LYING
PROPHETS
A
NOVEL
BY
EDEN
PHILLPOTTS
Author
of
"
Down
Dartmoor
Way
,
"
"
Some
Everyday
Folks
"
"
The
End
of
a
Life
,
"
etc.
"
'
Tis
like
this
:
your
man
did
take
plain
Nature
for
God
,
an
'
he
did
talk
fulishness
'
bout
finding
Him
in
the
scent
o
'
flowers
,
the
hum
o
'
bees
an
'
sichlike
.
Mayhap
Nature
's
a
gude
working
God
for
a
selfish
man
but
she
ed'n
wan
for
a
maid
,
as
you
knaws
by
now
.
Then
your
faither
—
his
God
do
sit
everlastingly
alongside
hell-mouth
,
an
'
do
laugh
an
'
girn
to
see
all
the
world
a
walkin
'
in
,
same
as
the
beasts
walked
in
the
Ark.
Theer
's
another
picksher
of
a
God
for
'
e
;
but
mark
this
,
gal
,
they
be
lying
prophets
—
lying
prophets
both
!
"
—
Book
II
.
,
Chapter
XI
.
BOOK
ONE
ART
CHAPTER
ONE
NEWLYN
Away
beyond
the
village
stands
a
white
cottage
with
the
sea
lapping
at
low
cliffs
beneath
it
.
Plum
and
apple
orchards
slope
upward
behind
this
building
,
and
already
,
upon
the
former
trees
,
there
trembles
a
snowy
gauze
where
blossom
buds
are
breaking
.
Higher
yet
,
dark
plowed
fields
,
with
hedges
whereon
grow
straight
elms
,
cover
the
undulations
of
a
great
hill
even
to
its
windy
crest
,
and
below
,
at
the
water
line
,
lies
Newlyn
—
a
village
of
gray
stone
and
blue
,
with
slate
roofs
now
shining
silver-bright
under
morning
sunlight
and
easterly
wind
.
Smoke
softens
every
outline
;
red-brick
walls
and
tanned
sails
bring
warmth
and
color
through
the
blue
vapor
of
many
chimneys
;
a
sun-flash
glitters
at
this
point
and
that
,
denoting
here
a
conservatory
,
there
a
studio
.
Enter
this
hive
and
you
shall
find
a
network
of
narrow
stone
streets
;
a
flutter
of
flannel
underwear
,
or
blue
stockings
,
and
tawny
garments
drying
upon
lines
;
little
windows
,
some
with
rows
of
oranges
and
ginger-beer
bottles
in
them
;
little
shops
;
little
doors
,
at
which
cluster
little
children
and
many
cats
,
the
latter
mostly
tortoise-shell
and
white
.
Infants
watch
their
elders
playing
marbles
in
the
roadway
,
and
the
cats
stretch
lazy
bodies
on
the
mats
,
made
of
old
fishing-net
,
which
lie
at
every
cottage
door
.
Newlyn
stands
on
slight
elevations
above
the
sea
level
,
and
at
one
point
the
road
bends
downward
,
breaks
and
fringes
the
tide
,
leading
among
broken
iron
,
rusty
anchors
,
and
dismantled
fishing-boats
,
past
an
ancient
buoy
whose
sides
now
serve
the
purposes
of
advertisement
and
tell
of
prayer-meetings
,
cheap
tea
,
and
so
forth
.
Hard
by
,
the
mighty
blocks
of
the
old
breakwater
stand
,
their
fabric
dating
from
the
reign
of
James
I
.
,
and
taking
the
place
of
one
still
older
.
But
the
old
breakwater
is
no
more
than
a
rialto
for
ancient
gossips
now
;
and
far
beyond
it
new
piers
stretch
encircling
arms
of
granite
round
a
new
harbor
,
southward
of
which
the
lighthouse
stands
and
winks
his
sleepless
golden
eye
from
dusk
to
dawn
.
Within
this
harbor
,
when
the
fishing
fleet
is
at
home
,
lie
jungles
of
stout
masts
,
row
upon
row
,
with
here
and
there
a
sail
,
carrying
on
the
color
of
the
plowed
fields
above
the
village
,
and
elsewhere
,
scraps
of
flaming
bunting
flashing
like
flowers
in
a
reed
bed
.
Behind
the
masts
,
along
the
barbican
,
the
cottages
stand
close
and
thick
,
then
clamber
and
straggle
up
the
acclivities
behind
,
decreasing
in
their
numbers
as
they
ascend
.
Smoke
trails
inland
on
the
wind
—
black
as
a
thin
crepe
veil
,
from
the
funnel
of
a
coal
"
tramp
"
about
to
leave
the
harbor
,
blue
from
the
dry
wood
burning
on
a
hundred
cottage
hearths
.
A
smell
of
fish
—
where
great
split
pollocks
hang
drying
in
the
sun
—
of
tar
and
tan
and
twine
—
where
nets
and
cordage
lie
spread
upon
low
walls
and
open
spaces
—
gives
to
Newlyn
an
odor
all
its
own
;
but
aloft
,
above
the
village
air
,
spring
is
dancing
,
sweet-scented
,
light-footed
in
the
hedgerows
,
through
the
woods
and
on
the
wild
moors
which
stretch
inland
away
.
There
the
gold
of
the
gorse
flames
in
many
a
sudden
sheet
and
splash
over
the
wastes
whereon
last
year
's
ling-bloom
,
all
sere
and
gray
,
makes
a
sad-colored
world
.
But
the
season
's
change
is
coming
fast
.
Celandines
twinkle
everywhere
,
and
primroses
,
more
tardy
and
more
coy
,
already
open
wondering
eyes
.
The
sea
lies
smooth
with
a
surface
just
wind-kissed
and
strewed
with
a
glory
of
sun-stars
.
Away
to
the
east
,
at
a
point
from
which
brown
hills
,
dotted
with
white
dwellings
,
tend
in
long
undulations
to
the
cliffs
of
the
Lizard
,
under
fair
clouds
all
banked
and
sunny
white
against
the
blue
,
rises
St.
Michael
's
Mount
,
with
a
man
's
little
castle
capping
Nature
's
gaunt
escarpments
and
rugged
walls
.
Between
Marazion
and
Newlyn
stretches
Mount
's
Bay
;
while
a
mile
or
two
of
flat
sea-front
,
over
which
,
like
a
string
of
pearls
,
roll
steam
clouds
,
from
a
train
,
bring
us
to
Penzance
.
Then
—
noting
centers
of
industry
where
freezing
works
rise
and
smelting
of
ore
occupies
many
men
(
for
Newlyn
labors
at
the
two
extremes
of
fire
and
ice
)
—
we
are
back
in
the
fishing
village
again
and
upon
the
winding
road
which
leads
therefrom
,
first
to
Penlee
Point
and
the
blue-stone
quarry
,
anon
to
the
little
hamlet
of
Mousehole
beyond
.
Beside
this
road
lay
our
white
cottage
,
with
the
sunshine
lighting
up
a
piece
of
new
golden
thatch
let
into
the
old
gray
,
and
the
plum-trees
behind
it
bursting
into
new-born
foam
of
flowers
.
Just
outside
it
,
above
the
low
cliff
,
stood
two
men
looking
down
into
the
water
,
seen
dark
green
below
through
a
tangle
of
brier
and
blackthorn
and
emerald
foliage
of
budding
elder
.
The
sea
served
base
uses
here
,
for
the
dust
and
dirt
of
many
a
cottage
was
daily
cast
into
the
lap
of
the
great
scavenger
who
carried
all
away
.
The
low
cliffs
were
indeed
spattered
with
filth
,
and
the
coltsfoot
,
already
opening
yellow
blossoms
below
,
found
itself
rudely
saluted
with
cinders
and
potato-peelings
,
fishes
'
entrails
,
and
suchlike
unlovely
matter
.
The
men
were
watching
a
white
fleet
of
bird
boats
paddling
on
the
sea
,
hurrying
this
way
and
that
,
struggling
—
with
many
a
plunge
and
flutter
and
plaintive
cry
—
for
the
food
a
retreating
tide
was
bearing
from
the
shore
.
"
'
White
spirits
and
gray
,
'
I
call
them
,
"
said
the
younger
of
the
two
spectators
.
"
The
gulls
fascinate
me
always
.
They
are
beautiful
to
see
and
hear
and
paint
.
Swimming
there
,
and
wheeling
between
the
seas
in
rough
weather
,
or
hanging
almost
motionless
in
midair
with
their
heads
turning
first
this
way
,
then
that
,
and
their
breasts
pressed
against
the
wind
—
why
,
they
are
perfect
always
,
the
little
winged
gods
of
the
sea
.
"
"
Gods
kissing
carrion
,
"
sneered
the
other
.
"
Beautiful
enough
,
no
doubt
,
but
their
music
holds
no
charm
for
me
.
Nothing
is
quite
beautiful
which
has
for
its
cause
something
ugly
.
Those
echoing
cries
down
there
are
the
expression
of
a
greedy
struggle
,
no
more
.
I
hate
your
Newlyn
gulls
.
They
are
ruined
,
like
a
thousand
other
wild
things
,
by
civilization
.
I
see
them
scouring
the
fields
and
hopping
after
the
plowman
like
upland
crows
.
A
Cornish
seabird
should
fight
its
battle
with
the
sea
and
find
its
home
in
the
heart
of
the
dizzy
cliffs
,
sharing
them
with
the
samphire
.
But
your
'
white
spirits
and
gray
'
behave
like
gutter-fed
ducks
.
"
The
first
speaker
laughed
and
both
strolled
upon
their
way
.
They
were
artists
,
but
while
Edmund
Murdoch
dwelt
at
Newlyn
and
lived
by
his
profession
,
the
older
man
,
John
Barron
,
was
merely
on
a
visit
to
the
place
.
He
had
come
down
for
change
and
with
no
particular
intention
to
work
.
Barron
was
wealthy
and
wasted
rare
talents
.
He
did
not
paint
much
,
and
the
few
who
knew
his
pictures
deplored
the
fact
that
no
temporal
inducement
called
upon
him
to
handle
his
brush
oftener
.
A
few
excused
him
on
the
plea
of
his
health
,
which
was
at
all
times
indifferent
,
but
he
never
excused
himself
.
It
needed
something
far
from
the
beaten
track
to
inspire
him
,
and
inspiration
was
rare
.
But
let
a
subject
once
grip
him
and
the
artist
's
life
centered
and
fastened
upon
it
until
his
work
was
done
.
He
sacrificed
everything
at
such
a
time
;
he
slaved
;
labor
was
to
him
as
a
debauch
to
the
drunkard
,
and
he
wearied
body
and
mind
and
counted
his
health
nothing
while
the
frenzy
held
him
.
Then
,
his
picture
finished
,
at
the
cost
of
the
man
's
whole
store
of
nervous
energy
and
skill
,
he
would
probably
paint
no
more
for
many
months
.
His
subject
was
always
some
transcript
from
nature
,
wrought
out
with
almost
brutal
vigor
and
disregard
of
everything
but
truth
.
His
looks
belied
his
work
curiously
.
A
small
,
slight
man
he
was
,
with
sloping
shoulders
and
the
consumptive
build
.
But
the
breadth
of
his
head
above
the
ears
showed
brain
,
and
his
gray
eyes
spoke
a
strength
of
purpose
upon
which
a
hard
,
finely-modeled
mouth
set
the
seal
.
Once
he
had
painted
in
the
West
Indies
:
a
picture
of
two
negresses
bathing
at
Tobago
.
Behind
them
hung
low
tangles
of
cactus
,
melo-cactus
and
white-blossomed
orchid
;
while
on
the
tawny
rocks
glimmered
snowy
cotton
splashed
with
a
crimson
turban
;
but
the
marvel
of
the
work
lay
in
the
figures
and
the
refraction
of
their
brown
limbs
seen
through
crystal-clear
water
.
The
picture
brought
reputation
to
a
man
who
cared
nothing
for
it
;
and
Barron
's
"
Bathing
Negresses
"
are
only
quoted
here
because
they
illustrate
his
method
of
work
.
He
had
painted
from
the
sea
in
a
boat
moored
fore
and
aft
;
he
had
kept
the
two
women
shivering
and
whining
in
the
water
for
two
hours
at
a
time
.
They
could
not
indeed
refuse
the
gold
he
offered
for
their
services
,
but
one
never
lived
to
enjoy
the
money
,
for
her
prolonged
ablutions
in
the
cause
of
art
killed
her
a
week
after
her
work
was
done
.
John
Barren
was
a
lonely
sybarite
with
a
real
love
for
Nature
and
absolutely
primitive
instincts
with
regard
to
his
fellow-creatures
.
The
Land
's
End
had
disappointed
him
;
he
had
found
Nature
neither
grand
nor
terrific
there
,
but
sleepy
and
tame
as
a
cat
after
a
full
meal
.
Nor
did
he
derive
any
pleasure
from
the
society
of
his
craft
at
Newlyn
.
He
hated
the
clatter
of
art
jargon
,
he
flouted
all
schools
,
and
pointed
out
what
nobody
doubts
now
:
that
the
artists
of
the
Cornish
village
in
reality
represented
nothing
but
a
community
of
fellow-workers
,
all
actuated
indeed
by
love
of
art
,
but
each
developing
his
own
bent
without
thought
for
his
neighbor
's
theory
.
Barron
indeed
made
some
enemies
before
he
had
been
in
the
place
a
week
,
and
the
greater
lights
liked
him
none
the
better
for
vehemently
disclaiming
the
honor
when
they
told
him
he
was
one
of
themselves
.
"
The
shape
of
a
brush
does
not
make
men
paint
alike
,
"
he
said
,
"
else
we
were
all
equal
and
should
only
differ
in
color
.
Some
of
you
can
no
more
paint
with
a
square
brush
than
you
can
with
a
knife
.
Some
of
you
could
not
paint
though
your
palettes
were
set
with
Nature
's
own
sunset
colors
.
And
others
of
you
,
if
you
had
a
rabbit
's
scut
at
the
end
of
a
hop-pole
and
the
gray
mud
from
a
rain
puddle
,
would
produce
work
worth
considering
.
You
are
a
community
of
painters
—
some
clever
,
some
hopeless
—
but
you
are
not
a
school
,
and
you
may
thank
God
for
it
.
"
John
Barron
was
rough
tonic
,
but
the
fearless
little
man
generally
found
an
audience
at
the
end
of
the
day
in
this
studio
or
that
.
The
truth
of
much
that
he
said
appealed
to
the
lofty-minded
and
serious
;
his
dry
cynicism
,
savage
dislike
of
civilization
,
and
frank
affection
for
Nature
,
attracted
others
.
He
hit
hard
,
but
he
never
resented
rough
knocks
in
return
,
and
no
man
had
seen
him
out
of
temper
with
anything
but
mysticism
and
the
art
bred
therefrom
.
Upon
the
whole
,
however
,
his
materialism
annoyed
more
than
his
wit
amused
.
Upon
the
evening
which
followed
his
insult
to
the
Newlyn
gulls
,
Barron
,
with
Edmund
Murdoch
and
some
other
men
,
was
talking
in
the
studio
of
one
Brady
,
known
to
fame
as
the
"
Wrecker
,
"
from
his
love
for
the
artistic
representation
of
maritime
disaster
.
Barron
liked
this
man
,
for
he
was
outspoken
and
held
vigorous
views
,
but
the
two
quarreled
freely
.
"
Fate
was
a
fool
when
she
chucked
her
presents
into
the
lap
of
a
lazy
beggar
like
you
,
"
said
Brady
,
addressing
the
visitor
.
"
And
thrice
a
fool
,
"
he
added
,
"
to
assort
her
gifts
so
ill.
"
"
Fate
is
a
knave
,
a
mad
thing
playing
at
cat
's
cradle
with
the
threads
of
our
wretched
little
lives
,
"
answered
John
Barron
,
"
she
is
a
coward
—
a
bully
.
She
hits
the
hungry
below
the
belt
;
she
heaps
gold
into
the
lap
of
the
old
man
,
but
not
till
he
has
already
dug
his
own
grave
to
come
at
it
;
she
gives
health
to
those
who
must
needs
waste
all
their
splendid
strength
on
work
;
and
wealth
to
worthless
beings
like
myself
who
are
always
ailing
and
who
never
spend
a
pound
with
wisdom
.
Make
no
dark
cryptic
mystery
of
Fate
when
you
paint
her
.
She
looks
to
me
like
a
mischievous
monkey
poking
sticks
into
an
ant-hill
.
"
"
She
's
a
woman
,
"
said
Murdoch
.
"
She
's
three
,
"
corrected
Brady
;
"
what
can
you
expect
from
three
women
rolled
into
one
?
"
"
Away
with
her
!
Waste
no
incense
at
her
shrine
.
She
'll
cut
the
thread
no
sooner
because
you
turn
your
back
on
her
.
Fling
overboard
your
mythologies
,
dead
and
alive
,
and
kneel
to
Nature
.
A
budding
spike
of
wild
hyacinth
is
worth
all
the
gods
put
together
.
Go
hand
in
hand
with
Nature
,
I
say
.
Ask
nothing
from
her
;
walk
humbly
;
be
well
content
if
she
lets
you
but
turn
the
corner
of
one
page
none
else
have
read
.
That
's
how
I
live
.
My
life
is
not
a
prayer
exactly
—
"
"
I
should
say
not
,
"
interrupted
Brady
.
"
But
a
hymn
of
praise
—
a
purely
impersonal
existence
,
lived
all
alone
,
like
a
man
at
a
prison
window
.
This
carcass
,
with
its
shaky
machinery
and
defective
breathing
apparatus
,
is
the
prison
.
I
look
out
of
the
window
till
the
walls
crumble
away
—
"
"
And
then
?
"
asked
one
Paul
Tarrant
,
a
painter
who
prided
himself
on
being
a
Christian
as
well
.
"
Then
,
the
spark
which
I
call
myself
,
goes
back
to
Nature
,
as
the
cloud
gives
the
raindrop
back
to
the
sea
from
whence
the
sun
drew
it
.
"
"
A
lie
,
man
!
"
answered
the
other
hotly
.
"
Perhaps
.
It
matters
nothing
.
God
—
if
there
be
a
God
—
will
not
blame
me
for
making
a
mistake
.
Meantime
I
live
like
the
rook
and
the
thrush
.
They
never
pray
,
they
praise
,
they
sing
'
grace
before
meat
'
and
after
it
,
as
Nature
taught
them
.
"
"
A
simple
child
of
Nature
—
beautiful
spectacle
,
"
said
Brady
.
"
But
I
'm
sorry
all
the
same
,
"
he
continued
,
"
that
you
've
found
nothing
in
Cornwall
to
keep
you
here
and
make
you
do
some
work
.
You
talk
an
awful
deal
of
rot
,
but
we
want
to
see
you
paint
.
Is
n't
there
anything
or
anybody
worthy
of
you
here
?
"
"
As
a
matter
of
face
,
I
've
found
a
girl
,
"
said
Barron
.
There
was
a
clamor
of
excitement
at
this
news
,
above
which
Brady
's
bull
voice
roared
approval
.
"
Proud
girl
,
proud
parents
,
proud
Newlyn
!
"
he
bellowed
.
"
The
mood
ripens
too
,
"
continued
Barren
quietly
.
"
'
Sacrifice
all
the
world
to
mood
'
is
my
motto
.
So
I
shall
stop
and
paint
.
"
A
moment
later
derisive
laughter
greeted
Barron
's
decision
,
for
Murdoch
,
in
answer
to
a
hail
of
questions
,
announced
the
subject
of
his
friend
's
inspiration
.
"
We
strolled
round
this
morning
and
saw
Joan
Tregenza
in
an
iron
hoop
with
a
pail
of
water
slung
at
either
hand
.
"
"
So
your
picture
begins
and
ends
where
it
is
,
Barron
,
my
friend
;
in
your
imagination
.
Did
it
strike
you
when
you
first
saw
that
vision
of
loveliness
in
dirty
drab
that
she
was
hardly
the
girl
to
have
gone
unpainted
till
now
?
"
asked
Brady
.
"
The
possibility
of
previous
pictures
is
hardly
likely
to
weigh
with
me
.
Why
,
I
would
paint
a
drowned
sailor
if
the
subject
attracted
me
,
and
that
though
you
have
done
it
,
"
answered
the
other
,
nodding
toward
a
big
canvas
in
the
corner
,
where
Brady
's
picture
for
the
year
approached
completion
.
"
My
dear
chap
,
we
all
worship
Joan
—
at
a
distance
.
She
is
not
to
be
painted
.
Tears
and
prayers
are
useless
.
She
has
a
flinty
father
—
a
fisherman
,
who
looks
upon
painting
as
a
snare
of
the
devil
and
sees
every
artist
already
wriggling
on
the
trident
in
his
mind
's
eye
.
Joan
has
also
a
lover
,
who
would
rather
behold
her
dead
than
on
canvas
.
"
"
In
fact
these
Methodist
folk
take
us
to
be
what
you
really
are
,
"
said
Brady
bluntly
.
"
Old
Tregenza
tars
us
every
one
with
the
same
brush
.
We
are
lost
sinners
all
.
"
"
Well
,
why
trouble
him
?
A
fisherman
would
have
his
business
on
the
sea
.
Candidly
,
I
must
paint
her
.
The
wish
grows
upon
me
.
"
"
Even
money
you
do
n't
get
as
much
as
a
sketch
,
"
said
Murdoch
.
"
Have
any
of
you
tried
approaching
her
directly
,
instead
of
her
relations
?
"
"
She
's
as
shy
as
a
hawk
,
man
.
"
"
That
makes
me
the
more
hopeful
.
You
fellows
,
with
your
Tam
o
'
Shanters
and
aggressive
neckties
and
knickerbockers
and
calves
,
would
frighten
the
devil
.
I
'm
shy
myself
.
If
she
's
natural
,
then
we
shall
possibly
understand
each
other
.
"
"
I
'll
bet
you
ten
to
one
in
pounds
you
wo
n't
have
your
wish
,
"
said
Brady
.
"
No
,
sha
n't
bet
.
You
're
all
so
certain
.
Probably
I
shall
find
myself
beaten
like
the
rest
of
you
.
But
it
's
worth
trying
.
She
's
a
pretty
thing
.
"
"
How
will
you
paint
her
if
you
get
the
chance
?
"
"
Do
n't
know
yet
.
I
should
like
to
paint
her
in
a
wolf-skin
with
a
thread
of
wolf
's
teeth
round
her
neck
and
a
celt-headed
spear
in
her
hand
.
"
"
Art
will
be
a
loser
by
the
pending
repulse
,
"
declared
Brady
.
"
And
now
,
as
my
whisky-bottle
's
empty
and
my
lamp
going
out
,
you
chaps
can
follow
its
example
whenever
you
please
.
"
So
the
men
scattered
into
a
starry
night
,
and
went
,
each
his
way
,
through
the
streets
of
the
sleeping
village
.
CHAPTER
TWO
IN
A
HALO
OF
GOLD
Edmund
Murdoch
's
studio
stood
high
on
Newlyn
hill
,
and
Barron
had
taken
comfortable
rooms
in
a
little
lodging-house
close
beside
it
.
The
men
often
enjoyed
breakfast
in
each
other
's
company
,
but
on
the
following
morning
,
when
Murdoch
strolled
over
to
see
his
friend
,
he
found
that
his
rooms
were
empty
.
Barron
,
in
fact
,
was
already
nearly
a
mile
from
Newlyn
,
and
,
at
the
moment
when
the
younger
artist
sought
him
,
he
stood
upon
a
footpath
which
ran
through
plowed
fields
to
the
village
of
Paul
.
In
the
bottom
of
his
mind
ran
a
current
of
thought
occupied
with
the
problem
of
Joan
Tregenza
,
but
,
superficially
,
he
was
concerned
with
the
spring
world
in
which
he
walked
.
He
stood
where
Nature
,
like
Artemis
,
appeared
as
a
mother
of
many
breasts
.
Brown
and
solemn
in
their
undulations
,
they
rose
about
and
around
him
to
the
sky-line
,
where
the
land
cut
sharply
against
a
pale
blue
heaven
from
which
tinkled
the
music
of
larks
.
He
watched
a
bird
wind
upward
in
a
spiral
to
its
song
throne
;
he
noted
the
young
wheat
brushing
the
earth
with
a
veil
of
green
;
he
dawdled
where
elms
stood
,
their
high
tops
thick
with
blossom
;
and
he
delayed
for
full
fifteen
minutes
to
see
the
felling
of
one
giant
tree
.
A
wedge-shaped
cut
had
been
made
upon
the
side
where
the
great
elm
was
to
fall
,
and
,
upon
the
other
side
,
two
men
were
sawing
through
the
trunk
.
There
was
no
sound
but
the
steady
hiss
of
steel
teeth
gnawing
inch
by
inch
to
the
wine-red
heart
of
the
tree
.
Sunshine
glimmered
on
its
leafy
crown
,
and
as
yet
distant
branch
and
bough
knew
nothing
of
the
midgets
and
Death
below
.
Barron
took
pleasure
in
seeing
the
great
god
Change
at
work
,
but
he
mourned
in
that
a
masterpiece
,
on
which
Nature
had
bestowed
half
a
century
and
more
of
love
,
must
now
vanish
.
"
A
pity
,
"
he
said
,
while
the
executioners
rested
a
few
moments
from
their
labors
,
"
a
pity
to
cut
down
such
a
noble
tree
.
"
One
woodman
laughed
,
and
the
other
—
an
old
rustic
,
brown
and
bent
—
made
answer
:
"
I
sez
'
dang
the
tree
!
'
Us
doa
n't
take
no
joy
in
thrawin
'
en
,
mister
.
I
be
bedoled
wi
'
pain
,
an
'
this
'
ere
sawin
's
just
food
for
rheumatiz
.
My
back
's
that
bad
.
But
Squire
must
'
ave
money
,
an
'
theer
's
five
hundred
pounds
'
value
o
'
ellum
comin
'
down
'
fore
us
done
wi
'
it
.
"
The
saw
won
its
way
;
and
between
each
spell
of
labor
,
the
ancient
man
held
his
back
and
grumbled
.
"
Er
's
Billy
Jago
,
"
confided
the
second
laborer
to
Barron
,
when
his
companion
had
turned
aside
to
get
some
steel
wedges
and
a
sledge-hammer
.
"
Er
's
well-knawn
in
these
paarts
—
a
reg'lar
cure
.
Er
used
tu
work
up
Drift
wi
'
Mister
Chirgwin
.
"
Billy
added
two
wedges
to
those
already
hammered
into
the
saw-cut
,
then
,
with
the
sledge
,
he
drove
them
home
and
finished
his
task
.
The
sorrowful
strokes
rang
hollow
and
mournful
over
the
land
,
sadder
to
Barron
's
ear
than
fall
of
earth-clod
on
coffin-lid
.
And
,
upon
the
sound
,
a
responsive
shiver
and
uneasy
tremor
ran
through
trunk
and
bough
to
topmost
twig
of
the
elm
—
a
sudden
sense
,
as
it
seemed
,
of
awful
evil
and
ruin
undreamed
of
,
but
now
imminent
.
Then
the
monster
staggered
and
the
midget
struck
his
last
blow
and
removed
himself
and
his
rheumatism
.
Whereupon
began
that
magnificent
descent
.
Slowly
,
with
infinitely
solemn
sweep
,
the
elm
's
vast
height
swung
away
from
its
place
,
described
a
wide
aerial
arc
,
and
so
,
with
the
jolting
crash
and
rattle
of
close
thunder
,
roared
headlong
to
the
earth
,
casting
up
a
cloud
of
dust
,
plowing
the
grass
with
splintered
limbs
,
then
lying
very
still
.
From
glorious
tree
to
battered
log
it
sank
.
No
man
ever
saw
more
instant
wreck
and
ruin
fall
lightning-like
on
a
fair
thing
.
The
mass
was
crushed
flat
and
shapeless
by
its
own
vast
weight
,
and
the
larger
boughs
,
which
did
not
touch
the
earth
,
were
snapped
short
off
by
the
concussion
of
their
fall
.
Billy
Jago
held
his
back
and
whined
while
Barron
spoke
,
as
much
to
himself
as
the
woodman
.
"
Dear
God
!
"
he
said
,
"
to
think
that
this
glory
of
the
hedge-row
—
this
kingdom
of
song
birds
—
should
come
to
the
making
of
pauper
coffins
and
lodging-house
furniture
!
"
"
Squire
must
have
money
;
an
'
folks
must
have
coffins
,
"
said
Billy
.
"
You
can
sleep
your
last
sleep
so
sound
in
ellum
as
you
can
in
oak
,
for
that
matter
.
"
Feeling
the
truth
of
the
assertion
,
Barron
admitted
it
,
then
turned
his
back
on
the
fallen
king
and
pursued
his
way
with
thoughts
reverting
to
the
proposed
picture
.
There
was
nothing
to
alarm
Joan
Tregenza
about
him
;
which
seemed
well
,
as
he
meant
to
approach
the
girl
herself
at
the
first
opportunity
,
and
not
her
parents
.
Barron
did
not
carry
"
artist
"
stamped
upon
him
.
He
was
plainly
attired
in
a
thick
tweed
suit
and
wore
a
cap
of
the
same
material
.
The
man
appeared
insignificantly
small
.
He
was
clean-shaved
and
looked
younger
than
his
five-and-thirty
years
seen
a
short
distance
off
,
but
older
when
you
stood
beside
him
.
He
strolled
now
onward
toward
the
sea
,
and
his
cheeks
took
some
color
from
the
fine
air
.
He
walked
with
a
stick
and
carried
a
pair
of
field-glasses
in
a
case
slung
over
his
shoulder
.
The
field-glasses
had
become
a
habit
with
him
,
but
he
rarely
used
them
,
for
his
small
slate-colored
eyes
were
keen
.
Once
and
again
John
Barron
turned
to
look
at
St.
Michael
's
Mount
,
seen
afar
across
the
bay
.
The
magic
of
morning
made
it
beautiful
and
the
great
pile
towered
grandly
through
a
sunny
haze
.
No
detail
disturbed
the
eye
under
this
effect
of
light
,
and
the
mount
stood
vast
,
dim
,
golden
,
magnified
and
glorified
into
a
fairy
palace
of
romance
built
by
immortal
things
in
a
night
.
Seen
thus
,
it
even
challenged
the
beholder
's
admiration
,
of
which
he
was
at
all
times
sparing
.
Until
that
hour
,
he
had
found
nothing
but
laughter
for
this
same
mount
,
likening
the
spectacle
of
it
,
with
its
castle
and
cottages
,
now
to
a
senile
monarch
with
moth-eaten
ermine
about
his
toes
and
a
lop-sided
crown
on
his
head
,
now
to
a
monstrous
sea-snail
creeping
shoreward
.
Barron
,
having
walked
down
the
hill
to
Mouse-hole
,
breasted
slowly
the
steep
acclivity
which
leads
therefrom
toward
the
west
.
Presently
he
turned
,
where
a
plateau
of
grass
sloped
above
the
cliffs
into
a
little
theater
of
banks
ablaze
with
gorse
.
And
here
his
thoughts
and
the
image
they
were
concerned
with
perished
before
reality
.
Framed
in
a
halo
of
golden
furze
,
her
hands
making
a
little
penthouse
above
her
brow
,
and
in
her
blue
eyes
the
mingled
hue
of
sea
and
sky
,
stood
a
girl
looking
out
at
the
horizon
.
The
bud
of
a
wondrous
fair
woman
she
was
,
and
Barron
saw
her
slim
yet
vigorous
figure
accentuated
under
its
drab-brown
draperies
by
a
kindly
breeze
.
He
noted
the
sweet
,
childish
freshness
of
her
face
,
her
plump
arms
filling
the
sleeves
of
rusty
black
,
and
her
feet
in
shoes
too
big
for
them
.
Her
hair
was
hidden
under
a
linen
sun-bonnet
,
but
one
lock
had
escaped
,
and
he
noted
that
it
was
the
color
of
wheat
ripe
for
the
reaping
.
He
regretted
it
had
not
been
darker
,
but
observed
that
it
chimed
well
enough
with
the
flaming
flowers
behind
it
.
And
then
he
frankly
praised
Nature
in
his
heart
for
sending
her
servant
such
a
splendid
harmony
in
gold
and
brown
.
There
stood
his
picture
in
front
of
him
.
He
gazed
a
brief
second
only
,
and
then
his
quick
mind
worked
to
find
what
human
interest
had
brought
Joan
Tregenza
to
this
place
and
turned
her
eyes
to
the
sea
.
It
might
be
that
herein
existed
the
possibility
of
the
introduction
he
desired
.
He
felt
that
victory
probably
depended
on
the
events
of
the
next
two
or
three
minutes
.
He
owed
a
supreme
effort
of
skill
and
tact
to
Fate
,
which
had
thus
befriended
him
,
and
he
rose
to
the
occasion
.
The
girl
looked
up
as
he
came
suddenly
upon
her
,
but
his
eyes
were
already
away
and
fixed
upon
the
horizon
before
she
turned
.
Observing
that
he
was
not
regarding
her
,
she
put
up
her
hands
again
and
continued
to
scan
the
remote
sea-line
where
a
thin
trail
of
dark
smoke
told
of
a
steamer
,
itself
apparently
invisible
.
Barron
took
his
glasses
from
their
case
,
and
seeing
that
the
girl
made
no
movement
of
departure
,
acted
deliberately
,
and
presently
began
to
watch
a
fleet
of
brown
sails
and
black
hulls
putting
forth
from
the
little
harbor
below
.
Then
,
without
looking
at
her
or
taking
his
eyes
from
the
glasses
,
he
spoke
.
"
Would
you
kindly
tell
me
what
those
small
vessels
are
below
there
just
setting
out
to
sea
?
"
he
asked
.
The
girl
started
,
looked
round
,
and
,
realizing
that
he
had
addressed
her
,
made
answer
:
"
They
'm
Mouzle
[
Footnote
:
Mouzle
—
Mousehole
.
]
luggers
,
sir
.
"
"
Luggers
,
are
they
?
Thank
you
.
And
where
are
they
sailing
to
?
Do
you
know
?
"
"
Away
down-long
,
south'ard
o
'
the
Scillies
mostly
,
arter
mackerl
.
Theer
's
a
power
o
'
mackerl
bein
'
catched
just
now
—
thousands
an
'
thousands
—
but
some
o
'
they
booats
be
laskin
'
—
that
's
just
fishin
'
off
shore
.
"
"
Ah
,
a
busy
time
for
the
fishermen
.
"
"
Iss
,
'
tis
.
"
"
Thank
you
.
Good-morning
.
"
"
Good-marnin
'
,
sir
.
"
He
started
as
though
to
continue
his
walk
along
the
cliffs
beyond
the
plateau
and
the
gorse
;
then
he
stopped
suddenly
,
actuated
,
as
it
seemed
,
by
a
chance
thought
,
and
turned
back
to
the
girl
.
She
was
looking
out
to
sea
again
.
"
By
the
way
,
"
he
said
,
unconcernedly
,
and
with
no
suggestion
that
anything
in
particular
was
responsible
for
his
politeness
.
"
I
see
you
are
on
the
lookout
there
for
something
.
You
may
have
my
glass
a
moment
,
if
you
like
,
before
I
go
on
.
They
bring
the
ships
very
close
.
"
The
girl
flushed
with
shy
pleasure
and
seemed
a
little
uncertain
what
to
answer
.
Barron
,
meanwhile
,
showed
no
trace
of
a
smile
,
but
looked
bored
if
anything
,
and
,
with
a
serious
face
,
handed
her
the
glass
,
then
walked
a
little
way
off
.
He
was
grave
and
courteous
,
but
made
no
attempt
at
friendship
.
He
had
noticed
when
Joan
smiled
that
her
teeth
were
fine
,
and
that
her
full
face
,
though
sweet
enough
,
was
a
shade
too
plump
.
"
Thank
'
e
kindly
,
sir
,
"
she
said
,
taking
the
glass
.
"
You
see
theer
's
a
gert
ship
passin
'
down
Channel
,
an
'
—
an
'
my
Joe
's
aboard
'
er
,
an
'
they
'm
bound
for
furrin
'
paarts
,
an
'
I
promised
as
I
'd
come
to
this
here
horny-winky
[
Footnote
:
Horny-winky
—
Lonely
.
Fit
place
for
horny-winks
.
]
plaace
to
get
a
last
sight
o
'
the
vessel
if
I
could
.
"
He
made
no
answer
,
and
,
after
a
pause
,
she
spoke
again
.
"
I
caa
n't
see
naught
,
but
that
's
my
fault
,
p'raps
,
not
bein
'
used
to
sich
things
.
"
"
Let
me
try
and
find
the
ship
,
"
he
said
,
taking
the
glass
,
which
he
had
put
out
of
focus
purposely
.
Then
,
while
scanning
the
horizon
where
he
had
noted
the
smoke-trail
,
he
spoke
,
his
head
turned
from
her
.
"
Who
's
Joe
,
if
I
may
ask
?
Your
brother
,
I
daresay
?
"
"
No
,
sir
;
Joe
'm
my
sweetheart
.
"
"
There
's
a
big
three-masted
ship
being
taken
down
the
Channel
by
a
small
steamer
.
"
"
Ah
!
then
I
reckon
that
's
the
'
Anna
,
'
'
cause
Joe
said
'
twas
tolerable
certain
they
'd
be
in
tow
of
a
tug
.
"
"
You
can
see
the
smoke
on
the
edge
of
the
sea
.
Look
below
it
.
"
He
handed
the
glasses
to
her
again
and
heard
a
little
laugh
of
delight
break
from
her
lips
.
The
surprise
of
the
suddenly-magnified
spectacle
,
visible
only
as
a
shadow
to
the
naked
eye
,
brought
laughter
;
and
Barron
,
now
that
the
girl
's
attention
was
occupied
,
had
leisure
to
look
at
her
.
She
was
more
than
a
pretty
cottage
maid
,
and
possessed
some
distinction
and
charm
.
There
was
a
delicacy
about
her
too
—
a
sweet
turn
of
lip
,
a
purity
of
skin
,
a
set
of
limb
—
which
gave
the
lie
to
her
rough
speech
.
She
was
all
Saxon
to
look
at
,
with
nothing
of
the
Celt
about
her
excepting
her
name
and
the
old
Cornish
words
upon
her
lips
.
Those
he
rejoiced
in
,
for
they
showed
that
she
still
remained
a
free
thing
,
primitive
,
innocent
of
School
Boards
,
or
like
frost-biting
influences
.
Barron
took
mental
notes
.
Joan
Tregenza
was
a
careless
young
woman
,
it
seemed
.
Her
dress
had
a
button
or
two
missing
in
front
,
and
a
safety-pin
had
taken
their
place
.
Her
drab
skirt
was
frayed
a
little
and
patched
in
one
corner
with
a
square
of
another
material
.
But
the
colors
were
well
enough
,
from
the
artist
's
point
of
view
.
He
noted
also
that
the
girl
's
stockings
were
darned
and
badly
needed
further
attention
,
for
above
her
right
shoe-heel
a
white
scrap
of
Joan
was
visible
.
Her
hands
were
a
little
large
,
but
well
shaped
;
her
pose
was
free
and
fine
,
though
the
field-glasses
spoiled
the
picture
and
the
sun-bonnet
hid
the
contour
of
her
head
.
"
So
you
walked
out
from
Mouzle
to
see
the
last
of
Joe
's
ship
?
"
he
asked
,
quite
seriously
and
with
no
light
note
in
his
voice
.
"
From
Newlyn
.
I
ed'n
a
Mouzle
maid
,
"
she
answered
.
"
Is
the
'
Anna
'
coming
home
again
soon
?
"
"
No
,
sir
.
Her
's
bound
for
the
Gulf
of
Californy
,
round
t'other
side
the
world
,
Joe
sez
.
He
reckons
to
be
back
agin
'
come
winter
.
"
"
That
's
a
long
time
.
"
"
Iss
,
'
tis
.
"
But
there
was
no
sentiment
about
the
answer
.
Joan
gazed
without
a
shadow
of
emotion
at
the
vanishing
ship
,
and
alluded
to
the
duration
of
her
sweetheart
's
absence
in
a
voice
that
never
trembled
.
Then
she
gave
the
glass
back
to
Barron
with
many
thanks
,
and
evidently
wanted
to
be
gone
,
but
stopped
awkwardly
,
not
quite
knowing
how
to
depart
.
Meanwhile
,
showing
no
further
cognizance
of
her
,
Barron
took
the
glasses
himself
and
looked
at
the
distant
ship
.
"
A
splendid
vessel
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
expect
you
have
a
picture
of
her
,
have
n't
you
?
"
"
No
,
"
she
answered
,
"
but
I
've
got
a
lil
ship
Joe
cut
out
o
'
wood
an
'
painted
butivul
.
Awnly
that
's
another
vessel
what
Joe
sailed
in
afore
.
"
"
I
'll
tell
you
what
I
'll
do
,
"
he
said
,
"
because
you
were
good
enough
to
explain
all
about
the
fishing-boats
.
I
'll
make
a
tiny
picture
of
the
'
Anna
'
and
paint
it
and
give
it
to
you
.
"
But
the
girl
took
fright
instantly
.
"
You
'm
a
artist
,
then
?
"
she
said
,
with
alarm
in
her
face
and
voice
.
He
shook
his
head
.
"
No
,
no.
Do
I
look
like
an
artist
?
I
'm
only
a
stranger
down
here
for
a
day
or
two
.
I
paint
things
sometimes
for
my
own
amusement
,
that
's
all
.
"
"
Pickshers
?
"
"
They
are
not
worth
calling
pictures
.
Just
scraps
of
the
sea
and
trees
and
cliffs
and
sky
,
to
while
away
the
time
and
remind
me
of
beautiful
things
after
I
have
left
them
.
"
"
You
ba
n't
a
artist
ezacally
,
then
?
"
"
Certainly
not
.
Do
n't
you
like
artists
?
"
"
Faither
do
n't
.
He
'm
a
fisherman
an
'
caa
n't
abear
many
things
as
happens
in
the
world
.
An
'
not
artists
.
Genlemen
have
arsked
him
to
let
'
em
take
my
picksher
,
'
cause
they
've
painted
a
good
few
maidens
to
Newlyn
;
an
'
some
of
'
em
wanted
to
paint
faither
as
well
;
but
he
up
an
'
sez
'
No
!
'
short
.
Paintin
's
vanity
'
cordin
'
to
faither
,
same
as
they
flags
an
'
cannels
an
'
moosic
to
Newlyn
church
is
vanity
.
Most
purty
things
is
vanity
,
faither
reckons
.
"
"
I
'm
sure
he
's
a
wise
man
.
And
I
think
he
's
right
,
especially
about
the
candles
and
flags
in
church
.
And
now
I
must
go
on
my
walk
.
Let
me
see
,
shall
I
bring
you
the
little
picture
of
Joe
's
ship
here
?
I
often
walk
out
this
way
.
"
He
assumed
she
would
take
the
picture
,
and
now
she
feared
to
object
.
Moreover
,
such
a
sketch
would
be
precious
in
her
eyes
.
"
Maybe
'
tis
troublin
'
of
'
e
,
sir
?
"
"
I
've
promised
you
.
I
always
keep
my
word
.
I
shall
be
here
to-morrow
about
mid-afternoon
,
because
it
is
lonely
and
quiet
and
beautiful
.
I
'm
going
to
try
and
paint
the
gorse
,
all
blazing
so
brightly
against
the
sky
.
"
"
Them
prickly
fuzz-bushes
?
"
"
Yes
;
because
they
are
very
beautiful
.
"
"
But
they
'm
everywheres
.
You
might
so
well
paint
the
bannel
[
Footnote
:
Bannel
—
Broom
.
]
or
the
yether
on
the
moors
,
might
n't
'
e
?
"
"
They
are
beautiful
,
too
.
Remember
,
I
shall
have
Joe
's
ship
for
you
to-morrow
.
"
He
nodded
without
smiling
,
and
turned
away
until
a
point
of
the
gorse
had
hidden
her
from
sight
.
Then
he
sat
down
,
loaded
his
pipe
,
and
reflected
.
"
'
Joe
's
ship
,
'
"
he
said
to
himself
,
"
a
happy
title
enough
.
"
And
meantime
the
girl
had
looked
after
him
with
wonder
and
some
amusement
in
her
eyes
,
had
rubbed
her
chin
reflectively
—
a
habit
caught
from
her
father
—
and
had
then
scampered
off
smiling
to
herself
.
"
What
a
funny
gent
,
"
she
thought
,
"
never
laughs
nor
nothin
'
.
An
'
I
judged
he
was
a
artist
!
But
wonnerful
kind
,
an
'
wonnerful
queer
,
wi
'
it
,
sure
'
nough
.
"
CHAPTER
THREE
THE
TREGENZAS
Joan
Tregenza
lived
in
a
white
cottage
already
mentioned
:
that
standing
just
beyond
Newlyn
upon
a
road
above
the
sea
.
The
cot
was
larger
than
it
appeared
from
the
road
and
extended
backward
into
an
orchard
of
plum
and
apple-trees
.
The
kitchen
which
opened
into
this
garden
was
stone-paved
,
cool
,
comfortable
,
sweet
at
all
times
with
the
scent
of
wood
smoke
,
and
frequently
not
innocent
of
varied
fishy
odors
.
But
Newlyn
folk
suck
in
a
smell
of
fish
with
their
mothers
'
milk
.
'
Tis
part
of
the
atmosphere
of
home
.
When
Joan
returned
from
her
visit
to
Gorse
Point
,
she
found
a
hard-faced
woman
,
thin
of
figure
,
with
untidy
hair
,
wrinkled
brow
and
sharp
features
,
engaged
about
a
pile
of
washing
in
the
garden
at
the
kitchen-door
.
Mrs.
Tregenza
heard
the
girl
arrive
,
and
spoke
without
lifting
her
little
gray
eyes
from
the
clothes
.
Her
voice
was
hard
and
high
and
discontented
,
like
that
of
one
who
has
long
bawled
into
a
deaf
man
's
ear
and
is
weary
of
it
.
"
Drabbit
you
!
Wheer
you
bin
?
Allus
trapsing
out
when
you
'm
wanted
;
allus
caddlin
'
round
doin
'
nothin
'
when
you
ba
n't
.
I
s'pose
you
think
breakfus
'
can
be
kep
'
on
the
table
till
dinner
,
washing-day
or
no
?
"
"
I
do
n't
want
no
breakfus
'
,
then
.
I
tuke
some
bread
an
'
drippin
'
long
with
me
.
Wheer
's
Tom
to
?
"
"
Gone
to
schule
this
half-hour
.
'
Tis
nine
o'clock
an
'
past
.
Wheer
you
bin
,
I
sez
?
'
Tai
n't
much
in
your
way
to
rise
afore
me
of
a
marnin
'
.
"
"
Out
through
Mouzle
to
Gorse
P'int
to
see
Joe
's
ship
pass
by
;
an
'
I
seen
en
butivul
.
"
"
Thank
the
Lard
he
's
gone
.
Now
,
I
s'pose
,
theer
'll
be
a
bit
peace
in
the
house
,
an
'
you
'll
bide
home
an
'
work
.
My
fingers
is
to
the
bone
day
an
'
night
.
"
"
He
'll
be
gone
a
year
purty
nigh
.
"
"
Well
,
the
harder
you
works
,
the
quicker
the
time
'll
pass
by
.
Theer
's
nuthin
'
to
grizzle
at
.
Sea-farin
'
fellers
must
be
away
most
times
.
But
he
'm
a
good
,
straight
man
,
an
'
you
'm
tokened
to
en
,
an
'
that
's
enough
.
Bide
cheerful
an
'
get
the
water
for
washin
'
.
If
they
things
of
faither
's
bant
dry
come
to-morrer
,
he
'll
knaw
the
reason
why
.
"
Joan
accepted
Mrs.
Tregenza
's
comfort
philosophically
,
though
her
sweetheart
's
departure
had
not
really
caused
her
any
emotion
.
She
visited
the
larder
,
drank
a
cup
of
milk
,
and
then
,
fetching
an
iron
hoop
and
buckets
,
went
to
a
sunken
barrel
outside
the
cottage
door
,
into
which
,
from
a
pipe
through
the
road-bank
,
tumbled
a
silver
thread
of
spring
water
.
Of
the
Tregenza
household
a
word
must
needs
be
spoken
.
Joan
's
own
mother
had
died
twelve
years
ago
,
and
the
anxious-natured
woman
who
took
her
place
proved
herself
a
good
step-parent
enough
.
Despite
a
disposition
prone
to
worry
and
to
dwell
upon
the
small
tribulations
of
life
,
Thomasin
Tregenza
was
not
unhappy
,
for
her
husband
enjoyed
prosperity
and
a
reputation
for
godliness
unequaled
in
Newlyn
.
A
great
,
weather-worn
,
gray
,
hairy
man
was
he
,
with
a
big
head
and
a
furrowed
cliff
of
a
forehead
that
looked
as
though
it
had
been
carved
by
its
Creator
from
Cornish
granite
.
Tregenza
indeed
might
have
stood
for
a
typical
Cornish
fisher
—
or
a
Breton
.
Like
enough
,
indeed
,
he
had
old
Armorican
blood
in
his
veins
,
for
many
hundreds
of
Britons
betook
themselves
to
ancient
Brittany
when
the
Saxon
invasion
swept
the
West
,
and
many
afterward
returned
,
with
foreign
wives
,
to
the
homes
of
their
fathers
.
Michael
Tregenza
had
found
religion
,
of
a
sort
fiery
and
unlovely
enough
,
but
his
convictions
were
definite
,
with
iron-hard
limitations
,
and
he
looked
coldly
and
without
pity
on
a
damned
world
,
himself
saved
.
Gray
Michael
had
no
sympathy
with
sin
and
less
with
sinners
.
He
found
the
devil
in
most
unexpected
quarters
and
was
always
dragging
him
out
of
surprising
hiding-places
and
exhibiting
him
triumphantly
,
as
a
boy
might
show
a
bird
's
egg
or
butterfly
.
His
devil
dwelt
at
penny
readings
,
at
fairs
and
festivals
,
in
the
brushes
of
the
artists
,
in
a
walk
on
a
Sunday
afternoon
undertaken
without
a
definite
object
,
sometimes
in
a
primrose
given
by
a
boy
to
a
girl
.
Of
all
these
bitter
,
self-righteous
,
censorious
little
sects
which
raise
each
its
own
ladder
to
the
Throne
of
Grace
at
Newlyn
,
the
Luke
Gospelers
was
the
most
bitter
,
most
self-righteous
,
most
censorious
.
And
of
all
those
burning
lights
which
reflected
the
primitive
savagery
of
the
Pentateuch
from
that
fold
,
Gray
Michael
's
beacon
flamed
the
fiercest
and
most
bloody
red
.
There
was
not
a
Gospeler
,
including
the
pastor
of
the
flock
,
but
feared
the
austere
fisherman
while
admiring
him
.
Concerning
his
creed
,
at
the
risk
of
wearying
you
,
it
must
be
permitted
to
speak
here
;
for
only
by
grasping
its
leading
features
and
its
vast
unlikeness
to
the
parent
tree
can
a
just
estimate
of
Michael
Tregenza
be
arrived
at
.
Luke
Gospeldom
had
mighty
little
to
do
with
the
Gospel
of
Luke
.
The
sect
numbered
one
hundred
and
thirty-four
just
persons
,
at
war
with
principalities
and
powers
.
They
were
saturated
with
the
spirit
of
Israel
in
the
Wilderness
,
of
Esau
,
when
every
man
's
hand
was
against
him
.
At
their
chapel
one
heard
much
of
Jehovah
,
the
jealous
God
,
of
the
burning
lakes
and
the
damnation
reserved
for
mankind
,
as
a
whole
.
Every
Luke
Gospeler
was
a
Jehovah
in
his
own
right
.
They
walked
hand
in
hand
with
God
;
they
realized
the
dismay
and
indignation
Newlyn
must
occasion
in
His
breast
;
they
sympathized
heartily
with
the
Everlasting
and
would
have
called
down
fire
from
Heaven
themselves
if
they
could
.
Many
openly
wondered
that
He
delayed
so
long
,
for
,
from
a
Luke
Gospeler
's
point
of
view
,
the
place
with
its
dozen
other
chapels
—
each
held
in
error
by
the
rest
,
and
all
at
deadly
war
among
themselves
—
its
most
vile
ritualistic
church
of
St.
Peter
,
its
public-houses
,
scandals
,
and
strifes
,
was
riper
for
destruction
than
Sodom
.
However
,
the
hundred
and
thirty-four
served
to
stave
off
celestial
brimstone
,
as
it
seemed
.
It
is
pitiable
,
in
the
face
of
the
majestic
work
of
John
Wesley
in
Cornwall
,
to
see
the
shattered
ruins
of
it
which
remain
.
When
the
Wesleys
achieved
their
notable
revival
and
swept
off
the
dust
of
a
dead
Anglicanism
which
covered
religious
Cornwall
like
a
pall
in
the
days
of
the
Georges
,
the
old
Celtic
spirit
,
though
these
heroes
found
it
hard
enough
to
rekindle
,
burst
from
its
banked-up
furnaces
at
last
and
blazed
abroad
once
more
.
That
spirit
had
been
bred
by
the
saint
bishops
of
Brito-Celtic
days
,
and
Wesley
's
ultimate
success
was
a
grand
repetition
of
history
,
as
extant
records
of
the
ancient
use
of
the
Church
in
Cornwall
prove
.
Its
principle
was
that
he
who
filled
a
bishop
's
office
should
,
before
all
things
,
conduct
and
develop
missionary
enterprise
;
and
the
moral
and
physical
courage
of
the
Brito-Celtic
bishops
,
having
long
slumbered
,
awoke
again
in
John
Wesley
.
He
built
on
the
old
foundations
,
he
gave
to
the
laymen
a
power
at
that
time
blindly
denied
them
by
the
Church
—
the
power
which
Irish
and
Welsh
and
Breton
missionary
saints
of
old
had
vested
in
them
.
Wesley
—
himself
a
giant
—
made
wise
use
of
the
strong
where
he
found
them
,
and
if
a
man
—
tinker
or
tinner
,
fisher
or
jowster
—
could
preach
and
grip
an
audience
,
that
man
might
do
so
.
Thus
had
the
founders
of
the
new
creed
developed
it
;
thus
does
the
Church
to-day
;
but
when
John
Wesley
filled
his
empty
belly
with
blackberries
at
St.
Hilary
,
in
1743
;
when
he
thundered
what
he
deemed
eternal
truth
through
Cornwall
,
year
after
year
for
half
a
century
;
when
he
faced
a
thousand
perils
by
sea
and
land
and
spent
his
arduous
days
"
in
watchings
often
,
in
hunger
and
thirst
,
in
fasting
often
,
in
cold
and
nakedness
"
;
when
,
in
fine
,
this
stupendous
man
achieved
the
foundations
of
Methodism
,
the
harvest
was
overripe
,
at
any
rate
,
in
Cornwall
.
No
Nonconformist
was
he
,
though
few
enough
of
his
followers
to-day
remember
that
,
if
they
ever
knew
it
.
He
worked
for
his
church
;
he
was
a
link
between
it
and
his
party
;
his
last
prayer
was
for
church
and
king
—
a
fact
which
might
have
greatly
shocked
the
Luke
Gospelers
had
such
come
to
their
ears
.
For
John
Wesley
was
their
only
saint
,
and
they
honestly
believed
that
they
alone
of
all
Methodist
communities
were
following
in
his
footsteps
.
Poor
souls
!
they
lived
as
far
from
what
Wesley
taught
as
it
is
easily
possible
to
conceive
.
As
for
Gray
Michael
,
he
was
under
the
impression
that
he
and
his
sect
worthily
held
aloft
the
true
light
which
Wesley
brought
in
person
to
Newlyn
,
and
he
talked
with
authority
upon
the
subject
of
his
master
and
his
master
's
doings
.
But
he
knew
little
about
the
founder
of
Methodism
in
reality
,
and
still
less
about
the
history
of
the
Methodist
movement
.
Had
he
learned
that
John
Wesley
himself
was
once
accused
of
Popish
practices
;
had
he
known
that
not
until
some
years
after
the
great
preacher
's
death
did
his
party
,
in
conference
assembled
,
separate
itself
from
the
Church
of
England
,
he
had
doubtless
been
much
amazed
.
Though
saturated
with
religious
feeling
,
the
man
was
wholly
ignorant
of
religious
history
in
so
far
as
it
affected
his
own
country
.
To
him
all
saints
not
mentioned
in
Scripture
were
an
abomination
and
invention
of
Rome
.
Had
he
been
informed
that
the
venerable
missionary
saints
of
his
mother
land
were
in
no
case
Romish
,
another
vast
surprise
must
have
awaited
him
.
Let
it
not
for
an
instant
be
supposed
that
the
Luke
Gospelers
represented
right
Methodism
.
But
they
fairly
exemplified
a
sorry
side
of
it
;
those
little
offshoots
of
which
dozens
have
separated
from
the
parent
tree
;
and
they
exhibited
most
abundantly
in
themselves
that
canker-worm
of
Pharisaism
which
gnaws
at
the
root
of
all
Nonconformity
.
This
offense
,
combined
with
such
intolerance
and
profound
ignorance
as
was
to
be
found
amid
the
Luke
Gospelers
,
produced
a
community
merely
sad
or
comic
to
consider
according
to
the
point
of
view
.
An
instance
of
Michael
Tregenza
's
attitude
to
the
Church
will
illustrate
better
than
analysis
the
lines
of
thought
on
which
he
served
his
Creator
.
Once
,
when
she
was
thirteen
,
Joan
had
gone
to
an
evening
service
at
St.
Peter
's
,
because
a
friend
had
dared
her
to
do
so
.
Her
father
was
at
sea
and
she
believed
the
delinquency
could
by
no
possibility
reach
his
ears
.
But
a
Luke
Gospeler
heard
the
dread
tidings
and
Michael
Tregenza
was
quickly
informed
of
his
daughter
's
lapse
.
He
accused
Joan
quietly
enough
,
and
she
confessed
.
"
Then
you
'm
a
damned
maiden
,
"
he
said
,
"
'
cause
you
sinned
open-eyed
.
"
He
thought
the
matter
over
for
a
week
,
and
finally
an
idea
occurred
to
him
.
"
'
Tis
wi'in
the
power
o
'
God
to
reach
even
you
back
,
"
he
declared
to
Joan
,
"
an
'
He
's
put
in
my
mind
that
chastenin
'
might
do
it
.
A
sore
body
's
saved
many
sowls
'
fore
now
.
"
Whereupon
he
took
his
daughter
into
the
little
parlor
,
shut
the
door
,
and
then
flogged
her
as
he
would
have
flogged
a
boy
—
only
using
his
hard
hand
instead
of
a
stick
.
"
Get
thee
behind
her
,
Satan
!
Get
thee
behind
her
,
Satan
!
Get
thee
behind
her
,
Satan
!
"
he
groaned
with
every
blow
,
while
Joan
grit
her
teeth
and
bore
it
as
long
as
she
could
,
then
screamed
and
fainted
.
That
was
how
the
truth
about
heaven
and
hell
came
to
her
.
She
had
never
felt
physical
pain
before
,
and
eternal
torment
was
merely
an
idea
.
From
that
day
,
however
,
she
was
frightened
and
listened
to
her
father
gladly
and
wept
tears
of
thankfulness
when
,
a
month
after
her
flogging
,
he
explained
that
he
had
wrestled
with
the
Lord
for
her
soul
and
how
it
had
been
borne
in
upon
him
that
she
was
saved
alive
.
She
had
reached
the
age
of
seventeen
now
,
and
felt
quite
confident
upon
the
subject
of
eternity
as
became
a
right
Luke
Gospeler
.
Unlike
other
women
of
the
sect
,
however
,
and
despite
extreme
ignorance
on
all
subjects
,
the
girl
had
a
seed
of
humor
in
her
nature
only
waiting
circumstances
to
ripen
.
She
felt
pity
,
too
,
for
the
great
damned
world
,
and
though
religion
turned
life
sad-colored
,
her
own
simple
,
healthy
,
animal
nature
and
high
spirits
brought
ample
share
of
sunshine
and
delight
.
She
was
,
in
fact
,
her
mother
's
child
rather
than
her
father
's
.
His
ancestors
before
him
had
fought
the
devil
and
lived
honest
lives
under
a
cloud
of
fear
;
Michael
's
own
brother
had
gone
religious
mad
,
when
still
a
young
man
,
and
died
in
a
lunatic
asylum
;
indeed
the
awful
difficulty
of
saving
his
soul
had
been
in
the
blood
of
every
true
Tregenza
for
generations
.
But
Joan
's
mother
came
of
different
stock
.
The
Chirgwins
were
upland
people
.
They
dwelt
at
Drift
and
elsewhere
,
went
to
the
nearest
church
,
held
simple
views
,
and
were
content
with
orthodox
religion
.
Mr.
Tregenza
said
of
them
that
they
always
wanted
and
expected
God
to
do
more
than
His
share
.
But
he
married
Joan
Chirgwin
,
nevertheless
;
and
now
he
saw
her
again
,
fair
,
trustful
,
light-hearted
,
in
his
daughter
.
The
girl
indeed
had
more
of
her
mother
in
her
than
Gray
Michael
liked
.
She
was
superstitious
,
not
after
the
manner
of
the
Tregenzas
,
but
in
a
direction
that
must
have
brought
her
father
's
loudest
thunders
upon
her
head
if
the
matter
had
come
to
his
ears
.
She
loved
the
old
stories
of
the
saints
and
spirits
,
she
gloried
secretly
in
the
splendid
wealth
of
folklore
and
tradition
her
mother
's
people
and
those
like
them
possessed
at
command
.
Her
dead
parent
had
whispered
and
sung
these
matters
into
Joan
's
baby
ears
until
her
father
stopped
it
.
She
remembered
how
black
he
looked
when
she
lisped
about
the
piskeys
;
and
though
to-day
she
half
believed
in
demon
and
fairy
,
goblin
and
giant
,
and
quite
believed
in
the
saints
and
their
miracles
,
she
kept
this
side
of
her
intelligence
close
locked
when
at
home
,
and
only
nodded
very
gravely
when
her
father
roared
against
the
blighting
credulity
of
men
's
minds
and
the
follies
for
which
fishers
and
miners
,
and
indeed
the
bulk
of
the
human
family
in
Cornwall
,
must
some
day
burn
.
People
outside
the
fold
said
that
the
Luke
Gospelers
killed
Tregenza
's
first
wife
.
She
,
of
course
,
accepted
her
husband
's
convictions
,
but
it
had
never
been
in
her
tender
heart
to
catch
the
true
Luke
Gospel
spirit
.
She
was
too
full
of
the
milk
of
human
kindness
,
too
prone
to
forgive
and
forget
,
too
tolerant
and
ready
to
see
good
in
all
men
.
The
fiery
sustenance
of
the
new
tenets
withered
her
away
like
a
scorched
flower
,
and
she
died
five
years
after
her
