to be obeyed. "'Twon't spoil my warblin', not if 'twas twenty Sundays!" And putting a heavy hand on the broad-cloth arm, he compelled the portly gentleman to accept the seat. The Archdeacon was never more astonished in his life: a future Bishop submitting to a crippled sexton ! Yet he had no alternative now but to hear the song. So Simon Muggetty, with his clean smock and bare, brown-furrowed neck, and with eye fixed upon the sea's horizon, stood before his victim and chanted in high-pitched, sing-song, quavering voice his favourite song, gently beating time with the blackthorn blossoms in his left hand. "Aunt Merrymaid of Mullinstow She sets athurt the Chapel Rock; An' when the Sou'-west winds du blow She scoots way to home with her pilchar' flock 1 Yarn. Aunt Merrymaid slithers on an' off As the waves rush over with snow-white trail, An' the ran-dan porpoises roll an' loff 2 Till her beats like a thrashel her angry tail. "Aunt Merrymaid she guards our seine; Our tuck-nets an' drift-nets safely bide, While she b'longs call in sweetest strain Her fishy schools at full o' the tide. "Aunt Merrymaid, she watches an' sings 4 When the barnin' silvers the floatin' drift: Her skittery tail to the sea-weed clings 5 All night, till the sun o'er St. Neot's du lift. "Aunt Merrymaid is jest so sweet As rose with narra glass nor comb: 'Tis many a time she longs for feet Though her tail's strong enough to paddle her home. "Aunt Merrymaid loves the full blowth of the mewn An' the stars moppy-heedy' in the blue, 8 So she sings them a waily-quaily tune To hearten the pranks of that di'mond crew. Aunt Merrymaid floats up to rocks an' the soft sea-weed, An' she 'lows some things as was never see'd Aunt Merrymaid combs an' she combs away An' 'tween the wet curls she b'longs peep an' pray 4 3 Flail. Phosphorescence, which at times lights up with wonderful brilliance the nets as they hang in the deep water, and so warns off the pilchard shoals. 5 Slippery. "Hide-and-seek. • Full blossom. 8 Fading away. 9 • Glittering. The last line of this verse was drawn out in a succession of musical flourishes, so that the Archdeacon was congratulating himself that at last he could depart without giving offence; and as he rose he put hand in pocket for his purse. But Simon could not spoil his own pleasure by accepting reward. So, once again he let his vice-like hand fall upon the shoulder of the great cleric, now at worse disadvantage than ever. "Sir," said the cripple, fixing his victim with his one glittering eye, “ I reckon there du be one verse more if I can mind un. Set 'ee down one li'l minute! The Archdeacon obeyed with a querulous sigh and pursed lips, while the sexton recalled or what is quite likely-improvised a final verse : " Our Aunt Merrymaid du dive an' swim To bless our fish an' guard our coast: That's Father, Son, an' Holy Ghost! Amen! But the Archdeacon's hand did not again seek his purse. THE CHAPTER XL THE TRIAL HE Assizes were to open on Thursday in Easter week. On the Wednesday a special sermon was preached by the Archdeacon in Bodmin Church before the judges and counsellors robed in their legal splendour. 1 The sermon, which was immediately printed and published, is instructive, if poor stuff; and a few paragraphs will indicate how just was Christopher Trevenna's estimate of his friend's character, when he declared the different compartments of his mind to have no communicating doors. Mr. Trevenna gave him at least credit, when in his innermost sanctuary, for not believing the rubbish he professed in his narrow pulpit. Yet, remembering his recent fine talks with his old friend, the sermon astonished him. The Archdeacon took for his text Job's words, “I put on righteousness and it clothed me: my judgment was a robe and a diadem.” After a reference to the occasion which brought before him so distinguished an array of his Majesty's judges and magistrates, together with the wealthy and respectable citizens of Bodmin, he proceeds: "Religion has an influence so truly benign that she leads men to desire that opulence which is the first fruit of honest industry, rather than that which is 1 Vide Appendix D D. |