,9/5* 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 C.S.Horthup 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 6023.E2692P3 1915 
 
 Paul Carah, Cornishman. 
 
 3 1924 013 638 667 
 
The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013638667 
 
PAUL CARAH, CORNISHMAN 
 
" The house of Dutton has been fortunate in its intro- 
 ductions of new English writers to the American audience. 
 . . . Now the Cornish shore receives a new interpreter in 
 Charles Lee, of whom the American reader has never 
 heard before, but of whom he will wish to hear again. 
 — The Nation. 
 
 THE PROSE WORKS OF 
 
 CHARLES LEE 
 
 The Idyllist of Cornwall 
 
 THE WIDOW WOMAN 
 
 1 2mo, Cloth. Goloured Frontispiece, and several pen- 
 and-ink sketches by Charles Brock. J 1.25 net. 
 " The courtships of the Widow are in themselves highly 
 amusing, and incidentally Mr. Lee gives us an exquisitely 
 perfect picture of a Cornish fishing village. . . ." — The Outlook. 
 
 OUR LITTLE TOWN 
 
 1 2mo, Cloth. $ 1 . 25 net. 
 " A vein of quiet, dry humour. . . . Our Little Town is pre- 
 sented in a series of sketches which recalls Mr. Barrie's Auld 
 Licht Idylls and A Window in Thrums." — N.Y. Evening Post. 
 
 PAUL CARAH, CORNISHMAN 
 
 Uniform with the above. Illustrated by Gordon 
 Browne. $1.25 net. 
 
 " Again the comparison with Barrie suggests itself. Paul 
 Corah is closely akin to Sentimental Tommy, and his creator in 
 a cheerful ruthlessness of portraiture brings the reader once 
 again to a state of pleasing confusion as to whether to love the 
 hero or despise him." — N.Y. Evening Post. 
 
 DORINDA'S BIRTHDAY: 
 
 A Cornish Idyll 
 i2mo, Old-fashioned Figured Cloth. Coloured 
 
 Frontispiece by Herbert Cole. $1.25 net. 
 " The story has the charm, the freshness of maidenhood on 
 the threshold, the picturesqueness, also, of a remote land where 
 manners and customs and speech and the philosophy of life 
 have not yet lost their individuality under the levelling roller 
 of our uniform modern civilisation. A delightful comedy of 
 the springtime of life, delicately told." — N.Y. Daily Tribune. 
 
" "Et's a token!' he cried. 'There go I, to join my own folk!'" 
 
 Paul Cara/i] 
 
 {Page 19 
 
PAUL CARAH 
 CORNISHMAN 
 
 BY CHARLES LEE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE 
 WIDOW WOMAN/ Etc. 
 
 Illustrated by Gordon Browne 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 31, WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 
 
 u 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. 
 
 HE 
 
 II. 
 
 HE 
 
 III. 
 
 HE 
 
 IV. 
 
 HE 
 
 V. 
 
 HE 
 
 VI. 
 
 HE 
 
 VII. 
 
 HE 
 
 VIII. 
 
 HE 
 
 IX. 
 
 HE 
 
 X. 
 
 HE 
 
 XI. 
 
 HE 
 
 XII. 
 
 HE 
 
 XIII. 
 
 HE 
 
 XIV. 
 
 HE 
 
 XV. 
 
 HE 
 
 XVI. 
 
 HE 
 
 XVII. 
 
 HE 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 HE 
 
 XIX. 
 
 HE 
 
 XX. 
 
 HE 
 
 XXI. 
 
 HE 
 
 XXII. 
 
 HE 
 
 ARRIVES 
 
 IS RECEIVED 
 
 IS INSTALLED 
 
 MAKES A FRIEND 
 
 DREAMS 
 
 FINDS A PARTNER 
 
 BUYS A BOAT 
 
 MAKES AN ENEMY 
 
 GOES FISHING 
 
 FIGHTS A BATTLE 
 
 GOES TO MARKET 
 
 KISSES A MAID . 
 
 REPROVES A MAID 
 
 GOES DIGGING 
 
 SUFFERS A CHECK 
 
 WALKS INTO THE PARLOUR 
 
 MAKES AN EXPEDITION 
 
 GROWS UNEASY . 
 
 IS WARNED . 
 
 IS CAUGHT . 
 
 IS RESCUED . 
 
 DEPARTS 
 
 9 
 24 
 
 43 
 
 58 
 
 75 
 
 86 
 
 100 
 
 114 
 
 122 
 
 134 
 144 
 160 
 
 173 
 189 
 199 
 213 
 228 
 241 
 
 2Si 
 269 
 
 279 
 
 294 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " 'Et's a token I ' he cried. * There go I, to join my 
 
 own folk!'" ...... Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "'Twas a duel to the death, and no one else must 
 
 interfere" ....... 129 
 
 " ' Whoever 'a es, I'll find en out 'fore long,' he cried " 205 
 
 "Around eye of light glared at him suddenly from 
 
 behind a boat "...... 276 
 
PAUL CARAH, CORNISHMAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 HE ARRIVES 
 
 IN a cloudless autumn sky the sun was 
 dropping to the horizon; and the moorland, 
 brown and uncomely all day, was beginning to 
 brighten into brief beauty. As the western 
 glow deepened, an answering flush spread over 
 the face of the upland. The withered heather 
 showed unsuspected tints of red and gold ; the 
 pale yellow of the gorse grew to a rich orange ; 
 the pools by the roadside shone and glittered. 
 This dull patch on earth's garment grew lively 
 with colour; its flat monotony took feature as 
 the shadows lengthened ; and in the lucid air 
 its oppressive immensity shrank into more com- 
 fortable bounds. The hills of the mining 
 country to the north advanced their faint green 
 slopes, where flocks of little white cottages 
 
10 PAUL CARAH 
 
 clustered round tall chimneys. Eastward, cer- 
 tain far-off clumps of yellowing elms, planted 
 as screens before outlying farms, started into 
 flaming prominence as the warm light caught 
 their foliage; and they, like the hills, grew 
 nearer. And in the west, there was the good 
 sun, floating over the edge of the moor, big 
 and ruddy, dwarfing all distance. Only to the 
 southward, where no landmarks were, the moor 
 still stretched, dim and boundless, to the in- 
 visible sea. 
 
 Across the moor from north to south ran a 
 straight, interminable white road. By its side, 
 at intervals of unrelenting regularity, marched 
 the rigid telegraph poles, guiding a cluster of 
 electric nerves down into England's heel. And 
 southward along the road a young man was 
 walking briskly, a bundle over his shoulder. 
 A native meeting him would have set him 
 down for a foreigner at once. Nothing in his 
 carriage suggested the rolling gait of the 
 fisherman, or the cramped weary hobble of the 
 miner, or the slouch of the farm-hand, who 
 drags each leg forward with an effort, as if 
 extricating it from miry clods. He stepped 
 out alertly, with a spring. His new, ill-fitting 
 clothes had a foreign cut When now and 
 
ARRIVES 11 
 
 again, without slackening his pace tor a 
 moment, he shifted his bundle and took off his 
 hat to wipe his forehead, he exposed a head 
 closely cropped in a style unknown to the 
 English barber. In all his demeanour appeared 
 a lively confidence, not altogether free from 
 bounce. His disengaged arm swung freely — 
 one might almost say with impetuous exagger- 
 ation. His broad shoulders stooped forward 
 a little, not as the student's, but as the 
 shoulders of the man who lives in the airy 
 future. For the rest, he was tall, small in the 
 head, bright-eyed, hatchet-faced, but regular of 
 feature, and as lean and muscular as a grey- 
 hound. 
 
 As he went, he talked and laughed incessantly 
 to himself; and, save when some feature of the 
 landscape momentarily arrested his attention, 
 his thoughts ran far ahead of his feet to his 
 journey's end. 
 
 'Seven year! They won't knaw me, not a 
 man of 'em, nor a woman nuther. I belong to 
 have a bit o' fun. My life, what fun I'll have ! 
 I won't liv 'em knaw who I am — not at first. 
 I'll spake 'em all by name, an' I'll ask the news 
 o' the rest ; an' aw ! to see them stickin' their 
 heeds together, an' wonderin', an' p'rapsin',an 
 
12 PAUL CARAH 
 
 s'posin'! Good as a play, 'a '11 be. "What 
 manner o* chap may this be," they'll whisper, 
 "wi' the ends of his mustashes like niddles? 
 A foreigner, sure," they'll say. "How should 
 a foreigner belong to knaw all about we? A 
 wisht thing, sure 'nough," they'll say, an' shake 
 their heeds. Aw, what fun! My dear life, 
 what fun ! ' 
 
 He stood still and laughed till the tears ran. 
 
 'An' when I liv 'em knaw, there'll be some 
 laffin' an' hand-shakin', an' back-slappin', 'a 
 b'lieve ! An' some '11 be makin' out they 
 knawed me all the while; an' 'twill be — "La, 
 how thee'st grawed, Paul ! " an' — " Wheer'st 
 been all this while?" an'— "What kind o' 
 locality might this here Ameriky be, na ? " An' 
 then there'll be such a givin' an' gettin' o* news 
 as was never knawed afore in Porthvean. I'll 
 pitch 'em some yarns that'll draw the eyes out 
 o' their heeds — lynchin's an' wolf-hunts, an' 
 b'ar hunts, an' prairie fires — why, rabbet et ! ef 
 I don't hire Wesley school-room, an' scoop in 
 the town for sixpence a head to hear me yarn ! 
 Don't see how I shouldn'. Wan hundred six- 
 pences, say — that's two pound ten. I'll do et, 
 so I will ! They'll come, right 'nough — all 
 Porthvean, an' church-town folk, an' downsers 
 
ARRIVES 13 
 
 an' lowlanders an' all. An* won't you cut a 
 dash, Paul, my man! You'll be the sinecure, 
 'a b'lieve. 'A '11 be Paul here an' Paul there all 
 the while. An' there'll be some fuss an' to-do 
 'mong the maids, I guess. But I waan't be 
 catched too quick by they. No, I'll bide queeat 
 an' look out for a bit of a dowry. Take 
 money, make money. An' I'll work like a 
 black man, an' I'll schemie an' schemie, an' 'fore 
 long I'll be head an' chief, like Jimmy Ellis 
 'mong the cats. That's me. Rabbet et! my 
 head's fair buzzin' wi' schemes ! I'm the chap 
 to get along. Work your fingers to the bone, 
 an' ef you don't work your head overplush, 
 you'll die in the gift-house. Head an' fingers — 
 I love to work 'em both. Hard workin' an' 
 deep thinkin' — that's the life for me. Whoop! 
 I'll land on top, 'fore die!' he shouted, and 
 quickened his pace. 
 
 A puff of wind, warm and fragrant as new 
 milk, blew across the moor from the west, and 
 his thoughts veered round responsive. 
 
 ' That's good ! Furze an' he'th — 'tes good 
 to get the smell of 'em agin arter many years. 
 There edn' no smell on earth like the smell o' 
 Cornish ground. An' there edn' no kingdom 
 on earth to come up to Cornwall ; nor no nation 
 
14 PAUL CARAH 
 
 fit to stand up in the sight o' the Cornish 
 nation. " Wan an' all " agin the world. That's 
 we, brothers all! Hoorah for home an' a 
 lovin' welcome, an' pilchers an' saffern an' true 
 friends an* pasties! Gum! I can hear 'em. 
 "Heard the news?" says wan. "How?" says 
 another. "Paul Carah's come home!" "O 
 joyful day ! Where is he ? " " Down 'pon quay- 
 head." An' off they run. Ten minutes, an' I'll 
 have all the town round me. Aw ess ! there'll 
 be feast-day to-day, over to Porthvean.' 
 
 By this time he was nearing the limits of the 
 moor. The ground was now broken and 
 undulating. 'Gurgeys,' or low, wide banks of 
 earth faced with stone, fenced the road in on 
 either side. Soon he came upon a solitary 
 cottage, its walls built of stone to the height of 
 a man's breast, and thence upwards of clay. 
 A high-pitched roof of ragged thatch bent like 
 a scowling eyebrow over a low, narrow door 
 and two small windows. Other similar cot- 
 tages were visible at rare intervals ahead. It 
 was the region of the moor-dwellers or 
 'downsers,' a strange folk, living lonely lives 
 apart, with their own speech and customs, 
 distinct from those of the miners to the north, 
 of the fishermen to the south and west, and of 
 
ARRIVES 15 
 
 the agricultural dwellers in the fertile eastern 
 valleys. A giant in stature, the downser 
 inhabits a hut that would be none too large for 
 a pigmy, contracting therein a habitual stoop. 
 Unlike his voluble neighbours, he is slow of 
 speech and morose, as a solitary man is apt to 
 be. He possesses a gun, and eats the flesh of 
 the rabbit, abhorred by all good Cornishmen. 
 But his chief claim to notoriety is that he 
 carries an umbrella to chapel, feast and funeral 
 — not one of your slim effeminate modern 
 affairs of steel and alpaca, but a mighty 
 structure of whale-bone and green cotton, 
 adorned with many patches, stout in the 
 handle, plump of girth, its weight to be cal- 
 culated by pounds. Elsewhere men leave 
 umbrellas to their womenkind, or must submit to 
 be hailed with the mocking title of ' Downser ! ' 
 wherever they go. But no man is so bold as 
 to connect the true downser's umbrella with the 
 notion of effeminacy. Its appearance is a 
 sufficient refutation to the stigma. 
 
 Beyond the downser's land, the road passed 
 first one farm and then another, with a hollow 
 of green fertility between ; then came yet 
 another stretch of moorland. Half-way across 
 this the road divided, one branch turning to 
 
16 PAUL CARAH 
 
 the left and keeping across the moor, the other 
 descending sharply to the right, on its way to 
 the coast This latter road our traveller took. 
 As soon as the road dipped below the bleak 
 inland level, signs of a kindlier nature appeared. 
 Gorse and heather gave way to pasture and 
 root-crops ; rough-cast stone hedges divided 
 the land into fields ; the road-side banks were 
 topped with thorn-bushes, scantily at first, but 
 soon in serried rows. And their aspect in 
 autumn array, under the warm evening sky, 
 was a thing to wonder at. The sloes, draped 
 from top to foot in livid green lichen and 
 thickly studded with livid blue fruit, the haw- 
 thorns all crimson with haws, the wild roses 
 all orange with hips, the gorse-bushes flaming 
 yellow, the hazels and oak-shrubs in their leaves 
 of every tint, from straw-colour to scarlet — 
 these, mingling and succeeding without inter- 
 mission, made a show of startling, almost 
 unnatural beauty. And they were all alive with 
 bright-coloured birds : robins and chaffinches 
 — which the Cornish boys call copper-finches, 
 because of their burnished metallic breasts — 
 and lemon-crested yellow-hammers in flocks, 
 and titmice in their gay livery of blue and 
 yellow. Sometimes a magpie took its chequered, 
 
ARRIVES 17 
 
 unsteady flight from the road, or a cinnamon- 
 tinted kestral swooped from a tree-top, or a 
 great clumsy green woodpecker fled, looping 
 its way down between the hedges. 
 
 From every bush came a loud chorus of 
 trills and twitterings. They broke on the 
 traveller's ear with the charm of a half- forgotten 
 song of childhood. 
 
 * Heark to them singin' ! 'Tes good to hear 
 them agin — grey-bird, an' blackbird, an' bush- 
 sparrow. Same auld songs, 'a b'lieve ; they 
 don't set no store by new tunes. Makes me 
 feel as ef I was dreamin', like-a-thing. Sim' 
 me 'a edn' but last week I was a lad, minchin* 
 from school to strub nests. Gum ! what a 
 hollerin' an' ran-tan they do make ! Sim' me 
 they're a-curlin' so to gie me a welcome home, 
 like as ef they knawed. That's et, sure 'nough. 
 Thank'ee, li'll chaps all, thank'ee,' he roared at 
 the top of his voice, laughing boisterously, and 
 waving a gay hand in mock acknowledgment, 
 while a cloud of startled finches rose with a 
 confused rustle of wings and fled before him 
 down the road. 
 
 ' Pretty li'll chaps ! And grand eatin', too, 
 some of 'em ! First .frosty night I'll get a 
 lantern an' a stick an' go bush-beatin'. 
 
18 PAUL CAR AH 
 
 I'll get more grey-birds an' starlin's than I 
 can carry. There never was a man to beat 
 me at bush-beatin' in the auld times, lad though 
 I was. An' how? Because I didn' stomp 
 an* fooch about, but manovered an* used 
 my brain. That's me! I'm the wan to 
 manover ! ' 
 
 The sun was below the horizon now, and 
 the lovely Cornish twilight was beginning — a 
 time of purple and orange. The sky receded 
 to immeasurable distances. The earth was 
 half shine, half shadow. The smell of the 
 flowering gorse grew overpowering in its 
 sweetness, and other infinite dewy odours 
 arose; every bush and herb, every clod, ex- 
 haled its perfume. 
 
 High up and far away in the west, masses 
 of twinkling shadow appeared and swept 
 across the sky, faint, almost lost in the 
 luminous glow. Wheeling in wide circles, 
 they came rapidly nearer, until they were 
 almost overhead. Then they were seen to be 
 a great company of birds — thousands of 
 plovers flown up from their feeding-places in 
 the marshes and by the shore, to sport for a 
 while in the upper air. Round and round they 
 swept, as if animated by one volition, each 
 
ARRIVES 19 
 
 speck in the mass keeping its exact place in 
 relation to the other specks. 
 
 Presently, out of the north came a solitary 
 bird. It was flying low at first, but soon it 
 began to beat upwards with strenuous wings, 
 hurrying to join the flock overhead. The 
 traveller saw it, and laughed joyously. 
 
 'That's me,' he cried. 'Et's a token! 
 There go I, to join my own folk. Et's a 
 token, an' meant for me, sure 'nough.' 
 
 Higher went the bird, and nearer to its 
 fellows. A few moments more, and it would 
 be merged indistinguishably in the flock, one 
 speck among a thousand. Suddenly the host 
 swerved aside and fled westward again, leaving 
 the one bird far behind. For a while it attempted 
 to follow; but all its efforts brought it no 
 nearer, and soon it dropped earthwards again, 
 and turned and flew back over the road, 
 uttering a plaintive cry. 
 
 The man's steps faltered. He stopped, and 
 looked doubtfully behind him. He even 
 turned half about, as if inclined to retrace 
 his way. There was something like terror 
 in his face. 
 
 • That's bad,' he murmured ; ' I named et 
 for a token, an' a wisht token 'a es. Don't 
 
20 PAUL CARAH 
 
 like the looks of en. How should 'a be like 
 that ? Don't like the looks of en at all. I've 
 a jealous thought somethin's wrong. I've a 
 mind to turn back.' 
 
 He gazed blankly up and down the road, 
 and shivered. Suddenly he flushed crimson, 
 stamping his foot 
 
 'What fullishness ! ' he exclaimed. 'Paul, 
 my man, how are you so silly? A reg'lar 
 gran'fer you are, with your tokens an' nonsense ! 
 What's the doin's of a passel o' birds to you, 
 excep' you're layin' low to shoot 'em or trap 
 em? Forward now! Here's for a glimp o' 
 home 'fore dark ! ' 
 
 He swung round in his original direction, 
 and went quickly on again. 
 
 'Wan mile more,' he said aloud. 'I'll be 
 there just between the lights — candle-teenin' 
 time, as they d' say. That's the soshabble 
 time ; a man do look for comp'ny most of all 
 when the dark's comin' on. My life! what 
 wisht that bird did squawk ! like a lost soul 
 goin' off into the dark alone, poor li'll chap. 
 But 'a wadn' no token for me. How should 
 'a be so ? Pouf ! Fullishness ! ' 
 
 Now the road descended steeply, with many 
 windings and abrupt turns. Soon the sea 
 
ARRIVES 21 
 
 came into view. Paul's excitement grew as 
 he recognised one familiar landmark after 
 another, and all supernatural forebodings were 
 forgotten. 
 
 •There's Roseveor Farm, where us lads an' 
 maids used to go wi' ferns on May mornin' to 
 get our bread an' crame. . . 
 
 '" Fern, fern, measure your shern, 
 ' " Gie's a morsel o' bread and crame." 
 
 * Ha-ha ! My life, what queer old ballats 
 we Cornishmen do make up in our heeds! 
 Don't suppose there's another nation on earth 
 do knaw the manin' o' that bit o' dialogue. . . 
 
 ' Clodgy meadow. Turnups, aha ! 'Twas 
 pasture-land in the auld days. Well, mus' 
 look for some changes, s'pose. Maybe Farmer 
 Ivey's dead, an' young Johnny Ivey's got the 
 farm. Johnny always was a bustler, just the 
 chap to upsot creation, an' teel turnups for 
 grass and grass for turnups. Him an' me 
 should get along very well together. Gum! 
 I'll wake the auld place up, so I will ! Rabbet 
 et! I'll rent a bit o' land myself, an' teel — an' 
 teel — punkins! Punkins, so I will! Don't 
 s'pose they ever heerd tell o' punkins down 
 here. Gum ! in six months I'll have all 
 
22 PAUL CARAH 
 
 Porthvean eatin' punkins for denner, like 
 reg'lar Yankees ! And they'll be fo'ced to buy 
 'em o' me, an' I'll belong to make a brave lot 
 o' money, sure 'nough. . . 
 
 'Touch-pipe Corner. Hoorah! There's 
 Penluce lights opening out on Cam Mellyn. 
 Wan more turn, an' I shall see the auld place 
 agin. Edn' that a smell o' fish in my nose? 
 Hoorah ! Here 'a es ! ' 
 
 He stood still at a turn in the road. Before 
 him the land sloped steeply down to a little 
 tranquil bay, round which the road ran by way 
 of a low cliff. On the other side of the bay 
 a horn-shaped spur of the inland hills ran out 
 into the sea, gradually narrowing and sinking 
 to a point. Before this little promontory lay 
 the dark waters of the cove, behind it the dark 
 waters of the outer sea, and along it from base 
 to point ran two continuous lines, one above 
 the other, of white - walled, brown - thatched 
 cottages. Near the tip of the horn a granite 
 quay curved a protecting arm round a tiny 
 pool, above which a dozen boats were drawn 
 up. Slender threads of smoke ascended into 
 the calm air from twenty chimneys ; lights 
 already twinkled here and there in the windows ; 
 a small stream spouted over the cliff in a 
 
ARRIVES 23 
 
 wavering column, feathered at the base where 
 it struck the rocks ; and this was Porthvean — 
 the ' Little Port' 
 
 Paul Carah drew a big breath. 
 
 'Don't she look pure an' pretty? Don't 
 knaw o' no such pretty, clane-lookin' li'll town 
 nowheres. Edn' changed a bit, nuther. An' 
 I bet I'll find everybody pitchin' the same auld 
 churrs, an' tellin' the same auld yarns, an' 
 laffin' at the same auld jokes, yil give 'em 
 some new wans ! /'ll wake 'em ! But don't 
 she look snug an' pretty ? No place like home 
 — that's the sayin' ; 'tes a true wan. Don't 
 knaw how I ever came to go away. Edn' no 
 sense or natur' in leavin' the place you're 
 reared to. Aw, my pretty! many's the time 
 I've been sick for a sight of 'ee, 'way out in 
 the prairies! Aw! my eyes are glad an' my 
 heart's joyful to be'old 'ee! Three cheers for 
 home ! ' 
 
 He broke into a run, and did not slacken to 
 a more sober pace until he was down the hill 
 and within hail of the first scattered houses 
 along the clifE 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 HE IS RECEIVED 
 
 The adult male population of Porthvean was 
 enjoying its evening 'touch pipe' in what 
 served as the town-place, a flat piece of 
 bare ground just beyond the junction of 
 Porthvean's two streets, between the quay- 
 head and the fish-cellars. A dozen weather- 
 beaten, black-bearded men — dark complexions 
 are the rule at Porthvean — were standing in a 
 circle round three others, who were on their 
 hands and knees, playing marbles. Players 
 and spectators were very much in earnest ; 
 cries of encouragement, advice, exultation and 
 disappointment were showered incessantly on 
 the heads of the former ; occasionally there 
 was a roar of laughter at the antics of one, 
 the wit of the village, a little wrinkled man, 
 well past middle age, who fooled over the 
 
IS RECEIVED 25 
 
 game with an ease begotten of long practice, 
 calling his marbie pet names, addressing it in 
 alternate terms of piteous entreaty and stern 
 reproof, affecting to clear away invisible 
 straws and pebbles from its path, or pretend- 
 ing to keep it rolling by blowing upon it with 
 distended cheeks and starting eyes. The 
 other two players, a young giant in sea-boots 
 and a blue-eyed coastguardsman, wrapt in the 
 game, paid no heed to his folly, save for an 
 occasional growl at such frivolity over serious 
 matters. 
 
 One man, turning from the group for a 
 moment, needing space to slap his thighs and 
 double his body over some crowning stroke of 
 humour, caught sight of a man of unfamiliar 
 gait and appearance, quickly approaching up 
 the street. 
 
 ' 'Ware foreigner ! ' he exclaimed. 
 
 The three who sprawled on the ground 
 sprang to their feet, kicking the marbles away 
 out of sight All faced in the direction of the 
 stranger, looking somewhat abashed. Put on 
 its mettle, Porthvean would be the first to 
 defend the dignity of its favourite game; but 
 foreigners have been known to laugh at the 
 spectacle of grown men playing marbles, and 
 
26 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'proud Porthvean,' as the neighbours call it, 
 is morbidly sensitive to ridicule. 
 
 ' Who is he ? ' went round. 
 
 The wit was tapping his forehead. His 
 memory for faces was famous. 
 
 ' I should knaw that man,' he said, ' for 
 the way 'a do step out, all over the place to 
 wance. Stand back, soase, an' gie my brain 
 room. Where have I seen arms a-swingin* 
 like that before ? Ah ! now I can make out 
 the face of en I d' knaw en, frail his mush- 
 tashes. Edn' no foreigner, Sammy. Porth- 
 vean man, sure 'nough. That's Paul Carah, 
 or I'm a Dutchman.' 
 
 ' Paul Carah ? So 'a es — Jim's right. 
 What's brought en back again? — no good, 
 I'll be bound. Always was a mischievous 
 lemb, Paul was — pushin' an' hollerin'.' 
 
 ' Haul' tongue ! ' said Jim. ' Here 'a es.' 
 
 Paul was advancing towards them, striving 
 to keep his countenance set in such a blank 
 frame as a stranger might be supposed to 
 wear, but betraying by certain twitches about 
 the mouth and eyes his anticipatory enjoyment 
 of the situation as he imagined it. While still 
 some yards away he accosted the group. 
 
 •Good evenin', friends all. Can you tell 
 
IS RECEIVED 27 
 
 me — this li'll place' — waving his hand to the 
 houses — 'edn' Porthvean the name of en?' 
 
 Looks of astonishment were interchanged. 
 Then some seized the point, and grinned. 
 Evidently Paul counted on being unrecognised, 
 and intended to play off a joke on them. The 
 slower ones followed in comprehension, and 
 growled, having a distaste for banter. 
 
 ' Liv en to me,' whispered the little man 
 they called Jim. ' I'll settle en." 
 
 He ran forward, cringing and bowing. 
 
 'Ess, your honour,' he said in tones of 
 exaggerated humility, * Porthvean's the name 
 of our poor li'll place, sure 'nough. Edn' a 
 fitty place for quality to set foot in, but you're 
 welcome, all the same.' 
 
 Paul chuckled inwardly. The joke was 
 successful. But what were the others grin- 
 ning at? 
 
 'Thank 'ee,' he said. 'Edn' a bad li'll 
 place. Maybe I'll stop here for a bit, ef I can 
 find accommodation.' The big word was 
 rolled out with an indescribable relish. 
 
 'Aw, plenty o' that,' said the other, 
 'plenty. We haven' got what you may call 
 a first-class hotel ; but there's a tidy li'll inn 
 up above there. I wouldn' rec'mend the 
 
28 PAUL CARAH 
 
 wines to your honour, though they're good 
 'nough for we ; but the beds are capital. 
 Edn' they capital beds, naibours?' 
 
 'Capital, sure 'nough,' they chorused. 'Aw, 
 Jim's the chap! Pitch into en, Jimmy!' 
 
 There was a sound of suppressed laughter. 
 Paul peered suspiciously into their faces, which 
 suddenly stiffened into preternatural gravity. 
 
 ' Or ef the inn don't suit 'ee,' continued Jim 
 without moving a muscle, 'there's a commo- 
 jous li'll pigs-crow in my game. I can turn 
 the auld sow out, an' put down fresh litter, an' 
 'a '11 be just the place for your honour.' 
 
 A roar of laughter interrupted him. Paul 
 glared furiously from one to another. Then 
 he turned pale, clenched his fists, and stepped 
 up to one of the group — the biggest for choice 
 — him who elected to play marbles in sea-boots. 
 
 ' Look, Bob Rowe ; ef you don't stop 
 grizzlin' at me, I'll scat your ugly face to 
 jowds ! ' 
 
 ' Wadn' no use, Paul Carah ! ' gasped Jim, 
 the tears running down his face. ' I knawed 
 'ee, soon's I set eyes upon 'ee. Ha-ha ! ' 
 
 'Take off thy coat, Bob Rowe,' yelled 
 Paul, ' ef thou'rt a man ! Take off thy coat 
 an' stick up thy fistes ! ' 
 
IS RECEIVED 29 
 
 'Don't see how I should do that,' said the 
 young giant good-temperedly. ' What's your 
 'nnoyance wi' me in p'tickler?* 
 
 Paul was dancing with rage. * Don't care 
 who 'a es, then! I'll take the whole dirty- 
 fingered crowd ! Come on, my scrapers of 
 oarweed an' menders o' stinkin' crab-pots. I'll 
 smash the lot of 'ee !' 
 
 Angry voices arose. Some of the men 
 began to close round Paul. 
 
 "Ere, that'll do,' said a quiet-spoken old 
 man, who had hitherto stood aloof. 'Liv the 
 man alone. Don't 'ee see he's mazed with 
 anger, an' don't knaw what he's doin'. An' 
 you, Paul Carah, fit an' put on your coat agin. 
 Shame upon 'ee to be wantin' to smash folks' 
 faces, an' you not in the place five minutes, 
 just because the joke's agin you when you 
 thought fur'n to be the other way round. 
 Make a joke, take a joke.' 
 
 Paul's anger died down as it had blazed up, a 
 fire of straw. He began to laugh. 
 
 ' No offence, naibours. The auld chap's 
 right. I'm quick to anger, but et don't last 
 long — that's me. I thought to have a bit o' 
 fun wi' 'ee, but you 'uns got in ahead, an' that 
 made me mad. I can take a joke so well as 
 
30 PAUL CARAH 
 
 any, gie me time. An' 'a wadn' such a bad 
 joke, nuther. Turn the auld sow out, eh? 
 That edn' bein' polite to a lady, an* I wouldn' 
 do no s'ch thing, not I — ha-ha ! ' 
 
 'That's very well,' muttered one of the 
 men; 'but we don't want no foreigners comin' 
 round profanin' over us an', callin' us dirty- 
 fingered.' 
 
 'That's so, Steve,' said another, and several 
 nodded assent. 
 
 ' I edn' no foreigner,' said Paul, quickly and 
 hotly. 
 
 "Course you edn',' interposed the peace- 
 maker, 'though you've been away a brave bit 
 of a while, an' a brave long way, too, I've no 
 doubt.' 
 
 ' You're right there, uncle ! ' exclaimed Paul, 
 forgetting his wrath, and eagerly seizing the 
 opportunity to yarn. ' Half over the States 
 I've been, an' into Canady — v'yaged thousands 
 o' miles, 'a b'lieve, workin' at my trade, some- 
 times — I'm a mason, you d' knaw, like father 
 was — an' sometimes trappin', an' lumberin', an' 
 carpenterin', an' loadin' steamers, an' doin' 
 'most everythin' you can think upon. Rabbet 
 et ! I've seen life, I can tell 'ee, an' had some 
 fun too.' v 
 
IS RECEIVED 81 
 
 'An' how ded 'ee come to come back?' 
 asked his interlocutor. 
 
 'I'll tell 'ee. 'A wadn' but a month ago I 
 was up to Columbus, Ioway, an' I met a 
 Cornishman there ; Camborne man he was, an' 
 Bill Hosken the name of en. Well, 'course we 
 got yarnin' 'bout ;home ; an' Hosken, he said to 
 me, " I'm on my way back to the auld place." 
 " How? "I asked en. " Like this," said Hosken. 
 " I had a dream t'other night, an' I dreamt I 
 was dead an' my bones laid out here ; an' I was 
 that wretched at the thought o' lyin' alone 
 away from home, that I couldn' rest in my 
 grave," said Hosken. " My spent walked," 
 said he ; " that's how I dreamt et An' I woke 
 sheverin' an' asked myself — how ef this dream 
 should come true ? How ef I should be fo'ced 
 to lie here alone 'mong strangers till Judgment 
 Day? An' when the Day do come, who's to 
 knaw me for a true Cornishman, 'mong a parcel 
 o' Yankees? An' then," said Hosken to me, 
 " I thought 'pon the queeat li'll simmitery 'pon 
 the hill at home, an' the peaceful white grave- 
 stones, an' the maids com in' up of a Sunday, 
 an' settin' an' chattin' wi' their sweet Cornish 
 talk over the heads o' the dead folk — an' says 
 I — ' £ick up, Bill Hoskenj an' go thee'st home, 
 
32 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'fore 'tes too late.' " That's what Hosken said 
 to me, 'way out in Ioway. An' I said to en — 
 " Fullishness ! Plenty o' time 'fore die." An* 'a 
 said to me — "The Lord alone do knaw 'bout 
 that, soase." Naibours,' continued Paul, lower- 
 ing his voice, " a wadn' but next day, Hosken 
 was steppin' 'pon the cars, homeward bound, 
 when his foot slipped, an' down he went, an' 
 the cars went over en. Aw, 'twas wisht, I can 
 tell 'ee. An' they buried en, so well as they 
 could in their foreign fashion — no procession 
 nor hymns nor nothin', an' the box drawn by 
 horses in a carriage, foreign way, an' me the 
 only Cornishman that followed en. An' as I 
 followed, I kep' sayin' to myself — " Him to-day, 
 me to-morrow. 'Tes a token for 'ee, Paul," 
 said I ; an' I went back an' put up my things, 
 an' home I came, right away.' 
 
 Even the antagonistic spirits were awed to 
 silence by a tale which touched their inmost 
 feelings so nearly. 
 
 'Wisht, sure 'nough,' said the old man, 
 *an' I don't blame 'ee for comin' back arter 
 that But I'm thinkin' you'll find our 11*11 place 
 brave an' dull arter all your ticklish v*yages an' 
 perils by land an' say. Edn' much do happen 
 in our queeat li'll nationality.' 
 
IS RECEIVED S3 
 
 'Aw, don't trouble *bout that,' said Paul. 
 ' Don't matter where I may be, things are 
 bound to happen. Get a dozen folks round 'ee 
 an' you've got friends an' foes before long ; an' 
 what more do 'ee want to make things brisk ? 
 I often think to myself, this here life below's 
 like settin' down to a denner ; work's your 
 pasty, an' play's your tart ; friends are your 
 butter an' sugar, an* foes are your mustard an* 
 salt Pasty without salt's a poor look-out, an' 
 so's life without foes. Gum ! I do want to 
 fight my way ; / don't want to slide along — 
 that's me. Put me 'pon a light-ship or put me 
 in London town. — don't make no difference. 
 I'm happy, gie me wan to shake hands wi' an' 
 wan to shake fists at That's the kind o' chap 
 / am, naibours. I liv you all knaw ; there edn' 
 nothin' secret 'bout my natur'. An' now you 
 d' all knaw how to take me.' 
 
 He threw his chest out and looked round on 
 them with beaming self-satisfaction. They re- 
 turned his looks in various ways, some with 
 neutral faces, one or two with friendly approval, 
 several with half-veiled hostility. 
 
 The little man they called Jim spoke, his 
 head on one side, his eyes twinkling with 
 cunning. 
 
84 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'That's right,' he said in tones of hearty 
 approbation. ' You're a smart chap, I can see, 
 an' a queeat, proper-be'aved wan, the sort we 
 all like. But this here Ameriky, now,' he con- 
 tinued, his head almost resting on his shoulder, 
 his eyes narrowing to mere slits, ' et's a fine 
 locality, so I've heerd tell, with its gold-mines 
 an' silver-mines. There's a power o' money 
 to be picked up there, 'a b'lieve ; an' they that 
 do g* out there do mostly come back brave an' 
 rich — edn' that so ? ' 
 
 'Aw ess, a fine country, a tremenyous fine 
 country,' replied Paul ; ' an' the dollars do fly 
 about there like yellow-birds in a rick-yard. 
 But et wants a smart chap to catch 'em, same 
 as anywhere else.' 
 
 ' An' you're a smart chap, eh ? Dedn' I say 
 so ? ' said Jim. 
 
 Paul laughed. 
 
 'I take your manen,' he said. 'But you 
 see they're all smart chaps out there. Still, I 
 haven' done so bad — haven' made my fortune 
 azackly, but I've got about enough to stem 
 between the seasons an' make a start wi' nex' 
 year. That's about et, I reckon.' 
 
 'An' what kind of a start might you be 
 thinkin'.o' makin', now?' pursued Jim. 'Edn' 
 
IS RECEIVED 35 
 
 much mason-work to do hereabouts, ef that's 
 your notion.' 
 
 'Pouf! Mason-work!' exclaimed Paul, 
 waving a disgusted hand away. ' I've done 
 wi' such truck for good. 'A edn' the trade to 
 suit me no longer — edn' no fun in it, hammerin' 
 away at gashly auld stones. I d' want a fightin', 
 bustlin' trade, I do ; an' where's the fight in a 
 block o' granite? You may hammer en, an' 
 hammer en, but 'a waan't hammer back. You 
 work upon 'm all day an' go home, an' come 
 back nex' day — an' there 'a es, just the same 
 as you left en. No, 'a don't take my fancy 
 at all. V'riety — that's what I belong to look 
 for — v'riety, an' a spice o' danger, an' a 
 chanst to schemie, an' a chanst to venture my 
 luck. Good-bye auld stones ! Three cheers 
 for fish ! ' 
 
 There was a stir of surprise. 
 
 * Fish ! ' exclaimed one. ' Don't 'ee tell 
 me, Paul Carah, that you've come back here to 
 Porthvean to go fishin' ! ' 
 
 •Ess, so I have,' replied Paul. 'Tell 'ee, 
 naibours, I've had et in my mind a brae long 
 time. An' where's the wonder? There edn' 
 no occypation I d' knaw of to compare wed'n 
 for fun. Edn' that so? Edn' you fightin' an' 
 
86 PAUL CARAH 
 
 schemin' all the while agin the winds an' tides ? 
 Edn' you settin' your wits all the while agin the 
 crafty auld crabs an' conger? 'Tes battle, 
 battle, all the time. An' I'm a Porthvean man, 
 — et's in my blood, 'a b'lieve. Ess, there's salt 
 in my veins ; the smell o' salt water's life to 
 me. Many's the time, out there 'pon the 
 prairies, I've been reg'lar sick wi' longin' arter 
 the say. An' now I'm back, I'll live and die wi' 
 the sound of en in my ear. Hoorah for a fisher- 
 man's life ! Shake han's, naibours all, an* wish 
 me luck ! ' 
 
 No one advanced to take his proffered hand ; 
 but he was not to be baulked. He grasped the 
 fist, first of Jim the wit, who shook it with 
 burlesque energy, and then of the friendly old 
 man, who pressed it kindly, and said : — 
 
 'Good luck ti' 'ee, soase. But et's a poor 
 trade.' 
 
 The others shrank back. 
 
 'I wouldn' shake han's, ef I were you, Paul 
 Carah,' said one. ' We are a dirty-fingered 
 lot.' 
 
 Muttered words passed from one to another. 
 The man who had been addressed as Steve 
 stepped forward, scowling unpleasantly. 
 
 'Look!' he said. 'Better fit you go back 
 
IS RECEIVED 87 
 
 where you come from, an' liv us to mend our 
 stinkin' crab-pots in peace. You're a brae fine 
 chap, no doubt, an' do knaw so much as a 
 Devonshire lawyer, but we edn' got no room 
 for 'ee here — catcbin' our fish an' snatchin' the 
 bread out of our mouths. Bad J nough to have 
 these here trawlers comin' an' scrapin' our 
 grounds bare, an' Porthellick men sneakin' up 
 on dark nights without a lantern to prick our 
 cuttle. But to have a foreigner comin' and 
 usin' our quay, and sellin* our fish in our 
 own town — 'tes too much, a brae sight too 
 much ! ' 
 
 Several chorused assent. 
 
 ' You're right, Steve. So 'a es.' 
 
 Paul's face, blank with amazement at first, 
 began to work with anger. His fists clenched, 
 and every muscle of him quivered. But the 
 force of the shock thrust him out beyond wrath. 
 His hands dropped open by his sides, and he 
 sat down on the edge of a boat, limp and 
 despondent. 
 
 'Here's a pretty welcome home!' he ex- 
 claimed. 'An' I've been dreamin' night an' 
 day, seven year, o' the time when I should come 
 back to where I was reared to, an' those I was 
 reared with. "Home!" I'd say, an' my heart 
 
38 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'ud jump. So home I come, an' you — an' you 
 — aw ! 'tes hard ! ' 
 
 He leapt up and blazed. 'But here I am, 
 an* here I stick ! I edn' wan to be druv away 
 by bad words. I edn' wan to shirk a fight : 
 you'll find that out before long! Wan an' all 
 agin me — I'll hauld my own ! What I d' say, I 
 d' stick to, mind that ! That's me, Paul Carah, 
 fisherman o' Porthvean. Fisherman! dost 
 hear, thou bussa?' — This to Steve. 'I'll catch 
 more fish in a week than ever you stole in a 
 year — an' that's a brave lot, I'll be bound. 
 Your fish, say you ! Is the say yourn ? Did 
 'ee salt et yourself? Maybe you keep the winds 
 put up in tatie-sacks in your cellar, an' squeeze 
 'em out to suit yourself! Your fish ! So much 
 mine as yourn, 'a b'lieve. I'm a Porthvean 
 man so much as you ; an' ef I wadn', 'twould 
 be all the same. Here I am, an' here I stick, 
 an' fish so long as I've a mind to — an' so for 
 you!' 
 
 ' Simmin' to me, you waan't get much profit 
 out of en,' Steve muttered darkly, and moved 
 away, followed by the others one by one, until 
 Paul was left standing alone with the friendly 
 old man. 
 
IS RECEIVED S9 
 
 There was a brief silence. Then the old man 
 put his hand on Paul's shoulder. 
 
 •Well, soase,' he said, 'for a smart man, 
 you've made a bit of a mess of et' 
 
 Paul was still quivering with rage. 
 
 'Don't care!' he cried. 'I edn' to be putt 
 upon by nobody. I ask 'ee, have I been trated 
 the way I should be, a Comishman, and a Porth- 
 vean man, come back to my own folk, my 
 heart a-swellin' wi' love an' kind feelin' for 'em 
 all ? That's how I felt as I come up the street, 
 an' now I could smash the lot of 'em.' 
 
 'You'd be a smarter man ef you dedn' gie 
 way to anger so quick,' said the other. ' We're 
 a queeat lot, livin' harmonial, more or less ; an' 
 when you come down with a plop an' a splash, 
 like a g'eat gannet in a school o' mullet, you 
 started us a bit. What you belong to do now 
 is to lie low for a bit, an' let us get used ti' 'ee, 
 like-a-thing. Then you'll find us soshabble 
 enough.' 
 
 ' Look, uncle ! ' said Paul eagerly. ' Don't 
 'ee get a wrong notion o' my char'cter. I'm 
 hot sometimes, but that's because I'm warm 
 always. I may gie way to anger, but I don't 
 seek quarrels, an' I don't bear a grudge. Only, 
 wance let me find a man be'avin' deceitful or 
 
40 PAUL CARAH 
 
 mean, an* I don't trust that man agin, nor have 
 dealin's wed'n. Thafs me. Edn' no sin in 
 gettin' angry. I wouldn' be one o' your cold- 
 blooded toads, blawed up wi' my own conceit. 
 I'm warm all the while — a true friend, an open 
 enemy. But don't ask me to act agin my 
 char'cter, an' hide my natur" under my shirt. 
 Flaised or angry, I must out wed'n. I waan't 
 say ef 'tes a fault or a virtue — 'tes the way I'm 
 built, that's all.' 
 
 The old man regarded Paul with a kindly 
 twinkle. 
 
 'Don't pat your temper on the back too 
 much,' he said gently, and relapsed into silent 
 thought 
 
 It was dark by now, and the air was chilly. 
 All was silent in the village, and the murmur 
 of the village's great neighbour stole nearer 
 through the quiet There were sleepy mutter- 
 ings from the tide on the sand, and the sound 
 of softly clapping hands and breaths drawn 
 with a hiss from the wakeful waves on the outer 
 rocks. The stream that fell over the cliff 
 grew confident, and babbled moorland secrets 
 aloud. 
 
 'Where goin' 'night?' said the old man 
 suddenly. 
 
IS RECEIVED 41 
 
 'Don't know, I'm sure,' Paul replied in 
 dejection. ' I looked for wan o' they ohaps 
 to offer to take me in ; but now, mus' g' up 
 to the inn, s'pose. Don't sim much like home, 
 where you're fo'ced to do that.' 
 
 'Look!' said the other. 'How shouldn' 'ee 
 come back home-along wi' me? You mind 
 me, don't 'ee? I'm Ben Jose, an' I live out 
 there to East Corner wi' my daughter Jennifer. 
 You mind Jennifer Jose ? ' 
 
 'Ess, sure,' said Paul. 'Red-haired maid, 
 edn"a?' 
 
 Ben Jose winced. 
 
 ' 'Tes brave an' pretty-lookin' hair, I d' think,' 
 he said rather sharply. 'Some do call et red, 
 'a b'lieve. 'A edn' red to my mind. But will 
 'ee come? I've took a fancy ti' 'ee, an' that's 
 the truth ; an' ef you like to stop on with us, 
 my daughter '11 make ye comfortable. Come 
 now, will 'ee ? ' 
 
 'That I will, an' thank 'ee kindly!' ex- 
 claimed Paul. 'You're my man, you are — a 
 true Cornishman, wan o' the good auld sort. 
 You an' me should get along fine together. 
 Shake nan's, uncle ; 'tes a bargain ! ' 
 
 'That's right!' cried Mr Jose heartily, as 
 they grasped hands. 'An' now, come along 
 
42 PAUL CARAH 
 
 an' see for a bit o' supper. This cauld air do 
 make one rawnish.' 
 
 Together they passed through the village, 
 and back along the cliff road by the way Paul 
 had arrived. They turned up the road inland 
 for a few yards, and then Mr Jose stopped by 
 a gate. 
 
 'Here we are,' he said. 'Welcome home, 
 PaulCarahl' 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 HE IS INSTALLED 
 
 Within the gate, they were in a narrow 
 path with dwarfish trees on either hand. 
 Gnarled branches that writhed and zig- 
 zagged in every unexpected way were dimly 
 visible about them. Paul's foot trod on some- 
 thing round and firm. It burst and was 
 crushed beneath his weight, and a pleasant 
 odour of apples rose to his nostrils. Further 
 on, a feeble trace of light fell on the path, and 
 the outline of a house loomed up. They 
 passed a lighted, curtained window, and stopped 
 at a door framed about with the bare twigs of 
 a climbing plant. The old man lifted the latch, 
 and they entered. 
 
 The door opened immediately into a room. 
 A burning candle stood on the table by the 
 window, but the warm light that flooded the 
 room came from the fringle. Does the fringle 
 
44 PAUL CARAH 
 
 exist out of Cornwall? In the old farmhouses 
 up country the great open hearths are still 
 found ; houses of recent date are furnished 
 with 'slabs,' or common-place kitchen ranges, 
 but many cottages dating from about a century 
 back possess fireplaces in the nature of a com- 
 promise between the two, and such was the 
 case here. The fireplace was divided down 
 the middle by a partition-wall ; on one side was 
 a diminutive slab, with an oven : on the other 
 was a big door — like a cupboard door — of 
 tarred wood, flush with the wall. When 
 swung back, it disclosed an open hearth, raised 
 some eighteen inches above the level of the 
 ground. The concrete floor had a small 
 grating in the centre, over which stood a 
 'brandis,' or triangular frame of iron. A 
 small oblong tunnel running under the grating 
 provided the necessary draught. 
 
 The fringle door was open, and bending 
 over it, her face and figure lit up by a great 
 fire of sticks, was a young girl, engaged in 
 stirring the contents of a big pot set on the 
 brandis. She turned as they entered. 
 
 ' Daddy dear,' she said softly ; and then 
 her eyes rested with calm inquiry on 
 Paul 
 
IS INSTALLED 45 
 
 Paul was staring — frankly and undisguisedly 
 staring. 
 
 'My life, you're a strange wan, an' no 
 mistake ! ' he said to himself. 
 
 A foreigner might have found another and a 
 more complimentary epithet to fit her with> 
 but Paul's notions of feminine beauty did not 
 go beyond those of local currency. According 
 to these, the ideal fitty-looking maid should be 
 complexioned in black and red, or in gold and 
 pink. Such abnormal features as ruddy chestnut 
 hair, cheeks of a dead privet whiteness which 
 no amount of exposure to Cornish weather 
 could tan, and great wide-set eyes of a colour 
 which no mortal could give a name to, were 
 things to wonder at, to shrink from, even, as 
 wisht and witch-like — certainly not to admire. 
 
 Assuredly there was something wisht and 
 unearthly in her appearance, as she stood half 
 turned away from the crackling blaze, which 
 danced fitfully in her eyes, and made of her 
 hair an aureole of flame. And what strange 
 brewage was she preparing in that great pot ? 
 
 Ben Jose explained the situation to her, and 
 submitted his plan for harbouring Paul. Did it 
 meet her approval ? 
 
 She inclined her head without speaking. 
 
46 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'Plaised to meet 'ee agin, Jennifer,' said 
 Paul in his loud voice. ' I mind 'ee very well 
 as a li'll maid, no higher than the table. La, 
 what a fine g'eat wench you've grawed to! 
 You an* me are goin' to get along very well 
 together, edn' that so?' he added with a 
 conquering grin. 
 
 She was queer to look at, certainly; but 
 gallantry came easily to him, and even the 
 plainest maids are known to be susceptible 
 to it 
 
 She turned her great eyes upon him again, 
 and the grin faded. 
 
 'That's as may be,' she said. She said it 
 simply, without any offensive inflection, but he 
 felt himself effectually snubbed. 
 
 ' I don't take ti' 'ee at all, my dear, plaise 
 sure,' he said to himself, and turning away, 
 began to examine his new surroundings, while 
 the girl, at a hint from her father, set about 
 preparing the table for a meal. 
 
 It was the typical Porthvean kitchen. Four 
 doors opened out from it: one was that by 
 which Paul and his host had entered, the next 
 in order was the door of the best room, a third 
 communicated by a passage with the larder, 
 and the fourth gave access to the dark, steep 
 
IS INSTALLED 47 
 
 staircase which led to the upper rooms. From 
 the beams of the 'planchin" or flooring over- 
 head depended various hooks and loops of 
 twine, on which were hung — a sou'wester; 
 a short - handled besom, home-made from 
 'griglans' or dried heather-stalks; a bundle 
 of dried mugwort, Porthvean's sovereign 
 specific against colds ; an ostrich egg, hardly 
 ever absent from the inventory of a Cornish 
 fisherman's dwelling — why, no one can say; 
 a stuffed gull, with its wings outspread; what 
 appeared to be a rolling-pin fashioned out of 
 blue glass — ornamental, like the gull ; a pair of 
 pattens ; an ancient silver watch, rotund, 
 immense, not to be accommodated by any 
 modern pocket; and a canary in a circular 
 wire cage. 
 
 All these articles were hung at a height cal- 
 culated to suit the convenience of Mr Jose, 
 who was not a tall man. For a person of 
 Paul's stature, progress about the room neces- 
 sitated nearly as much delicate ordering of one's 
 steps as in an egg-dance. 
 
 Paul's keen eyes roved among the forest of 
 paraphernalia, taking stock. So far, all was 
 ordinary, eliciting no comment But his atten- 
 tion was at once arrested when his glance fell 
 
48 PAUL CARAH 
 
 on the walls of the room. Instead of the usual 
 adornment of lugubrious funeral cards and 
 chromolithographic offerings from local trades- 
 men, the walls were literally papered with 
 maps — maps without end, maps of the globe 
 in hemispheres, of the globe on Mercator's 
 projection, of the four continents and Australia, 
 of the British Isles, of nearly every country 
 under the sun — all painted in the gaudiest 
 colours, and occupying every inch of available 
 space from the ceiling nearly down to the floor. 
 
 Paul uttered a cry of enlightenment. 
 
 ' I mind 'ee now ! ' he exclaimed. ' You're 
 Jog'fry Jose, to be sure you are ! ' 
 
 ' That's me,' replied his host with a bashful 
 laugh. 'Jog'fry's my delight, an' the makin' 
 o' maps my divarsion. What you d' see has 
 been the work of evenin's for a matter o' 
 twenty year. Edn' bad, are they? — make the 
 room look brave an' gay, 'a b'lieve,' he mur- 
 mured with modest pride. 
 
 Paul was up by the walls, examining. 
 
 ' Grand, sure 'nough ! ' he exclaimed. ' Noble 
 maps they are, to be sure, an' drawed oft" to 
 perfection.' 
 
 They were really very well done, the outlines 
 firm and accurate, the names printed in with ex- 
 
IS INSTALLED 49 
 
 quisite neatness. The severe critic in carto- 
 graphy might have considered it a blemish that 
 wherever Cornwall was included in any one of 
 them, it was with considerable magnified pro- 
 portions, the effect being to give old England 
 the appearance of suffering from a severe attack 
 of gout in the foot But this unconscious 
 glorification of his native county by the artist, 
 if it was a fault, was at least a pardonable one, 
 to be noted with respectful sympathy. 
 
 Paul lit on a map of North America, and 
 uttered a cry of delight. 
 
 ' Here ! look ! the States an' Canady, all 
 complete! My life, how 'andsome you've 
 drawed 'em off! New York — there's New 
 York ; that's where I landed. An' Boston — I 
 shipped home from Boston. An' Chicago — I've 
 been there. An' there's Lake Erie; you've 
 painted en blue, and blue 'a es, sure 'nough. 
 Gum ! You couldn' ha' putt en in more c'rrect, 
 not ef you'd been there yourself! An' Ioway 
 — jiggered ef you haven' made en green ! 
 That's Ioway, right 'nough — mostly pasture 
 land, so green's the colour fur'n. My ivers ! ef 
 this don't beat everythin' I've heard tell on!' 
 he cried in ecstasy. 
 
 'Now I'll see for Columbus,' he continued. 
 
50 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'Columbus, Ioway, that's where I come from 
 last You've got en in somewheres, I'll be 
 bound.' 
 
 He peered closely into the map. 
 
 ' Caan't make en out,' he said. ' Fetch 
 the candle, uncle. I belong to sarch en out, ef 
 'tes here.' 
 
 Mr Jose was fidgeting nervously. 
 
 ' I don't think— I caan't mind — ' he hesitated 
 — 'sim' me that there place wadn' marked in 
 my maps.' 
 
 'Not Columbus, Ioway!' exclaimed Paul in 
 reproachful astonishment. 
 
 'I — I can't mind en,' stammered the old 
 man, terribly disconcerted. ' Is — is et much 
 of a place?' 
 
 ' Much of a place ? ' echoed Paul indignantly. 
 'A reg'lar city! Five churches an' a jail, all 
 complete ! Why, there'll be a dozen houses at 
 least in that town what I did the mason-work 
 for, myself; an' I wadn' there but six months. 
 Twelve houses in six months — that'll tell 'ee!' 
 
 'I'm vexed,' said Mr Jose humbly. 'But,' 
 he added eagerly, 'ef you'll show me the 
 locality of en, I'll put en in.' 
 
 'So I will,' promised Paul. 'But I wouldn 
 be vexed. Come to think of et, Columbus is a 
 
IS INSTALLED 51 
 
 new town — brand new. Maybe 'a wadn' there 
 when you drawed your map. They're bustlers 
 out in the States, I can tell 'ee.' 
 
 'Well,' said Mr Jose, 'I don't hauld with 
 all this buildin' o' new cities an' upsottin' o' 
 maps. How don't they stick to the auld towns, 
 like we do in Cornwall ? There's Afriky, now ; 
 you caan't think the sight o' trouble Afriky's 
 guv me. Always wan o' these traveller chaps 
 a-muzzlin' round, sarchin' out new localities. 
 An' I hear tell of 'em in the paper, an' I don't 
 knaw where to put 'em. 'Tes terrible decom- 
 posin', so 'a es. But come,' he continued, 
 shaking off his gloom, ' maybe you'd like to see 
 my tayckle, what I work with.' 
 
 He went to a shelf and carefully took down a 
 small pile of papers and boxes. There was a 
 cheap school atlas, dating from twenty years 
 back, the pages much inked and soiled. There 
 were several sheets of cartridge paper, one, 
 which was nailed with tacks to a board, having 
 a half-finished map traced upon it. There was 
 a child's colour-box, and another box which 
 contained bottles of red and black ink, a pair 
 of compasses, a ruler, and three or four 
 mapping pens. With his great horny fingers, 
 swollen and malformed by years of hard toil, he 
 
 D 
 
52 PAUL CARAH 
 
 took up his delicate implements one by one, 
 handling them tenderly, and gazing on them 
 with fond eyes, as he expatiated on their various 
 uses, and discussed the dignity of the carto- 
 graphic art. 
 
 •Some do come in here,' he said, 'an' say 
 to me, " Ben, how don't 'ee have stately pictures 
 'pon your walls, like we, 'stead o' these bistly 
 auld maps?" But what I say is — maps do 
 always tell the truth ; there edn' no deception 
 in maps, they're sound doctrine all the while. 
 But pictures — pictures are lyin' trade, an' meant 
 to deceive the eye. Take a picture of a place 
 — Porthvean, say — an' look upon 'm. Brave 
 an' pretty, say you, an' wonderful like ; might 
 be the auld town itself. But 'a edn' no s'ch 
 thing, I say — edn' but a pretence an' a decep- 
 tion. An' 'a don't tell 'ee nothin' — don't give 
 'ee no manner of information — don't give 'ee 
 nothin' but just what you can see for yourself. 
 "Which is Fisherman's Arms an' which is 
 Wesley Chapel?" you ask. Picture waan't 
 tell 'ee. What" s the use of en, I ask ? 
 Pictures ! I d' knaw all about 'em ; I've seed 
 'em concoctin". There was a young artis' chap 
 goin' round laast summer with his paintin' 
 tayckle, an' I used to keep an eye 'pon 'm. 
 
IS INSTALLED 83 
 
 Well, you wouldn' believe ! The scand'lous 
 way that chap 'ud go alterin' an' improvin' the 
 Lord's handiwork, puttin' in a tree here, an' 
 missin' out a stone there, an* manufacturin' 
 sheep an' things out of his own brain ! I'd say 
 to him, " How come you to put trees there 
 where there edn' none ? " " That's to improve 
 the composition," he say. " Young man," I said 
 to 'm, " simmin' to me, drawing lies is 'most as 
 bad as tellin' 'em." That made en laff fit to 
 scat his sides. But I knawed I was right. No 
 lyin' pictures for me. I stick to maps.' 
 
 'Down wi' pictures! Hoorah for maps!' 
 shouted his sympathetic auditor. 
 
 And now Jennifer dished up the contents of 
 the portentous pot, which proved to be nothing 
 more outri than lickie-soup — a broth of leeks 
 and turnips, richly flavoured with lumps of fat 
 pork. From the oven she took a potato cake, 
 ' cripsed over ' a beautiful brown ; and she 
 lifted the tea-pot from the slab where it had 
 been gently simmering and stewing all day 
 long; and she filled the cups with that potent 
 liquor, bitter and black, which to the un- 
 seasoned Englishman is poison, but mother's 
 milk to the brave sons of Cornwall. And so 
 they sat down to sup. 
 
54 PAUL CARAH 
 
 After supper came touch-pipe time, and Paul, 
 producing a corn-cob from his pocket, with — 
 ' There, did 'ee ever see the like o' that ? 
 That's what we do smokie wi' in the States ' — 
 launched out into a tangle of yarns about 
 forests and prairies, and cyclones and black 
 men, and the wonderful smartness of the 
 Yankee, and the still more wonderful smartness 
 of a certain Porthvean man, who had fought 
 and schemed for seven years beyond the seas 
 with unvarying success. How he shouted, and 
 smote the table, till the tea-cups, timidly start- 
 ing away from him, had to be rescued from 
 imminent leaps over the extreme edge ! How 
 he slapped his host's knees till they tingled 
 again ! 
 
 Mr Jose was a model listener. In two 
 minutes his pipe was out, and he never thought 
 to light it again. His laughter, his ejacula- 
 tions of sympathy and astonishment, came pat 
 in the right places. Jennifer sat silent in a 
 corner, and never raised her eyes from her 
 knitting. Presently, when Paul paused and 
 looked round at the end of a blood-curdling 
 yarn, she had vanished. 
 
 ' Hullo ! ' he exclaimed. ' Where's the 
 maid ? ' 
 
IS INSTALLED 55 
 
 'Gone up to her chamber, 'a b'lieve,' said 
 Mr Jose. ' She's as queeat 'pon her feet as 
 a cat.' 
 
 ' H'm,' said Paul. * She don't set much store 
 by my yarns, simminly.' He was quick to 
 scent a slight 
 
 'Jennifer never was much of a wan for 
 comp'ny,' apologised Mr Jose. ' She's a good 
 li'll maid, an' a lovin' daughter ; but I'm vexed 
 sometimes the way she do keep by herself all 
 the while. 'A edn' natural at her age. Look 
 now, she's a fitty-lookin' maid, edn' 'a ? ' 
 
 ' Never see nobody like her,' said Paul 
 truthfully. 
 
 'That's what I say,' exclaimed the other, 
 highly delighted. 'Aw, I'm sure, gie the 
 chaps a chanst, they'd be buzzin' round her like 
 flies about a honey-pot. But no : she waan't 
 consort wi' none of 'em — says she don't wish 
 none. Don't seem natural in a maid, say I.' 
 He eyed Paul wistfully. 
 
 ' I'd be brave an' glad,' he continued, ' to 
 see some smart, well-be'aved chap comin' round 
 a-courtin' of her. Don't 'ee go s'posin' I want 
 to get rids of her. She's the apple o* my eye, 
 li'll Jennifer is ; an' my heart'll be sore to lose 
 her. But 'tes accordin' to natur' for fathers to 
 
56 PAUL CARAH 
 
 be fo'ced to give up them that they've reared 
 an' tended to the first chap that comes along 
 I wouldn' grumble, nor I wouldn' set myself 
 agin natur'. All I do want is to see my 
 Jennifer be'avin' like other maids. 'Tes the 
 law o' nations for young people to walk by 
 twos an' not by ones. Besides, I'm an auld 
 man, an' what's to become of her when I'm 
 gone? I'll tell 'ee somethin',' he added in a 
 low tone, bending forward and plucking Paul's 
 sleeve. 'There's a bit of a dowry savin' up 
 for her, an' 'tes more than they think for over 
 to Porthvean. Two hundred pound ! How 
 the chaps 'ud come scrammin' round, ef they 
 knawed! Two hundred pound, an' a fitty 
 maid, an' wan that can cook an' mend clo'es 
 wi' the best of 'em ! What d'ye say to that ? ' 
 
 He peered anxiously into Paul's face, striving 
 to read the effect of his words there. Through 
 Paul's brain passed the mental equivalent of a 
 wink. 'Twas plain enough what the old chap 
 was after. But he was not going to let himself 
 go too cheap. 
 
 ' A brave lot o' money, sure 'nough,' he 
 said indifferently. * Well, I was goin' to tell 
 'ee the way I used to catch these here wolves 
 out in Canady.' 
 
IS INSTALLED 57 
 
 Mr Jose sank back with a sigh of disappoint- 
 ment, and one of Paul's best yarns was wasted 
 on unnoticing ears. Politeness kept his eyes 
 fixed with seeming attention on his guest, but 
 his thoughts wandered, and his interjected 
 comments were forced, and mostly inappro- 
 priate. Deprived of the necessary stimulus of 
 appreciative attention, the current of Paul's 
 narrative slackened, and presently sank com- 
 pletely out of sight in a series of bottomless 
 yawns. The old man accepted With alacrity a 
 suggestion that bed was a desirable place for a 
 man who had walked more miles that day in a 
 shorter time than ever man had walked before. 
 He willingly led his guest upstairs to a low 
 whitewashed chamber, hung with an overflow 
 exhibition of maps. The perfume of apples 
 which pervaded the room was accounted for, 
 when Mr Jose lifted what Porthvean calls the 
 petticoat of the bed, and displayed the year's 
 crop of his little orchard heaped up beneath, 
 while inviting Paul, if he should chance to 
 wake up hungry in the night, to slip his hand 
 underneath and help himself. And so, with no 
 more words, they got to bed. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 HE MAKES A FRIEND 
 
 When Paul awoke it was broad daylight, 
 and the air about him was vibrating with 
 the shrill notes of the canary in the room 
 below. He was alone; Mr Jose had risen, 
 and slipped away without disturbing him. He 
 lay a while, lapped in the complacent comfort 
 of the first waking moments, a state so far 
 transcending, for pleasurable emotion, all 
 others that life has to offer us, that to the 
 philosophical inquirer the act of getting up, 
 achieved by thousands daily with unfailing 
 regularity, seems to partake in no small 
 degree of the miraculous, infinitely exceeding 
 as it does all that can be credited to mere 
 human resolution. 
 
 Originally there had been two windows to 
 the room ; but one had been blocked up in the 
 days of the French wars, when the window tax 
 
MAKES A FRIEND 59 
 
 pressed heavily on poor folk. Through the 
 remaining one, which was small, low, and set 
 deep in the thick outer wall, Paul, as he lay in 
 bed, could see the village, as in a picture-frame, 
 shining white in the early sun, and the dark 
 tranquil quay-pool lying beneath it. White 
 jackets moved up and down the quay; gulls 
 floated across on white wings above it. A 
 peaceful little world it seemed, the little world 
 he was to conquer. His thoughts wore the 
 rosy-hued garments of the morning. As he 
 lay lapped in idle warmth, all achievement 
 seemed possible to him. His unpromising 
 reception of the night before was a thing to 
 make light of. He would work and scheme ; 
 his affable manners would win all hearts ; his 
 successful fishing would inspire respect; and 
 Jennifer and her two hundred pounds lay ready 
 to his hand, if he chose to pick them up. 
 
 He sprang out of bed and dressed with all 
 speed, eager to embark on his conquering 
 career without delay. Downstairs he clattered. 
 There was no one in the kitchen ; 'twas an 
 excellent opportunity for inspecting his new 
 surroundings. Round about he went, peeping 
 into boxes and canisters, trying on the sou'- 
 wester, taking inventory of cupboard and coal- 
 
60 PAUL CARAH 
 
 hole in a spirit of boyish curiosity. He pene- 
 trated into the larder, unhooked the side of 
 bacon which hung there, and made a mental 
 guess at its weight He uncovered the big 
 earthen pan which stood on the floor, and 
 smacked his lips to find it packed to the brim 
 with pilchards, white as lilies, and generously 
 sprinkled with glistening salt Then, emerging 
 from the larder, he peeped into the parlour, a 
 tiny room, but one which contrived to crowd 
 within its narrow limits as much angular dis- 
 comfort as any company-receiving apartment in 
 the kingdom. Five rigid, slippery-seated 
 chairs were ranged in uncompromising order- 
 liness against the walls, each with its white, 
 knobby antimacassar hung symmetrically over 
 the back. On the mantelshelf stood shoulder 
 to shoulder a formidable array of glass and 
 china ornaments — awesome shapes, misbegotten 
 of nightmares, patterns which no human 
 creature, however depraved, could have con- 
 ceived without diabolical aid, colours that 
 shrieked like lost souls in" torment In the 
 middle of the room was a small round table, 
 veneered to pass for mahogany, one-legged, 
 and claw-footed. On the table a large wool 
 mat, green and yellow j on the large mat a 
 
MAKES A FRIEND 61 
 
 small mat, blue and orange. On the small 
 mat an erection of artificial fruit under a glass 
 shade. The walls were papered with crimson 
 flowers on a brick-red ground. Not a map 
 was visible on them from floor to ceiling, from 
 corner to corner. Instead, there were two 
 primitive chromos — one of Daniel in a purple 
 robe, surrounded by a group of amiable 
 mustard-yellow lions ; the other of Moses in 
 scarlet, striking a green rock in the presence of 
 four bored Israelites in blue. Between these 
 was hung a memorial-card setting forth the age 
 and virtues of Ellen Elizabeth Corin Jose, 
 deceased; and under the card was a faded 
 photograph of the departed lady in a gilt tin 
 frame. 
 
 The musty little room, once the pride of her 
 heart, was now her gaudy cenotaph. As it had 
 been in her life, so it remained, keeping her 
 memory green. Its comic ugliness became 
 impressive, when one thought of it as witnessing 
 to the living influence of a narrow boxful of 
 dust and bones. If its walls were mapless, it 
 was because her wife-like attitude of contempt- 
 uous tolerance towards her husband's hobby 
 had ever stiffened into uncompromising oppo- 
 sition at the least hint of his desire to desecrate 
 
62 PAUL CARAH 
 
 the shrine of her respectability with the fruits 
 of his folly. For the parlour is the Cornish 
 housewife's fetish, her holy of holies, from 
 which everything savouring of daily life, of use, 
 of comfort, of the human, one might almost 
 say, is sedulously banished. It is in the house, 
 but not of the house — a sanctuary set apart to 
 minister to one knows not what vague ideals. 
 To laugh as it were to ridicule all human 
 aspiration, all yearnings towards something 
 outside and above the trivial round of days, all 
 attempts to lift man out of himself. 
 
 Fancy would not find it hard to picture the 
 spirit of the late Mrs Jose as haunting her 
 parlour yet, guarding it against irreverent 
 intruders, watching Jennifer with jealous eyes 
 when on Saturdays she lifted the ornaments 
 one by one and gave them their weekly dust- 
 ing, shrilling out inaudible directions for their 
 rearrangement, and wringing her shadowy 
 hands in spectral despair when the unconscious 
 Jennifer flanked the big glass vase with the 
 ' cloamen cats ' instead of with the mugs 
 from Plymouth. 
 
 The sentiment of awe for the best room, early 
 inculcated on all Cornish youth, kept Paul at 
 the threshold, where, without venturing so 
 
MAKES A FRIEND 68 
 
 much as the toe of his boot across, he contem- 
 plated the inner glories with respectful admira- 
 tion. Then, turning away, his attention was 
 attracted by the canary, which had suddenly 
 stopped singing when he appeared, and was 
 now sitting on its topmost perch, following his 
 movements with its bright black eyes. With 
 every living creature that crossed his path he 
 was impelled to establish personal relations of 
 a kind ; so now he began to make overtures of 
 friendship to the little yellow creature. 
 
 ' Ah, my 'andsome ! ' he exclaimed, ' pretty 
 Dick, pretty li'll chap!' — and chirruped and 
 whistled, and stuck an amicable finger through 
 the bars of the cage. The bird fluttered wildly 
 from perch to perch, and beat itself against the 
 bars in an agony of terror. Paul expostulated. 
 
 'Don't 'ee get egzited. I edn' goin' to hurt 
 'ee. How are you so fullish ? ' 
 
 Still the bird dashed from side to side, till 
 two or three feathers fell from its wings. Paul 
 grew angry at his failure to fascinate. 
 
 'Bistly auld thing!' he exclaimed. 'Stop 
 that dancin', an' pitch us a tune to wance, or I 
 wring the neck of 'ee ! ' 
 
 It clung to the wires in the farthest corner, 
 panting in terror. For a moment Paul eyed it 
 
6* PAUL CARAH 
 
 with wrathful disgust; then suddenly he burst 
 into a laugh. 
 
 ' Gum ! what an egzitabble chap I am ! ' he 
 cried in tones of immense self-appreciation ; and 
 turned away and stepped out of the open 
 door. 
 
 Across the path, a small wicket gate opened 
 into a tidy little plot of ground, half orchard, 
 half garden. Under the wind-tortured dwarf 
 apple-trees the wallflower grew in bright 
 patches; in the open parts were rows of 
 cabbages and humble roots. Through the 
 apple-branches shone the blue sea, seeming to 
 slant upwards to meet the blue, downward- 
 slanting sky. 
 
 The gate clicked, and Paul, turning, saw 
 Jennifer entering from the road. She was 
 bareheaded, and in her hand she carried a 
 white pitcher. A morning greeting was 
 shouted from door to gate, and returned with 
 gentle gravity at closer quarters. 
 
 They entered the house together, and 
 Jennifer set the jug down on the table. 
 
 •Been to fetch the milk for brukfas', aha?' 
 said Paul, peeping into the jug. 'Looks pure 
 an' good.' He dipped a finger in. 'Warm 
 from the cow, ef I d' live! That's your sort 
 
MAKES A FRIEND 65 
 
 I'm ready fur'n when et's ready for me. 
 Where's your da, Jennifer?' 
 
 ' Gone over to the cove,' she said. Really 
 her way of looking at a chap — looking right 
 through him, you might say — before answering 
 the simplest question, was most disconcerting. 
 
 "Fore brukfas', eh? He's a bustler, sure 
 'nough. What's he gone for, I wonder ? ' 
 
 'Da said he'd go an' try to set things 
 straight for 'ee,' said Jennifer. 
 
 'Set things straight? How?' asked Paul, 
 quite at sea. 
 
 She did not explain. 
 
 ' Da's took a great fancy ti' 'ee,' she said. 
 
 * I can see that,' said Paul complacently, 
 *an' I hope,' he added insinuatingly, 'his 
 daughter do take arter her da.' 
 
 Jennifer frowned. 
 
 'Look!' she said with emphasis. *I'd 
 have 'ee understand I don't wish none o' that 
 kind o' fullishness. I edn' wan o' that sort. 
 An' look!' she continued. 'Da was talkin' 
 ti' 'ee last night, an' he forgot that what's said 
 below the planchin' in this house is heard 
 above en. He was talkin' about me, an' I 
 heard what 'a said. 'Twas shameful. Da do 
 mean well, but he shouldn' say such things. 
 
66 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'Twas like a knife in me. An' I'd liv you 
 knaw, wance for all, I don't wish nobody 
 comin' round arter me, nor yet arter da's 
 money.' 
 
 Her eyes flashed, and she panted a little. 
 
 'Time 'nough to say "no" when you're 
 asked, my dear,' said Paul brutally. Then, at 
 the look of calm disdain in her eyes, an un- 
 wonted feeling of shame came over him. 
 Direct apology did not come easily to him, 
 but he laughed frankly, and held out his 
 hand. 
 
 'There, my dear — shall be as you d' wish. 
 I waan't plague 'ee. An' shake han's, will 
 'ee! I'm a stranger in the auld place now, 
 an' I'm kind o' lookin' out for friends. Sim' 
 me you're wan worth gettin'. Friends an' no 
 nonsense, eh ? ' 
 
 She put her hand in his. 
 
 'Friends an' no nonsense,' she echoed, with 
 a rare smile. It was impossible for any who 
 had dealings with Paul to feel indifferent to 
 him. The atmosphere above him was 
 electrical. Inevitably it either repelled or 
 attracted. 
 
 'Now we're comfortable,' he remarked, as 
 their hands separated. 'Two friends to start 
 
MAKES A FRIEND 67 
 
 wi' — you an' your da — an* two good wans, 'a 
 b'lieve. That edn' so bad. My life, though, 
 I'm rawnish! How 'bout brukfas'? Go see 
 fur'n, there's a good maid.' 
 
 The smile reappeared on her face, perhaps at 
 the practical use to which he was already 
 putting their new intimacy, perhaps at the 
 abrupt descent of his emotions from the heart 
 to a less poetical region. She went to the 
 fringle, and stirred the sticks under the kettle. 
 Paul seated himself comfortably on a chair, 
 perfectly at home. 
 
 'That's a noble li'll room we've got in 
 there,' he said, indicating the parlour- 
 mausoleum. ' Full o' stately ornaments.' 
 
 Jennifer faced him abruptly. 
 
 ' I hate en ! ' she exclaimed in low, vehement 
 tones. "Tes like a death-chamber to me. 
 Et do smell o' the grave. 'Tes cauld in there 
 in the het o' summer-time. I hate en. I'd 
 block up door an' window ef I had my 
 will.' 
 
 'No! How?' queried Paul, glancing un- 
 comfortably through the door at the grim 
 chairs, and cold, gaudy crockery. 
 
 'That room hasn' been used for comp'ny, 
 not sence they ate the cakes an' drank the 
 
68 PAUL CARAH 
 
 wine there at mother's berrin',' said Jennifer. 
 They that sat last on those chairs were all in 
 black. They whispered an' shaked their heeds 
 when they looked 'pon me — a little maid that 
 dedn' understand, an' dedn' give a thought for 
 nothin' but the nice cakes an' the sweet wine. 
 I hate en: the sun do sim to go black out 
 when et shines through the window of en. 
 When I go in, I do feel the room full o' 
 somethin'. I want to look over my shoulder, 
 an' I don't dare.' 
 
 Paul shuddered. 
 
 ' How ? ' he whispered. ' Dost mane — ? ' 
 
 •There 'a es',' she hurried on, disregarding 
 him, 'always the same, year in, year out. 
 The dust do gather, an' I mus' wipe et off, an' 
 et do gather agin. Not a cup nor a chair must 
 I move, or da's vexed. Sim' me, he's afraid o' 
 mother yet. There 'a es, just as she left en, 
 an' so 'twill be to the end. 'Tes like a dead 
 corp' set up among the livin', an' I'm like wan 
 that's set to brush en an' prink en. I hate 
 en!' 
 
 Her burst of confidence stopped as abruptly 
 as it had begun. In silence she turned again to 
 her preparations for the meal. 
 
 In Paul's face was the same look of doubtful 
 
MAKES A FRIEND 69 
 
 fear it had worn the day before at the dis- 
 astrous omen of the birds. 
 
 'Caan't make this out for my life,' he mut- 
 tered. 'Sim' me, I'll go somewheres else. 
 This edn' a house to live in.' 
 
 He glanced furtively in the direction of the 
 room, fidgeted on his seat, rose, made two 
 steps towards the door, faltered, and turned 
 suddenly to Jennifer. 
 
 'Shut the door, will 'ee?' he exclaimed 
 roughly. 'Caan't think how you can liv en 
 open.' 
 
 Without comment she complied. He drew a 
 big breath, and some of his uneasiness left him ; 
 but he remained unwontedly quiet, his eyes 
 occupied, now with the closed door, now with 
 the walls and their maps — maps portray our 
 earth, but their grotesque, lumpish outlines 
 convey no suggestion of aught earthly ; they 
 are as anti-terrestrial as a skeleton is anti- 
 human — now with Jennifer, her strange, calm 
 face, her gashly-coloured tresses, her noiseless 
 movements about the room. He had dropped 
 into queer quarters, sure enough 
 
 The light of the window was momentarily 
 obstructed by some one passing, and Mr Jose 
 entered the door. All uncomfortable feeling 
 
70 PAUL CARAH 
 
 was dispelled at the mere sight of the old fellow, 
 with his kindly, ordinary features, his bald head, 
 and his somewhat gross figure — the figure that 
 comes with restful ease after a life of muscular 
 toil. 
 
 With a glance of keen inquiry directed on 
 Paul and Jennifer, he sat down and mopped 
 his forehead. 
 
 ' Well, sonny,' he said to Paul, ' I've been 
 over to cove, an' I found all the world a-talkin' 
 'bout you.' 
 
 ' Sure ? ' exclaimed Paul, hugely delighted. 
 
 'Ess. My life, you made a splash last 
 night! 'Tes nothin' but Paul Carah all over 
 the town.' 
 
 Paul laughed a laugh of great satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 'Ess,' continued Mr Jose. 'Such profanin' 
 I never heerd. They were for drivin' 'ee out 
 o' the place double quick. Aw, my nerves, 
 how they did go 'busin' me for takin' you 
 home ! ' 
 
 Paul's face fell 
 
 ' The rogues ! ' he ejaculated. ' I'll liv 'em 
 knaw I edn' to be stanked upon like 
 that' 
 
MAKES A FRIEND 71 
 
 'But I stuck up for 'ee,' said Mr Jose, 
 'an' tauld 'em what I thought o' the case. 
 " Waan't do, naibours," said I ; " you'll get 
 Porthvean a bad name. Cornishmen to turn 
 agin a Cornishman like this, en't fitty," said I. 
 'What's the use of sayin' 'wan an' all' ef 
 you don't stick to en?" said I. An' I argued 
 an* argued, an' tauld 'em what a soshabble, 
 well-be'aved chap I'd found you, an' what good 
 comp'ny you were with your yarns an' ballats, 
 an', says I, "The wan that's agin Paul's agin 
 me too." So when they see I'd took you up, 
 they began to talk more sensible. " Arter all," 
 says wan, " the chap's his father's son ; an' a 
 man o' sound doctrine was auld Rob Carah." 
 An* another Said, " He's been foreign a long 
 time, an' larned ignorance ; liv en be for a bit— 
 he'll do very well b'mby." An' auld Reseigh, 
 that keeps the shop, he spoke up for 'ee ; an' 
 he's a chap that's looked up to, I can tell 'ee. 
 There edn' many do care to go agin what 
 Reseigh do say. "There's room for plenty 
 ashore," says he, " and there's room for lashin's 
 on the say. How are you so selfish?" says 
 Reseigh. " The more fingers in Porthvean the 
 more money ; the more money the more trade 
 and prosperity," says he.' 
 
72 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'An' the more custom for Reseigh's shop,' 
 interposed Jennifer quietly. 
 
 'Ess, well, may be,' said her father softly, 
 laughing. 'Reseigh's a smart wan, sure 
 'nough. Don't 'ee let'n put black 'pon white 
 for 'ee, sonny, or you'll be sorry. There's 
 people have trusted en for a pound an' paid 
 five, an' still owed the pound arter that So 
 mind what I say. Deal wed'n you must — 
 there edn' nobody else to deal wi'. But don't 
 get into his g'eat black book that he keeps 'pon 
 the counter. 'Tes like the bottomless pit; 
 they that get in don't never get out agin.' 
 
 'I edn' no fool,' said Paul testily. His 
 irritation had been growing for some time. He 
 was impatient of advice and assistance alike. 
 The old chap meant well, no doubt ; but Paul 
 could fight his own battles j he didn't require 
 to be pled for before Porthvean as if he was a 
 criminal ; and he didn't ask for superfluous 
 counsel in matters of men or of money. 
 
 'I edn' no fool,' he repeated crossly. 'I 
 don't put my hand under nobody's foot. An' I 
 don't look to be tauld how to be'ave myself in 
 this and that by nobody, auld or young.' 
 
 The mild old man looked at him in gentle 
 surprise. 
 
MAKES A FRIEND 73 
 
 ' No offence, soase,' he said, * I only 
 thought to help 'ee a bit' 
 
 'Then you don't knaw me yet, uncle,' Paul 
 asserted. ' I edn' wan to ask for help. I stand 
 'pon my own feet, I do ; an' I look to my own 
 head to save my heels. That's me.' 
 
 ' No offence,' repeated Mr Jose earnestly. 
 
 ' None at all, uncle. But trust me to smell 
 a rogue so fur's I can spy en. I haven' lived 
 seven year 'mong Yankees for nothin'. I'm a 
 match for all the rogues in creation, liv alone 
 this li'll town.' 
 
 'Brukfas',' said Jennifer; and the magic 
 word was like the noonday sun on the clouds 
 of Paul's irritation. 
 
 ' Brukfas', aha ! ' he exclaimed. ' Look 
 out, auld brukfas' ; destruction do wait for 'ee, 
 I give 'ee waernin'! Tay, bread, crame an 
 pilcher's — you edn' long for this world. Here's 
 Paul Carah; say your prayers, auld bruk- 
 fas'!' 
 
 'La, what a chap!' murmured his admiring 
 host. '"Say your prayers, auld brukfas'!" 
 There's a laffable bit o' dialogue for 'ee ! ' 
 
 ' Aw, that edn' much ! ' said the modest 
 young man. ' I don't have to think to say a 
 thing like that My head's alife wi' such queer 
 
74 PAUL CARAH 
 
 auld randigals. Tell 'ee, uncle, you shall laff 
 more in a week wi' me than ever you ded in 
 your life before. I'm a rare wan for a joke, I 
 can tell 'ee. An' a rare wan for my vittles. 
 Come, draw up.' 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 HE DREAMS 
 
 TOWARDS noon Paul was striding down 
 the road from the cove to East Corner, 
 his mind busy reviewing the events and en- 
 counters of a long morning in the village. 
 The review was quite satisfactory — how should 
 it be otherwise ? They had been a bit stiff at 
 first, 'twas true, but he had been all cream and 
 sugar, and he had yet to meet the man or 
 woman who could resist Paul Carah when he 
 laid himself out to please. A funny yarn to 
 one, a helping hand in the hauling up of an- 
 other's boat, a boyish escapade together recalled 
 to the memory of a third — 'twas as easy as 
 winking. Even Steve Polkinhorne, who had 
 made himself so obnoxious the night before, 
 had sidled up to him and proffered the hand of 
 unity, and invited him to a friendly glass at the 
 Fisherman's Arms. He was no little-drop man, 
 
76 PAUL CARAH 
 
 and had declined, of course ; still the offer was 
 well-meant, and indicated a very proper spirit 
 of contrition. 
 
 Old Reseigh, too, standing at his shop door, 
 and looking like a nobleman with his big gold 
 chain looped across his swelling waistcoat, had 
 beckoned him in and made much of him, feast- 
 ing him with sugared biscuits and oranges, 
 dear to the sweet-toothed Cornishman. An 
 affable, friendly, generous old chap was Reseigh, 
 whatever Ben Jose might say. What were his 
 very words at parting ? ' There's some in this 
 town, Paul, that's set on drivin' 'ee out, so I 
 hear. But do you stay where you are, an' snap 
 your fingers at 'em. I'm your friend. Ef so be 
 things don't prosper wi' 'ee at first, you're 
 welcome to anythin' in my shop for the askin', 
 an' pay when you like an' how you like, fish or 
 cash, to-morrow, or come nex' year.' 
 
 'Twas a superfluous offer, of course ; the 
 picture of Paul and fortune at variance was 
 comic in its absurdity ; but what trustful gene- 
 rosity! what neighbourly devotion! 
 
 And the rest were equally cordial — particu- 
 larly those who had sided against him last night. 
 But it seemed that nobody wanted a partner on 
 the fishing — all the boats had their proper com- 
 
DREAMS 77 
 
 plement of men. Nor was there a boat for 
 sale. Jim Boase, maker of jokes (and incident- 
 ally of boots and shoes), had one lying idle on 
 the quay — Paul could see it had not been in the 
 water for a year at least — but as for Jim Boase 
 parting with that li'll boat, 'twas out of the 
 question. He loved that li'll boat like as ef 
 'twas his own cheeld ; it had served him faith- 
 ful for many a year, and had earned its rest. 
 Besides, it was that rotten, you could stick 
 your finger through the bottom of en ; 'twould 
 be downright cheating to take money fur'n ; he 
 had too much regard for Paul to allow him to 
 risk his life in it. Besides, who knows? — he 
 might want to do a bit o' fishing himself now 
 and again, or take his family for a cruise of a 
 summer evening. No ; he was perishing to 
 oblige Paul, but he couldn' part wi' that li'll 
 boat. The pigs-crow, however, was always at 
 Paul's service, if his present quarters failed to 
 suit him. 
 
 A queer chap was old Jim Boase, sure enough 
 — seemed friendly, though his humour was 
 fatuous in the extreme. Paul was by way of 
 being a humorist himself, so he could judge. 
 To crack a joke now and again was very well ; 
 to poke incessant fun at a man — a travelled 
 
78 PAUL CARAH 
 
 man, a man who had a right to expect others 
 to be ready with the tribute of admiring respect 
 he always accorded himself — was quite another 
 matter. The joke of the pig was stale already 
 at a first repetition ; so was the burlesque 
 humility of accost, the affectation of extreme 
 deference, the hand at the ear to catch one's 
 least word, and all the rest of the monkey- 
 tricks. To take offence at such stuff was be- 
 neath one's dignity ; one could afford to ignore 
 it, pending the preparation of a scheme for 
 paying the joker back in his own coin — a 
 master-stroke, which should cover him with 
 such ridicule that he would never have the 
 heart to jest again. 
 
 H'm ; so old Ben Jose had not exaggerated 
 the extent of his fortune ; 'twas two hundred 
 pounds, sure enough, as every soul in Porthvean 
 knew. And seemingly Paul was not the only 
 one to whom the old chap had thrown 
 out hints about his daughter. Most every 
 young fellow in the place had had the refusal 
 of her during the past two years. 'Twas a kind 
 of mania with the old man ; that and the maps 
 were the two weak spots in an otherwise un- 
 clouded intellect But Jennifer was likely to go 
 begging all her life. Porthvean didn't take to 
 
DREAM^ 79 
 
 her at all. A strange-looking maid, with her 
 gashly-coloured hair, which even on Sundays 
 she never curled or drew back in the regulation 
 tight bunch behind her head. And a strange 
 behaved one, too — sitting alone in chapel, 
 walking alone on cliff and moor," disdaining 
 the merry gossip and light-hearted love-making 
 of her natural companions, the youths and 
 maids of the village. Some of the older folks 
 shook their heads when her name was men- 
 tioned, and dropped obscure hints, declaring 
 that they would not offend Jennifer Jose, not for 
 a thousand pounds. Plum fullishness that was ; 
 still, Paul was not sorry that a bond of friend- 
 ship had been signed between them. 
 
 The thing to do now was to bustle and get a 
 boat, and a partner too, if possible ; if not, he 
 would start with nothing but his own ten fingers, 
 rather than delay. Not much time before 
 winter; but he couldn't sit idle — Paul Carah 
 wasn't that sort ; a reg'lar busker was he. A 
 week to get a boat and tackle, and to rub up 
 his boyhood's knowledge of currents and land- 
 marks ; and then — let the conger beware ! 
 
 At the corner where the road turned its back 
 on the sea to mount inland, he paused and 
 looked out on the expanse of dancing water, 
 
80 PAUL CARAH 
 
 gay with foam-flakes and sun-sparkles. There, 
 for two miles south and east and west, lay the 
 town-meadows of Porthvean, pastured by finny 
 flocks. The eyes of Porthvean ever look to- 
 wards the sea. Hanging on the face of sea- 
 ward hills, there is scarcely a house in it but 
 commands a prospect of wide waters. For 
 Porthvean men, as for the guillemots and kitti- 
 wakes, the shore is but a perching and resting 
 place. If they know the footpaths for a mile 
 inland, and the main roads for a few miles 
 farther, that is all. But the waters they know, 
 as the landsman knows his native town with all 
 its streets and alleys. Every current, rock, 
 shoal and sounding is familiar to them ; not a 
 wrinkle, not a fleck of colour on its surface but 
 has its meaning for their eyes. Their lines and 
 nets, like great sensitive hands and feelers, have 
 probed and groped through and through the 
 swaying mass of water to the ocean floor below. 
 The sea's secrets are their daily reading, engraven 
 on their hearts. To a landsman, this is what 
 makes them, and all others who live by the sea, 
 seem in some measure a race apart The cur- 
 taining sea-spell, the atmosphere of dubious 
 mystery that hangs about the tidal shore, 
 invests the fisherman with a certain fabulous 
 
DREAMS 81 
 
 air, as of one dealing with esoteric matters, 
 beyond the ken of ordinary folk. The land we 
 know; but what is this ocean, on which we 
 may not walk or build or dig ? What familiarity 
 have we with it ? And what manner of men 
 are these, who breathe its wonders all their 
 lives ? You see them trustingly drop their nets 
 and traps through that flat, translucent floor, 
 and you are inclined to laugh at their credulity 
 — seeking in the unknown for the invisible; 
 they draw them up, and lo, they are filled with 
 an innumerable life, jewelled and resplendent — ■ 
 an unearthly life, whereof the utter strangeness 
 makes you shudder, as it gasps and dies at a 
 breath of the same air which you find so good 
 and vitally sweet. 
 
 Paul stood and gazed. Five minutes passed, 
 and still he gazed. He was a true Celt, and 
 deep down below the eager impulsiveness of 
 his character lay an unexplored spring of 
 dreamy imagination, welling up now and again, 
 and drowning the brisk march of purposeful 
 thoughts in a bubbling, many-coloured riot of 
 fancies. 
 
 When he stopped, a ghostly grey heron rose 
 from the beach below, and beat a solemn re- 
 treat along the coast. A little flock of sander- 
 
82 PAUL CARAH 
 
 lings, running swiftly about the wet shore, took 
 alarm, and fled over the water. Loth to seek a 
 new playground, yet afraid to return, they cast 
 about the bay in wide circles, now making for 
 the shore, and then, just as they seemed about 
 to settle, swerving suddenly and hurrying head- 
 long seaward. Now their wings flickered white 
 against the blue water, now they wheeled and 
 vanished, and again they were a vague flitting 
 shadow, of which the eye could scarcely assure 
 itself. A dozen times they circled thus, while 
 Paul watched them and chased a fleeting simile 
 in their track. They were like — like— what 
 were they like, this band of swift white things, 
 which could vanish and reappear at will, but on 
 which a ban seemed set, that they should never 
 rest on dry land again? What, he wondered, 
 was the fate of the spirits of drowned fisher- 
 men? To what disabilities in the world to 
 come might not the loss of Christian burial 
 expose them? What if these were they, or 
 such as they? 
 
 The cruel monster of a sea ! The treacherous 
 wolves of waves ! And here on the shore stood 
 a puny creature who had pledged himself to a 
 life-long battle with them — one man against 
 
DREAMS 83 
 
 the mightiest of Nature's forces. Fear was not 
 in him, but he shivered. 
 
 There it lay, calmly, swaying, bright hued, a 
 lovely sight. The little waves ran in and fell 
 prone on the sand, clutching at weed and 
 pebble, which they had not strength enough to 
 drag away with them as they slid back. Like 
 children at play they were. Each one fell with 
 a gentle noise of laughter and a flash of foam- 
 white teeth. Was it innocent childish merri- 
 ment, or was it rather an involuntary revela- 
 tion of their true character — the snarl, only half 
 playful, of the young cub-wolf? 
 
 Dead water it was, no different from the 
 stagnant pool by the wayside. And yet it was 
 alive, alive with that horrible vitality, the 
 vitality of an inanimate thing. Never still. 
 Men were born, moved through life, were laid 
 to rest ; but this dead thing never rested. Now 
 and again the wind lashed it, and it rose in 
 factitious fury, and shattered ships and clutched 
 at men, and dragged them down in its cold 
 grasp. 
 
 Dead, yes, but teeming with countless life. 
 His fancy dived under the lively waves to the 
 still, twilight depths below. He saw the mullet 
 and guckoo-fish darting hither and thither, 
 
 F 
 
84 PAUL CARAH 
 
 swooping, poising, turning in flocks like gay 
 birds. He saw the great armies of herrings 
 and pilchards that come yearly, no one knows 
 whence, and depart, no one knows whither. 
 He saw the cruel sinuous conger, and the ling, 
 the cowards of the sea — so runs the lore of 
 Porthvean — whom the other fish beat and bite 
 and drive from their food — drive from the 
 hooks even, so that they live the life of beggars, 
 sickly and starved in the midst of plenty. He 
 saw the hungry cod, all gaping maw, and the 
 crafty cuttle, grey floating shadows ; and the 
 flat-fish, ray and plaice and turbot, small and 
 big, flap-flapping among the ooze ; and the 
 lobsters, pacing in black armour, their delicate 
 antennae ceaselessly waving; and the furtive 
 sidelong scurrying crabs. 
 
 There they were ; he knew them all, their 
 tricks and their habits ; 'twas his wits against 
 theirs for the rest of his life. At the thought 
 the spell was broken ; Paul the dreamer gave 
 place to Paul the man of action. He turned 
 sharply and went on his way. You have seen 
 him for a moment in an unexpected light, one, 
 indeed, in which he hardly recognised himself. 
 In his rough analysis of his own character, such 
 moods found no place ; they lay too deep down, 
 
DREAMS 85 
 
 and came to the surface too rarely. He was 
 puzzled by them — felt half inclined to resent 
 them. 
 
 What put such wisht thoughts into his head, 
 he'd like to know. What had made him stand 
 there like a stone, dreaming profitless, uncomfort- 
 able dreams ? He was a clever chap, though, to 
 think of such things. They made him shiver, 
 but there was a fearful fascination in them for 
 all that. Life spelt emotion for him, and here 
 was a new sensation. He stopped and turned 
 seaward, trying to revive it. But try as he 
 would, 'twas only the commonplace old sea, the 
 waves were the familiar waves at their weary 
 tumbling work, the sander lings only suggested 
 a gun and a spit. With a grunt of annoyance 
 he resumed his way. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 HE FINDS A PARTNER 
 
 Half-way between the gate and the door, 
 Paul's steps were arrested by a sound within 
 the house — an outburst of hoarse chuckling 
 laughter, alternating in a curious way between 
 extreme gruffness and excessive shrillness. 
 There was something bizarre in the sound 
 — something only half human, with a reminis- 
 cence in its timbre of the voices of beasts. 
 Paul caught a vague memory on the wing, 
 but failed to identify it. He strode quickly 
 on, and entered the kitchen. 
 
 Jennifer was sitting by the window, knitting. 
 Directly facing her, on a chair planted in the 
 centre of the room, sat the figure of a man, 
 with his back to Paul. Just as Paul entered 
 Jennifer raised her eyes and smiled, and again 
 the hoarse chuckle burst with startling abrupt- 
 ness from the lips of the man in the chair. 
 
FINDS A PARTNER 87 
 
 Then Jennifer saw Paul, and reading this in her 
 look, the man faced round, and fixed Paul with 
 a pair of glittering, steadfast eyes — the eyes of 
 a wild creature. They were deep-set under 
 bushy, far-jutting eyebrows, over which a low, 
 narrow forehead sloped up and back to a bald 
 cranium. The nose was snub and wide-spread- 
 ing; the jaws, covered with a thick grizzled 
 beard, protruded enormously. The arms were 
 ape-like in their length ; the backs of the wrists 
 were black with hair. One looked instinctively 
 for a tail. 
 
 * You mind Dummy ? ' said Jennifer. 
 
 ' To be sure I do,' cried Paul * An' 
 Dummy minds me, I'll be bound. Many's 
 the game I've played en— eh, old chap?' 
 
 The glittering eyes were still fastened on him, 
 and the forehead was contracted with the 
 wrinkles of deep thought. Suddenly they 
 cleared away ; the man jumped to his feet, 
 and began to pace up and down the room at 
 a furious rate, his head bent forward, his arms 
 swinging wildly. 
 
 Paul burst into laughter. 
 
 'You've hit en!' he exclaimed. 'That's 
 me — me to the life! 'Tes a pity Dummy's 
 deef and dumb; sim* me he might make a 
 
88 PAUL CARAH 
 
 fortune play - actin'. Edn' nobody he caan't 
 take off, 'a b'lieve. Come, shake han's, auld 
 chap.' 
 
 At the sight of the proffered hand, Dummy 
 pulled up sharply. The wrinkles swarmed on 
 his forehead again, his hands darted behind 
 his back, his head began to shake with such 
 velocity that its outline was blurred, like that 
 of a revolving wheel, and from his lips burst 
 forth a fierce inarticulate chatter, like an en- 
 raged monkey's. 
 
 Paul's hand dropped. 
 
 ' Even Dummy waan't shake han's ! ' he 
 cried despondently. 'How don't 'ee shake 
 han's, Dummy?' 
 
 Dummy's eyes swept round the kitchen. 
 He darted to a shelf and seized the teapot 
 He held it up and tapped it vehemently. He 
 set it down on the floor, retired a pace, and 
 imitated the action of one pelting it with stones. 
 And again the head wagged with incredible 
 swiftness, and again and again the stuttering 
 torrent burst from his lips. 
 
 Paul saw light. 
 
 'My life!' he exclaimed, 'to think of his 
 mindin' that all these years! You d' knaw,' 
 he explained to Jennifer, 'how, summer-time, 
 
FINDS A PARTNER 89 
 
 Dummy don't trouble to light a fire for his 
 tay, but takes the taypot round to a naibour 
 to get'n filled with hot water. Well, one day 
 us lads saw Dummy goin' along, carryin' his 
 taypot, an' we started teasin' him. An' I 
 picked up a bully an' aimed et at the taypot. 
 Dummy thought I was aimin' at him, so he 
 set the taypot down an' sarched for a bully to 
 aim back. An' then I heaved another bully, 
 an' hit the taypot, sure 'nough — smashed en 
 all to jowds. Dummy's back was turned ; 'a 
 dedn' see the smash, an' course, bein' deef, 'a 
 dedn' hear en. We runned away, an' Dummy 
 turned round to pick up his taypot, an' — well, 
 you never saw such a rage in all your life. 
 Out comes his knife, an' arter us he goes. 
 'Twas a mercy he dedn' catch us, or there'd 
 ha' been murder, sure 'nough. Vicious as a 
 monkey, Dummy is. Look at en now ! ' 
 
 Dummy had shambled off to the door ; and 
 there he stood, half averted, growling and 
 talking to himself, as it were, with subdued 
 gesticulations. Jennifer showed some indig- 
 nation. 
 
 "Tes a shame,' she said, 'the way you 
 d' all be'ave to en. No wonder he's a bit teasy 
 
90 PAUL CARAH 
 
 when you plague en so, the poor afflicted 
 creature ! ' 
 
 She raised her hand above her head, and 
 Dummy turned and came to her, like a dog 
 to the whistle. With a tender sadness in 
 her eyes, she patted his shoulder, soothing 
 him. 
 
 'Dummy an' me, we're swettards,' she 
 said. 'He was courtin' me when you came 
 in. An' some day, when he's arned enough, 
 hell come sailin' into the bay 'pon a g'eat 
 four-mast steamer — nothin' but four masts 'ull 
 do fur'n, he's that fond o' me — an' he'll carr' 
 me off to get married. An' we're goin' to live 
 up to squire's house, an' have crame every 
 day, an' the biggest, grandest taypot in 
 Porthvean. So, you see, they that look to be 
 friends wi' me mus' be friends wi' Dummy 
 too.' 
 
 'That's so, aha?' said Paul, highly amused. 
 ' Well, I'm ready. Courtin' of 'ee, is 'a ? 
 That's grand. An' a four-master to carr' 'ee 
 off in? There's a laffable notion for 'ee. 
 Squire's house, too ? Aw, my life ! ' 
 
 Laughing heartily, he flung himself into a 
 chair and spread his long legs abroad. The 
 bright eyes turned suspiciously on him, and 
 
FINDS A PARTNER 91 
 
 a low growl issued from the speechless lips. 
 Paul sat up. 
 
 ' What's the matter now ? ' he asked. 
 
 1 Dummy thinks you're laffin' upon 'm,' 
 said Jennifer. 'He don't like to be made 
 fun of.' 
 
 'Right!' said Paul, all complaisance, and 
 composed his features to an expression of 
 intense melancholy. ' How's that ? ' 
 
 But Dummy was not appeased. The growls 
 increased in volume ; the hands started from 
 the pockets and waved about with profuse 
 gesture. 
 
 'There's somethin' else,' said Jennifer, 
 studying the movement of the hands. She 
 lifted her arm again. Dummy's eyes went 
 swiftly to her face. She raised her brows in 
 question. Dummy's arms whirled with, in- 
 creased velocity; his hands pointed in quick 
 succession to Paul, to Jennifer, to himself. 
 A faint blush appeared on Jennifer's cheek. 
 
 'Dummy do want to knaw what you're 
 doin' here,' she explained. ' He edn' used to 
 seein' young chaps makin' themselves at home 
 here. Sim' me' — she hesitated, and the blush 
 grew deeper — ' sim' me, he's jealous.' 
 
 Paul grinned complacently, and twirled the 
 
92 PAUL CARAH 
 
 ends of his moustache. Jealous, aha ? Jennifer 
 was nothing to him, but it was exceedingly 
 nattering to find that his mere presence in her 
 company proved disturbing to another man's 
 peace of mind, even if that other were only 
 Dummy. And that blush, too: it hadn't 
 escaped him. These women ! they may talk 
 fine stuff and pretend to hold aloof, but one 
 knows them. A blush, a gesture, and they 
 stand revealed, head bowed and heart bared 
 to the conqueror. 
 
 What were they up to now, swaying their 
 hands and rolling their eyes? He had lost 
 the hang of this dummy-talk in all these years. 
 His foot tapped impatiently on the floor. His 
 ignorance thrust him aside from the central 
 position which was his by right The presence 
 of the uncomprehended irritated him intensely. 
 
 Jennifer turned to him. 
 
 "Tes all right now,' she said. 'Dummy 
 do knaw all about 'ee, an' he's willin' to be 
 friendly. Edn' no real malice ia Dummy.' 
 
 'Brave an' kind of en, I'm sure,' said Paul 
 sulkily; 'an' thank'ee for interferin'. But I 
 don't wish no truck wi' monkeys.' 
 
 She looked at him, and turned away. A 
 most annoying sense of shame came over him. 
 
FINDS A PARTNER 9S 
 
 What was coming to him, that a contemptuous 
 look from a maid — and a homely maid at that— ' 
 should cause him humiliation ? 
 
 But there was Dummy standing over him, 
 his hand extended, his ugly face stretched into 
 a comic grin that no mortal with a sense of 
 humour could resist. Laughing uproariously, 
 Paul leapt to his feet and slapped Dummy 
 vigorously on the shoulder. Dummy laughed 
 back, and returned the friendly blow with 
 interest. 
 
 'That's right!' said Jennifer, smiling 
 approval. 
 
 Paul glowed with magnanimous feeling. 
 
 'Edn' a bad sort, Dummy edn',' he said 
 patronisingly. 
 
 Jennifer warmed in extolment of her favourite. 
 
 ' There edn' a better-hearted chap in Porth- 
 vean,' she declared, ' ef you take en the right 
 way. Poor chap ; he's sensible too — you 
 caan't think how sensible 'a es. Give him a 
 newspaper, an' he'll skrink up his brows an' 
 jabber over en, as ef he was readin'. An' ef 
 'tes upside down, he'll turn et round the right 
 way. An' there edn' a smarter hand at ma kin' 
 crab-pots anywhere. He's slow, but he finishes 
 'em up beautiful — that neat an' strong ! An' 
 
94 PAUL CARAH 
 
 for fishin', there edn' nobody to come up to 
 him. He knows where they resort, an' all 
 their tricks an' ways, so well as ef he'd lived 
 under the water. Over to cove they do say he 
 can smell the fish. But, sim' me, 'tes because 
 Dummy edn' like other men. I d' often think 
 he edn' azackly human, nor he edn' azackly a 
 dumb brute, but somethin* between, like-a- 
 thing. He's sensible, but 'a edn" quite the 
 sense of a man — more like the sense of a dog 
 or a sea-gull. They do see things we don't get 
 a notion of; an' so for Dummy. An' I do often 
 wonder what like his thoughts are. We do 
 think in words, sim' me ; but Dummy don't 
 know wan word from another, no more 'n a 
 cat An' I do wonder what the world must be 
 like to en — all movin', movin', wi' never a 
 sound ; an' when he do shut his eyes, there's 
 nothin'.' 
 
 She was not addressing Paul now ; her eyes 
 were fixed dreamily on the other, and she was 
 thinking aloud to herself. Neither was Paul 
 heeding her latterly; a new and brilliant idea 
 was buzzing about his brain. 
 
 Look ! ' he exclaimed suddenly. ' Whose 
 boat do Dummy go 'pon ? ' 
 
 Sometimes wan, sometimes another,' said 
 
FINDS A PARTNER 95 
 
 Jennifer. 'They're always glad to get en, 
 but he don't stay long wi' none. They don't 
 know how to trate en ; they tease him an' vex 
 him, an' off 'a goes in a tantrum. Steve 
 Polkinhorne was the last he went wi'. but Steve 
 thought to cheat en out of his share in the fish. 
 Dummy was sharper than Steve thought, for 
 he found en out to wance, an' knocked en 
 down 'pon quay-head an' jumped upon 'm, till 
 they had to pull him off.' 
 
 ' Brayvo Dummy ! ' cried Paul. ' Dummy's 
 the chap for me ! He's my sort. Look ! I've a 
 mind to do en a good turn. How ef him an' 
 me should go partners 'pon the fishery ? ' Edn' 
 that a smart notion, aha ? Gum ! I'll make 
 Dummy's fortune fur'n before he do know 
 where he is. An' then, hoorah for the four- 
 master, an' squire's house, an' the crame, an' 
 the taypot 1 Ha-ha ! Poor chap ! But I'll be 
 tender wed'n — tender as a mother with her 
 cheeld.' 
 
 Jennifer seemed to think the notion a feasible 
 one. 
 
 ' 'Twill be a good thing for you,' she said, ' ef 
 you can get en to agree.' 
 
 'For me?' Paul corrected her. 'For him, 
 you d' mane, s'pose.' 
 
96 PAUL CARAH 
 
 She smiled a little, but did not dispute the 
 point 
 
 ' I'll ask him,' she said. 
 
 'Wait a bit,' Paul exclaimed. 'I'll do et 
 myself. Mus' get inside this dummy-talk some 
 time, s'pose. May as well fit an' begin now. 
 You watch now, an' see how smart I can 
 do et' 
 
 He raised his arm, as he had seen Jennifer 
 do, and Dummy faced round at attention. 
 
 Paul pointed a finger at his own chest, then 
 at Dummy's. He slapped his right hand down 
 into his left, and shook it vigorously. 
 
 ■ We're goin' partners, that do mane,' he 
 explained to Jennifer. 
 
 He pointed again to himself, thrust his arms 
 forward with fists clenched side by side, and 
 drew the fists back to his chest. Repeating 
 this action two or three times, he then pointed 
 to Dummy, and hauled an imaginary rope 
 downwards, hand over hand. 
 
 ' On a boat, you d' see, rowin' an' sailin',' 
 he said. 
 
 He leaned over the back of a chair, and 
 hauled another imaginary rope upwards. 
 
 ' Fishin',' he remarked. 
 
FINDS A PARTNER 97 
 
 He went down on all fours and scuttled side- 
 ways across the room. 
 
 ' Crabbin',' he observed. 
 
 He thrust his hand into his pocket, drew it 
 out tightly clenched, and with the other hand 
 distributed from it two heaps of nothingness 
 on to the table. One heap he feigned to pick 
 up and return to his pocket ; and he beckoned 
 Dummy to approach and take the other. 
 
 ' Goin' shares,' he said. 
 
 Dummy, who had followed Paul's essay in the 
 pantomimic art with grave attention, now raised 
 his eyes inquiringly to Jennifer. She nodded, 
 and Dummy stepped up to the table and made 
 as if to gather up the invisible coins. 
 
 ' 'Tes a bargain ! ' cried Jennifer, and clapped 
 her hands. 
 
 Paul wiped his brow. 
 
 ' That was clever, wadn' et ? ' he said. 
 'Sim' me, this dummy-talk's fine fun. Easy 
 'nough, ef you use your brain, an' that's what 
 I do like. An' your arms ! Must be a 
 sweaty business, summer-time ! Fine times 
 we'll have, aha, auld chap ? ' This to Dummy, 
 who was nodding and grinning and making 
 little chuckling noises. 
 
 ' Look at en ! Plaised as Punch, 'a es ! 
 
98 PAUL CARAH 
 
 We're a pair! We'll liv 'em knaw; we'll 
 make 'em sit up an' scratch their chins ! Edn' 
 'a just the chap I do want for my partner ? For 
 look — I'm schemin' all the while, an' I don't 
 wish nobody to knaw my plans ; but my natur' 
 's that open, I'm fo'ced to tell 'em to somebody, 
 or burst. An' here I've got a partner I can 
 talk to all day, an' tell all my secrets, an' he nor 
 nobody else waan't be none the wiser. I couldn' 
 ha' found a more suitable chap, not ef I picked 
 the world over.' 
 
 He surveyed Dummy with the eager proprie- 
 tory delight of a child with a new play- 
 thing. 
 
 'But that's me,' he continued. 'I d' allers 
 hit upon what I do want. Luck, you say ; but 
 no, 'a edn' luck. I don't believe in luck. Luck's 
 for fools an' sluggards. Look! The river o' 
 life, they do say. We're standin' in et, up to 
 our middles ; an' down the stream comes for- 
 tune an' misery, riches an' rags — like driftwood ; 
 an' we're snatchin' an' grabbin' at 'em as they 
 pass. The sluggard do wait fur'n to come 
 plop agin his chest, an' the fool do grab pro- 
 misc'us ; but the smart man keeps his han's 
 ready an' his eyes up-stream, an' everythin' that 
 comes by, he takes the measure of en. Ef 'tes 
 
FINDS A PARTNER 99 
 
 no account, he pushes et away ; ef 'tes good — 
 splash ! snatch ! — he's got en ! ' 
 
 By way of illustration, he leaped upon 
 Dummy and clutched his shoulder, sending him 
 back, jabbering in angry alarm, to the remotest 
 corner of the room. 
 
 'Ha-ha!' roared Paul. 'Good as a play, 
 edn' 'a? Don't get egzited, auld chap. 'Tes 
 only my fun — Paul Carah's fun ! ' 
 
 'That's what Dummy don't understand,' 
 said Jennifer. 'You med as well joke with a 
 cow as with Dummy.' 
 
 'Poor chap!' said Paul, staring at him with 
 unfeigned pity. It was sad to think that his 
 new partner was congenitally incapable of ap- 
 preciating some of his best qualities. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 HE BUYS A BOAT 
 
 If the grass thought to grow under Paul's 
 feet, the grass was ill-advised. Early next 
 morninghe was off, with a pasty in each pocket, 
 on a tramp along the coast in search of a 
 boat wanting an owner. Late at night he 
 returned, tired, hungry, and jubilant, his 
 pockets lighter by the weight of the pasties 
 and of half his little store of gold. Trying 
 southward at first, he had drawn blank at 
 Portrewan and Lanharry. Then, nothing 
 daunted, he turned back, passing Porthvean 
 again, and making for Porthellick. Here his 
 panting, perspiring luck caught him up. He 
 reached Porthellick at the psychological mo- 
 ment, just two days after the receipt of William 
 John Harvey's letter. William John, a feckless, 
 luckless fellow, had lately left his birthplace to 
 try his fortune in London town, and Porthellick 
 
BUYS A BOAT 101 
 
 had shaken its head, having long since identified 
 London with Bunyan's City of Destruction. 
 But after a month of silence William John had 
 written to his sweetheart — and what was this? 
 A pound a week, regular as clockwork, just 
 for tying up parcels ! Dainty meals of sausages 
 and onions smoking in shop windows, sending 
 forth their alluring smell through the streets 
 from dawn to midnight! Wondrous sights — 
 trains that burrowed underground, mighty 
 bridges that split in half and folded up at the 
 touch of a lever ! Could such things be ? 
 
 An adventurous fever seized Porthellick. 
 Within twenty-four hours Michael Harvey had 
 packed and set off to join his brother. Several 
 other young men were only waiting to wind up 
 their affairs before following his example ; and 
 others again hesitated, the hand of hereditary 
 caution plucking at the coat-tails of enthusiasm. 
 Among these was Will Oliver, whose meditated 
 flight into the unknown was further hampered 
 by a brand-new boat and a brand-new wife. 
 To him enter Paul, voluble, persuasive, jingling 
 the gold in his pockets, a living witness to the 
 advantages, material and moral, of foreign 
 travel. The wife ? The wife could stay behind 
 for a bit. The boat? Paul would take the 
 
102 PAUL CARAH 
 
 boat off his hands there and then, and pay for 
 it in solid cash Fifteen pounds, now ! A poor 
 sum in Porthellick — the moss would be growing 
 on it before one had a chance to turn it over. 
 But fifteen pounds in London, with a brave 
 Cornishman to back it up ; la ! in a week 'twould 
 swell and burst the brave Cornishman's pocket ! 
 
 Will Oliver succumbed ; the money was 
 transferred on the spot; and in twelve hours 
 after Paul's departure Mr Jose and Jennifer 
 were listening to his paean of self-gratulation. 
 
 'Smartest li'U boat 'pon the fishery — don't 
 knaw of a nobler li'll boat anywheres — a reg'lar 
 picture ! Cost thirty pound ; hasn' been in the 
 water a dozen times, an' I get'n for fifteen, 
 gear and all complete. That's my way. But 
 you should ha' heard me argufyin' wi' the 
 chap! / managed en! Says he — "'Tes a 
 ticklish business, goin' foreign ; my heart do 
 sink to think upon et." Says I — " Look at me, 
 soase, an' take heart. Look at me," says I, 
 "look at my chest an' my pocket," says I, 
 slappin' first the wan an' then the other. " That's 
 foreign travel," says I. "Aw well," he say, 
 " I'll ax the missus an' see what she do say." 
 Well, thinks I, ef he do, fare-'ee-well, smart 
 li'll boat I d' knaw the women. So I say to 
 
BUYS A BOAT 103 
 
 'n — " Have 'ee the sperit of a man in 'ee ? Art 
 wan o' they that do go to their wives, whip in 
 one hand an' money-bag in the other, an' say — 
 "Ere, take these an' rule over me?" Shame 
 upon 'ee for a man ! " I said to en. " Go to 
 your wife, an' whether she say yes or whether 
 she say no, you waan't see much o' these fifteen 
 bright pounds," I said, haulin' out a handful. 
 You should ha' seen the eyes of en gog- 
 glin' ! " Gie me the money ! " he say, " the 
 boat's yourn ! " An' mine 'a es, an' the bargain 
 too. 'Twas smart, but I don't take no credit 
 for gettin' round a simple chap like he. Sim' 
 me, he waan't make much of a splash in London 
 town. Chaps like he should stay at home, 
 though I wadn' a-goin' to tell en so. An' home 
 he'll be 'fore long, with empty pockets, sure 
 'nough.' 
 
 ' Poor chap ! ' said Jennifer. 
 
 ' Ha ! ha ! Poor chap ! ' echoed Paul. 
 
 'An' you sent him,' said Jennifer, *or as 
 good as sent him — parted him from his wife, 
 an' cheated him over his boat, an' druv him to 
 ruin, maybe ! Aw, you're a smart chap, Paul 
 Carah!' 
 
 'How?' exclaimed Paul, amazed, as he 
 well might be, at the lurid light thus suddenly 
 
104 PAUL CARAH 
 
 cast on his transactions. ' How ? ' he re- 
 peated, pricked by wrath and by another 
 emotion which he would not recognise. 
 'Pouf!' he cried, "tes the way o' business. 
 Edn' in a woman to understand business.' 
 
 "Tes in a woman to understand roguery,' 
 said Jennifer warmly. 
 
 Her anxious parent interposed with as near 
 an approach to severity as he could achieve. 
 
 * What are 'ee a-tellin' of, Jennifer ? Roguery ? 
 I wonder at 'ee. Don't talk like that — 'a edn' 
 fitty 'tall. What's Paul done? Druv a good 
 bargain. Ef that's roguery we're all rogues 
 together, your auld da an' all. Don't go for to 
 call your auld da a rogue ! ' 
 
 Paul joined in with grave reproof. 
 ' Ess, I wonder at 'ee, Jennifer. 'Twas all 
 honest an' fair, wadn' 'a? All the world do 
 knaw what a bargain is — two honest men tryin' 
 to cheat aich other. There's honest cheatin' 
 an' there's roguish cheatin'. 'Sides,' he added, 
 weakly sliding into a shaky morass of self- 
 justification, ' I guv the chap 'most what his 
 boat was worth ; he . couldn' look for more, 
 sellin' in such a hurry. An' I've no doubt he'll 
 do very well up to London ; he's just as like to 
 as not Anyways, he was main set on goin 
 
BUYS A BOAT 105 
 
 ^-don't s'pose anythin' I said could stop 
 him.' 
 
 Jennifer's shoulder was towards him, and he 
 desisted. This slip of a maid had an unplea- 
 sant power of making one uncomfortable, of 
 driving a mind conscious of rectitude to paltry, 
 unnecessary shifts and evasions. He had it in 
 him to dislike her furiously. 
 
 Mr Jose fidgeted uneasily, feeling vaguely 
 that his paragon had not distinguished himself, 
 conscious of having inwardly applauded what 
 Jennifer had condemned. There was thunder 
 in the air. A tactful change of subject might 
 divert it. 
 
 'What's the name o' the little boat?' he 
 asked. 
 
 ' Swiftsure' said Paul, shortly. 
 
 •An' a good name too. An' when do 'ee 
 bring her round here-along?' 
 
 Paul's manner changed. 
 
 'Don't knaw azackly,' he said mysteriously. 
 ' Pve got somethin' else to see for first. 
 There's a scheme plummin' in my head. Look, 
 don't say nothin' over to cove 'bout the boat, 
 nor yet 'bout Dummy. I've got a plan to sur- 
 prise 'em. I'll open their eyes! I'll make 
 them stare!' 
 
106 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'How?' asked Jennifer, relaxing. She was 
 not altogether free from what is fabled to be 
 the chief failing of her sex. 
 
 Paul took his little revenge. 
 I waan't tell 'ee yet 'Tes a brave plan, 
 though,' he said, and ostentatiously changed 
 the subject. 
 
 Next morning he disappeared, returning in 
 the evening with a brown-paper parcel and a flow 
 of talk about Henliston market The parcel was 
 not opened or referred to. Jennifer respected 
 the sanctity of the carefully tied knots, but 
 when Paul was absent, she had the curiosity to 
 prod and weigh. It felt like calico, which set 
 her wondering. 
 
 The following day Dummy came round 
 early, and he and Paul went off together, after 
 Paul had called Mr Jose and Jennifer aside and 
 told them to go down upon quay-head about 
 four o'clock, if they wanted to see some 
 fun. 
 
 Late that afternoon Bob Rowe, hanging a 
 trammel over the quay wall to dry, saw a boat 
 rounding the point which limits Porthvean's 
 view of the coast to the north-east It was too 
 far away to distinguish details, but Bob noticed 
 something peculiar about its appearance, and 
 
BUYS A BOAT 107 
 
 called the other men to come and look. They 
 could make nothing of it either. A messenger 
 was despatched to the coastguard station for a 
 telescope. He returned with two coastguards- 
 men and a little crowd of men and women. 
 Attracted by the stir, others hurried down, till 
 there was quite a mob on the quay. 
 
 The coastguardsman who held the telescope 
 rested it on the wall and took a long look. 
 
 ' Well ? What is 'a ? ' was queried. 
 
 ' My life ! ' murmured the coastguardsman, his 
 eye glued to the glass. ' My dear life ! Well \ 
 well ! * 
 
 * What ? * cried the impatient crowd. 
 * Spake up an' tell us.' 
 
 "Tes a fishin' boat,' said the man slowly. 
 
 'Porthellick boat, 'a b'lieve. An' there's flags 
 
 on it' 
 
 ' Flags ? Porthellick boat wi' flags ? ' 
 
 ' Flags on the mainmast, flags on the mizen, 
 
 flags in the bow, flags at the starn, an' a lot of 
 
 teeny flags all up the riggin'?' 
 
 * What are 'ee a-tellin' of? ' cried the 
 astonished multitude with one voice. 
 
 'See else,' said the coastguardsman, prof- 
 fering the telescope. It was seized by half- 
 a-dozen eager hands. A brief struggle, and 
 
108 PAUL CARAH 
 
 Jim Boase was the victor. There was a breath- 
 less silence while he adjusted the focus. 
 
 "Tes Will Oliver's boat, the Swiftsure,' he 
 proclaimed. ' I knaw her by the new sails.' 
 
 ' Will Oliver ? ' said one. ' Has his wife 
 druv him mazed already?' 
 
 The laughter was checked as Jim held up a 
 hand. 
 
 Two men in her,' he said, ' an' nuther 
 wan's Will.' 
 
 ' Who then ? ' 
 Wait a bit. I caan't make 'em out yet' 
 
 Favoured by the wind, the strange boat was 
 rapidly approaching^ its fantastic adornments 
 now visible to every eye. Wondering con- 
 jectures were tossed from lip to lip. Ben Jose 
 on the outskirts winked and chuckled to 
 himself. 
 
 Suddenly a yell of mingled surprise and 
 laughter burst from Jim Boase. 
 
 ' Yah-ha-ha ! Now I see 'en ! Ess — 'tes he 
 agin, sure 'nough ! ' 
 
 « Who ? Who, thou bussa ? ' 
 
 ' An', my nerves, ef the other chap edn' — 
 oh-ho-ho ! ' 
 
 They were ready to massacre him. 
 
 ' Who ? Stop grizzlin', an' tell us who ! ' 
 
BUYS A BOAT 109 
 
 'Paul!' he gasped. 'The g'eat Paul 
 Carah comin' in glory an' triumph, an' steered 
 by Dummy hisself ! ' 
 
 Their amazement was too great for laughter. 
 
 ' What a chap ! ' was murmured. ' What 
 a chap, to be sure ! All they flags ! Who 
 ever heerd tell o' such a thing ? An' Dummy, 
 an' Will Oliver's new boat ! What a chap ! ' 
 
 All eyes were fixed on the approaching craft. 
 Soon they could discern the occupants. 'Twas 
 Paul, sure enough; and see! he was waving 
 a flag in each hand. ■ And now he was hailing 
 them. Some one raised a cheer, and the 
 majority took it up, half in joke, half in earnest. 
 Nearer came the boat. Deftly steered by the 
 beaming Dummy, it shaved the pier-head and 
 brought up alongside, all standing. 
 
 Up clambered Paul, and by inveterate habit 
 began shaking hands all round. 
 
 'What d'ye think o' that, aha?' he ex- 
 claimed. 'Looks gay, don't 'a? Thought 
 I'd give- 'ee all a surprise. Dedn' knaw I'd 
 got a boat, ded 'ee? An' a partner! Hup, 
 Dummy! step up an' show yourself! Smart 
 li'll boat, edn' 'a ? An' a rare wan to go, I can 
 tell 'ee. Hooraw ! Shake han's, naibours all ! ' 
 
 He was dancing with excitement. 'Twas 
 
110 PAUL CARAH 
 
 the hour of his glory, eclipsing, utterly blotting 
 out, as he had planned it should, the un- 
 pleasant memory of his first reception. A 
 dramatic situation, a cloud of flying bunting, a 
 cheering' crowd— what more could the heart of 
 man desire, what higher pinnacle attain to? 
 For what but this does the world strive and 
 struggle, statesmen, warriors and all ? 
 
 ' Aw, Paul, Paul ! ' exclaimed Jim Boase in 
 mock anguish. ' How dedn" 'ee give us a 
 hint, so's we could 'a had St Kerne brass 
 band down ? ' 
 
 The crowd lined the edge of the quay, un- 
 restrainedly admiring the Swiftsure in its gay 
 attire. Cornish folk are as easily pleased as 
 children of a smaller growth, and as grateful 
 and well-disposed to any that will afford them 
 entertainment. Paul's popularity was high at 
 that moment. True, there was a fringe of 
 scowling faces on the outskirts, and Steve 
 Polkinhorne, slightly the worse for drink, was 
 muttering imprecations on the conceit and 
 insolence of some folk, making a maygame of 
 their betters with their play-acting, flag-flying 
 nonsense. But Steve and his followers were 
 in a miserable minority. Most cast aside 
 prejudice, and frankly admitted that a chap 
 
BUYS A BOAT HI 
 
 who could plan and execute such a scheme as 
 this for their entertainment, was a chap to be 
 encouraged, a genuine acquisition. 
 
 And what was this? Old Reseigh himself 
 taking the trouble to walk down the quay, 
 condescending to shake Paul by the hand, and 
 warmly congratulating him ! 
 
 'Very smart an' pretty,' quoth he, his 
 little eyes wandering from the boat to Paul, 
 and from Paul to Dummy. 'A grand notion, 
 sure 'nough, an' we do take et kind of 'ee to 
 make such a brave show for us to see. An' 
 you've got a boat an' a partner already, spite 
 o' the rogues that looked to hender 'ee. 
 You're a smart chap, an' a bustler, that's plain. 
 I'll keep my eye upon 'ee ; you should do very 
 well ef you've a mind to. An' look — you'll be 
 wantin' gear. There's everythin' in my li'll 
 shop — nets, lines, hooks. Come an' choose 
 when you like, an' you needn' bring no 
 money.' 
 
 'That your game, uncle?' exclaimed Paul, 
 slapping the great man on the shoulder in a 
 familiar way which made those around shudder 
 and fearfully admire. 'No debts for me. 
 What I take I pay for; that's me!" 
 
 'You're right,' said Reseigh with a side- 
 
112 PAUL CARAH 
 
 long glance. 'You're my sort, I can see — a 
 man o' business. I only said that to show 'ee 
 where to look for help when you want et I'm 
 your friend, mind that Steve Polkinhorne, 
 come along o' me. I want you.' 
 
 The crowd parted respectfully as old Reseigh 
 waddled off with Steve skulking behind him. 
 As soon as the two were at a safe distance, 
 nods and winks of deep import were exchanged. 
 The nature of the bond between them was 
 known, but it was not a thing to talk of aloud 
 with safety, especially when coastguardsmen 
 were about. 
 
 Reseigh gone, the suspended interest in 
 Paul and his boat revived. They crowded 
 round, questioning and admiring. Paul was 
 in his element, and he shone — joking, yarning, 
 boasting, till at last he grew too hoarse for 
 intelligible speech, and took Ben Jose's arm 
 and walked off, the happiest man in Cornwall 
 that day. 
 
 ' I've guv 'em somethin' to talk about, aha, 
 uncle ? ' he said exultingly. i I tauld 'ee you 
 all wanted wakin' up, an' I'm the man to do et. 
 I edn' wan to be overlooked ! Grand, wadn' 
 et? The eyes of all Porthvean upon me, 'a 
 
BUYS A BOAT 118 
 
 b'lieve. 'Tes a pity Jennifer dedn' come. How 
 dedn' she? ' 
 
 Ben Jose hesitated. 
 
 'Well, she dedn' wish,' he said apologeti- 
 cally. 'She guv a guess o' what was up, an' 
 she don't sim to set no store by such things. 
 A queeat maid, you d' knaw. She edn' wan for 
 show an' fuss an' mummery.' 
 
 ' S'pose not,' said Paul in tones of vexation ; 
 and suddenly he dropped into a silence. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 HE MAKES AN ENEMY 
 
 Faint colours were beginning to mantle in 
 the grey face of the dawn, when the Swift- 
 sure, with Paul and Dummy on board, 
 slipped out of the arms of the sleeping 
 quay, and turned southward along the coast. 
 In the chill morning air Dummy yawned and 
 shivered, only half awake. Paul was fresh and 
 alert, warm with the glow of enterprise. Early 
 as it was, he had already spent some busy 
 hours at the cuttling grounds, getting bait. For 
 after a week of unremitting toil everything was 
 ready, the ropes tarred, the nets barked, the 
 hooks fitted to spiller and boulter, and now at 
 last he sat in his own boat with his trusty part- 
 ner by his side, speeding on his way to make 
 the first cast in his new and hopeful venture. 
 Dummy steered, while Paul cut up the cuttle 
 ready for the hooks. Past Cam Mellyn they 
 
MAKES AN ENEMY 115 
 
 went, and out towards Penluce, tacking to and 
 fro in the teeth of the breeze : for 'tis the rule 
 to beat up against the weather when going out, 
 so as to ensure a fair run home if the wind 
 should rise. Half-way to Penluce, Dummy 
 steered out to sea. Hitherto he had remained 
 quietly intent on the guidance of the boat ; but 
 now, as they left the land behind, he began 
 to chatter to himself, and his eyes wandered 
 restlessly about, now peering over the side 
 of the boat into the water, now searching the 
 hills behind for landmarks, now comprehen- 
 sively sweeping from sea to sky and back 
 again, reading an open book, as it seemed, 
 and pondering on its sentences. Now he 
 laughed, and now he frowned and chattered 
 angrily. Sometimes he let the tiller go for a 
 moment, and wove excited gestures on the air, 
 as if arguing with himself. Once or twice 
 he leaned over as he sat, scooped up a little 
 water in the palm of his hand, and tasted it. 
 His excitement infected Paul, who, from 
 watching him in curious silence, broke out 
 into the little inarticulate cries with which a 
 sportsman encourages his dog. 
 
 Still they went on, until they were about a 
 mile from shore. The sun was up a hand's 
 
116 PAUL CARAH 
 
 breadth from the horizon, and the boat danced 
 on the verge of a broad track of pale fire. 
 Shags flew low over the water and squattered 
 down in spurts of diamond spray. The gulls 
 were shouting overhead, and Paul in sheer 
 high spirits shouted back. 
 
 On they went. The shags were swimming 
 all round them. Every moment one would dive, 
 leaping right out of the water and describing 
 a curve in the air with its black snaky body 
 before disappearing below. One appeared sud- 
 denly right under the boat's quarter with a 
 bar of living silver in its beak. Paul shouted 
 a greeting, as to a comrade. 
 
 ' Good luck ti' 'ee, soase ! How's the 
 fishin* hereabouts?' 
 
 Just as he spoke, Dummy, taking the hint, 
 as Paul opined, from the bird, relinquished 
 the tiller, cast loose the main sheet, and 
 made signs for Paul to help him lower the 
 sails. 
 
 'We're there, aha?' cried Paul, clutching 
 and tugging at the ropes in a frenzy of ex- 
 citement. ' Bustle, brave boys ! Down with 
 her ! Yo-o-o-hup I That's your sort ! Smart's 
 the word ! ' 
 
 The sails down, they set about preparing 
 
MAKES AN ENEMY 117 
 
 the tackle. First Dummy adjusted the lines 
 by which the boulter was to hang from the 
 floats. Then he started baiting the hooks, 
 treating each one with a deliberate careful- 
 ness, which set Paul's highly strung nerves 
 a-fidget. He wanted to help, but Dummy 
 snatched the line from his hands with an 
 angry chatter. He knew his business, his 
 heart was in it, and he brooked no interfer- 
 ence from novices. Paul tried to argue, but 
 argument by gesture is hopeless work, and 
 Dummy's eyes were too busy to attend. 
 Paul began to realise that between two men, 
 one with all his five senses, and the other 
 with only three, the advantage is not always 
 with the better-equipped. When one like 
 Dummy wished to go on his own way, he had 
 only to blink his eyes or turn his back, and 
 he was impermeable to all external influence 
 save actual force. The glib tongue on which 
 Paul set such reliance was of no service here. 
 
 With another man Paul would have fired 
 up at being pushed into the background on 
 board his own boat ; but Dummy to him was 
 one huge joke. He laughed and acquiesced, 
 content to stand by Dummy's side and pay 
 out the boulter section by section, thrilling 
 
118 PAUL CARAH 
 
 with the hunter's joy to see it sink down and 
 down into the dim underworld where the in- 
 visible quarry lurked, picturing the moment 
 when it would next come to light, strung from 
 end to end with flapping, tugging, wriggling 
 creatures. 
 
 The last hook was baited, the last float 
 flopped into the water. The sails were hoisted 
 again, and the Swiftsure danced homeward, a 
 thing of springing, stressful life, a swift, 
 brown-winged bird. The old similes must 
 suffice. 
 
 Paul had the tiller now, and his heart over- 
 flowed with the joy of life, and that sense of 
 power and mastery which is only known in its 
 completeness to two — the steersman in a fair 
 breeze and the musician playing on a great 
 organ. He sang, he laughed, he addressed 
 his boat in terms of extravagant endearment, 
 as a lover his mistress. He talked and joked 
 with Dummy, as a man will talk and joke 
 with his dog, in a ^spirit of make-believe that 
 the creature understands. And as the dog 
 wags a sociable and courteous tail, so Dummy 
 grinned and gabbled back. 
 
 Steve Polkinhorne, lounging on the quay, 
 watching the approach of the boat and revolv- 
 
MAKES AN ENEMY 119 
 
 ing dark thoughts, was treated to a faded 
 music-hall song, yelled with all the force of 
 Paul's lungs. He had hated and feared the 
 insolent, overbearing fellow from the first. 
 To see him approaching thus, as it were in 
 triumphal progress, with the wind of fortune 
 at his back and a song of jubilee on his lips, 
 affected him intolerably. As Paul and Dummy, 
 having made fast, clambered up on to the quay, 
 he advanced towards them, and accosted Paul 
 with a nasty grin. 
 
 ' Welcome home agin* my lord ! ' he snig- 
 gered. 
 
 'Aha, Steve, my boy! fine fishin' weather,' 
 said Paul genially, for he was at peace with 
 all the world just then. But he had no time to 
 spare for a chat with idle fellows. With a wave 
 of his hand he swung off up the quay. Steve, 
 ready to construe anything from Paul into an 
 insult, snarled an ugly word under his breath, 
 stepped up to the edge of the quay, and deliber- 
 ately spat into the boat below. But though 
 Paul was off, Dummy was close at hand, and 
 the boat Dummy sailed on was as sacred to 
 him as his ancestral bones to the bland 
 Celestial. With a shriek of rage he leapt on 
 Steve, and began pounding him. Steve howled 
 
120 PAUL CARAH 
 
 murder, and Paul, hurrying back, was only just 
 in time to save him from being toppled over into 
 the water by his infuriated antagonist He 
 pushed his long arms between the two, and 
 with a vigorous thrust sent them staggering 
 back in contrary directions. 
 
 'Ef that jabberin' monkey lays a hand 'pon 
 me agin,' gasped Steve, ' I'll put a knife into 
 m. 
 
 "Ere, what's all this about?' exclaimed 
 Paul. 
 
 'Nothin',' muttered Steve. 'He jumped 
 'pon me when my back was turned. He ought 
 to be shut up ; he's as vicious* as a fox.' 
 
 ' How's this, Dummy ? ' asked Paul. 
 Dummy explained in vigorous pantomime. 
 Paul's face darkened. 
 
 'Oh, you did, did you?' he blazed out. 
 'Well, do that agin, or the likes of et, or go 
 to touch my partner or profane agin him, an' 
 you'll get the noblest hidin' you ever had in 
 your life. Monkey, sayst? I liv you knaw 
 he's a better man than any drunken, cheatin* 
 rogue 'mong your lot Be off wi' 'ee, before I 
 smash 'ee. The likes o' you edn' fit for humans 
 to consort wi'. An' we don't have no trans- 
 actions arter this, mind that.' 
 
MAKES AN ENEMY 121 
 
 Steve slunk off, swearing abominably. At 
 the end of the quay he turned. 
 
 'Yah!' he yelled. 'Yah, thou bussa! 
 I'll be even wi' 'ee yet, thou hollerin' faggot! 
 I give 'ee fair warnin', so look out ! ' 
 
 ' Thank 'ee, thank 'ee ! ' laughed Paul. ' But 
 you needn' ha' troubled. When I see a snake, 
 I don't need to hear his rattle 'fore I stank upon 
 'm. Do your worst, I'm ready.' 
 
 Later on, Jennifer was favoured with a highly- 
 coloured version of the whole occurrence ; and 
 she expressed her satisfaction in terms of warm 
 approval — the first she had accorded him. If 
 she smiled a little when he spoke in stern 
 reprobation of the insulting epithet Steve had 
 applied to Dummy, yet her smile was kindly. 
 She was beginning to understand Paul, and to 
 see that to understand him was to be disposed 
 to excuse the flamboyant eccentricities which 
 at first had repelled her. If nothing else, then 
 his prompt championship of her favourite 
 inclined her to tolerance. 
 
 So, with fortune and (by what he would 
 consider a poetic licence) beauty smiling on our 
 hero, this chapter comes to a fine-weather 
 close. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 HE GOES FISHING 
 
 On Monday night the wind got up, and all 
 through Tuesday and Wednesday it rained 
 and blew a regular twister. Paul's whole 
 thoughts were concentrated on the slender cord 
 that swayed and stretched out there in mid-sea, 
 carrying his hopes and fortune. He fretted and 
 fumed outrageously at the delay the weather 
 was causing. He could lay no claim to the 
 fisherman's chief and most necessary virtue, 
 the steady, uncomplaining patience which sits 
 about our coasts, and whittles its stick when 
 winds are high. He found fault with his food; 
 he was testy and irritable with Jennifer; and 
 when the lamp was lit and Mr Jose lugged 
 down his mapping tackle and set to work on 
 Scotland, which is no light job, with its 
 superfluously intricate coast-line calling for a 
 steady hand and an undistracted mind, he 
 
GOES FISHING 128 
 
 nearly wore down the placid old man's patience 
 with incessant fidgeting and captious criticisms. 
 'Twas a relief when with Thursday's dawn the 
 clouds broke and the wind moderated. 
 
 Paul's spirits shot up with the mercury. The 
 sea was heavy still — too heavy for safety, 
 thought Porthvean — and no one else was 
 venturing out. But Paul could sit and suck 
 his thumbs no longer. 'Twas a fine oppor- 
 tunity, too, to dazzle the world with an exhibition 
 of reckless daring and consummate seamanship. 
 To do what no one else dared was to skim 
 the rich cream off the milky monotony of 
 life. 
 
 Dummy was fetched. He shook his head 
 doubtfully, but came. Oilskins were donned, 
 and the boat was launched in a drenching shower 
 of spray.. 
 
 Who was that on quay-head, watching their 
 departure? Steve Polkinhorne again. And 
 what did that malicious grin on his face mean ? 
 One didn't know, and one didn't care. 
 
 Paul steered and Dummy sculled until they 
 were at a safe distance from shore, when the 
 mainsail was hoisted, and off they sped," the 
 Swiftsure acquitting herself gallantly, taking 
 
124 PAUL CARAH 
 
 the big waves with grace and ease of a hunter 
 over the fences. 
 
 They were half-way to their destination when 
 Dummy, shifting a coil of rope, found lying 
 underneath it a small object which had no 
 business there. He picked it up, and after a 
 brief examination was about to throw it over- 
 board, when Paul, in a spirit of idle curiosity, 
 held out his hand. 
 
 What's that?' he asked. 'Give et here 
 for a minute.' 
 
 Dummy tossed it over, and Paul caught it. 
 
 A brief glance, and his face went grey, as the 
 face of a man who idly picks up a curious 
 twig, and finds that he is holding a venomous 
 snake. His hand dropped from the tiller. 
 The boat swerved from its course and lurched 
 half over as a great wave struck its side. 
 Dummy, angry and bewildered, stumbled aft 
 and caught the tiller, pushing Paul aside. And 
 still Paul sat and stared blankly at the 
 insignificant bit of bone and fur in his 
 hand. 
 
 'Mus' go back,' he muttered, when he had 
 recovered a little. ' No use goin' on wi' this 
 on board. We might be drowned, sure 'nough. 
 Mus' go back.' 
 
GOES FISHING 125 
 
 He laid an undecided hand on the main-sheet, 
 withdrew it slowly, and glanced again at the 
 thing in his hand. 
 
 ' Hare's foot, sure 'nough,' he said. ' An' 
 hare's foot, evil fortune. How did 'a come 
 here, I wonder ? ' 
 
 Dummy leaned over and peered curiously at 
 the thing, wondering what occult power it could 
 have to strike his partner silly. It had no 
 ominous meaning for him ; the happy limits of 
 his senses shut him off from the dark world of 
 unspeakable shadows on the verge of which 
 Cornish folk are treading all their lives. 
 
 'How did 'a come here?' Paul repeated. 
 'Somebody must ha' put en here — somebody 
 that wished ill agin me. Who ? ' 
 
 The memory of Steve's malevolent visage 
 flashed on his mind. 
 
 ' 'Twas he ! ' he cried. ' 'Twas he, the 
 rogue! An' he's waitin' there for us to come 
 stavin' back, like maids from a field o' cows ! ' 
 
 His anger rose in a flood, battling with his 
 superstitious misgivings. He heard Steve's 
 triumphant chuckle, he saw his prestige wilting 
 before the grins of all Porthvean as he slunk 
 back, discomfited, empty-handed, without a 
 dab or a crab to show for his vaunting 
 
126 PAUL CARAH 
 
 prophecies. He saw that to give in was to 
 court a repetition — endless repetitions — of this 
 dastard blow in the dark. Unknown terrors 
 lurked before him, defeat and derision 
 threatened behind. White fear and red wrath 
 grappled with each other within him ; — and -the 
 pale spectre went under. 
 
 ' On we go ! ' he shouted in a voice to scare 
 all apprehension away. ' No turnin' back for 
 we! Paul Carah agin the world an' a hare's 
 foot ! I back Paul.' 
 
 The thing was still in his hand. He raised 
 his arm to throw it far out over the water, 
 but a thought struck him, and he slipped it into 
 his pocket. 
 
 ' There's some games two can play at, Steve, 
 my man,' he chuckled. 
 
 The line of floats bobbed merrily ahead. 
 ' Hurrah ! Down with the sail ! We'll let them 
 know ! ' 
 
 They brought to cleverly just over the line. 
 With no way on, the boat began to rock and 
 reel in the choppy sea. Paul had scarcely 
 found his sea-legs yet, and he staggered as he 
 stood up and made ready. His heart beat high 
 with confidence, but the region just below 
 seemed uneasy and timorous. Was the male- 
 
GOES FISHING 127 
 
 volent influence of the hare's foot making 
 itself felt already, and was the heroic Paul going 
 to be — perish the thought ! He pulled himself 
 together^ and started hauling in, under the 
 superintendence of Dummy. 
 
 The first dozen hooks came up as they had 
 gone down. Then a churning, a splashing, a 
 shout from Paul, and two small conger came up 
 on adjacent hooks, snapping and intertwining. 
 Then, after a long interval, a moderate-sized 
 cod. Another cod, rather larger. An immense 
 skate as big as a table, its great white wings 
 flapping. They had to reeve a line over the 
 mast before they could haul it in, and the mast 
 bent like a whip under its weight It covered 
 the bottom of the boat like a carpet. 
 
 They were in for a big catch, sure enough ; 
 and hare's feet were mere foolishness, as we 
 had thought all along. 
 
 More fish; conger, cod, ling, a fine turbot, 
 and any amount of the small coarse fish that 
 Porthvean lumps together under the name of 
 * raggle.' The boat began to sink lower in 
 the water! 
 
 The end was almost in sight, and on the end 
 was something heavy, something strong, some- 
 thing that protested vigorously against the 
 
128 PAUL CARAH 
 
 ignominious treatment it was suffering. Wild 
 with excitement, Paul signed to Dummy to lend 
 a hand. There was a faint stir down in the 
 water ; it grew nearer and increased. The two 
 had to redouble their efforts. Now there were 
 glimpses of a dark writhing column, as thick as 
 a stout man's leg. A flat tapering tail shot 
 above the surface, whirled round, and disap- 
 peared with a mighty splash. Paul hallooed, 
 and put all his strength into a tremendous pull ; 
 and out of the circle of foam which had formed 
 on the water, appeared a long snout like a 
 beast's, but fringed with minute rows of teeth 
 like emery paper, and two cruel, beady eyes. 
 Then six feet of round, sinuous, sleek, bluish- 
 grey body, lashing and floundering wildly. 
 One blow struck the boat's side, and there was 
 a resounding thwack like that of a flail on a 
 threshing-floor. 
 
 ' Hooraw ! ' cried Paul. ' Fifty pound ef he's 
 an ounce ! ' In his excitement he did what he 
 should not have done, and put out his hand to 
 catch the creature under the throat. The tail 
 lashed out, Paul yelled with pain, and the hand 
 drooped powerless on the extended wrist. 
 
 First score to Steve. 
 
 But Dummy hauled on, and the conger, 
 
"'Twas a duel to the death, and no one else must interfere." 
 Paul CaraAi l Fa ? e "9 
 
GOES FISHING 129 
 
 lacking the leverage afforded by its native 
 element, was in the boat in a trice, and hailing 
 futile blows on its companions in misfortune. 
 Dummy reached for the gaff, meaning to settle 
 the monster by pounding it over the belly — an 
 effective method, but only to be resorted to in 
 the last instance, as it bruises and reddens the 
 flesh, so lowering the market value. But Paul 
 signed for him to desist He was half mad 
 with pain ; he fully believed his wrist was 
 broken ; he and the conger had a private 
 account to settle ; 'twas a duel to the death, 
 and no one else must interfere. 
 
 With his uninjured hand he pulled its head 
 towards him by the boulter line, at the same 
 time hooking one knee round its middle, in an 
 attempt to grip the body between his legs. As 
 he did so the boat gave a lurch. He stumbled, 
 and in trying to regain his footing, trod on 
 the slippery mass of fish beneath him. Down 
 he went, and which was Paul and which was 
 conger was difficult to tell. Two or three 
 unsuccessful attempts, and he was up again, 
 his eyes flaming, his chest heaving, his flesh 
 tingling with the conger's vindictive blows. 
 Seizing the line again, he nipped the creature's 
 body in the crook of the half-disabled arm. 
 
130 PAUL CARAH 
 
 Holding it firmly against his side, regardless 
 of blows showered on his legs, he was able to let 
 the line go and clutch the conger round the throat 
 Then, with a vigorous effort he got up against a 
 thwart, and, watching his opportunity, pinned 
 the lower part of the slimy, writhing body 
 between his two knees and the edge of the 
 thwart. Now he had a triple grip of the crea- 
 ture : by his hand at its throat, and by his 
 arm and knees on its body in two places. 'Twas 
 a dead-lock ; he could do no more. 
 
 ' Knife, quick, and slit his chuck ! ' he gasped 
 to Dummy, forgetting that he could not hear. 
 But Dummy understood without words. With 
 his knife out he advanced and slit the conger's 
 throat from side to side. Then he tugged at 
 the line ; the lower jaw was torn across, and 
 the hook came out at the cut. Paul let go, and 
 the fish fell with a wet slap on the others. Life 
 was in it yet, but its strength was ebbing. 
 They could let it flop and snap. The fight was 
 over, and Paul had won. 
 
 As soon as it was all over, the victorious 
 hero collapsed on a thwart and was violently 
 and most unheroically sick. 
 
 Second score to Steve. 
 
 Dummy grinned a little ; there is a humorous 
 
GOES FISHING 131 
 
 incongruity in the spectacle of a sea-sick fisher- 
 man which it is not in human nature to resist 
 But he had sense and delicacy enough to compose 
 his features when Paul sat up and glanced 
 suspiciously at him. The sight of his stolid 
 face was reassuring ; but, to make matters 
 quite safe, he was made to understand that if 
 he waved the least hint of the humiliating occur- 
 rence to any one on shore, he would never be 
 forgiven 
 
 The great fish was on the last hook of all; 
 so after overhauling the boulter, repairing and 
 rebaiting it in the necessary places, they lowered 
 it into the water again, hoisted sail, and started * 
 for home. 
 
 Paul took stock. On Steve's side of the 
 account was the injured wrist and the disgraceful 
 behaviour of his stomach. But the wrist on 
 examination proved to have sustained no worse 
 harm than a sprain ; and the sickness was 
 nothing, save for the shame of the thing, and 
 that was nothing too, as nobody would know 
 of it On the other hand was the elating 
 consciousness of having fought a big fight and 
 won it, not merely against the brute strength 
 of the great sea-beast, but against the subtler 
 and more dreadful influence of powers invisible. 
 
132 PAUL CARAH 
 
 For that the thing in his pocket was solely 
 responsible for the injuries he had suffered he 
 never for a moment doubted. And in the boat 
 under his feet heaved and panted four hundred- 
 weight at least of prime fish. Two pounds 
 were as good as transferred from Reseigh's 
 pocket to his own. His wrist throbbed painfully, 
 he was black and blue all over, but his heart 
 was wild with exultation. 
 
 To crown all, a sweet stroke of revenge was 
 in store for him. The wind had shifted when it 
 subsided, and all the morning it had been fighting 
 against the sea, planing the waves down. As 
 the Swiftsure approached the cove, the other 
 boats were putting out. One made straight for 
 the returning craft, and Paul with a thrill recog- 
 nised its occupants as Steve Polkinhorne and 
 John Trembath, his partner, and just such another 
 as he. Paul stood up, slipping off the bandage he 
 had tied round his wrist. Steve must not know 
 of that. 
 
 The boats passed within a biscuit throw of 
 each other. As they crossed, Paul thrust his 
 hand into his pocket, pulled out the hare's foot, 
 and deftly tossed it into the other boat at Steve's 
 feet 
 
GOES FISHING 138 
 
 ' Returned wi' thanks,' he called, 'not havin' 
 no further use fur'n.' 
 
 There was a commotion, an outburst of loud 
 oath, a hurried consultation, and — yes ! they 
 were putting about, they were ignominiously 
 following the Swiftsure back into the harbour ! 
 
 ' Paid back in your own coin, Steve, my man ! 
 A smart stroke, aha! Tis to be hoped you 
 hear our laughter. We make it as loud and 
 insulting as we can.' 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 HE FIGHTS A BATTLE 
 
 There followed a busy but comparatively 
 uneventful time. Steve Polkinhorne, discon- 
 certed by the failure of his first treacherous 
 blow, made no attempt to repeat it. The 
 weather continued fair, the trammel was put 
 out; and with trammel and boulter, with 
 the getting of bait, and the process of 
 establishing himself firmly as an integral part 
 of Porthvean society, Paul's time was fully 
 occupied. The catches of fish averaged well 
 for the time of year, and in the matter of sales, 
 Reseigh was accommodating, even generous. 
 Plainly the old chap, to whom the rest of the 
 world cringed cap in hand, appreciated as a 
 refreshing novelty Paul's careless independ- 
 ence, and realised that he was one with whom it 
 were best to stand well. 
 
 In the Joses' cottage things went smoothly 
 
FIGHTS A BATTLE 135 
 
 on the whole. It is true that Paul and Jennifer 
 were continually at loggerheads, as two such 
 different natures must necessarily be ; but that 
 did not prevent their friendship from progressing 
 steadily. In their different ways they were 
 equally free from malice. Their frequent tiffs, 
 lacking the least taste of bitterness, were of the 
 kind that forms the food of many healthy 
 friendships. Of that which lies beyond friend- 
 ship there was nothing. Each was frank with 
 the other. Jennifer understood Paul, and Paul 
 thought he understood Jennifer. Paul over- 
 looked Jennifer's, queer looks, and tolerated her 
 queer ways with a magnanimity all his own ; 
 and with great good humour Jennifer endured 
 Paul's constant interference and advice on 
 cooking, tea brewing, knitting, and other 
 purely feminine matters. He was a man : 
 nothing in the sphere of human affairs was 
 foreign to him. 
 
 Dummy was a link between them. There 
 were two suns in Dummy's sky now. Without 
 abating an iota of his allegiance to Jennifer, 
 he began to exhibit an almost equal devotion 
 for this new companion, in whom even he 
 could recognise something out of the common. 
 Jennifer had once compared him to a dog ; and 
 
136 PAUL CARAH 
 
 he had all the dog's intuition of character ; like 
 the dog, he was attracted by the human 
 picturesque. Paul never made game of him as 
 the others did ; more than once he had inter- 
 fered to stop their idle teasing. Paul was 
 strong and confident; he looked one in the 
 face and laughed ; there were no secrets in 
 him, even to a poor deaf and dumb fellow ; his 
 face was an open book. And, thanks to a hint 
 from Jennifer, he carried a store of sugar in his 
 waistcoat pocket ; and Dummy had a pathetic 
 weakness for sugar. Like a dog he adored 
 Paul and followed him about. And like a 
 master's to his faithful dog, so were Paul's 
 feelings and behaviour towards Dummy. The 
 adoration he took as a matter of course, well 
 pleased with it, but not in the least touched. 
 The poor chap was useful and amusing. 
 By reason of his affliction he had a claim on 
 one's compassion and forbearance. The rdle of 
 protector was gratifying to one's pride, and 
 exhibited one's character in a favourable light 
 before oneself and the world. And he offered 
 pleasant problems for the consideration of one's 
 busy brain, not only in the continual exercise 
 which the gesture-talk demanded, but in other 
 matters too. He knew the tides to a minute ; 
 
FIGHTS A BATTLE 137 
 
 how, when a clock was an unfathomable mystery 
 to him? He went to chapel regularly; what 
 meaning could he attach to the rites of standing, 
 sitting, and kneeling, which were the only parts 
 of the service that could reach his senses ? Then 
 was it not strange, suddenly to realise that, if 
 he were to gain his hearing, words and names 
 would have no meaning for him? He knew 
 Jennifer, but he didn't know she was Jennifer. 
 Paul was not Paul to him, but two windmill 
 arms and a head poked forward. He lived in 
 Porthvean, but it might be Columbus, Ioway, 
 for all he knew. 
 
 Paul often discussed these matters with 
 Jennifer, not only because Dummy interested 
 him, but because Dummy was almost the only 
 subject that could rouse Jennifer to anything 
 like loquaciousness. One may be fond of the 
 sound of one's own voice, without caring for 
 conversation to degenerate into monologue 
 sparsely punctuated with yes's and no's and 
 imperceptible gestures. It was not always 
 quite so bad as that with Jennifer; but still, 
 from the social point of view, she often left 
 much to be desired. But when Dummy was 
 the topic, she would talk, argue, interrupt, like 
 any other woman. 'Twas a strange trait in her 
 
138 PAUL CARAH 
 
 — this show of almost passionate affection for a 
 creature that after all was only half-human. 
 There were worthier objects about, too ; but 
 let that pass. He was fond of Dummy himself 
 in a rational way. And he could emphasise 
 his fondness, both for the sake of effect, and 
 because it propitiated Jennifer, and so promoted 
 sociability. He liked the maid, and was willing 
 to take a little trouble in order to stand well 
 with her. 
 
 The worst of it was, one never knew in what 
 strange light she might choose to view one's 
 actions. Her moral code was all her own, and 
 the perverse twists and bends in it made it 
 impossible to forecast her behaviour in any 
 situation whatever. 
 
 Take an instance. 
 
 An encounter with Steve Polkinhorne was 
 inevitable sooner or later. If ever a man 
 needed a thrashing it was he. Paul only waited 
 for adequate provocation. It was offered, and 
 one afternoon Paul burst in on Jennifer with a 
 black eye and a glorious tale of war and 
 victory. 
 
 ' I've smashed the rogue ! I tauld en I 
 would, give me the chanst, an' I've done et. A 
 fair stand-up fight, with all Porthvean lookin' 
 
FIGHTS A BATTLE 139 
 
 on, an* I bet en — bet en up an' down. Ef I've 
 got wan black eye he's got two. Got a bit o' 
 raw beef handy, Jennifer? Fetch en an' clap 
 en on while I tell 'ee all about et.' 
 
 'Steve?' asked Jennifer. 
 
 'Steve 'a es, 'course. He got the first blow 
 in 'fore I was ready. That's how my eye's bad. 
 But 'twas the last chanst he got. Gum ! how I 
 pounded en! He waan't stand straight for a 
 week, I promise 'ee. Mazed weth anger I was, 
 reg*lar fightin' mad ! They were fo'ced to haul 
 me off at last, or I might ha' killed en. Aw, 
 'twas grand! Pity you wadn' there to see, 
 Jennifer ; edn' nothin' like a fight to gie the 
 women pleasure.' 
 
 Jennifer shut her eyes. 
 
 ' I'm glad I wadn',' she said, shivering. 
 'But I'm glad you beat en, too, arter his 
 be'aviour to Dummy.' 
 
 "A wadn' Dummy we fought over,' cried 
 Paul. 'That's the grand part. 'Twas you!' 
 
 ' Me ! ' she cried, stepping back. 
 
 'You. Look, I was down 'pon quay-head. 
 Steve was up the other end o' the quay, an' 
 John Trembath was down on the water in a 
 boat. Steve an' John were hollerin' wan to 
 the other, sayin' all the things they could think 
 
140 PAUL CARAH 
 
 upon to gie me 'nnoyance. You d' knaw the 
 way — they dedn' spake out plain, nor put a 
 name to nothin', but they were gettin' at me 
 all the while. Well, I dedn' pay no 'ttention, 
 an' that made Steve mad, s'pose ; for all of a 
 sudden he put your name agin mine, an' said 
 somethin' — I waan't tell 'ee what — 'a edn' fitty 
 for 'ee to hear. I was rampin' mad to wance. 
 I staved up to en an', says I, "You may 
 profane agin me so much as you plaise, soase, 
 but the man that do spake 'bout a woman like 
 that when I'm about has got to have a rare 
 good hidin'. Put up your fistes, you bistly 
 rogue," said I, dancin' round en, an' haulin' off 
 my coat An' wi' that, he hit me in the face, 
 the varmen, when my arms were behind me, 
 half out o' my sleeves, so's I couldn' guard 
 myself. He was sorry direckly. Such a 
 quilten' as I guv en ! He waan't profane agin 
 'ee no more, Jennifer, you may be sure o' 
 that ! * 
 
 Now for the hero's delicious reward — the 
 torrent of grateful words from fair lips, the 
 homage to bravery and the commendation of 
 virtue. 
 
 Jennifer was scarlet 
 
 'Aw, 'tes shameful!' she exclaimed, miser- 
 
FIGHTS A BATTLE 141 
 
 ably. 'Draggin' my name about the town, 
 an' fightin' over me like two tinklers over a 
 go-'bout woman ! I shall never hauld up my 
 head again. Paul, how could you do so ? ' 
 
 ' Hullo ! ' Paul was never so astonished in 
 his life. 'Do 'ee mean to say you're vexed, 
 Jennifer, because I stand up for 'ee when a 
 rogue insults 'ee ? ' 
 
 'Vexed!' she cried. 'I'm ready to die o' 
 shame ! ' 
 
 Was this his reward ? 
 
 'But, Jennifer, / never spoke your name! 
 He said — ' 
 
 'Do 'ee think I care what Steve Polkin- 
 horne do say 'bout me? There edn' many 
 good words spoken o' me over to cove. I scorn 
 them all' 
 
 'But, Jennifer, I couldn' sit still an' hear 
 such words spoken of 'ee — ' 
 
 'So you jumped up an' hammered them 
 down, so's to give everybody a reason to talk 
 about 'em. They're ready 'nough, gie them a 
 chanst.' 
 
 Paul was too bewildered to be angry. He 
 stood up for Dummy, and she praised him 
 warmly. He did a like service to herself, and 
 she showed her vexation unmistakably. Any 
 
142 PAUL CARAH 
 
 other maid would have been as pleased as 
 Punch at being the cause of a fight between 
 two men. One expects inconsistency of a 
 woman ; but this outrageous instance took 
 one's breath away. 
 
 Jennifer , was touched by his expression of 
 puzzled dismay. 
 
 ' There ! ' she said gently. ' You meant 
 well by en, I know ; an' 'twas brave an' 
 generous. I'd be thankful ef I could ; an* I am 
 thankful to think you're so ready to take my 
 part. But I'd rather you dedn'. Don't 'ee 
 understand? 'Tes like settin' me naked 'pon 
 the quay, for the town to point their fingers at. 
 The shame do burn me like a hot iron. Don't 
 'ee understand ? ' 
 
 Paul certainly didn't. But he did understand 
 that he had received a black eye in her service, 
 and no thanks for reward. And if ever he 
 played champion to a maid again — ! 
 
 ' I'm sorry you're hurted,' said Jennifer. 
 ' 'Twas for me you took the blow, an' I'm sorry 
 an' grateful too.' 
 
 Then she might have said so at first, instead 
 of abusing him. 'Twas rank ingratitude, and 
 he wouldn't have believed it of her. He didn't 
 want her thanks. No, and he wouldn't let her 
 
FIGHTS A BATTLE 143 
 
 doctor his eye. It should remain as it was, a 
 staring, many-coloured reproach to her. And 
 for the rest of the day he maintained a sulky 
 silence. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 HE GOES TO MARKET 
 
 THE season waned ; the bad weather began 
 to set in. Trips to sea were fewer, and 
 at each trip the catches grew smaller. But 
 still, thanks to his busy energy, and, as he 
 generously admitted, to Dummy's knack of 
 pitching on the right spots, Paul's boat was 
 doing better than any of the others. And the 
 others didn't half like it To tell the truth, 
 Paul's suddenly achieved popularity was waning. 
 The novelty of his presence had worn off; he 
 had begun to repeat his best yarns ; of late he 
 had done nothing surprising to tickle their 
 palates, greedy for entertainment ; in one or 
 two little disputes his determination not to be 
 imposed upon had led him into what Porthvean 
 considered high-handed proceedings. And now 
 he, a new-comer, was catching more fish than 
 any old hand among them, and he didn't fail to 
 
GOES TO MARKET 145 
 
 keep the fact before their eyes, parading it 
 indeed in a highly exasperating fashion. They 
 began to remember that he was an interloper — 
 a foreigner, or as good as a foreigner. Steve 
 Polkinhorne was active ; and one active detrac- 
 tor can work havoc in the ranks of lukewarm 
 friendship. Once more the old threats were 
 heard of making the place too hot for him — not 
 in his presence, though ; his long arms and utter 
 fearlessness compelled unwilling respect. But 
 certain little incidents showed which way the 
 wind was blowing. 
 
 Whether by luck or by that queer instinct of 
 his, Dummy had hit on a spot where fish 
 swarmed. It was a narrow spit of sand 
 between flat rocks, in ten fathoms of water, not 
 half a mile from the shore — right under the 
 noses of Porthvean, in fact. And they had 
 never suspected its existence, which did not 
 lessen their annoyance when Paul shot his net 
 there day after day for a week with unvarying 
 success. Then, as the spring tides were due, 
 when nets, if left out, get choked with oarweed 
 and rubbish, he brought the trammel ashore. 
 Next morning four . boats went out and shot 
 nets in a circle round the spot, shutting him 
 out effectually, regardless of the unwritten rule 
 
146 PAUL CARAH 
 
 which made the ground his till he shot else- 
 where. 
 
 Another time the wind got up suddenly in the 
 
 night. The alarm was raised in the small 
 
 hours, and the men tumbled out and hurried 
 
 down to haul their boats up from the water to 
 
 a place of safety above the quay. The Joses' 
 
 cottage, as has been said, was at East Corner, 
 
 a kind of suburb some little way from the rest 
 
 of the village. No one had time to waste in 
 
 running across to warn Paul ; that was not to 
 
 be expected. But they might have aroused 
 
 Dummy, who was close at hand ; or when their 
 
 own boats were safe, they might have lent a 
 
 hand to rescue the Swiftsure, as common 
 
 humanity demanded. Not they: they hauled 
 
 up and went to bed ; and when, half an hour 
 
 later, the roar of wind and sea woke Paul from 
 
 his sound sleep (he slept with the whole-hearted 
 
 determination of his waking moments), and he 
 
 flung on his clothes and ran across the cove, 
 
 he found the quay deserted, and the Swiftsure 
 
 tossing, straining, nearly full of water, waging 
 
 a solitary hopeless battle with the full force of 
 
 the Atlantic. Another ten minutes, and he 
 
 would have been too late. 
 
 'Well, Paul,' said Jim Boase next morning, 
 
GOES TO MARKET 147 
 
 in answer to his furious reproaches, 'us dedn* 
 like to touch her, knowin* what a p'tickler 
 chap you are, an' how you hate to be inter- 
 fered wiV 
 
 A dumb rage seized Paul. If he could only 
 fix a quarrel on somebody — but no ; they were 
 eels in his grasp : no overt acts of hostility ; 
 only an ignoring, as complete as might be, of 
 his existence. Talk was hushed, and groups 
 melted away as he approached ; nobody asked 
 him to lend a hand at a job ; if he offered to 
 help, 'twas *No thank 'ee, can manage very 
 well myself.' In short, he was in Coventry, the 
 most disagreeable spot on earth for one of his 
 temperament. 
 
 Well, 'twas war to the knife, then. So be 
 it; he would not shirk the battle. He had 
 been in pretty much the same situation at his 
 first arrival ; he had fought then, and won. 
 'Twas bitterly disheartening, though, to have 
 to begin all over again ; and this time the 
 opposition was keener and more organic. 
 On the other hand, this time he was better 
 acquainted with his ground ; he knew his 
 friends and his foes ; and among the former he 
 could count the second best man in Porthvean. 
 Old Reseigh was as sympathetic, as touchingly 
 
 K 
 
148 PAUL CARAH 
 
 affectionate in his behaviour as ever. What 
 scandalously unjust talk there was of his hard- 
 ness, his lust for money, his self-seeking craft ! 
 There never was a more amiable, disinterested 
 old man ; and Ben Jose was wilfully perverse 
 in seeking to trace some obscure, deep-laid 
 scheme in his charming behaviour to Paul. If 
 he paid Paul top price for fish, if he praised 
 and flattered him on every occasion, if he made 
 him little presents of jam and tinned salmon, 
 were these reasons for labelling him villain? 
 Could no one else but Mr Jose himself recog- 
 nise Paul's merits and behave accordingly ? 
 
 An incident occurred about this time which 
 heightened the disagreeable nature of the 
 situation, besides involving a considerable dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 It was Paul's habit, when things went well 
 at sea, to reserve a fish or two for contribution 
 to Jennifer's larder. One day, when there had 
 been a big catch, he brought home a fine cod. 
 It was decided that the head and shoulders 
 should be boiled for supper, and the rest split 
 and salted for future consumption. Jennifer at 
 once set about scraping and cleaning it, while 
 Paul sat and looked idly on. He saw her remove 
 the liver, a yellowish convoluted lump, and 
 
GOES TO MARKET 149 
 
 passed a casual remark on the size of the 
 thing. 
 
 ' Gashly-lookin' truck, too, edn' 'a ? ' he said. 
 1 An' no use to nobody, now Mister Cod's done 
 wed'n.' 
 
 ' Excep' for medicine,' Jennifer remarked. 
 
 ' Aw ess, to be sure, we've all heerd tell o* 
 cod-liver oil,' he said, and eyed the stuff with 
 some curiosity. 
 
 Jennifer finished her job, and was going to 
 thrpw the offal away, when Paul stopped her. 
 
 ' Hauld on a bit,' he said. ' I've got a 
 notion. Put that' — he pointed to the liver — 
 ' on a plate, an' throw the rest away.' 
 
 Jennifer did as she was bid, evincing no 
 curiosity. If she felt any it was not her 
 nature to express it ; nor was it necessary. 
 'Twas superfluous trouble to question Paul 
 when he had anything on his mind ; 'twould 
 come out soon enough without. 
 
 Returning, she found him jerking about in a 
 high state of excitement. 
 
 ' Gum, Jennifer ! ' he exclaimed, ' I've got 
 a scheme. 'Tes workin' in my brain like barm 
 in dough. Buzz, buzz et do go! Look! 
 Take a pot, an' put in the cod's liver, an' set en 
 over the fire.' 
 
150 PAUL CARAH 
 
 ' How ? * cried Jennifer. She had done 
 some queer things at his behest before now, 
 but surely this was the queerest demand of all. 
 
 ' Do 'ee, there's a good maid. Gum ! I'm 
 goin' to make my fortune this time, sure 
 'nough. Come, bustle, an' do what I tell 'ee.' 
 
 There would be no peace till she did. With 
 an inward protest she began to carry out his 
 directions, while he unfolded his wonderful 
 scheme. 
 
 'Cod-liver oil — that's my notion. Grand 
 stuff— the doctors are hollerin' fur'n all day 
 long. 'Tes the best kind o' trade they do 
 knaw of, so I hear, an' there edn' nothin' but 
 what 'a '11 cure en — wakeness o' the chest, wake- 
 ness o' the stomach, colds, sore uzzles, everythin' 
 you can think upon. Grand stuff, I can tell 
 'ee; an' et do cost a brae lot o' money, so 'a 
 b'lieve. An' here we are, throwin' et away all 
 the year round. I'm wild to think how much 
 I've throwed away myself — 'nough to cure all 
 Cornwall, I should think. Why, out in Canady, 
 I heerd tell of a cod-fishery where they catched 
 the cod just for the liver, and throwed the rest 
 away. That'll tell 'ee! My fortune's made! 
 When 'tes ready, I'll put en in a bottle an' take 
 en round to the shop — no, I waan't, though, I'll 
 
GOES TO MARKET 151 
 
 g* up to Henliston wed'n, to the chemist — he'll 
 knaw the vally of en better'n Reseigh — an', 
 "Here," I'll say, "cod-liver oil, home-made, 
 pure an' good ! " " Name your price ! " he'll 
 say, quicker'n you c'd say " knife." ' 
 
 The stuff in the pot began to hiss and splutter, 
 and a most villainous odour diffused itself about 
 the room. 
 
 'Smells good, don't 'a?' said Paul, edging 
 towards the open door. 'Some strength in 
 that, 'a b'lieve. Stir en, Jennifer, and take the 
 scum off.' 
 
 Jennifer made a courageous attempt, but was 
 forced to retreat hurriedly. 
 
 ' You're a fine wan, you are ! ' Paul ejacu- 
 lated. ' 'Ere, gie me the spoon.' 
 
 A moment later he was retreating too, 
 spluttering and blinking. 
 
 'Et do smell a bit strong,' he admitted. 
 ' Guess we'll liv en be for a bit' 
 
 They stood and eyed the pot from a respect- 
 ful distance, till Paul judged it had boiled 
 enough. Then, holding his nose, he rushed 
 forward, seized the pot, and carried it outside. 
 
 A glass preserve-jar was procured, and Paul 
 poured the precious liquid into it. Its appear- 
 ance was not inviting, certainly. In colour it 
 
152 PAUL CARAH 
 
 was a sickly greenish yellow, with a muddy 
 brown sediment slowly depositing at the 
 bottom. 
 
 ' Are 'ee sure 'tis cod-liver oil ? ' asked 
 Jennifer, doubtfully. 'I've seen some wance, 
 and 'twas clear and white, like water, most, not 
 mucky yaller stuff like this.' 
 
 ' 'Tes the stren'th an' goodness of en makes 
 et so,' Paul explained. ' Sim' me, the stuff 
 they sell in shops edn' but poor truck: the 
 rogues do mix en an' make en weak, because 
 they may get a bigger profit. That's how I 
 belong to get a good price for this. They're 
 artful; they d' knaw-; an' I'll let 'em see I 
 d' knaw too. Qual'ty an' price do go together, 
 an' this is pure an' strong. Aw, they'll jump 
 fur'n up to Henliston ! I'll go there to-morrow, 
 'pon the omnibus, so I will.' 
 
 And he went May one digress a little in 
 order to describe the vehicle he went on ? The 
 Paragon was its real name, but it was better 
 known as the Green Snail, by reason of its 
 complexion and habits. In appearance it re- 
 sembled as nearly as possible the Brixton 
 omnibus of the old days before garden-seats, 
 except that the knife-board was absent, its 
 place being taken by two transverse benches 
 
GOES TO MARKET 153 
 
 rising one above the other behind the driver. 
 The back part of the roof was seatless, being 
 intended for luggage, though when the 'bus 
 was full it generally carried a heap of sprawling, 
 clinging humanity, too. Round the woodwork 
 of the sides ran a string of names of places, 
 painted in yellow against the dingy green. 
 The list included every town of importance 
 within twenty miles of Henliston. Not that 
 the 'bus ever ran to these places; in all the 
 long years of its existence it had never adven- 
 tured its wheels off the Henliston road, and in 
 all probability it would never do so till the hour 
 when it fell to pieces. But the Celtic imagina- 
 tion — or call it foresight — of the builder had 
 made allowances for every possibility, even 
 the remotest. Somebody might charter the 
 vehicle for a circular tour through West Corn- 
 wall ; besides, the formidable array of far-off 
 names added dignity and inspired respect. 
 They were a certificate of merit, so to speak, 
 proclaiming to the world what the Paragon was 
 capable of if it tried. 
 
 The owner and driver, Herklous Rutter by 
 name, was a man of autocratic temper and 
 inflexible punctuality. The 'bus was advertised 
 to run to Henliston twice a week, on Wednes- 
 
154 PAUL CARAH 
 
 days and Saturdays, starting at two precisely. 
 At one o'clock the horses were harnessed, and 
 the Paragon driven to the starting-place. At a 
 quarter past one Herklous Rutter descended 
 into the streets of Porthvean and rapped at the 
 door of every house in turn, imploring the 
 inmates to hurry up if they were coming. Also, 
 that no one who happened to be out of doors 
 should have an excuse for tardy arrival, he 
 carried a whistle, which he blew at frequent 
 intervals. Having thus sifted Porthvean from 
 end to end, he returned, driving his passengers 
 captive before him. When they were all seated 
 he mounted the box. It would then be ten minutes 
 to two, perhaps a little earlier, perhaps a little 
 later. Now there was nothing to wait for ; a 
 less punctual man would have started at once. 
 Not so Herklous ; he had a reputation to main- 
 tain. At two, and not till two, he jammed his 
 hat firmly over his eyes, cracked his whip and 
 jerked the reins. The Paragon gave a mighty 
 lurch, as if it was being torn out of the road by 
 invisible roots, the passengers breathed a silent 
 prayer that the old concern might last out one 
 journey more, and off they started. If a belated 
 voyager should turn up then, he could not hope 
 for Herklous to pull up and wait for him ; he 
 
GOES TO MARKET 155 
 
 must mend his pace and catch Herklous up as 
 best he could ; and it took a pretty brisk walker 
 to do that, let me tell you. 
 
 The journey of eleven miles took two hours 
 and a half, no more, no less. At every cross- 
 road, and at every wayside house or cluster of 
 houses, Herklous drew up and waited from one 
 minute to ten, according to programme. At 
 Ponsanveneth, half-way, there was a somewhat 
 longer break in the journey, while Herklous 
 got down and went across two fields to pay a 
 call on his sister, who had married a downser. 
 If, in spite of careful calculations, there was 
 any fear of arriving before the advertised time, 
 Herklous adjusted matters by walking his 
 horses along levels, as well as up and down the 
 hills. 
 
 The Paragons holding capacity was little 
 short of miraculous.. Starting from Porthvean 
 apparently as full of fisher-folk as it could hold, 
 at every stoppage it absorbed a fat farm-wife 
 with her baskets ; or an equally bulky farmer, 
 his pockets bulging with sample-bags, or a 
 maid and her sweetheart, bent on mild dissipa- 
 tion and a taste of town life. But a pair of the 
 latter only counted as one, or what were a 
 chap's knees made for? Herklous calculated 
 
156 PAUL CARAH 
 
 in reaching Henliston with double the number 
 he started with, and he was seldom out 
 Packed inside like pilchards in a barrel, 
 swarming outside like flies on a preserve pan, 
 they jolted and joked, lurched and laughed, as 
 good-humoured, merry a company as .you 
 would find anywhere. 
 
 'Twas a happy journey for Paul. He sat 
 on the box beside Herklous, and whatever 
 Herklous's attitude towards him as a private 
 individual might be, in his official seat he was 
 strictly neutral, recognising no differences, 
 sinking all prejudice, affably conversible with 
 all alike. In the highest spirits — as who would 
 not be who carried a prospective fortune in his 
 pocket? — Paul chatted away, yarning about 
 coach-rides in the Rockies, advising Herklous 
 on the management of his team, and unable, in 
 spite of himself, to refrain from frequent 
 mysterious references to the object of his 
 journey, and to the wonderful, not-to-be- 
 divulged contents of the parcel he carried. 
 Ostensibly addressing Herklous, he took care 
 to keep his voice well above conversational 
 pitch, blissfully conscious of open-mouthed 
 silence among the country folk behind him. At 
 the journey's end, as he swung off the coach, 
 
GOES TO MARKET 157 
 
 he thrilled to feel the eyes of all the passengers 
 fixed curiously on him, following him up the 
 street ; and a sneering remark of ' What may- 
 game's the chap up to now?' uttered by a 
 Porthvean man, only put the crown on his 
 bounding elation. 
 
 He was to have returned as he went; but 
 the Paragon did not arrive in Porthvean till 
 ten o'clock, and it was not later than half-past 
 seven when he flung into the Joses' kitchen and 
 dropped on a chair. Mr Jose looked up 
 inquiringly from his map and Jennifer from her 
 knitting. 
 
 'Back already?' said the old man. What 
 luck?' 
 
 ' Haul' tongue ! ' exclaimed Paul irritably. 
 
 For a minute or two he sat scowling in 
 silence ; then it all came out with a rush. 
 
 These chemists! They were all rogues or 
 fools, if they weren't both. Sold it? No, he 
 hadn't; the ignorant rascals wouldn't look at 
 it One had burst out laughing in his face ; 
 another had threatened to kick him out of the 
 shop, if he didn't take himself off with his 
 filthy stuff. They didn't want to cure people; 
 cured people wouldn't need their services; 
 'twas their interest to sell poison ; they were a 
 
158 PAUL CARAH 
 
 gang of murderers, slowly sapping the life out 
 of the country with their virulent drugs ; they 
 ought to be in prison, the lot of them. Rogues 
 all ! A benefactor to his race offered them the 
 elixir of life, and they rejected it with outward 
 contempt, with inward panic at the vision 
 evoked of shutters put up in the face of a 
 restored, rejuvenated world. Where was the 
 bottle ? He had thrown it into the gutter in a 
 fit of disgust Why had he walked home? 
 Because he didn't want to be plagued with a 
 coach-load of inquisitive fools. Fools and 
 rogues ; where was the honest man among 
 them? 
 
 Mr Jose strove to soothe him with 
 expressions of indignant sympathy ; Jennifer, 
 subtler in her methods, set supper before him 
 without delay. The pork and potatoes calmed 
 him somewhat ; the bread and jam restored his 
 good humour; and when the corn-cob was lit, 
 he was himself again, and ready with a new 
 scheme. 
 
 Wish I hadn' throwed et away,' he said. 
 
 Twould ha' done fine to oil my say-boots wi\ 
 
 Gum ! I'll catch another cod to-morrow. 'A '11 
 
 keep my feet dry, ef 'a don't make my 
 
 fortune.' 
 
GOES TO MARKET 159 
 
 But he was not to dismiss the matter so 
 lightly. Emanating, as it is supposed, from 
 the bar of the ' White Horse,' where the 
 Henliston tradesmen meet nightly for recrea- 
 tive chat, a farcical tale arose and spread over 
 town and country. It reached Porthvean, 
 and Porthvean found itself possessed of a most 
 potent weapon of offence against Paul. 
 Scowls he could endure ; blows he could repay 
 with interest ; against ridicule he was powerless, 
 a squirming, impotent worm. 
 
 Affectionate inquiries about the market price 
 of cod set him foaming at the mouth. Mock 
 discussions on pharmaceutry, with special 
 reference to cod-liver oil, drove him to shun the 
 neighbourhood of his fellow-men. They were 
 quick to discover the effectiveness of their new 
 weapon, and you may be sure they did not 
 allow it to rust for want of use. Great 
 things were expected of Jim Boase, and he up- 
 held his reputation. He went about racked 
 with the hollow cough of the consumptive, 
 calling aloud for medicine to ease his pain. 
 And there was only one remedy that could give 
 relief, and 'twas a remedy the name of which 
 Paul wished he had never heard. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 HE KISSES A MAID 
 
 Mr Jose watched the growth of friendly 
 relations between Paul and Jennifer with 
 chuckling delight The great desire of 
 his later years seemed in a fair way to be 
 realised. When man and maid plant the tree 
 of brotherhood together, and water it continually 
 with confidential talk, it will not be long before 
 buds of love appear, to become in time blossoms 
 fit for the decoration of the matrimonial altar. 
 It was not in him to resist the temptation to 
 make little forcing experiments, which in his 
 clumsy fingers were apt to produce anything 
 but the desired effect. 
 
 It was his invariable custom every Sunday 
 after dinner to take the big family Bible from 
 the side table where it reposed during the 
 week, and retire with it into the grim little 
 parlour, where he would sit bolt Upright on 
 
KISSES A MAID 161 
 
 one of the rigid chairs, facing his wife's portrait, 
 the Bible on his knees, reading, meditating, 
 dozing now and again, and communing with 
 the spirit of the departed. For it was his 
 belief that she was permitted to pay a weekly 
 visit to her earthly home every holy day from 
 two till four. (Pardon the grotesque touch; 
 there was nothing grotesque or irreverent in it 
 to the simple old man.) Hence his scrupulous 
 care to keep everything in the room exactly as 
 it had been in the days of her lifetime. The 
 notion of a spirit purged of all earthly passions 
 was inconceivable to him. Something of the 
 late Mrs Jose's devotion to her best room 
 must still cling to her ; something, too, of the 
 temper that had brooked no interference with 
 its inflexible arrangement. Her anger of old 
 had been a thing to flee from ; how much more 
 so her ghostly wrath ! 
 
 All through the afternoon he sat there, shut 
 off from the world, as in an ante-chamber to 
 the palace of the Hereafter. Sometimes he 
 would come out, his homely face shining, with 
 stories of a voice heard, of a soft hand laid on 
 his shoulder, of glimpses caught of a bright 
 thing floating, Paul and Jennifer remained in 
 
162 PAUL CARAH 
 
 the kitchen, talking in whispers, vaguely con- 
 scious of a supernatural presence. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon, the old man, with 
 the Bible tucked under his arm, and his hand on 
 the parlour door, about to push it open, paused 
 and looked back on the two young people. 
 They made a delightfully domestic picture, sure 
 enough — Jennifer looking out of the window, with 
 her elbows on the table and one hand support- 
 ing her cheek ; Paul by the fire, smoking, his 
 long legs sprawling over half the room. Things 
 were going swimmingly, to be sure ; but a 
 diplomatic fillip would not be amiss. 
 
 'Mus' liv 'ee alone now for a bit,' he said. 
 'But don't s'pose you've any objection to that, 
 from what I mind o' my young days. Don't 
 be bashful, Paul ; an,' Jennifer, don't 'ee be 
 teasy.' 
 
 With a knowing wink he disappeared. 
 
 Jennifer, looking up with a gesture of annoy- 
 ance, caught a broad grin on Paul's face. She 
 started to her feet. 
 
 ' I'm goin' out for a walk,' she said abruptly. 
 
 'Are 'ee, though?' said Paul. 'Well, I 
 don't much fancy stoppin' in here alone ' — here 
 he glanced at the parlour door — 'so I'll come 
 wi' 'ee.' 
 
KISSES A MAID 163 
 
 •No, you waan't,' said Jennifer decidedly. 
 ' I'm goin' alone.' 
 
 'How?' asked Paul. 'You're brave an' 
 soshabble to-day, edn' you ? ' 
 
 'I don't wish no Sunday strolls wi' young 
 men,' said she. ' Folks '11 talk nonsense.' 
 
 'Pouf! Let 'em talk,' said he. ("Twill 
 be fun if they do,' he thought.) 
 
 * I hate to be talked about,' said she. 
 
 'Do 'ee, now?' he said, with unfeigned 
 surprise. She hated it! And to his taste it 
 gave life half its savour, and that the sweeter 
 half. 
 
 'Ess. 'Specially in that way,' said she, 
 growing red. 
 
 ' What way ? ' grinned he. 
 
 Her Sunday hat was on the table, where she 
 had laid it on her return from morning chapel. 
 She caught it up, and was retreating upstairs. 
 Paul intercepted her, and seized the hat by the 
 brim, laughing. A walk with Jennifer was no 
 great allurement, but he was not to be thwarted 
 and contemptuously thrust aside by any maid 
 in creation. 
 
 ' Let go,' said Jennifer, under her breath. 
 
 ' Not without you promise to let me come.' 
 
 ' No ! ' she declared, tugging at the hat 
 
164 PAUL CARAH 
 
 ' I will, then, whether you've a mind to or 
 no,' he insisted, piqued at her obstinacy. 
 
 'Never while I do live!' she averred, trying 
 to wrench the hat out of his hand. 
 
 ' No, you don't ! ' cried Paul, laughing 
 boisterously and tugging back. * Pulley- 
 haul!' 
 
 There was a tearing sound, and half the 
 brim came away in Paul's hand. Abashed and 
 disconcerted, he strove to smother his confusion 
 with a louder laugh. 
 
 ' Gum ! what a joke ! ' he exclaimed. 
 
 Never was a woman so free from dressy 
 vanity as Jennifer* but the wanton destruction 
 of her best hat and Paul's brutal laughter were 
 too much for her composure. She sank on a 
 chair and began to cry. 
 
 ' 'Ere, what's this ? Hauld on a bit, Jennifer ! ' 
 exclaimed Paul, evincing all a man's irritated 
 discomposure at the sight of feminine tears. 
 
 'You're a brute,' sobbed Jennifer, 'an' I'll 
 never spake ti' 'ee again — never ! ' 
 
 Paul began to pace up and down, his emotions 
 shifting, and each change producing a muttered 
 sentence. 
 
 'So much your fault as mine. How dedn' 
 
KISSES A MAID 165 
 
 'ee let go ? ' He could think of no other word 
 of justification. 'Twas a weak one, too. 
 
 'What a fuss over a shabby auld hat!' 
 Women are petty creatures. It takes a man 
 to rise superior to trivial misfortunes. 
 
 'Jennifer, I give 'ee my word I dedn' mane 
 to do et ! ' 'Twas handsomely said ; but the 
 perverse creature wept on silently, and took no 
 notice whatever. 
 
 'Jennifer, I'll buy 'ee a new wan, twice as 
 good, nex' week, so I will.' There! what 
 more did she want ? A good deal, seemingly ; 
 for she gave no sign. The sound of a long- 
 drawn sob made something within him prick 
 and tingle unpleasantly. Was he a brute? 
 He had been a bit too rough, certainly. 
 
 'Jennifer, don't be vexed. I'm sorry, that I 
 am.' An apology? Paul Carah owning him- 
 self in the wrong? And it didn't hurt him 
 either ; on the contrary, he felt a delightful 
 glow — virtuous magnanimity, no doubt. 
 
 Still no sign. 
 
 'Jennifer, forgi'e me, will 'ee, an' be 
 friends ? ' 
 
 Still mute? Well, he wasn't going to beg 
 again; and he didn't care a rap. And he 
 didn't feel as miserable as a tinkler's cur; on 
 
166 PAUL CARAH 
 
 the contrary, he was in the highest of spirits — 
 witness his merry whistling. 
 
 The sound of a scraping chair came from the 
 adjoining room. Jennifer sat up, and hurriedly 
 wiped her eyes. 
 
 ' Stop whistlin',' she said. ' You're vexin' 
 da. He'll be out direckly.' 
 
 ' Let en,' said Paul, between two staves. 
 
 ' Stop, I tell 'ee,' urged Jennifer. ' You 
 don't knaw how p'tickler da is 'bout Sunday 
 be'aviour, frail his quiet ways. He'll turn 'ee 
 out, as like as not. Not that I care ef 'a do, 
 so don't think et But da mustn' be vexed. I 
 beg of 'ee, stop.' 
 
 ' Say you do forgi'e me, then, or I whistle in 
 the face of en,' said the cunning Paul. 
 
 The latch of the door gave a preliminary 
 rattle. 
 
 ' Quick ! ' whispered Paul, bending over her. 
 ' Quick, an' the canary gets the fault.' 
 
 'Ess, then, I forgive 'ee,' she murmured, 
 yielding to circumstance. 
 
 An absurd, irrational impulse, in which 
 deliberate intention had no part, he would 
 swear, made Paul stoop still lower and kiss the 
 hair over her forehead. She flushed an angry 
 
KISSES A MAID 167 
 
 crimson, just as the parlour door flew open and 
 disclosed Mr Jose. 
 
 'What ded I hear?' he said sternly. 'Pro- 
 fane whistlin' on a Sunday ? ' 
 
 ' Whistlin' ? ' said the unblushing Paul. ' Law 
 no! Must ha' been the canary you heerd. 
 The li'U chap's been hollerin' fit to put one 
 deef.' 
 
 ' 'Twas a tune I heerd,' said Mr Jose severely, 
 'a profane weeky-day tune. An' you tell me 
 'twas the canary?' 
 
 'Aw ess, 'twas he, right 'nough,' Paul 
 assured him. 'Smart li'U chap. This long 
 while I've noticed en when I've been whistlin', 
 listenin' with his heed cocked on wan side, 
 takin' et all in. Sim' me he'd a mind to sur- 
 prise us all with his cleverness.' 
 
 Mr Jose looked doubtfully at Paul. Then 
 he stepped from the doorway and peered up at 
 the cage. 
 
 'Never heerd tell o' no s'ch thing,' he mut- 
 tered, shaking his head in a puzzled way. 
 'Strange, to be sure. Wouldn' ha' b'lieved 
 et.* 
 
 Only half convinced, he was returning, when 
 he caught sight of Jennifer's flushed, tear- 
 stained face. She seemed greatly agitated ; 
 
168 PAUL CARAH 
 
 now he looked, so did Paul. And when the 
 door opened, had they not been very close 
 together, he bending over her? There was 
 only one inference possible. The old man's 
 face cleared ; the reprehensible behaviour of 
 the canary went out of his mind, and he smiled 
 a cunning smile. 
 
 'There! I dedn' mane to interrupt 'ee,' he 
 said. ' Don't mind me ; get along with your 
 chat. I'm goin' back.' 
 
 He trotted off into the parlour, rubbing his 
 hands gleefully, and carefully shutting the door 
 • behind him. 
 
 ' Grand ! ' he said to himself. ' I knawed 
 they only wanted a little pushin' an' managin'. 
 Grand, so 'a es ! ' 
 
 In the kitchen an embarrassed silence reigned. 
 The thoughts of both dwelt on one thing — the 
 kiss. Paul was wondering what on earth had 
 possessed him to act so foolishly and impru- 
 dently. 'Twas a generous impulse, no doubt, 
 springing from the sight of her distress, and 
 calculated to allay it more quickly and com- 
 pletely than anything else. But how rash! 
 He knew these women, 'twas a short cut in 
 their minds from a kiss to a ring. Absit 
 omen ! She was a sensible maid ; surely she 
 
KISSES A MAID 169 
 
 would never take it seriously. 'Twas her way, 
 though, to take things seriously. If she did — ! 
 He liked her well enough at times ; as a friend 
 she was tolerable, even desirable; but as a 
 sweetheart ! No, when we want one, 'tis to be 
 hoped we can find a better looking one, and a 
 better tempered one, one that will look up to 
 us more, laugh more readily at our jokes, 
 appreciate better our unique merits, and not 
 keep such a sharp eye for the few infinitesimal 
 faults in our character. 
 
 Jennifer was angry with herself because she 
 was not angrier with Paul. Something un- 
 known and terrible had come over her; she 
 knew not what. He had torn her hat, he had 
 mocked and insulted her, he had lied out- 
 rageously to her father, and she had weakly 
 submitted and acquiesced. She hated herself 
 for it. And this masterful, overbearing fellow, 
 who strove to bend her to his will by sheer 
 brute force, did she not hate him too ? And if 
 not, why not? Her tears had left her weak 
 and passive, and over her forehead was a spot 
 that burned. Confused emotions whirled 
 within her, one she could recognise — 'twas 
 shame, overwhelming shame; the others she 
 could fit no names to. 
 
170 PAUL CARAH 
 
 He was strangely silent. She peeped fur- 
 tively up at him. He stood biting his lip, and 
 staring moodily into the fire. He had her at 
 his mercy, and he didn't know, or didn't 
 care. She hated the brutal fellow. And he 
 was kind and tender with her Dummy, too. 
 Father was fond of him. He stamped and 
 shouted and boasted ; he was as conceited as a 
 cloamen cat ; she detested him. Yet he was 
 strong and brave ; he had done things to excuse, 
 if not to justify, his conceit and boasting. 
 When Steve insulted her he had not stopped to 
 weigh the consequences, but had flown to fight 
 in defence of her good name. Small thanks he 
 had got from her for that. He could own he 
 was in the wrong too ; just now he had humbly 
 apologised. And he had gained her pardon. 
 But how? By a mean trick. And then he 
 had kissed her ; not on the face, though — thank 
 goodness for that But he had kissed her. 
 No doubt he had kissed maids before ; he had 
 dropped hints to that effect in a casual, joking 
 way, as if 'twere nothing. No one had ever 
 kissed her before. Did he realise how it 
 shocked and pained her? She wished to do 
 him justice. Couldkshe blame him for doing 
 what another girf would consider in the light 
 
KISSES A MAID 171 
 
 of a joke, and dismiss from her mind with a 
 laugh and a blush ? Ah ! but to be kissed by 
 a talkative boaster. All the world would know 
 of it. Yes, she hated him. 
 
 Unasked, unlooked-for, he had come splash- 
 ing into the quiet current of her life, where no 
 other man had entered, save her father. After 
 her first mistrustful alarm she had acquiesced, 
 and from indifference had passed to calm, open- 
 eyed, tolerant liking. And now at a touch he 
 had sprang to gigantic proportions, filling her 
 horizon, blotting out all else. There was some- 
 thing in her that magnified him portentously, 
 merits, faults and all. The image, with its 
 terrible promise of persistence, possessed and 
 overwhelmed her. 
 
 She ventured to peep at him again. He did 
 not seem elated. That frown might mean 
 bewilderment, or depression, or shame, but not 
 the pluming coxcomb's vanity she feared. 
 
 He was peeping round too, and their eyes 
 met 
 
 'Jennifer,' he said hesitatingly, 'we — we 
 waan't say no more 'bout this; we'll forget 
 everythin' that happened, eh?' 
 
 She was surprised and grateful. 
 
172 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'Ess, Paul,' she said in a low voice. 'Best 
 to do so.' 
 
 ' I dedn' mane to — to do that,' he stammered ; 
 'an' I caan't think what made me. 'A wadn' 
 in my mind to do so, an' I dedn' mane nothin' 
 by en — nothin' at all.' 
 
 She believed him, and she was glad — yes, 
 she was sure she was glad to hear it. 
 
 '"Friends an' no nonsense?"' quoted Paul, 
 with a half laugh. 
 
 ' " Friends an' no nonsense," ' replied Jennifer 
 solemnly. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HE REPROVES A MAID 
 
 ABOUT the second week in November north- 
 easterly gales set in. After waiting a few days 
 Porthvean drew up its boats and resigned 
 itself to a long rest of four months, thankful 
 that the elements had delayed so long before 
 announcing winter. It came as a relief to 
 Paul ; already he was beginning to weary of 
 this eternal shooting and pulling up of nets and 
 line^s ; he pined for a temporary change of 
 occupation, above all for one that would not 
 necessitate constant appearances in the village, 
 where the finger of ridicule was as the finger 
 on a sign-post, permanent, fixed, ever pointing 
 Paulward. 
 
 There was plenty to do. A fisherman's rest 
 in winter is only a rest from the fight with the 
 waves ; it must not be supposed that he remains 
 idle meanwhile. With the spring comes crab- 
 
174 PAUL CARAH 
 
 bing time, and the pots must be ready. A set 
 or 'fleet' of pots numbers seventy-two, all to 
 be renewed yearly; and two pots a day make 
 hard work. And before they are made the 
 materials must be procured. At Porthvean 
 this meant ten-mile tramps over the moors to 
 the nearest osier-bed, days of hard labour up 
 to one's knees in a swamp, cutting and trimming 
 the withies, and weary journeys back through 
 the winter darkness with a heavy faggot on 
 one's back. 
 
 Then there were other long tramps over 
 crofts and copses, selecting and cutting sticks 
 of hazel, blackthorn, and furze, afterwards to be 
 trimmed down into 'preens,' the forked 
 skewers used for fixing the bait in the pots. 
 When the fleet was finished there was the great 
 store-pot to be made, three days' labour in itself: 
 and after that the other gear must be seen to, 
 nets rebarked and mended, new hooks fitted to 
 lines, and new lines to hooks, the boat tarred 
 and painted, and fifty other jobs, big and small, 
 attended to. Paul's hands, and Dummy's too, 
 would be full till long after Christmas. 
 
 How did matters stand now? Neither well 
 nor ill. Six weeks of fishing had resulted in a 
 gain of twelve pounds. A third share, four 
 
REPROVES A MAID 175 
 
 pounds, went to Dummy. Incidental expenses 
 had absorbed two more. The six remaining, 
 added to five he had in hand, made eleven. But 
 there would be none coming in for four 
 months ; and there was a lot to pay out — so 
 much to the owner of the withy-bed, so much 
 to Reseigh for the ropes — three hundredweight 
 — on which to string the pots. Bark, tar, more 
 hooks, personal expenses — he would be lucky 
 if by next March he had two sovereigns to 
 jingle together. Well, better that than no- 
 thing ; better nothing than the millstone of debt 
 under which the rest of Porthvean groaned. 
 They might harass him, and mock him, but he 
 could laugh back ; he was a free man, and 
 Reseigh's frown had no terrors for him. 
 
 What was up with Jennifer he couldn't 
 think. Like the magnanimous fellow he was, 
 he had quite forgotten the little incident of the 
 Sunday hat. While the memory was fresh he 
 had felt some constraint and uneasiness in her 
 presence, but it had soon faded. With schemes 
 and ideas pushing, shouldering, playing leap- 
 frog in one's brain all day long, the trivial 
 traces of a tiff and a kiss are soon obliterated. 
 He was quite ready, even generously anxious, 
 to re-establish their relations on the old friendly 
 
176 PAUL CARAH 
 
 basis. But Jennifer had changed — unaccount- 
 ably changed. From the calm, serious, stead- 
 fast girl he had known before, and grown to 
 like, even to respect in a way, she had sud- 
 denly developed into a creature of moods. One 
 day she would be her old self; the next, she 
 was pettish and irritable, taking offence at 
 little things, snapping out sarcasms. Then 
 again a fit of obstinate silence would come over 
 her ; if Paul spoke, she would make no answer ; 
 or she would avoid him altogether, retreating 
 to her room when they were left alone to- 
 gether. The crab-pots were a-making ; Dummy 
 came round daily to work in the out-house 
 which Paul had appropriated for his store-room 
 and workshop. And on Dummy she lavished 
 an effusive, desperate tenderness, alien, one 
 would have thought, to her nature. Dummy 
 trod a maze of chuckling bliss ; Paul betrayed 
 some irritation at the foolishness of it all ; and 
 the more he fretted, the more she persisted. 
 Sometimes he felt her eyes on him ; he looked 
 round and met them ; they were the eyes of 
 the hare in the springe. One would say that 
 some violent struggle was going on within her. 
 Still waters run deep; bubbles rising to the 
 surface give indication of a disturbance but; 
 
REPROVES A MAID 177 
 
 to the nature of that disturbance they yield no 
 clue — at least they yielded none to Paul, puzzle 
 as he might. 
 
 If Paul was puzzled, Mr Jose was deeply 
 distressed. A fixed idea may blind one up to 
 a point, but there may come a .time when 
 stubborn facts block the way, and one is forced 
 to open one's eyes. Convinced of the sub- 
 stantial nature of his hopes, sure of their near 
 fulfilment, at first he regarded Jennifer's unex- 
 ampled behaviour as a favourable symptom 
 quoting to himself fragments of secular lore 
 touching the capriciousness of maids under the 
 influence of the tender passion. But as time 
 went on, he began to fidget, discerning no 
 signs of progress ; rather did they seem to be 
 drifting apart. In his anxiety he sank so low 
 as to spy on them, departing noisily from the 
 house and creeping back on tip-toe to listen at 
 the door; for they might be playing a double 
 game, as lovers will, teasing him by feigning 
 indifference in his presence. But either they 
 were moodily silent, or the few words he over- 
 heard could not be twisted by the liveliest 
 imagination into expressions of tenderness. He 
 tried his famous diplomacy once more, with the 
 lamentable result of driving Jennifer upstairs 
 
178 PAUL CARAH 
 
 with a slammed door behind her. Jennifer 
 slamming doors ! 'Twas a portent. The fabric 
 of his dream-castle shivered and melted at the 
 sound. 
 
 For a while he kept suspicious watch on 
 Paul. If the fellow was behaving badly to his 
 dear little maid — trifling with her — ! But 
 Paul's behaviour was unexceptionable. He 
 seemed as puzzled by her demeanour, as 
 ignorant of its motive, as Mr Jose himself. If 
 he betrayed no ardent despair, he tried several 
 times very handsomely to placate her when she 
 was more pettish than usual. No; the fault, 
 if any, must be Jennifer's. He attempted a 
 grave, gentle remonstrance, and almost lost 
 his temper at the show of obstinate, sullen 
 silence with which she met it. He began to 
 think it was a case for the doctor. 
 
 Then Paul, ignorant of the old man's at- 
 tempt, tried his hand also. One morning he 
 and Dummy were at work in the out-house. 
 There was a tidy pile of pots in the corner now, 
 and three or four were being added to it daily. 
 They sat face to face, each with the pot in 
 progress fixed between his knees. 'Twas a 
 bright winter morning; the sunlight streamed 
 in at the door, and with it came the limpid 
 
REPROVES A MAID 179 
 
 crystal song of a red-breast, and now and again 
 the glad yelp of a gull or the barking clamour 
 of a company of jackdaws, giving tongue as 
 they swept by. The shed was full of the sweet 
 sappy odour of the freshly peeled withies. 
 Paul whistled as he worked, now and then 
 waving an encouraging hand to Dummy, or 
 getting up to examine his work and compare 
 its progress with that of his own. Not that 
 Dummy required supervision ; he was the best 
 weaver of pots in Porthvean, and he knew it, 
 and took a simple pride in his work; He was 
 slow, as at most things ; Paul could finish 
 three pots to his two ; but Paul's was prentice 
 work in comparison, impatient and inartistic, 
 all ragged ends and irregular curves. Dummy's 
 pots were miracles of craftmanship, strong, 
 neat, mathematically exact of dimension, every 
 constituent rod and twig selected with judg- 
 ment and interwoven in the fabric With meti- 
 culous nicety. 'Twas a sight to see him bend- 
 ing over his work, his lips pursed up, the 
 wrinkles coming and going on his face, his 
 bald head shining as if his brain was perspiring, 
 his stumpy hairy hands moving steadily in and 
 out, in and out among the withies. 
 Jennifer came out of the kitchen, hovered 
 
 M 
 
180 PAUL CARAH 
 
 about the out-house door, and finally entered. 
 Totally ignoring Paul's greeting, she sat down 
 on a trestle with her back to him and her face 
 to Dummy. Paul saw Dummy look up and 
 grin delightedly, his hands keeping busy at the 
 pot. Then Jennifer made some gestures. 
 Dummy's grin expanded ; his hands flashed 
 up, went to Jennifer's shoulder, to his own 
 breast, out seaward, and up into the air with 
 two fingers erect from each clenched fist. 
 Four- master again, thought Paul. 
 
 Dummy returned to his work ; but he had 
 hardly done so before Jennifer's hands were 
 waving again. Answering at first only with 
 smiles and nods, Dummy was presently se- 
 duced into pushing the pot away from between 
 his feet, and entering into an animated conver- 
 sation. 
 
 After a few minutes Paul felt called upon to 
 enter a protest 
 
 'Jennifer,' he said, 'you're hinderin' 
 Dummy. He'll never finish that pot this 
 mornin' ef you don't liv en be. He edn' like 
 we ; he caan't talk an' work too.' 
 
 She looked slowly round, stared him in the 
 face for a moment, and turned back without a 
 word. Her behaviour had been particularly 
 
REPROVES A MAID 181 
 
 trying for some days past, and this was the 
 climax. Paul got up and stood by the door, 
 guarding it. There should be no evasion; he 
 was going to have it out with her there and 
 then. 
 
 'Look, Jennifer,' he said, firmly but kindly, 
 for he liked the maid. She was plain, she was 
 teasy, she showed him scanty respect, but after 
 all he liked her. 'Look, Jennifer. I don't 
 knaw what's come ti' 'ee this good while. You 
 edn' be'avin' at all proper, an' I look to knaw 
 the manen of et.' 
 
 No answer; no sign that she heard him. 
 To and fro went her hands, and she laughed 
 with a feverish gaiety in answer to Dummy's 
 perpetual chuckle. 
 
 Paul persevered. The attitude of grave, 
 temperate reproof sat well on him, he thought ; 
 'twas the experienced man of the world ad- 
 monishing the petulant, ignorant child. 
 
 'You're vexin' your da, an' you're vexin' 
 me. You never used to be so. As well-be'aved 
 a maid as ever I met, you were. How are you 
 so teasy, slightin' those that wish 'ee well, an' 
 look to be trated well by 'ee ? ' 
 
 'Twas well put, plain, not too forcible, and 
 nicely rounded. But she might have been a 
 
182 PAUL CARAH 
 
 stone for all the effect it had on her. Paul bit 
 his lip. He could be angry, but he wouldn't. 
 There was a problem set — to make her speak ; 
 he was going to solve it. She was a maid ; 
 he would abandon remonstrance for tender 
 appeal. 
 
 'Come, Jennifer,' he said softly; 'you're 
 vexed about somethin' — vexed an' wretched. 
 We're friends, edn' we? Dedn' we agree to 
 that? Won't you tell your friend what 'a 
 es?' 
 
 Still no answer; but her hands dropped on 
 her lap. He edged round behind Dummy till 
 he had a view of her face. Her eyes were cast 
 down, and her mouth worked. Poor little 
 maid ! He felt sorry for her, but she must 
 be made to feel the error of her ways. 
 
 "A edn' fitty 'tall to scorn your friends, an' 
 slight them so,' he said. 
 
 Her eyes went up ; they were wild and hard. 
 
 ' 'Edn' you I do scorn ! ' she cried harshly. 
 
 'Who, then?' 
 
 No reply. 
 
 'Who, then?' he repeated. Her evident 
 distress moved him more than he could have 
 thought possible. He forgot his crafty tactics ; 
 it was with a genuine impulse of tenderness 
 
REPROVES A MAID 183 
 
 that he moved towards her and laid his hand 
 gently on her shoulder. 
 
 'Jennifer, dear,' he said appealingly, 'won't 
 you tell me your trouble ? ' 
 
 ' Never ! ' she cried ; and for the second 
 time in his experience of her she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 Paul was quite upset, and completely at sea. 
 Not long ago he would have applied the gauge 
 of his vanity, and attributed her behaviour to 
 a flattering, if commonplace motive. But now 
 the thought never entered his head. He knew 
 Jennifer; she was not as other maids, were. 
 She could be a friend to a man ; he was con- 
 vinced she could be nothing more. But what- 
 ever the cause of her emotion might be, it really 
 hurt him and touched him deeply. 
 
 'Don't 'ee cry,' he murmured incoherently, 
 kneeling beside her and stroking her hair. 
 ' Don't 'ee cry, my dear ; it vexes me so, you 
 caan't think. Don't vex your friend, Jennifer. 
 Come, tell me all about et, an' ef I can help 
 'ee— ' 
 
 She shook her head and sobbed on. Paul 
 looked despairingly about him. 
 
 There came a diversion from an unexpected 
 quarter. Paul heard an angry growl at his 
 
184 PAUL CARAH 
 
 elbow. He turned, and there was Dummy, 
 whose existence he had forgotten. And what 
 on earth was up with Dummy? 
 
 Dummy, rapt from the seventh heaven by 
 Paul's interruption, had returned to his work 
 for a moment, only to relinquish it immediately. 
 Paul's protesting attitude and Jennifer's obstin- 
 ate silence puzzled him. Were his two adored 
 ones quarrelling? He watched them narrowly. 
 He saw a question, a vehement reply, and then 
 Paul's hand on Jennifer, and Jennifer in tears. 
 His dear mistress weeping? He was frantic 
 at the sight What was distressing her? 
 Slowly he worked it out. It must be something 
 Paul had done or said. His anger blazed. 
 He loved and admired Paul, but Jennifer was 
 first by a long way in his affections. He jumped 
 up, growling; and Paul looked round to en- 
 counter two glaring wrathful eyes. Instinctively 
 he retreated a step. Dummy rushed to Jennifer, 
 and stooped over her, fondling her and making 
 soft cooing noises. He rushed back to Paul 
 and shook his fist in his face, jabbering fiercely. 
 Jennifer claimed him again. Her face was 
 hidden ; he lifted it gently and pored on it. 
 What he read there jumped him to his feet, 
 
REPROVES A MAID 185 
 
 his rage redoubled. He advanced on Paul 
 with unmistakably hostile intentions. 
 
 ' Stand back ! ' cried Paul, and tried to ex- 
 plain. 'Twas explaining to a wild bull. On came 
 Dummy, mad with fury ; and Paul retreated 
 before him — not from fear ; strength for strength 
 he was more than a match for Dummy, without 
 taking science into account ; but he didn't wish 
 to harm the faithful, blundering creature. So 
 he retreated as Dummy advanced. Round the 
 shed they circled. Paul realised the ridiculous- 
 ness of his position ; he couldn't actually run 
 away; he was reluctant to stand and come to 
 blows. There was only one course open to 
 him, humiliating, but the only one — an appeal 
 to Jennifer. 
 
 'Jennifer,' he exclaimed, "call him off, or 
 I'm forced to knock him down ! ' 
 
 Jennifer looked up, saw Paul's look of help- 
 less disgust at the fantastic war-dance he was 
 taking compulsory part in, and burst into a fit 
 of hysterical laughter. Dummy stopped dead ; 
 his anger cleared away, he darted back to her 
 side and began to express his delight at the 
 change in her mood by a whirl of extravagant 
 gestures. 
 
 Paul was alarmed by the laughter more than 
 
186 PAUL CARAH 
 
 he had been by the tears. He started forward, 
 thought better of it, opened his mouth to speak, 
 thought better of that too, and finally turned 
 and went slowly into the garden. Best leave 
 her alone for a bit, he thought 
 
 He leaned by the house door considerably 
 shaken by the scene he had just gone through. 
 Poor little maid ! what could have upset her 
 so ? Some genuine trouble it must be ; no 
 slight matter could thus disturb the deep calm 
 of her nature. She wouldn't tell ; she seemed 
 ashamed to tell. 'Edn' you I do scorn.' 
 Herself then? Why? He recalled what he 
 could remember of the whole affair, and of the 
 events preceding it No ; he could see no 
 light. Poor little maid ! He was glad that 
 something had impelled him to treat her 
 tenderly. He could do it with safety; there 
 was no nonsense about her, and she would not 
 misunderstand. 
 
 Why, here she came, quite collected, but 
 with downcast eyes. She approached him. 
 
 'Feel better now?' he said encouragingly. 
 ' That's right' 
 
 ' Paul,' she said in a low voice, ' I wish to 
 ask your pardon for my be'aviour since — for 
 my be'aviour lately. You're right, I haven' 
 
REPROVES A MAID 187 
 
 treated 'ee fitty. Ef you do forgi'e me, I'll be 
 thankful, an' I'll try to be'ave different.' 
 
 'There, that's all right,' he cried heartily, 
 'an' we'll say no more. But ef you'd only 
 tell me—' 
 
 ' Don't ! ' she interrupted. ' Don't ask me, 
 for I can never tell 'ee. 'Twas only a maid's 
 foolishness ; we're weak creatures, you d' 
 knaw.' 
 
 'So you are,' admitted Paul. 'But I didn' 
 think et o' you, Jennifer, an' I caan't make it 
 out. Why, 'twas as ef we were swettards, an' 
 I'd slighted 'ee!' 
 
 She cast a swift affrighted glance on him. 
 He was laughing at the absurd notion. She 
 dropped her eyes, and laughed too — a queer 
 little laugh. 
 
 ' I — I edn' that sort, you d' knaw,' she 
 said. 
 
 'That's what I say,' said Paul, still laugh- 
 ing. 'An' I'll tell 'ee what, Jennifer. 'Tes a 
 good thing to meet with a maid like you, wance 
 in a way, that thinks as you do 'bout all that' 
 He waved his hand comprehensively. ' I dedn' 
 think so at first ; I saw you wadn' like other 
 maids, an' that puzzled me. An' when I'm 
 puzzled I'm vexed — that's me. But now I'm 
 
188 PAUL CAR AH 
 
 glad you're so. Look! I've gone swettardin' 
 before now; 'twas fun for a while, but, my 
 ivers! how sick I got o' the fullishness of en, 
 'fore 'twas done! But you! why, you're as 
 good as a man 'most. Tell 'ee, I do think a 
 brae lot of 'ee. Friendship, aha ! better'n all 
 the swettardin' in the world, edn' 'a ? ' 
 
 ' Ess, to be sure,' she said in a clear voice, 
 and looked him in the face and smiled. She 
 was very pale, and as she smiled she laid her 
 hand on the door. 
 
 ' Paul,' she said faintly, ' I don't feel very 
 well. Sim' me, I'm a bit upset. I'll go over 
 stairs an' lie down for a bit' 
 
 'Do 'ee, now,' Paul urged. 'Don't trouble 
 'bout denner just yet,' he called after her. ' I 
 shaan't mind ef 'tes a bit late this wance.' 
 
 You see he could be generous, and self- 
 sacrifice was not altogether unknown to him. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 HE GOES DIGGING 
 
 JENNIFER kept her word, and dropped her 
 incomprehensible behaviour for good. She 
 was not quite the same as before, though ; 
 quieter than ever, more subdued, wonder- 
 fully gentle with everybody, especially with 
 Paul. The pride seemed to have gone out 
 of her. 
 
 Christmas came and went in peace. The 
 pots were finished, the gear all mended and 
 stored away in the out-house, and by the begin- 
 ning of February little remained to be done on 
 the seaward side of affairs. Landward, so far 
 as human intercourse went, things were quiet, 
 almost stagnant. At home there was no excite- 
 ment to be got out of Jennifer. Mr Jose was 
 sanguine again since the fresh change in domes- 
 tic relations, but had grown to doubt the wisdom 
 of interference in affairs of the heart, which are 
 
190 PAUL CARAH 
 
 proverbially ticklish subjects for a third person 
 to meddle with. So he lay low and let things 
 take their course. With the cove one had little 
 traffic. One stepped across now and again to 
 buy matches or what not, and to chat with the 
 amiable Reseigh, the one just man in a den of 
 rogues. The others were in Coventry. 
 
 Paul's restless spirit sought about for some- 
 thing to do, for some one or something to battle 
 with, manoeuvre against, cajole, astonish, and 
 what not. And some one he found right under 
 his nose, no less a one than Mother Earth her- 
 self. Her winter sleep is brief in Cornwall — a 
 mere doze, which a single sunny day is enough 
 to disturb, even in January. By the first days 
 of February she is wide awake. 
 
 Early one morning Paul came out and leaned 
 over the garden gate, waiting for breakfast. It 
 was a bright day, soft and fresh after a night 
 of rain. From the ground arose that sweetest, 
 most intoxicating of odours, the odour of 
 moist earth in spring sunshine ; and every- 
 where on the trees, in the hedges, among the 
 flower-beds and potato-voyers, little filaments 
 of green, little knobs of brown, were pushing 
 forth. Gradually the subtle influence of the 
 season came over Paul and mastered him, and 
 
GOES DIGGING 191 
 
 as once before in the presence of the sea, so 
 now again he fell into a waking dream. Now 
 it was no alien monster that cast its spell over 
 him, but the kindly familiar earth, mother and 
 nurse of all living. Rush and leap as we will, 
 we are like the apple trees, rooted deep in her ; 
 when the sap rises in the elms it rises in us too ; 
 we bud and burgeon^with the thorn and the 
 hazel. From her we come, to her we go. We 
 are her children, she feeds us all our lives, and 
 the happiest, healthiest of us are those that 
 remain as it were babes unweaned, clinging to 
 her breast, sucking life directly from her. 
 Such are they that dig and plough, sow and 
 reap, in fields and gardens. 
 
 With vacant eyes Paul stood, and felt the 
 spring stir around him, within him too. The 
 upward push of blade and tendril could almost 
 be seen ; one was ready to fancy one could hear 
 the rustling of the root fibres below, as they 
 struggled through the earth, spreading their fine 
 nets to catch moist nourishment. There stood 
 the apple trees, a grey weather-beaten company. 
 To a touch their trunks were cold, to a push 
 they were stubbornly motionless, as dead things. 
 But they lived, grew, had offspring, and died 
 after fulfilment, like men. They ' had their 
 
192 PAUL CARAH 
 
 troubles and struggles too ; every knot, every 
 twist and angle of their branches told a tale of 
 battle. They shrank from wind and cold, they 
 groped after warmth and light, children of 
 earth, brothers in sympathy and origin to men. 
 They felt, they suffered and rejoiced ; blind, deaf, 
 speechless, incapable of locomotion, they lived 
 a life of the nature of which we can have no 
 conception ; but they lived. Who knows but 
 that they might hold some dim communion 
 with other dumb things, with sun and air, with 
 rain, with insects and birds ? With each other, 
 perhaps, tossing odours across and back, rub- 
 bing twig on twig, the friendly wind their 
 go-between. The wind blew ; they leapt a scale 
 in creation, and became creatures of lively 
 motion. The wind was their soul, dwelling 
 outside their bodies, like the soul of the giant 
 in the fairy tale. 
 
 The earth is not as the sea, there is no 
 treachery in her. The corn is faithful, it grows 
 where it is planted. The trees pledge their 
 word with flowers and fulfil it with fruit. Lend 
 the soil seed, it repays it duly with interest. 
 The fisherman gambles on his green cloth, the 
 farmer banks his labour. One fights a fierce 
 enemy, the other works shoulder to shoulder 
 
GOES DIGGING 193 
 
 with a trusted friend. A happy life, and surely 
 not a dull one, with green miracles working 
 round one all the year, oneself the miracle- 
 monger. 
 
 Did Paul's thoughts run so, as he leaned and 
 stared across the garden, till the earth seemed 
 to heave with thick life beneath his eyes ? His 
 visionary mood ran in thrills of feeling rather 
 than in thoughts, thrills hardly to be translated 
 into words, even by one more skilled in self- 
 observation than he. The spell of the earth- 
 magic held him. Jennifer had to call him twice 
 before he awoke and remembered breakfast. 
 
 As he ate, ideas began to ferment. The 
 riotous sap of spring was in his veins, impelling 
 him to be up and doing. The garden dragged 
 him to itself with every fibre, beckoned with 
 every unfolding tendril. How if he did a little 
 digging, to work off superfluous energy and 
 pass the time away? So he would. Fine 
 sport, gardening — calling for much craft and 
 judgment; for muscle too. Better than muck- 
 ing about with gashly, slimy fish. Fish! he 
 was sick of fish. What did Jennifer suppose 
 might be the price of land hereabouts ? Which 
 was considered the best soil ? And where was 
 the spade? 
 
194 PAUL CAEAH 
 
 To think that the garden had lain before his 
 eyes all this while, and he had never seen it, as 
 one may say ! And if there was an occupation 
 after his own heart, an occupation he had pined 
 to indulge in from his earliest youth, it was 
 digging. 
 
 Naturally, everybody's fortune was as good 
 as made. The garden was a tidy li'll splat o' 
 ground, big enough for a family concern, so to 
 speak, but no better than a jumping-off place 
 for Pauline ambition. However, one could 
 make a start with it ; the field could be rented 
 in the autumn say, and the farm next year. 
 Meanwhile we have our eyes on a nice li'll blog 
 of a horse ; when we have time we will hunt 
 about for a market cart Let the Lanwiddock 
 greengrocer shake in his shoes ; his custom is 
 as good as gone already. Broc'lo, early potatoes, 
 onions, rhubarb, punkins — yes, to be sure, 
 punkins ! — no soil like Cornish soil for them all. 
 Would Jennifer mind running over to the cove 
 and fetching Dummy? Paul hadn't time. 
 The breakfast things ? She could wash them up 
 afterwards. While she was there she might 
 go into the shop and buy a spade — two spades. 
 Her father might like to do some digging too. 
 She might do some herself; 'twas splendid 
 
GOES DIGGING 195 
 
 healthy exercise, and she had been looking 
 wisht and pale this long time past. 
 
 Before her shawl was over her head he had 
 hunted up a spade and was digging furiously. 
 When she returned with Dummy there was 
 already a dark line of freshly-turned mould 
 scored across the garden from hedge to hedge, 
 and Paul, axe in hand, was in the act of 
 demolishing an ancient apple tree that stood 
 solitary, apart from its fellows, in the middle 
 of the plot. 'Twas only an incumbrance, long 
 past bearing, good for firewood and nothing 
 else. He was going to make a clean sweep, 
 dig everything up and start afresh on virgin 
 soil. Dig, Dummy! Dig, Jennifer! There 
 was an easy bit of ground over there by the 
 hedge, cram full of weeds and rubbishing 
 flowers, a positive eyesore. Jennifer might 
 begin there at once. What was she hesitating 
 about? He had picked out an easy bit on 
 purpose, and she could stop whenever she felt 
 tired. 
 
 Mr Jose, coming home towards midday, 
 rubbed his eyes and gaped at the sudden trans- 
 formation wrought in his li'll splat o' ground. 
 The apple tree laid flat, the soil all turned up, 
 Paul, Dummy, and Jennifer digging away for 
 
196 PAUL CARAH 
 
 dear life in three separate corners — what did it 
 all mean? 
 
 Paul waved him in, helped him off with his 
 coat, and thrust a hoe into his hands before he 
 knew where he was. A dazzling, glowing 
 account of the latest scheme left him gasping, 
 more than half convinced of its plausibility. 
 In dazed obedience to Paul's urgent summons 
 he dealt the ground a few feeble pecks with the 
 hoe. Then he straightened himself and tried 
 to recover breath. 
 
 ' What a chap ! ' he murmured. 
 
 His eyes fell on Jennifer. He started, and 
 uttered an exclamation. 
 
 1 Why, Jennifer, what are 'ee up to, rootin' 
 up your flower-bed? Such a wan as you are 
 for flowers, too! I never see a prettier show 
 than you had last summer-time : an' no wonder, 
 wi' the trouble you took, teelin' et an' waterin' 
 et. An' now you've gone and dug et all up ! ' 
 
 'Why, law me!' exclaimed Paul remorse- 
 fully. 'I tauld her to dig there myself. I 
 dedn' knaw; she never said nothin'. Thou 
 fullish maid, Jennifer, how dedn' 'ee tell me? 
 I dedn' look to spoil your pleasure like that' 
 
 Jennifer was blushing. 
 
 * Edn' no consequence,' she murmured 
 
GOES DIGGING 197 
 
 shamefacedly. ' I don't belong to set so much 
 store by them as I ded.' 
 
 ' An' you're right ! ' exclaimed Paul. 
 'They're poor truck, flowers are — no use to 
 nobody ; only a vain show, cumberin' the 
 ground.' The phrase took his fancy ; like 
 Browning's thrush, and for the same reason, 
 he repeated it. 'A vain show, cumberin' the 
 ground. You med as well fit an' teel thistles 
 an' dralyers to wance. Weeds weth a grand 
 name — that's all they are. There's a brave 
 row of onions springin' up in my head along 
 there, Jennifer. Better'n scroffy gilliflowers 
 an' butter-'n-eggs, aha ! ' 
 
 ' Ess, to be sure they are,' said Jennifer. 
 
 Mr Jose stared at his daughter. 
 
 'Such a wan as you were for flowers!' he 
 muttered, shaking his head. He didn't under- 
 stand the maid at all of late. Was it weak 
 health, or mere flightiness ? 
 
 In the afternoon there were curious faces 
 peeping over the garden wall at the excavators. 
 Reports of the digging operations had reached 
 Porthvean, and a rumour spread that buried 
 treasure had been found in Ben Jose's garden. 
 It revived a flicker of the old amused amaze- 
 ment at Paul's doings, which quickly died 
 
198 PAUL CARAH 
 
 away when it was discovered that he was 
 embarking on nothing more out of the common 
 than a little gardening. There was nothing in 
 that Every man among them had his plot of 
 ground, snuggled away in a sheltered corner 
 by the stream, or perched among boulders on 
 the steep cliff-side ; and there he teeled his 
 potatoes and cabbages on windy days — 
 modestly, be it understood, as one pursuing 
 a private pastime ; not making a misleading 
 parade of it before the world, hallooing, flourish- 
 ing one's spade, digging with the desperate 
 energy of a gold-miner, betraying one's neigh- 
 bours into a display of weak curiosity. Going 
 to make his fortune by it, no doubt. Yah! 
 Cod-liver oil ! Going to drop fishing in favour 
 of the new fad? So the rumour runs, but it 
 fails to placate us. The head and front 
 of the offending may be removed, but the 
 rancour remains, too deeply seated to be easily 
 brushed away. We are honest folks all, but 
 we could tolerate a rogue among us, if by fair 
 means or foul he would rid us of this ramping* 
 roaring nuisance. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 HE SUFFERS A CHECK 
 
 Hampered by the smallest possible modi- 
 cum of experience, Paul dug and sowed 
 zealously for a fortnight. The potatoes 
 were in, and the onions, the cauliflowers, 
 carrots, beans, and so on through the list. We 
 are nothing if not thorough; every esculent 
 vegetable must be represented. Pumpkin seed 
 was not to be had, but vegetable marrow 
 would do as well. Better ; was it not a native 
 product, and so superior to aught that the 
 Yankees could show? Let Jennifer wait till 
 she tasted it, baked in a pie with a few drops 
 of essence of lemon for flavouring. Even in 
 Cornwall, land of pies and pasties, there was 
 nothing like it ; let her take Paul's word for 
 
 that. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of his operations, 
 Paul suffered a rude check. His pockets were 
 
200 PAUL CARAH 
 
 found to be empty. What with tools and 
 seeds, not ten shillings remained of his little 
 store. And there was no immediate prospect 
 of replenishment, either. After all, in one 
 respect agriculture compares unfavourably with 
 fishing: the returns are heart-rendingly slow. 
 Months to wait before a farthing comes back, 
 and nothing to do all the time but a little paltry 
 weeding and training. Not even a Paul 
 Carah can conquer the deliberation of Mother 
 Earth. Personal magnetism avails nothing 
 with a voyer of potatoes, and no amount of 
 hustling will compel onions to work double 
 tides. After all, there was a good deal to be 
 said for fishing, especially for crabbing, which 
 had all the charm of an untried novelty. And 
 what was this in his ears? The echo of a 
 sneering chuckle, of a derisive insinuation that 
 he had lost heart, that Porthvean's black looks 
 were too much for him, that he was about to 
 throw up his hand and retire defeated? The 
 spades were thrown into a corner, out came 
 pots and brushes, and off hied Paul post-haste 
 to paint his boat 
 
 The crab-pots, as has been said, were piled 
 in the out-house where their manufacture had 
 been carried on. And there also the other gear 
 
SUFFERS A CHECK 201 
 
 was stored for the time, having been brought 
 over from the fish-cellar by the quay to be re- 
 paired at leisure. Now they must be moved 
 back. When the painting and tarring of the 
 boat was completed, he and Dumjny started on 
 the pots. Pots are bulky things, and heavier 
 than one would think, to look at them. Work- 
 ing through the afternoon and into the darkness 
 of the evening, there were still some pots — a 
 dozen or so — remaining in the out-house, and 
 the other gear had not been touched. 'Twas 
 tiring work, and they left the rest for next day. 
 Paul was fagged out, and whether he secured 
 the out-house door or no, he cannot remember. 
 He came in, ordered his supper at once, bolted 
 it, and stumbled up to bed, where he slept, as 
 he always slept, soundly and dreamlessly until 
 the morning. Jennifer's slumbers were more 
 disturbed : she slept lightly of late. She dreamt 
 she was in the garden, chopping up the old 
 apple tree into fire-wood ; and in the small 
 hours she awoke with a start, with a dream- 
 echo of retreating footsteps in her ears. She 
 listened, but heard nothing, and presently fell 
 asleep again. 
 
 In the morning, after breakfast, Paul went to 
 the out-house, meaning to carry two or three 
 
202 PAUL CARAH 
 
 pots with him as he went over to the cove to 
 rouse Dummy, who was apt to be lazy of a 
 morning. He threw open the door, made one 
 step within, and stood aghast. The pots 
 which the night before he had left safely 
 stacked in a corner, were lying strewn about 
 the floor in a state of hopeless wreck. Some 
 were mere heaps of twigs ; all had been 
 hacked and smashed — with an axe apparently — 
 in a way to render them quite useless and be- 
 yond repair. 
 
 Paul's shout of infuriate amazement brought 
 Jennifer out. The sight of the destruction 
 shook her composure, and she screamed. The 
 shock had stunned Paul, and he stood staring 
 stupidly, his hands relaxed and aimlessly 
 groping. She caught one in her own and held 
 it firmly ; and so they remained for a while. 
 
 Paul began to recover ; his eyes went about 
 the shecl, seeking a clue. Suddenly he snatched 
 his hand from Jennifer's — indeed, he had never 
 noticed her action or felt her grasp — and darted 
 forward. 
 
 ' The gear ! ' he cried. ' 'Tes gone ! ' 
 
 The nets and lines should have been hanging 
 by nails on the wall ; but it was as Paul said, 
 their place was vacant He hunted desperately 
 
SUFFERS A CHECK 203 
 
 in every corner ; they were not to be found. 
 Then he rushed blindly from the shed, vaulted 
 the gate, and pelted towards the cove, shouting 
 his loss as he went. 
 
 By the quay he ran into a peacefully chatting 
 group — ran right through them, scattering 
 them in all directions. He pulled up, and 
 turned on them, foaming and panting. 
 
 ' Rogues ! ' he shouted. ' Rogues an' 
 robbers ! Where's my gear ? Fetch en out, 
 before I smash the lot of 'ee.' 
 
 They growled ominously, and closed up 
 together, like sheep before a barking cur. 
 
 ' Look ! ' came a voice from a safe position 
 in the rear. ' Look, Paul Carah ; we haven't 
 a notion what you're a-tellin' of, but we edn' 
 to be spoke of in that way. We're nothin' but 
 dirt in the sight of 'ee, no doubt, but — ' 
 
 The orator stopped perforce. Paul had 
 darted off as abruptly as he had arrived, making 
 for the fish-cellars, and fumbling in his pocket 
 as he went. The remaining pots — had the 
 rogues got at them too? 
 
 There were marks of hard usage on the cellar 
 door, but it was safely locked. He pulled out 
 the key, and unlocked it Thank goodness, 
 
204 PAUL CARAH 
 
 they were all there, intact and undisturbed. 
 He hurried back. 
 
 ' Thank 'ee for not smashin' the cellar door ! 
 But where's my gear, you pack o' thieves? 
 Where's et to?' 
 
 The orator resumed his spoilt flight of 
 eloquence. 
 
 ' I've no doubt we're nothin' but dirt — ' 
 
 'Nor I nuther, but that edn' the question. 
 Where's my gear ? ' 
 
 Another voice arose, a voice of oily regret. 
 
 'Vexed to say we don't none of us knaw, 
 Paul. But ef I might give a guess, maybe 
 you've fit an' buried et in your sleep, seein' 
 that your mind's that set on diggin' jus' now.' 
 
 We are in no laughing humour, but Jim 
 Boase's utterances must be honoured in the 
 customary way. ' 
 
 Paul glared round, hungry for a fight, un- 
 certain which rogue to pitch on among so 
 many. One face he sought for, but it was 
 missing. 
 
 'Steve! He's hidin', of course. An' you 
 d' all knaw why. Aw, you're a virtuous lot, 
 'specially when there's a drunken rogue handy 
 to do your dirty work for 'ee! Where's 
 Steve ? ' 
 
" 'Whoever 'a es, I'll find en out 'fore long,' he cried." 
 -P<">1 CaraX] y,^ 20 , 
 
SUFFERS A CHECK 205 
 
 ' Come now ! ' exclaimed Jim Boase in tones 
 of pained reproach. 'See what unjust be- 
 'aviour anger do lead 'ee into. Steve went off 
 yes'day mornin' to Falmouth on an arrand for 
 Reseigh, an' he edn' back yet' 
 
 Paul's wrath hung suspended, caught in a 
 net of bewilderment. He had instinctively, 
 inevitably pitched on Steve as the actual 
 culprit; and here were his accomplices ready 
 with an alleged alibi. They were all tarred 
 with the same brush; one stood out among 
 them adorned with an extra coating, satanically 
 black; if he wriggled from one's grasp, whom 
 among the rest, uniform in their dingy knavery, 
 could one fix upon ? Baffled, he turned away. 
 
 ' Whoever 'a es, I'll find en out 'fore long,' 
 he called over his shoulder. 'Trust me. I'm 
 an honest man, but I've all the wits of a rogue. 
 An' don't ye look to drive me out this way. 
 Profanin' dedn' do et ; laffin' dedn' do et ; an' 
 thievin' waan't do et nuther. An* so for you.' 
 
 What to do now he hardly knew. Auto- 
 matically he turned homeward, the hot blood 
 in him driving him along at top speed. At 
 first, rage continued to hold him, to the exclu- 
 sion of all else ; ,but gradually the steady swing 
 of leg and arm did its soothing, clarifying 
 
206 PAUL CARAH 
 
 work ; and he began to think with a brain 
 comparatively calm. 
 
 'Twas ruin, or something near it True, the 
 boat remained, and two-thirds of the fleet of 
 pots. But for two months yet they would 
 scarcely earn their up-keep in bait, and how 
 was the lost gear to be replaced when he had 
 no money left? Replaced it must be, and at 
 once, if he was to continue the fight. Oh, 
 'twas hard! He had worked as no man had 
 ever worked before ; he had knowingly offended 
 no man ; he had gone out of his way to please ; 
 and this was the upshot — empty pockets, the 
 imminent prospect of debt, and a town full of 
 foes. 
 
 The thief might be caught yet, and the stolen 
 gear recovered. A difficult task, with no clue 
 visible, and one net or line as like another as 
 peascod to peascod. Still, with craft and un- 
 remitting watchfulness. . . . 
 
 He walked faster and thought deeper. 
 Within the cottage he found Mr Jose and 
 Jennifer talking together. With sympathy for 
 fuel his wrath flared out anew. Porthvean was 
 rotten with roguery from end to end. It was 
 drenched in crime, like shavings in paraffin. 
 No place for the good man, ever carrying the 
 
SUFFERS A CHECK 807 
 
 naked lamp of honesty to guide him in the 
 straight path. 
 
 He had a jealous thought 'twas Steve after 
 all, in spite of his ostentatious alibi. He was 
 the biggest rogue ; he had been head and chief 
 against Paul all the while. 
 
 Mr Jose agreed, but angered Paul by trotting 
 out his ancient prejudice against Reseigh. The 
 plan wasn't cunning enough for Steve, he said. 
 The hand of a craftier villain was apparent. 
 Steve's soul wasn't his own ; he was Reseigh's 
 tool. It was on an errand of Reseigh's that 
 Steve was ostensibly absent, wasn't it? Well 
 then! 
 
 Paul fretted. This prejudice against Reseigh 
 was unaccountable. If he had dark designs 
 against Paul, what were they? And how was 
 his unremitting friendliness to be accounted 
 for? 
 
 Mr Jose did not pretend to fathom the depths 
 of Reseigh's villainy ; that was beyond him. 
 But this he knew: there was not enough kindly 
 feeling in the shopkeeper to fill a thimble. If 
 he paraded friendship for a man, 'twas for his 
 own ends. There was no human feeling in 
 him save the lust of power and gold. He 
 was nothing but a great, cruel, bloated spider. 
 
208 PAUL CARAH 
 
 He had all Porthvean in his web, sucking their 
 blood ; before Paul knew it, the viscous net 
 would be about him ; and then struggle as he 
 might, he would never be free. Why, look! 
 there was Billy Drew, as fine a young fellow 
 as ever you met. Billy got married, and 
 borrowed ten pounds of Reseigh on the 
 strength of it. In five years he paid back fifty, 
 and still the ten pounds remained miraculously 
 undiminished. Then Billy kicked. He abused 
 Reseigh to his face, and refused to pay another 
 farthing. What was the result? Billy was 
 sold up, stock, lock and barrel, and left Porth- 
 vean penniless. 
 
 And of whom was this fable narrated, Paul 
 wanted to know? He wasn't going to get 
 married; no such fool. If Reseigh found 
 another man's hand under his heel, small blame 
 to him if he stamped on it. And a truce to 
 this slanderous backbiting of a worthy man, a 
 true friend, if there ever was one. 
 
 Now, listen. Paul had a plan. A secret 
 invocation of the strong arm of the law ; a 
 sudden descent of the police on all the cellars 
 and attics in Porthvean ; nets and lines 
 captured, and a rogue marched off to prison. 
 What did Ben Jose think of that, aha ? 
 
SUFFERS A CHECK 209 
 
 Ben Jose had cold water ready. The arm of 
 the law, videlicet^ the Lanwiddock policeman, 
 was a poor weapon for prompt action. He 
 was five miles off, to begin with. Moreover, 
 he was a peaceable man, and had never 
 arrested a criminal in his life. Serving an 
 occasional writ was as far as he had gone. 
 Beloved of all the country-side, he took care to do 
 nothing to endanger his popularity and disturb 
 his life of ease. Police in Porthvean! Mr Jose 
 sympathised deeply with Paul, but the credit of 
 his native village counted for something, and 
 the idea of employing such drastic measures 
 took his breath away. Anything rather than 
 that! 
 
 What then? Eight pounds' worth of gear 
 gone, the season at hand, and no money in 
 Paul's pockets. If ever a situation called for 
 drastic measures it was this. 
 
 Jennifer made a sign to her father. 
 
 'Eh!' he exclaimed. 'Aw ess, to be sure. 
 Look 'ee here, sonny,' he said to Paul ; 
 'Jennifer an' me have been talkin' while you 
 were away, an' Jennifer, she thinks — ' 
 
 He stopped, at another vehement sign from 
 his daughter. 
 
 'Aw ess, I forgot,' he stammered on 
 
210 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'Edn' no consarn o' Jennifer's. But we were 
 talkin', as I say, an' I was tellin' Jennifer how 
 I thought maybe, seein' as how we're all 
 friendly like, an' you bein' wan o' the family, 
 so to spake, or gettin' on that way — Hauld on, 
 Jennifer, you put me all in a maze, interruptin' 
 like that — you bein' wan o' the family, as I say, 
 I thought maybe you wouldn' take offence ef 
 we trated you as wan o' the family : an' so — 
 an' so ef eight pound, or maybe ten, 'ull be of 
 any sarvice ti' 'ee, why, 'tes at your sarvice, so 
 to spake.' 
 
 The good man mopped his brow and looked 
 expectantly at Paul. Jennifer's eyes were in 
 her lap. 
 
 ' Uncle,' said Paul coldly, ' I can see you 
 don't mane no offence, so I don't take none. 
 Nor I don't take no money nuther. I edn* a 
 beggar yet, nor my stomach edn' empty 'nough 
 to hauld no charity. I stand on my own feet, 
 ef you plaise, an' I pay my own way so long as 
 I'm able, an' owe no man a halfpenny.' 
 
 ' But 'a edn' a loan I do offer 'ee ; 'tes a 
 gift, a friendly gift,' cried Mr Jose eagerly. 
 
 'Money or thanks, 'tes all the same,' Paul 
 replied. ' I owe them to no man. I stand on 
 my own feet' 
 
SUFFERS A CHECK 211 
 
 'Twas a sublime attitude, and he knew it. 
 The old fellow looked sufficiently uncomfort- 
 able and humiliated. How did Jennifer take 
 it ? Her eyes were in her lap. 
 
 'There, don't say no more about et,' he 
 exclaimed generously. 'I forgive 'ee. You 
 don't understand my natur' yet I edn' like 
 other men. I waan't say I'm better, nor I 
 waan't say I'm worse ; I'm defferent, that's all. 
 Ask me a favour, I'm thankful. Offer me a 
 gift, I'm vexed. That's me.' 
 
 Surely a loftier peak of virtue was never 
 trodden by mortal foot. Wrapt in ecstatic 
 self-contemplation, he forgot his troubles. 
 What a noble fellow he was, to be sure, with 
 his sturdy independence, his scorn of gold ! 
 He could see the timid admiration in the 
 old man's eyes. And Jennifer, what did she 
 think? 
 
 ' Edn' I right, Jennifer, to stand on my own 
 feet an' take help from no man? Edn' I 
 right?' 
 
 She lifted her eyes. What queer eyes they 
 were, to be sure! Their intensity stabbed 
 one. 
 
 'Ess, Paul, you're right,' she murmured 
 sadly. 
 
212 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'Why, Jennifer!' exclaimed her father. 
 "Twas you yourself — ' 
 
 'What's that?' asked Paul, as the old man 
 stopped abruptly. 
 
 'Nothin',' he replied, staring at Jennifer in 
 some alarm. 
 
 Paul followed his eyes. 
 
 'Jennifer,' he said, 'you're lookin' wisht, 
 sim' me. Bustle about an' do some churrs. 'A 
 edn' healthy for a g'eat maid like you to sit 
 idle. Bustle, now, while me an' your da talk 
 over this here business. You women d' 'ave an 
 easy time of et ; all the trouble an' worry goes 
 to the men. Woman's life — churrs an' chatter, 
 that's about et ; arter that you're no manner o' 
 use. Come, bustle ! ' 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 HE WALKS INTO THE PARLOUR 
 
 Reseigh, enjoying the evening air at the 
 shop door, saw Paul hurrying up the 
 street, and beckoned to him as he passed. 
 ' Step inside, Paul,' he said. ' I was lookin' 
 out for 'ee. Step inside an' have a chat with 
 an auld fellow.' 
 
 Paul followed him into the musty shop. Two 
 of the village wives, at voluble argument with 
 the girl over the counter, came to a sudden 
 silence as the two entered, and stared curiously 
 at Paul. 
 
 'Are 'ee sarved yet, Mis' Jackson an' Mis' 
 Polsue ? ' asked the master. 
 
 'Ess, to be sure,' said Mrs Jackson with 
 hurried obsequiousness. ' Haelf a pound o' 
 candles an' a pennord o' saffern.' 
 
 'Happord o' pins an' happord o' sugar,' 
 added Mrs Polsue. 
 
214 PAUL CARAH 
 
 ' An' sixpennord o' scand'lous gossip, I've 
 no doubt,' said Reseigh. 
 
 They laughed nervously. 
 
 'On'y havin' a bit of a chat,' apologised 
 Mrs Jackson. 
 
 ' Finished yet ? ' 
 
 ' Ess, s'pose.' 
 
 •Paid?' 
 
 'Well, no. We thought you wouldn' mind 
 us trustin' 'ee a bit longer.' 
 
 ' Entered ? ' This to the girl. 
 
 'Just a-goin' to,' she replied in a terrified 
 voice. 
 
 'Gossip first, business afterwards. That's 
 your way, is 'a ? Gie me the book.' 
 
 He opened the bulky register of Porthvean's 
 woes, turned over some leaves, and made the 
 entries. 
 
 ' I'll divide the sixpennord o' gossip between 
 'ee — thruppence aich,' he said, and wrote again, 
 without a chuckle at his grim joke. 
 
 They quavered a laugh, not daring to protest 
 He shut the hook with a bang. 
 
 ' An' now, out wi' 'ee, quick. I pay the maid 
 to work, not to chatter with auld go-'bouts. 
 Out you go.' 
 
WALKS INTO THE PARLOUR 215 
 
 They scuttled off, and Reseigh turned to the 
 girl. 
 
 'You're a fine one,' he said. 'Put up the 
 shutters, an' go thee'st home. I waste no 
 words on 'ee, but you'd better be'ave. ' 
 
 His manner changed as he turned and ad- 
 dressed Paul. 
 
 ' Will 'ee walk into my parlour, Paul ? ' 
 
 What obscure memory was it that jingled at 
 the back of Paul's brain? And why, at that 
 particular moment, should he be thinking of 
 Ben Jose's lurid comparison of Reseigh to a 
 spider ? 
 
 They entered the little back room, Reseigh 
 carefully closing the door behind him. 
 
 'Sit down, Paul,' he said, 'an' make your- 
 self comfortable.' 
 
 He sat down himself, facing Paul. 
 
 ' Paul,' he said, ' I hear you're in trouble, 
 an' vexed I am to hear et.' 
 
 The flood-gates were opened, the torrent 
 poured forth. Reseigh listened politely, with a 
 grave ' Well, well ! ' or ' Scand'lous ! ' where 
 occasion demanded, until the whole iniquity 
 of Porthvean had been laid bare. 
 
 'A bad business,' said Reseigh, when Paul 
 had shouted himself into the temporary silence 
 
216 PAUL CARAH 
 
 of breathlessness. 'A bad business, sure 
 'nough. I wouldn' ha' b'lieved et o' Porthvean 
 folk, though I haven' much opinion of 'em, 
 nuther.' 
 
 A sensible chap, this. He and Paul were of 
 one mind there. 
 
 'When a chap's in trouble,' continued 
 Reseigh, 'then's the time for his true friends 
 to show themselves.' 
 
 A frown began to gather on Paul's face. 
 Was another insulting proposal coming? 
 Reseigh's eyes on him were the cat's on the 
 suspicious sparrow. 
 
 'D'ye mind,' he said, 'what I tauld 'ee 
 when you come here first? They were agin 
 you then, an' I said ti' 'ee, said I — "You're 
 welcome to anythin' in my shop, an' pay when 
 you like." You mind that, don't you ? ' 
 
 Paul did, and his frown darkened. If Reseigh 
 thought — 
 
 A wave of Reseigh's hand stopped him. 
 
 ' That was before I understood your char'cter. 
 I dedn' knaw you then — your pardon for that. 
 I knaw you now, an' I wouldn' make no such 
 offer, not for worlds. Help ? You edn' the sort 
 that looks for help. You stand on your own 
 feet, you do.' 
 
WALKS INTO THE PARLOUR 217 
 
 His own words ! Inevitably he thought of a 
 scene lately transacted in the Joses' cottage, 
 and the contrast shed a blaze of glory on 
 Reseigh's head. Here, at least, was one who 
 understood and admired him. 
 
 'Ef 'twas another chap, an' I liked him as 
 I've growed to like you, my hand 'ud be in my 
 pocket to wance. You've heard hard words 
 agin me in the town, I've no doubt, but I edn' 
 what they do want to make me out. They 
 don't understand my char'cter, no more than 
 they do yours. I'm fo'ced to sim hard to the 
 world, or the world 'ud stank me under ets heel. 
 But my natur* edn' so.' 
 
 That was what Paul was always telling them. 
 A kinder-hearted, more generous fellow than 
 Reseigh did not exist. Paul had always stuck 
 up for him, and always would. Misunderstood, 
 grossly vilified, they were a pair; 'twas their 
 duty to stand shoulder to shoulder. 
 
 Reseigh was very grateful to Paul for his 
 kind words ; and it was their duty, as Paul 
 said, to stand shoulder to shoulder. 
 
 'Well,' he continue i, 'ef 'twas any other 
 chap but you, as I said, I'd offer 'ee my shop 
 an' my purse, an' be proud for 'ee to take 
 what you liked. Seein' et's you, I don't. But 
 
218 PAUL CARAH 
 
 I've an offer to make 'ee, frail that. Edn' no 
 question o' help. 'Tes what you may call 
 mutual 'ccommodation — a kind o' partnership, 
 you may say.' 
 
 Paul was all gratified attention. 
 I've got a scheme,' Reseigh went on ; 
 'an' 'tes a scheme that wants a bauld, active, 
 crafty chap to carr' en out' 
 
 A scheme ? Paul pricked up his ears. 
 
 ' " Where am I to find such a chap ? " said I ; 
 an' I looked round, an' there wadn' none. Then 
 you came ; an' soon's I clapped eyes upon 'ee 
 —"That's the chap for me!" said I. "Ef I 
 could pick the world over, that's the chap." 
 Well, I'm slow an' careful, so I watched 'ee an' 
 watched 'ee, makin' my plans the while ; an' 
 now they're ready, an' I'm ready, an' sim' me 
 you're ready too, ef you'll agree.' 
 
 Bold, active — we are ready for anything. 
 Crafty — we do not commit ourselves rashly, 
 but wait for further particulars. 
 
 'You smoke a pipe/ said Reseigh, 'so you 
 d' knaw how cheap an' good I sell tobacco. 
 You don't drink — you're too sensible for that — 
 but you've noticed what a lot o' little-drop men 
 there are in this town. An' how? Brandy's 
 cheap over to "Fisherman's Arms.'" Cheap 
 
WALKS INTO THE PARLOUR 219 
 
 \obacco an' cheap brandy; spell that out for 
 me.' 
 
 Paul winked knowingly. He knew well 
 enough. 
 
 "Course you do. Chap goes out from here 
 to draw his nets. French trawler comes along. 
 "Got any fish?" says he. "Ess, plenty o' fish." 
 "We want fish?" says Frenchy. "You want 
 tabac, odyvee?" Our chap nods his head. 
 They draw up alongside; our chap throws up 
 the fish, Frenchy lowers a keg or a package, as 
 the case may be, an' so good-bye. Keg or 
 package, et comes to me ; I don't knaw where 
 'a comes from, nor I don't ask ; 'tes offered 
 cheap, an' I buy et. 
 
 ' Well, you say, edn' nothin' out o' the com- 
 mon in that ; 'tes the same all round the coast. 
 'Tes in the blood of us Cornishmen. But 'tes a 
 mean business nowadays, not like what 'a was 
 in the auld ancient time. Why, there edn' a house 
 in Porthvean, nor a farm up-country for miles, 
 that hasn' got its secret hidin'-places under 
 drexles an' between planchin's an' inside roofs, 
 where they used to keep the stuff. In this very 
 house — but I'll show 'ee presently. They were 
 all in et — bauld Cornishmen, wan an' all, an' a 
 fig for English preventives ! The sperit's clane 
 
220 PAUL CAEAH 
 
 gone out of 'em now. Time to wake et up agin, 
 say I, an* bring the auld days back.' 
 
 He stooped and glanced at Paul's eager face, 
 snuffing romantic adventure. His eyes nar- 
 rowed, and he stretched out a fat hand and laid 
 it on Paul's arm. 
 
 'You're the wan to do et,' he said. 
 ' Young, bauld, crafty, you're the wan.' 
 
 So he was ! Reseigh's words were the bugle 
 to the war-horse, sounding the charge. Every 
 fibre in him responded. Patriotism, adven- 
 turous risk, scope for scheming, dazzling pro- 
 spect of fortune — was ever venture so completely 
 congenial ? 
 
 ' Now look,' continued Reseigh. ' I'm 
 auld an' fat ; my brain edn' like yourn ; 'tes 
 slow an' dull. But I've worked out a sort of a 
 plan in my slow, tayjous way, an' 'tes at your 
 sarvice ef you like to hear en.' 
 
 By all means. Out with the little plan, and 
 we'll do our best to lick it into shape. 
 
 Humbly inviting criticism, Reseigh proceeded 
 to explain. In the way of business, he had 
 correspondence with a certain fish-buyer, who 
 also owned some boats, in a certain town on 
 the coast of Brittany. Arrangements might be 
 made— -in fact, they had already been made in 
 
WALKS INTO THE PARLOUR 221 
 
 a tentative fashion — by which, on occasions 
 depending on the state of moon and tide, a boat 
 belonging to his correspondent would sail on a 
 trawling expedition across Channel. With a 
 full cargo, and the Breton coast far away, what 
 more natural than that it should make for 
 Pendennack or Porthloy, there to dispose 
 of its fish? On its way, 'twould be easy to 
 reach a prearranged spot outside Porthvean 
 at a prearranged time ; a spot where a 
 Porthvean man might have set his lines or nets 
 without exciting the least suspicion. If the 
 Porthvean man happened to be there at the 
 prearranged time, attending to his lines, it 
 seemed likely that the boats would run across 
 each other ; and if the French boat had more 
 of what we will call ' ballast ' on board than was 
 convenient, it might conceivably choose that 
 moment to chuck it overboard. Contrary to the 
 habits of ordinary ballast, it would float, being 
 attached to an empty barrel, or what not. The 
 Porthvean man's interest would be aroused at 
 this singular phenomenon, and when the French 
 boat had sailed away, he would row up and 
 haul the innocent bit of flotsam on board, there 
 to investigate at his leisure. The curious dis- 
 covery he would then make would induce him 
 
222 PAUL CARAH 
 
 to hoist his sail and return, to communicate it 
 to Reseigh. What did Paul think of that ? 
 
 Paul was delighted. The manoeuvre by which 
 the necessity of actual communication between 
 the craft was obviated, was a stroke of genius, 
 worthy of his own brain. A tidy li'll plan, sure 
 'nough. But his present function was criticism. 
 The coastguard : how about them ? Risk he 
 gloried in ; he wasn't the one to shirk that. 
 But daring should go hand in hand with caution. 
 Any fool could blunder into danger. Here were 
 the coastguard ; he snapped his fingers at 
 them, but here they were. Bravery was one 
 thing, foolhardiness another; and landing* kegs 
 on quay-head under the nose of the look-out man 
 seemed to come under the latter category. 
 
 Paul was implored to listen for a bit. The 
 coastguardsmen were not so formidable as he 
 imagined. To begin with, the very boldness of 
 the scheme, running the contraband right 
 under their noses, was calculated to disarm 
 suspicion. Besides, individually the men were 
 disposed to be friendly. The married ones 
 mostly had their little accounts running at 
 Reseigh's shop, same as everybody else in the 
 village. Reseigh kept the amount well before 
 their eyes, but never pressed too keenly for pay- 
 
WALKS INTO THE PARLOUR 223 
 
 ment, knowing what a struggle the poor chaps 
 had to keep their families respectably clothed 
 on the Government pittance. As for the single 
 men, maybe they appreciated the merits of 
 cheap tobacco and grog as well as anybody 
 else. Married or single, they had a corner in 
 their hearts for Reseigh, and they would not 
 see more than they were forced to see. Still, 
 Paul was right, sharp-witted fellow that he 
 was ; one must not obtrude one's little affairs on 
 official notice. He had hit on the crux, too — 
 the conveyance of the goods from the boat to 
 the shore. Now, if Paul wouldn't mind getting 
 up and following, he would show him some- 
 thing. 
 
 Reseigh lit a candle, and preceded Paul out 
 of the parlour into the shop, and thence by 
 another way into a passage. At the end of 
 the passage was a door which opened directly 
 on a flight of steps leading cellarwards. At 
 the bottom, another door, which had to be 
 unlocked. Passing through this, they were in 
 a spacious cellar, piled to the ceiling with 
 Reseigh's reserve stock of goods — barrels of 
 flour and petroleum, bales of calico, cases of 
 tinned meat, and the like. Paul stared curiously 
 about him. 
 
224 PAUL CARAH 
 
 'Where d'ye s'pose we are now?' said 
 Reseigh. 
 
 ' Underground, s'pose,' said Paul. 
 
 ' Ess, we're that ; an' above ground too. 
 There's a c'numdrum for 'ee. Underground 
 an' above ground too — what d'ye make o' 
 that?' 
 
 Paul could make nothing of it. 
 
 'Come, now,' Reseigh prompted. 'Where's 
 my shop ? On the clift, edn' 'a ? Where's this 
 cellar then ? ' 
 
 ' I mind 'ee now ! 'Tes inside the clift, 
 like-a-thing,' cried Paul, delighted at his own 
 acuteness. 
 
 "Course 'a es,' said Reseigh approvingly. 
 ' An' bein' so, 'tes underground an' overground, 
 as I said — under the road an' over the cove. 
 Look 'ee here. Lend a hand wi' this barr'l.' 
 
 It stood at the further end of the cellar, in a 
 kind of recess. When it was rolled away, a 
 blank wall of rough-hewn granite appeared. 
 
 'Now,' said Reseigh, 'what's the clift like, 
 under my shop, lookin' from quay-head ? ' 
 
 Paul recalled its appearance. It rose sheer 
 from the water, and it was faced with granite 
 blocks, to prevent it from crumbling away. 
 
 'Very well. Now cast your eye on this 
 
WALKS INTO THE PARLOUR 225 
 
 stone.' He indicated what was apparently a 
 big block of granite, the size of a cottage 
 window, set back a little from its fellows. 
 
 ' Looks all right, don't 'a ? Now watch.' 
 
 His hand groped at the side ; his fingers dis- 
 appeared into a crevice in the masonry ; he 
 tugged, and a sudden flood of moonlight poured 
 on their faces. The seeming block was a thin 
 slab, no thicker than a shutter, and like a shutter 
 it had swung out of the wall at Reseigh's 
 touch. 
 
 Paul uttered a cry of astonishment, and thrust 
 his head through the opening. There below 
 him lay the cove and the deserted quay, black 
 against a background of silver moonlit sea. 
 
 ' My nerves ! ' His head popped back, 
 like a cork from a bottle, and he began to ex- 
 amine the artful contrivance with professional 
 interest. 
 
 ' My nerves ! ' He was a mason himself, but 
 in all his experience he had never seen the 
 like. 
 
 ' Smart chaps in the auld days, wadn' they ? ' 
 said Reseigh. ' You d' see the fashion of en ? 
 Cargo expected ; man up here waitin' ; hears 
 a signal ; opens, an' drops a rope with a grapnel 
 'pon the end. Men in the boat below make the 
 
226 PAUL CARAH 
 
 goods fast; man above hauls up, pushes the 
 stone to, an' there edn' nothin' to be seen but 
 an empty wall.' 
 
 Reseigh carefully closed the opening, turned 
 to Paul, and looked him full in the face. Paul's 
 eyes were glittering, and his whole demeanour 
 expressed the liveliest excitement and fascina- 
 tion. 
 
 'Now,' said Reseigh, 'what d'ye say? Will 
 *ee join me?' 
 
 Would a cat eat cream ? 
 
 ' Shake han's, partner ! ' he shouted. ' Tes 
 a bargain ! ' 
 
 Reseigh's cold flabby hand was wrung as it 
 had never been wrung before. Then the barrel 
 was rolled back, and they returned to the shop. 
 It was growing late, and further discussion was 
 postponed by mutual agreement Paul pre- 
 pared to depart Just as he was going Reseigh 
 called him back. 
 
 'Your gear,' he said. 'You must have 
 some, an' I work et out like this. Seein' we're 
 partners in the same boat, like, workin' to- 
 gether, there edn' no objection to me supplyin' 
 the tayckle, is there? You'll need it for this 
 li'll business of ourn.' 
 
 Of course. Things were on a different foot- 
 
WALKS INTO THE PARLOUR 227 
 
 ing now, and Paul readily accepted Reseigh's 
 kind offer. 
 
 'Edn' no sale, so edn' no debt,' said 
 Reseigh. 'But et vexes me ef my stock don't 
 tally with my books. 'Tes a wakeness o' mine. 
 So I'll put en down in a reg'lar way, as ef 'twas 
 a debt, just as a matter o' form, an' cross et 
 out arterwards, when the profits come in. You 
 agree to that, don't 'ee ? ' 
 
 Paul agreed. He was always ready to 
 humour a friend's weakness ; and he was too 
 full of other things to parley about a trivial 
 matter casually mentioned in a matter-of-fact 
 way. And so good-night to his dear friend and 
 partner. 
 
 Paul strode off, and Reseigh locked the shop 
 door and returned to the parlour, clucking 
 softly with his tongue against the roof of his 
 mouth. He never laughed spontaneously, but 
 on the rare occasions when amusement called 
 for expression, he was in the habit of making 
 this clucking sound. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 HE MAKES AN EXPEDITION 
 
 Before parting, Reseigh had exacted a 
 pledge of secrecy from Paul; and faithfully 
 Paul kept it, after his own fashion. That 
 is to say, he made no definite statement of 
 fact; but his conversation fairly bristled with 
 mysterious hints. He could talk of nothing 
 else but the ancient glories of Cornwall, secret 
 hiding-places, smuggled goods, short cuts to 
 fortune, and the amiable and virtuous Reseigh. 
 Directly questioned, he winked and grinned, 
 begging them not to press him to reveal 
 business secrets. Jennifer, who, in spite of 
 the submissive dulness which had come over 
 her, seemed never to let Paul's least word or 
 action escape her notice, found it only too easy 
 to piece his hints together, and read in them a 
 meaning which filled her with apprehension. 
 And then a brand new set of lines and nets 
 
MAKES AN EXPEDITION 229 
 
 appeared on the scene. Paul would offer no 
 explanation of the portent, but it could only be 
 interpreted in one way, by reference to that 
 source of all evil, that nightmare oppressor of 
 Porthvean's imagination, the big black book on 
 Reseigh's counter. She saw spectral misfortune 
 creeping up behind Paul's back, while he, frank, 
 careless fellow, stamped and elbowed his way 
 along, scornful of danger. Her heart cried out 
 a warning to him, which her lips would not, 
 could not, utter. For a while she suffered in 
 silence, till solitary anxiety grew intolerable, 
 and she confided her fears and suspicions to 
 her father. He, worthy man, was seriously 
 concerned, and felt it his duty, unpleasant 
 enough with the memory of frequent rebuffs 
 still fresh, to take Paul aside and add one more 
 to his oft-repeated warnings against his bugbear, 
 Reseigh. One result was inevitable — an ex- 
 plosion of wrath on Paul's part, and an indig- 
 nant request that Ben Jose would mind his own 
 business and leave others to mind theirs. There 
 were other consequences. One was, that 
 Paul's acumen being called into question, he 
 threw his vow of secrecy — somewhat tattered 
 already — to the winds, and confirmed every 
 suspicion by boastfully proclaiming the name 
 
230 PAUL CARAH 
 
 and nature of the new scheme. Another 
 was that Jennifer being absent from the inter- 
 view, the old man blunderingly introduced her 
 name, not seeking thereby to avoid responsi- 
 bility or shift the blame to her shoulders, but 
 wishing to emphasise his warning by showing 
 that another shared his fears. A third result 
 followed this. Paul, who was in a highly 
 nervous, excited state, sought Jennifer out, and 
 overwhelmed her with reproaches. In truth he 
 forgot himself so far as to grow abusive. She 
 was a meddlesome, interfering maid, like all 
 her tribe. Women ! they were nothing but a 
 curse, sticking their fingers into every pie. 
 What right had she to pry into his business ? 
 'Twas she, then, who had egged her father on 
 to pester and insult him with croaking words 
 of warning. Well, he had had enough of it, 
 let her understand that ; he didn't put the 
 value of a snap of the fingers on a silly maid's 
 notions. If she wanted to burst the scheme and 
 ruin his fortune, let her put on her shawl and 
 be off, there and then, to the coastguard station. 
 She was capable of that, he didn't doubt. 
 
 Red and white by turns, till the red failed to 
 come, she endured the lash with a passive 
 silence which only incensed him more. She 
 
MAKES AN EXPEDITION 281 
 
 disdained to answer, did she? Friends, were 
 they? He flung her friendship in her face, 
 with an oath to follow. 
 
 Then she trembled to her feet, staring wildly 
 at him. 
 
 •Paul,' she whispered, 'you're killin' me! 
 I caan't bear — ' 
 
 She broke off with a cry, and fled to her 
 room. 
 
 To do him justice, he was frankly ashamed 
 of himself the moment after, and Jennifer had 
 scarcely locked her door before he was outside, 
 urgently seeking the forgiveness the poor girl 
 was only too ready to accord. Peace was 
 soon restored. For a day or two Paul, striving 
 generously to make amends, behaved with un- 
 exampled gentleness and consideration; and 
 for a day or two Jennifer was more like the 
 quietly cheerful Jennifer of old than she had 
 been for a long time past. 
 
 Adopting for a moment Ben Jose's estimate 
 of Reseigh, and supposing him to be in truth a 
 crafty, far-seeing villain, one might be disposed 
 to wonder that he cared to admit an indiscreet 
 babbler to share a plan, the most essential part 
 of which was complete secrecy. But, on pur- 
 suing one's considerations on the same ima- 
 
232 PAUL CARAH 
 
 ginary lines, one would be inclined to do 
 more justice to Reseigh's cunning. The hostile 
 attitude of Porthvean, which, in spite of his 
 protestations, Reseigh had never done any- 
 thing to mollify, effectually closed Paul's mouth 
 to all but Mr Jose and Jennifer, and these latter, 
 one may suppose, he could afford to despise for 
 an honest, inoffensive pair, whose lips were 
 sealed by their friendship for Paul. Only 
 Dummy remained ; and Dummy was a neg- 
 ligible quantity, a mere piece of boat's furni- 
 ture, physically debarred from blabbing, and 
 conveniently ignorant of the nature and existence 
 of customs laws. The fact of his being Paul's 
 partner halved the risk. All this, of course, is 
 unjustifiable supposition. 
 
 There were frequent consultations between 
 Paul and Reseigh. Paul's wits, busy as ever, 
 evolved one or two cunning improvements, 
 calculated to make the plan work with perfect 
 smoothness ; and Reseigh accepted the sug- 
 gestions with many expressions of admiration. 
 One was intended to obviate the danger of find- 
 ing people about the quay when one returned 
 from an expedition. This was a point to be 
 considered, when boats were coming and going 
 at all hours. Now the store-pots were sunk in 
 
MAKES AN EXPEDITION 233 
 
 shallow water, two or three hundred yards 
 from quay-head. If Paul planted his pot some 
 way apart from the others, and if, instead of 
 bringing the goods directly ashore, he sank 
 them by a line attached to a float, close by the 
 side of it, he could safely leave them there till a 
 convenient opportunity offered for landing them. 
 And there was another scheme, more orna- 
 mental than useful, perhaps, but still worth 
 trying. On shore and on sea there would be 
 prying eyes, watching his every movement. He 
 was going to circumvent them, and have a bit 
 of fun at the same time. In addition to the 
 ordinary boat's lantern he intended to carry 
 two others — a red one and a green one. A 
 dark night, the red lantern in the bow, the 
 green one in the stern — and there was your 
 phantom steamer all complete. Now, suppose 
 another boat inconveniently near at the critical 
 moment. And suppose the occupants were 
 suddenly to see, looming out of the darkness, 
 a red light bearing straight down upon them : 
 would they not get out of the way brave and 
 quick, tremblingl before the worst danger a 
 fisherman has to face — the danger of being run 
 down in the darkness ? And suppose that, 
 just as they caught sight of the second light, 
 
234 PAUL CARAH 
 
 both red and green were suddenly extinguished, 
 as if the supposed steamer had sunk like a 
 stone. And let this happen not once only, but 
 twice or thrice — what a fine tale of a spectre- 
 ship could be made out of that! And what 
 boat would venture after dark in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the spot where the apparition had 
 been seen ? 
 
 It speaks volumes for Reseigh's simple faith 
 in Paul's genius, that this plan, which another 
 man might have deemed absurdly fantastical, 
 met with his express approval. But, indeed, 
 he never ventured to thwart or oppose Paul in 
 any way — that is, in any visible way. Paul 
 plumed himself, with apparent justice, on 
 having the redoubtable arbiter of Porthvean's 
 destinies completely under his thumb. Oh, 
 'twas grand to parade him up and down, like a 
 tame bear, before the scowling wonder of the 
 town ! To march into the shop at the busiest 
 time of the day, and with a beckoning finger, 
 spirit him off into the private room, leaving an 
 amazed, whispering crowd behind! Partners? 
 'Twas master and man, more like. This the 
 subtle rogue of Ben Jose's imagination? 
 Pouf! A meek, old dodderer, slow-witted, 
 easily led, eager to please. And, mark you, a 
 
MAKES AN EXPEDITION 235 
 
 single man, wealthy, heirless, and without a 
 spark of affection for any one but Paul. You 
 take our meaning, aha ! Golden dreams arise, 
 dreams only as yet, but built, as few dreams 
 are built, on a solid foundation of undeniable 
 fact. 
 
 With the first few days of March the fishing 
 began, in an irregular tentative way at first, 
 till in a week or so the weather settled, and 
 every net, line, and pot in Porthvean was in 
 the water, earning money. The time had 
 arrived for the great scheme to take practical 
 shape. The lines were out at the appointed 
 spot, the store-pot was cunningly sunk at a 
 place invisible from the shore ; one only 
 awaited the waning of the moon and the letter 
 with the foreign stamp. 
 
 The letter came ; the expedition was made, 
 and crowned with complete success. There 
 was one critical moment, when Dummy, in the 
 dim light of early dawn, saw a hole open in the 
 harbour wall, and a face appear, white in a 
 frame of dark stone. He fairly yelled with 
 astonishment. The face disappeared, the open- 
 ing was swiftly closed, and Paul had half an 
 hour in which to abuse Dummy under his 
 breath. Then, as it appeared that no sleepers 
 
236 PAUL CARAH 
 
 had been awakened, the face showed again, 
 and the rest of the job was safely and quickly 
 transacted. 
 
 But at intervals during the day a farcical 
 incident occurred and recurred on the quay. 
 The actors were Paul and Dummy. Dummy 
 would come down from the street, take his 
 station midway along the quay, opposite the 
 back windows of Reseigh's shop, and stare 
 fascinated at the wall beneath, chattering loud 
 astonishment, and gesticulating bewildered ar- 
 guments with himself. A few minutes after, 
 Paul would hurry down in an agony of appre- 
 hension, rate his partner soundly, and haul him 
 away. In half-an-hour the mysterious fascina- 
 tion of the wall would draw Dummy back, and 
 the scene would be repeated. About the third 
 time of performance Porthvean began to be 
 interested, slightly amused, and puzzled a good 
 deal. Little knots gathered on the quay, 
 dividing their attention between Dummy and 
 the harbour wall. Then Paul grew frantic, and 
 the fourth time he intercepted Dummy on his 
 way down, ran him back to the fish-cellar, and, 
 without further ado, locked him in. 
 
 There was one who was neither amused nor 
 
MAKES AN EXPEDITION 237 
 
 puzzled. Steve Polkinhorne, idly lounging 
 as usual on quay-head, saw the first perform- 
 ance of the little drama, pondered over it 
 briefly, and leapt to his feet with an oath. He 
 ran along the quay, and, as he ran, he was 
 seen distinctly by two or three to shake his fist 
 at Reseigh's windows. The next authentic 
 news of him reports him sitting in the bar of 
 the 'Fisherman's Arms,' in company with his 
 partner, John Trembath, drinking deeply, and 
 detailing in whispers some matter which seemed 
 to incense him greatly. With successive 
 glasses his voice grew louder ; fragments of 
 his talk were audible — fragments of rancorous 
 abuse directed against Paul, and not only 
 against Paul (there was nothing new in that), 
 but — oh portent! — against Reseigh himself — 
 Reseigh, to whom, as earthly representative 
 and agent of the Evil One, he had sold him- 
 self, body and soul. The landlord of the inn — 
 nominally landlord, but really Reseigh's tenant 
 and humble servant — heard Reseigh's name 
 coupled with a bad word. This was treason ; 
 it must to the master's ears. He quietly put 
 on his hat and went over to the shop. When 
 he returned he was closely followed by Reseigh, 
 
238 PAUL CARAH 
 
 who, without uttering a word, fixed his eyes on 
 Steve and raised a sternly beckoning finger. 
 The sight jumped Steve halfway back to 
 sobriety. He stumbled to his feet and meekly 
 followed Reseigh out of the bar. Later on he 
 was observed slinking out of the shop, the very 
 image of a beaten cur. Later still, for a 
 period of days, he skulked and growled in 
 corners, apprehension peeping from behind 
 black wrath in his eyes. 
 
 To us, who do not care to tread the noisome 
 crooked ways of a rogue's thoughts and 
 motives, the meaning of all this is not easy to 
 fathom ; and we do not wish to undertake the 
 unpleasant task of explaining. But let us, 
 while disclaiming all responsibility, suppose 
 Ben Jose in possession of all the outward facts 
 of the case, and invited to read their inner 
 meaning by the doubtful light of his sus- 
 picions and prejudices. What would he make 
 of it? 
 
 Something like this, probably. Steve, a 
 small rogue, attached as jackal to a big 
 rogue — Reseigh — doing all his dirty jobs and 
 risky jobs for him, enjoys in return unlimited 
 credit for brandy, and a measure of con- 
 
MAKES AN EXPEDITION 239 
 
 temptuous familiarity and protection. Steve 
 therefore colourably plumes himself on the 
 unenviable distinction of being Reseigh's 
 favourite and confidant, and is weakly proud 
 of his bad pre-eminence. Enter on the scene 
 Paul Carah. Steve, coming into collision with 
 him, and getting the worst of it, conceives for 
 him a violent hatred, which Reseigh sees good 
 to foster. Acting on hints from Reseigh, Steve 
 elaborates and carries out a plan which, he thinks, 
 will have the effect of ruining Paul and driving 
 him out of the place. But Reseigh intends the 
 plan to serve another purpose. For a scheme of 
 his own he needs a sharper, straighter, steadier 
 tool than the thieving, brandy-swilling Steve. 
 Steve delivers his blow ; the tool falls into Re- 
 seigh's hand, and Steve is straightway discarded. 
 He goes about in comfortable ignorance of this, 
 until Paul's frequent conferences with Reseigh 
 arouse his suspicion. Then he observes 
 Dummy's antics on the pier, and light breaks 
 in upon him. He is supplanted, and by the 
 enemy he thought to have crushed. You know 
 the rest — his rage against Paul and Reseigh 
 finding vent in indiscreet invective, suddenly 
 checked by the appearance of the latter ; a 
 stern warning, no doubt, delivered, and Steve 
 
240 PAUL CARAH 
 
 reduced to impotent, wrathful brooding over 
 his wrongs. 
 
 Sheer melodrama, of course ; for which, as we 
 say, we disclaim all responsibility. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 HE GROWS UNEASY 
 
 A WEEK afterwards, a second expedition 
 was made, equally successful with the first. 
 Then the growing moon put a temporary 
 veto on the proceedings, and Paul, insatiable of 
 excitement, cast about him in search of new fields 
 of activity. The business of fishing, dull and 
 tedious by comparison, had lost its one-time 
 flavour of novelty. He continued to carry it on 
 perforce, but he had sucked all the gay adventure 
 out of it ; 'twas a task, a stale routine, of which 
 he was thoroughly sick. He began to dream 
 again of the old days of his continental wan- 
 derings, and to contemplate a return to them 
 as a possible contingency. 
 
 A temporary diversion was afforded by a 
 new scheme, petty and unimportant, perhaps, 
 in comparison with others of his planning, 
 
242 PAUL CARAH 
 
 but still sufficiently interesting to absorb his 
 thoughts for a while. 
 
 It arose like this. Paul came home one 
 evening after a hard day's crabbing, to find 
 Mr Jose poring as usual over his maps. The 
 old man was always prodigal of his ink, and 
 his clumsy fingers were permanently smudged 
 and stained with black. Now Paul had been 
 out after cuttle in the small hours, and conse- 
 quently his hands were in a worse state of 
 inkiness than Mr Jose's. One cannot handle 
 cuttle without being besmeared and bespattered 
 with the filthy black fluid they carry for their 
 protection. Paul was tired and hungry. He 
 called for his supper, purposing to go to bed 
 immediately afterwards. As he sprawled at 
 the table, eating and yawning, one of his hands 
 happened to rest in close proximity to one of 
 Mr Jose's ; and the latter made a remark about 
 the identical condition of the two. 'Twas just 
 the thing to arrest Paul's attention and excite 
 his imagination. He was wide awake in a 
 moment, instituting an eager comparison. His 
 wits went to work, and before you could say 
 'knife,' a fully caparisoned scheme sprang 
 Minerva-like from his brain. 
 
 Ink! Here was another instance of blind, 
 
GROWS UNEASY 243 
 
 senseless wastefulness. Hundreds of cuttle 
 killed weekly in Porthvean, and the most valu- 
 able part of them thrown away. Look how his 
 fingers were stained! Rub and scrub as he 
 might, 'twould be days before the marks would 
 be effaced. That'll tell 'ee! What was the 
 essential quality of ink? Permanence, to be 
 sure. Well, then ! Could the concoction they 
 sold in shops compare for a moment with this 
 genuine, natural product ? Not it ; not for 
 goodness, nor for cheapness either. 'Twas the 
 cod-liver oil over again. 
 
 Perhaps the closeness of the parallel deterred 
 him ; at any rate, for once in a way, he eschewed 
 dazzling possibilities, and kept the new project 
 within moderate and practical bounds. There 
 was no talk of making one's fortune ; but Mr 
 Jose need never buy another drop of ink while 
 he lived. Didn't he find that his maps faded 
 after a while? Of course he did, with the 
 mucky, trashy stuff he used. Well, Paul pro^ 
 mised him that every map he drew after this 
 should be immortal, carrying its outlines, and 
 his fame with them, glorious and undimmed, to 
 remotest posterity. What did he say ? Would 
 he try it? 
 
 Mr Jose had his faults, but he never failed 
 
244 PAUL CARAH 
 
 in his whole-hearted belief in Paul's genius. 
 Try it ? Of course he would ; and by way of 
 graceful compliment to his paragon, the first 
 map he drew should be the United States — the 
 long-contemplated revised edition, with Colum- 
 bus, Ioway, assigned its true position among 
 great cities. Paul forgot his fatigue, and went 
 off at once to procure the material ; and the 
 very next evening, Mr Jose took his seat at 
 the table, a clean sheet of paper before him, a 
 pint jug of cuttle-ink at his elbow, and started 
 without delay on the coast-line of Maine. At his 
 other elbow sat Paul, watching with the deepest 
 interest every stroke of the pen, ejaculating 
 an admonitory ' Steady now ! ' at the difficult 
 places, and a commendatory 'Well done, auld 
 chap!' when the twisty inlet or what not had 
 been successfully negotiated. When the out- 
 line was finished, and Mr Jose began to fill 
 in names of states and cities, Paul's interest 
 was redoubled. The fishing industry suffered 
 severely ; every evening he must be on the spot, 
 criticising, suggesting, tracing old itineraries, 
 with a yarn for each mile. 
 
 'How the auld days do come back to me!' 
 was a frequent remark, followed by a sigh and 
 ' Those were merry, bustlin' times.' 
 
GROWS UNEASY 245 
 
 Then it was — 'New Orleans — I never went 
 there. Missed en somehow. Fine place too, 
 so they do tell me. Wish I'd gone.' Then an 
 interval of regretful, vacant -eyed meditation, 
 followed, perhaps, by a panegyrical disquisition 
 on the joys of a wandering life, when a man is 
 his own master — a man, as we say, and no tree, 
 choosing for himself at each cross-road, with 
 no call to hunt for the adventures that throw 
 themselves in his way at every turn. 
 
 And at last, one evening, after he had been 
 watching Mr Jose in silence for some time, he 
 began a sentence with seven pregnant words. 
 
 ' When I go back to the States — ' he said. 
 
 The pen dropped from Mr Jose's hand. 
 
 * What, Paul ! ' he exclaimed. ' What was 
 that you said? Edn' thinkin' o' goin' away 
 an' leavin' us, are 'ee?' 
 
 'S'pose I shall, some time,' he replied in- 
 differently, as one might speak of a trip to 
 Henliston. Then, the notion being broached, 
 he warmed to it, and continued with more 
 animation. 
 
 ' 'Course I shall ; an' ef 'tes brave an' soon, 
 I shouldn' be surprised. Forthvean edn' a place 
 for a man like me, I can see that. Bistly auld 
 hole! No bustle, no fun, no nothin'. I'm 
 
246 PAUL CARAH 
 
 tired o' tryin' to wake 'ee up. You're like 
 Ludlow's dog down here, leanin' agin the wall 
 to bark. Ef I go to stretch my arms here, I 
 belong to knock the walls down. No ; I edn' 
 long for Porthvean, uncle ; make up your mind 
 to that, an' get the dash-an-darras 1 ready,' 
 
 Mr Jose tried to rub the shock out of his 
 brain, and left a streak of ink on his forehead. 
 ' What a sudden chap you are ! Goin' to 
 leave us? I dedn' expect — ' 
 
 The father's eyes rested on Jennifer. One 
 knows of what he was thinking. 
 
 'Jennifer, did 'ee hear that? Paul's thinkin* 
 o' leavin' us ! ' 
 
 Jennifer had heard. When Mr Jose dropped 
 his pen, her fingers had been suddenly arrested 
 (she was knitting), her breathing checked, her 
 whole frame jolted, as it were, with the minute 
 convulsive shock that is caused by a momentary 
 stoppage of the heart's action. But she had 
 not looked up, and instantly she was bending 
 lower over her work, her fingers going with 
 feverish activity. 
 
 ' Ded 'ee hear, Jennifer ? We'll be brave 
 an' sorry for that, shaan't us ? ' 
 
 * Dash-an-darras is the Gaelic doch-na-dorus, a stirrup-cup ; 
 literally, ' a cup at the door.' 
 
GROWS UNEASY 247 
 
 'Aw ess, s'pose/ she said,, and forced an 
 hysterical giggle, which sounded strangely from 
 her lips. 
 
 Paul was hurt 
 
 ' You'll be sorry, uncle, no doubt/ he said 
 pointedly. 'Arter that, I don't care who's 
 sorry an' who's glad.' 
 
 Whether her indifference was feigned or real, 
 she had overdone it. She lifted her eyes. 
 
 'I shall be sorry, too, Paul,' she^said, quite 
 earnestly — ' brave an' sorry.' 
 
 Paul grunted, only half appeased. 
 
 'Thankful to hear 'ee say so,' he said, and 
 bade Mr Jose go on with his map. 
 
 But the incident had the result of fixing in 
 his mind the vague notion he had been enter- 
 taining. It took shape as a definite resolution 
 of departure, not just yet, but at some future 
 time, contingent on this and that. One must 
 first see one's way to a dramatic exit. The 
 exciting fun of running contraband still appealed 
 to one. Above all, one needed the sinews of 
 war before embarking on a new campaign. 
 
 Now it was a matter for uneasy consideration 
 that the generous Reseigh had suddenly grown 
 close-fisted, not to say stingy. When it came 
 to selling him fish, his offers sank to the market 
 
248 PAUL CARAH 
 
 level or below it ; and he haggled and bargained 
 with Paul as keenly as he did with the 
 no-account fellows of the town. Moreover, 
 what was worse, when the bargain was con- 
 cluded, the cash was not always forthcoming. 
 There were evasions and oblique references to 
 an account standing in Paul's name, very 
 unpleasant to listen to. And as to the con- 
 traband profits, he refused altogether to give 
 any account of them, pleading delay in realisa- 
 tion, bemoaning the badness of the times, 
 throwing himself on Paul's mercy, imploring 
 him to wait a little. All very well ; but our 
 confidence, if not overturned, is considerably 
 shaken. The venture brings us fun and excite- 
 ment, but we look for profit too. Altogether 
 an unsatisfactory state of affairs. We are loth 
 to abandon the high opinion we have formed of 
 the old chap, especially when we remember 
 how loudly we have maintained it in the face of 
 detractors ; but we are grieved and perplexed 
 at this unexpected manifestation of a miserly 
 spirit. We make no scene; friendship forbids, 
 and not only friendship perhaps, but also the 
 merest suspicion of uneasiness with regard to 
 the big black book and a recent addition to its 
 contents. Not a debt, we know; we have 
 
GROWS UNEASY 249 
 
 Reseigh's assurance for that. But his mind is 
 obviously failing; he has been positively short 
 with us once or twice of late ; and if he should 
 choose to proclaim it a debt, who could gainsay 
 him? 
 
 About this time, Paul became conscious that 
 he was being watched and spied upon. At 
 first it was merely that vague warnmg instinct 
 that tells us, independently of our ordinary 
 senses, when the eyes of another are upon us. 
 But presently he began to note that wherever 
 he went, afloat or ashore, Steve Polkinhorne 
 was never far away. He did not obtrude 
 himself; on the contrary, he seemed anxious 
 to shun actual meetings ; but there he was, 
 always on the spot, or slinking round it. If 
 Paul went to talk business with Reseigh, when 
 he came out of the parlour he was pretty sure 
 to find Steve in the shop, making pretence to 
 buy a box of matches. If he happened to be 
 chatting with somebody in the street or down 
 by the boats (the tabu had been slightly relaxed 
 of late), Steve was sure to sidle up within 
 earshot. When the Swiftsure put out to sea, 
 Steve's boat put out too ; and wherever Paul 
 shot his nets, there or thereby Steve did the 
 same. 
 
250 PAUL CARAH 
 
 Other disquieting incidents were conjecturally 
 traced to the same source. A second time the 
 out-house was broken into by night. Nothing 
 was taken, nothing destroyed ; but the topsy- 
 turvy condition of the place seemed to indicate 
 that the intruder had entered to search for 
 something which he had failed to find. Again, 
 Paul was ready to swear that his store-pot had 
 been hauled up more than once by unauthorised 
 hands. And once, returning about daybreak 
 from a perfectly innocent crabbing expedition, 
 he fancied he saw the figure of a man sneaking 
 off behind the boats. It was too dark to dis- 
 tinguish who it was. Paul hallooed, and the 
 figure broke into a run and fled. An extremely 
 suspicious circumstance, and one which, when 
 conjoined with the other incidents, gave reason- 
 able cause for considerable alarm. Paul was 
 justified in resolving to keep a sharp look-out, 
 and to smash the face of the first man he caught 
 in the act of prying after him. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 HE IS WARNED 
 
 Monday night, then ! ' 
 
 ' Look 'ee here, Paul ; I've tauld 'ee often 
 'nough not to holler like that when we're talking 
 business. 'A edn' safe.' 
 
 ' All right, uncle ; trust me. 'Tes my way, 
 though, to spake out. A mark o' my natur', 'a 
 b'lieve — open and honest, like-a-thing.' 
 
 ' That's very well,' grumbled Reseigh, putting 
 the letter with the foreign stamp back into his 
 pocket ; ' but 'a edn ; safe.' 
 
 He waddled to the door and stood arrested 
 with his hand on the latch. 
 
 .'Could ha' sworn I shut en home,' he 
 muttered. Then suddenly he flung the door 
 open, and looked out into the shop. Paul 
 remained sitting, and heard him address some 
 one in the low distinct tone he affected when 
 annoyed or angry. 
 
252 PAUL CARAH 
 
 ' What's doin' here ? ' he asked. 
 
 'Jus' buyin' a box o' matches,' came the 
 answer in Steve's voice. 
 
 Another voice chimed in — a feminine voice, 
 shrill with irritation. 
 
 ' Then you med as well buy 'em an' be done, 
 it said. ' Half-an-hour you've been plaguin* 
 an' fussin' round makin' up your mind.' 
 
 ' You have, have you ? ' It was Reseigh 
 speaking now. 'Well, just you fit and be 
 off. I don't knaw what you're arter, but you'd 
 better look out. I've guv 'ee a talkin' to, 
 wance of late. Sim' me I belong to give 'ee 
 another 'fore long. Get what you want, an' 
 be off.' 
 
 A pause, then Steve's voice again, with a 
 curious expression in it. 
 
 ' I've got what I want, an' I'm off.' 
 
 Reseigh came back thoughtful, and sat in a 
 brown study while Paul rehearsed the iniquities 
 of Steve. When he dismissed his musings and 
 sat up, he made a remark a propos of no- 
 thing. 
 
 'Man with a whip,' he said, 'don't pay no 
 'ttention to a dog that comes sniffin' at his 
 heels. That's so, edn' 'a?' 
 
 Paul agreed. The merest pup knew the 
 
IS WARNED 253 
 
 meaning of a whip. But what was Reseigh 
 referring to? Anything to do with Steve? 
 
 'Aw no, nothin'. Only a fancy that came 
 into my heed,' said Reseigh. 'But you might 
 keep an eye 'pon the rogue. He dursn't do 
 much harm, but he might give some 'nnoyance 
 frail that. He'll be out o' the way 'fore long, 
 'a b'lieve. An' now you're off, s'pose. Monday 
 night, an' same auld place.' 
 
 ' Right,' said Paul, and departed. 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon, and when 
 Reseigh's summons had disturbed him at his 
 post-prandial pipe, Jennifer was just about to 
 begin her weekly purgatorial task of dusting the 
 parlour. When he returned, he found her 
 sitting in the kitchen ; and on the table before 
 her was a dustpan full of shards of broken 
 crockery. 
 
 ' Hullo ! ' he exclaimed. ' Been smashin' 
 the cloam?' 
 
 ' No,' she said. 
 
 ' How then ? ' he asked. 
 
 'I went in there,' she said, pointing to the 
 parlour door, ' an' found this — 'tes wan o' the 
 mugs 'pon the chimney — lyin' broken under the 
 grate. What da'll say, I don't knaw.' 
 
 'Say? He'll say you're a careless maid to 
 
254 PAUL CARAH 
 
 Hv the door open for the cats to get in. That's 
 what he'll say, an' quite right, too.' 
 
 'Paul,' she said, 'you do knaw so well as 
 I that the door's shut home an' locked from 
 Sunday to Sat'day.' 
 
 ' Pouf ! Window, 'course ! ' 
 
 'Window hasn' been open for years. The 
 paint's in the cracks. 'Tes fixed tight.' 
 
 Paul began to think, and the more he thought, 
 the more disturbed his face grew. 
 
 ' Jennifer,' he said, ' I don't like the looks 
 o' this at all. Mug smashed an' nobody done 
 et? An' in that room, too? Jennifer, I've a 
 jealous thought there's somethin' wrong. 'Tes 
 allers a. token of evil when cloam do smash ; 
 but when et do smash of ets own self — ' 
 
 His sudden silence was eloquent. 
 
 'I don't knaw what da'll say,' Jennifer 
 repeated. The silly girl seemed to attach 
 more importance to that than to the ominous 
 hints and forebodings which -were occupying 
 Paul. He waved her trivial worry aside with 
 an impatient hand. 
 
 "Tes for wan in the house,' he gloated 
 shiveringly, ' Wan of us three ; me, or you, 
 or your da. Sim' me, 'a shouldn' be me, not 
 bein' wan o' the fam'ly. But then They mightn' 
 
IS WARNED 25.-5 
 
 knaw that. Still, don't see how 'a should be 
 me. You don't think 'tes meant for me, do 'ee, 
 Jennifer ? ' 
 
 'No, Paul,' she said wearily. 'Most like 
 'tes for me or da, ef 'tes for anybody.' 
 
 Somehow he felt accused of selfishness, 
 
 ' I hope not ! ' he exclaimed. ' My word 
 fur'n, I hope not. I swear ti' 'ee, Jennifer, I'd 
 rather take et 'pon myself, rather than you or 
 your da should come to harm. But there — 'tes 
 fullishness, arter all. Don't 'ee worry, Jennifer ; 
 'tes on'y fullishness. I never set no store by 
 these here tokens. Maybe 'tes for the canary, 
 ha-ha ! He's wan o' the fam'ly. Ess, 'tes for 
 he, an' he'll get the pip, sure 'hough, ha-ha! 
 Plum fullishness, edn' 'a ? ' 
 
 His anxiety for support and reassurance was 
 patent. 
 
 'Fullishness, 'course,' said Jennifer, assum- 
 ing light indifference. ' I'm only troubled 
 'bout da. He'll be brave an' vexed. How's 
 goin' to keep him from knowin' ? l 
 
 The problem offered a welcome diversion to 
 Paul's thoughts. He pondered and easily found 
 a solution. 
 
 ' Look ! you've got another mug like that 
 somewheres, I'll be bound. Well, then, you 
 
256 PAUL CARAH 
 
 fit an' put en in the same place 'pon the chimley. 
 He waan't notice the defference. An' throw 
 the jowds outside, where they waan't be seen. 
 Bistly auld rummage!' he exclaimed, eyeing 
 the fragments with Uneasy disfavour. 
 
 "Tes cheatin',' said Jennifer, but proceeded 
 to carry out his suggestion without further 
 protest. To give in to Paul, to save her father 
 from annoyance — she asked no more of herself 
 nowadays. 
 
 On Sunday afternoon Mr Jose took up the 
 Bible as usual, and went into the parlour. No 
 amount of repetition could rid Paul of the 
 nervous dislike with which he regarded this 
 business of Sunday afternoons ; and to-day, 
 after the event of Saturday, he was particularly 
 disturbed. For a while he remained fidgeting 
 about, unable to sit or stand or pace the room 
 for two consecutive minutes ; and then, with 
 "Ere, I caan't stand this. I'm off!' he seized 
 his hat and went out 
 
 When he returned, he found Jennifer still 
 alone, and looking anxious. 
 
 'Sim' me, da's a long time to-day/ she 
 said. 
 
 ' Somethin' up ? ' said Paul apprehensively. 
 
 They said no more, but waited in silence — 
 
IS WARNED 257 
 
 a silence that grew more and more oppressive 
 and intolerable as the minutes passed. At last 
 movements were heard in the parlour. 
 
 'He's comin' out,' said Paul, with a sigh 
 of relief. 
 
 The door opened, and Mr Jose slowly ap- 
 peared. His face wore an expression of awed 
 solemnity. 
 
 'Children,' he said in a slow, breathless 
 voice ; ' Paul, Jennifer, I've had a warnin'.' 
 
 He advanced a step or two, blinking like a 
 man who comes from a dark room into the 
 light out of doors. 
 
 ' I was readin' an' waitin',' he said ; ' an' 
 maybe I'd fallen into a bit of a dose. All of a 
 sudden I woke up, an' there she was. I never 
 seed her so plain before, not sence — well, there 
 she was. An' she was brave an' vexed 'bout 
 somethin', simminly.' 
 
 Paul and Jennifer exchanged glances. 
 
 'Her heed was shakin',' continued Mr 
 Jose, 'an' her lips were movin' quick — she 
 allers did talk pretty fast — but not a word 
 could I make out. "Spake up, Ellen," said I. 
 An' she opened her mouth an' hollered — but 
 'twas all the same ; I couldn' hear a word. So 
 I shook my heed, an' her han's dropped down 
 
258 PAUL CARAH 
 
 by her side, desp'rate like. So I said, "What's 
 up, Ellen? Anythin' wrong wi' 'ee?" said I. 
 An' then she up with her arms an' swayzed 'em 
 about, slow an' solemn, as ef she was warnin' 
 me agin somethin' ; an' her face was wisht an' 
 anxious, drawed up with trouble, like. An' 
 then, 'twas as ef I'd been dreamin' an' waked 
 up sudden ; for all to wance she was gone, 
 like the snuff of a candle gone out.' 
 
 He paused and looked from one to the other. 
 They were both very pale. Jennifer was 
 sitting perfectly still ; Paul was twitching 
 about, biting his nails, drumming on the table, 
 tugging his moustache. 
 
 ' 'Tes a warnin', sure 'nough,' he went on ; 
 'a warnin' of evil — evil to this house. The 
 Lord send us safe through en ! Ef we only 
 knawed — but no : we edn' to be tauld, that's 
 plain. But there's the warnin'.' 
 
 Paul's suppressed terror burst out in the 
 shape of intense irritation. 
 
 'What's the use,' he almost screamed, 'o' 
 Their comin' to warn us, ef They don't give us 
 no p'ticulars? That's what I want to knaw: 
 what's the use ? Ef They caan't do no better'n 
 that, how don't They stay in Their place, an 
 not come scarin' folk? What's the good of 
 
IS WARNED 259 
 
 a warnin' when you don't knaw what you're 
 warned agin ? ' 
 
 •Hush, Paul,' said the old man, much 
 shocked. 'Twas a sort of blasphemy. 'Don't 
 'ee talk like that. They do Their best, s'pose ; 
 an' we belong to be thankful to Them.' 
 
 "Tes all nonsense!' shouted Paul, fighting 
 his terror with sounding words. ' I don't 
 believe — ' 
 
 ' Paul ! ' Mr Jose was actually angry. 
 ' Don't let me hear such talk. 'Tes wicked ! 
 Who knaws but They may be listenin'? I 
 edn' goin' to stop an' listen to such talk.' 
 
 Deeply offended, he took his hat and trotted 
 out. 
 
 Jennifer's face showed great trouble. She 
 hesitated a moment, and then — 'Paul,' she 
 said timidly, 'sim' me you might ask da's 
 pardon presently. He's turr'ble vexed. I never 
 saw him so vexed.' 
 
 'Don't care,' said Paul sullenly. 'He 
 shouldn' come plaguin' the life out o' folk with 
 his bistly auld randigals. Fullishness ! Sim' 
 me, he must ha' dreamt et all.' He clutched 
 eagerly at the heartening notion. ' Ess, 
 course, that's et! Dedn' he say he'd dropped 
 off to sleep? An' dedn' he come out here 
 
 R 
 
260 PAUL CARAH 
 
 blinkin' ? Ha-ha ! the auld chap had too much 
 denner, 'a b'lieve. Ess, 'twas a dream, sure 
 'nough. Don't 'ee think so, Jennifer? 'Twas 
 a dream, wadn' 'a ? ' 
 
 'Ess, maybe,' said Jennifer. 'An' you'll 
 ask da's pardon?' 
 
 'Ef you d' wish. Anythin' to plaise 'ee.' 
 He was good-humoured again. ' No wonder 
 the old chap was upsot. 'A edn' wholesome 
 fur'n to go settin' in there. 'Specially arter a 
 Sunday denner, ha-ha ! Fat pork an' tatie cake 
 — there's your token ready-made.' 
 
 A pause, and then — 'They're wisht things, 
 though, dreams are. They don't mane nothin', 
 but they're wisht things.' 
 
 At dusk on Monday evening he left the 
 cottage on his way to the cove. The third ex- 
 pedition was to be made that night. He was 
 embarking on it more to please Reseigh, so he 
 told himself, than for any personal pleasure or 
 profit He was heartily sick of the whole 
 business. JFor once in his life he had had a dis- 
 turbed night, with ugly dreams and waking 
 starts. He felt tired and out of spirits, and an 
 indefinite sense of impending evil oppressed 
 him. As he strode along, he was rehearsing 
 
IS WARNED 261 
 
 his determination, stronger now than ever, of 
 throwing up the game as soon as might be, 
 and returning whence he had come. 
 
 Just as he came to the corner where the road 
 turned along the cliff, a small brown creature 
 started from behind a stone, limped across the 
 road in front of him, and disappeared in the hedge. 
 
 He stopped dead, shivering like a startled 
 horse. 
 
 There could be no mistake ; it was a hare, sure 
 enough, and it had run across between him and 
 his purposed trip. Nothing of more terrible 
 omen could have happened. And there was no 
 doubt this time ; it was meant for him and 
 nobody else. Steve's abortive blow in the dark 
 was child's play to it. Human agency was 
 responsible for that: but this — ! And it was 
 the third on three consecutive days. Ominous 
 number ! They were for him ; all three were 
 for him. The others were vague, but this one 
 pointed definitely. Evil fortune! It rang in 
 his ears; the growing darkness whispered it, 
 spoke it aloud, shouted it. 
 
 One thing was certain. He must abandon 
 all thoughts of going on. He feared no human 
 risk, but this was different He walked slowly 
 back to the gate. The thought of a small 
 
262 PAUL CARAH 
 
 detail arrested his hand on the latch. Reseigh 
 must be informed of the postponement, or the 
 worthy old man would be wondering what was up. 
 
 He swung round and retraced his way, not 
 without some qualms on crossing the spot 
 where the hare had passed. He gained the 
 village, went up the street, entered the shop, 
 and — privilege of intimate friendship — passed, 
 without knocking or inquiring, into Reseigh's 
 private room. Reseigh looked up from his 
 accounts. The good old soul was always 
 pottering at his figures; 'twas Ben Jose and 
 his maps over again. 
 
 •Well?' he said. 
 
 Paul explained. He was sorry to throw the 
 plans into confusion, but there could be no ex- 
 pedition that night. 
 
 Oh, indeed! And how was that? Reseigh 
 was curious to know. 
 
 There are motives which one does not care 
 to shout from the housetops. In his best off- 
 hand style Paul explained that he didn't feel 
 inclined to go out ; he was out of sorts and 
 wanted a comfortable night in bed. 
 
 Dear me! Reseigh was brave and sorry to 
 hear that Paul was unwell. But a postpone- 
 ment would mean grave inconvenience and 
 
IS WARNED 263 
 
 anxiety. He was afraid he must trouble Paul 
 to shake off his indisposition and reconsider his 
 resolve. 
 
 Paul flatly refused. He wasn't going out that 
 night for anybody or anything. Let Reseigh 
 understand that, and make the best of it. 
 
 Reseigh blandly insisted. He had every con- 
 sideration for his partner's feelings and wishes ; 
 but it was a matter of business, his business 
 as well as Paul's; and, at whatever incon- 
 venience, business must be done. 
 
 Paul grew testy. One would think Reseigh 
 was a master giving orders to his servant 
 They were partners, weren't they? Their 
 voices carried equal weight. Reseigh said 
 'Go out' Paul said 'Stay at home.' As the 
 action rested with Paul, so naturally did the 
 decision. And now he was on the subject, he 
 might tell Reseigh that he was tired of the 
 whole affair, and he had a good mind to with- 
 draw from it, unless he saw a better prospect 
 of profit to himself. Anyhow, he was not going 
 out that night, as he said, for anybody or any- 
 thing. 
 
 Reseigh, still all honey, pointed out that in 
 that case, since Paul refused to perform his 
 part of the contract, the scheme might be said 
 
264 PAUL CARAH 
 
 to have fallen through, and consequently the 
 partnership was to all intents and purposes 
 dissolved. 
 
 Paul's temper rose. Very well then. As 
 well now as later on. And, let him tell Reseigh, 
 he was bitterly disappointed in him. He was 
 inconsiderate, he was presuming, and Paul had 
 grave doubts about his honesty. The partner- 
 ship was dissolved ; Paul had said it Let 
 them settle up and part in friendship while 
 they could. 
 
 Just as Paul pleased. And they would settle 
 up at once. 
 
 Reseigh got up and went out into the shop, 
 returning immediately with the big black 
 book. He turned over some pages and read 
 out: — 
 
 ' " To Paul Carah. By gear supplied, Feb- 
 ruary twenty-fourth : — eight pound, four shellin', 
 six pence." Haven't got en in your pocket, 
 s'pose ? ' 
 
 Paul was dumfounded. ' But — but that 
 edn' a debt ! ' he stammered. ' 'Twas agreed 
 so; 'a wadn' to be a debt' 
 
 "Tes put down for a debt,' said Reseigh 
 suavely, 'so 'a es a debt, s'pose.' 
 
 'Edn' nothin' o' the sort!' exclaimed Paul, 
 
IS WARNED 265 
 
 angry and alarmed. ' 'Twas for the partner- 
 ship.' 
 
 'What partnership?' asked Reseigh coolly. 
 'Edn' no partnership, so fur's I knaw. But 
 there's the gear. Where's the money?' 
 
 Paul saw a chance for a firm grip round the 
 waist. ' Where's my money ? ' he cried trium- 
 phantly. ' My share in the profits — pay your- 
 self out o' that ! ' 
 
 'Profits? What profits?' Reseigh's face 
 was a blank. 
 
 ' Smugglin' profits, thou rogue ! ' 
 
 'Smugglin'? Don't knaw nothin' about 
 en.' 
 
 ' Don't knaw ! Thou lemb ! Don't 'ee try 
 to putt upon me ! I edn' to be putt upon ! Pay 
 me to wance, or I'll — ' 
 
 ' Well ? ' Reseigh was very grave. ' What 
 will 'ee do? Smugglin'? 'Tes agin the law, 
 'a believe ? / don't meddle wed'n. An' how's 
 goin' to prove et? I don't pay without no 
 proofs. Maybe you'd better sue me fur'n up to 
 county court' 
 
 Paul glared and snapped, a rat in a trap. 
 
 'Look, Paul,' said Reseigh, all gentle 
 suavity, ' I'm allers ready to be'ave honest to 
 them that be'ave honest to me. You do want to 
 
266 PAUL CARAH 
 
 make out there was a bargain between us. 
 Well, my mem'ry's a bad wan for some things 
 but I'm ready to believe 'ee ef I can believe 
 you're an honest man. But when an honest 
 man do make a bargain, he sticks to en. 
 You do say there's a bargain, an' then you 
 want to break en. That don't look honest 
 do 'a?' 
 
 Paul was utterly bewildered. 'Twas turning 
 the tables with a vengeance. 
 
 'Come,' said Reseigh. 'You called me a 
 rogue jus' now. Tes hard to be called a rogue, 
 but I forgive 'ee. I don't call you a rogue ; I 
 call you an honest man that sticks to his bar- 
 gain. An', sim' me, my mem'ry's comin' back 
 agin. There was a bargain ; I mind et now. 
 An' your part of en was that you should go out 
 an' do a bit o' business for me to-night. An' I 
 beg of 'ee, don't say you edn' goin', or my 
 mem'ry's clane gone for everythin' but what's 
 down in black an' white in my book.' 
 
 His words were gloved in softest velvet, but 
 their grip was of iron. Paul felt himself held 
 fast, unable to achieve the merest wriggle. So 
 this was his meek, submissive ally — this con- 
 summate, audacious villain ! 'Twas a hard con- 
 fession to make, but he had met his match for 
 
IS WARNED 267 
 
 once; and the admission was a leak through 
 which all his spirit oozed away. 
 
 Reseigh continued. ' Contrariwise, ef you d' 
 go, I'm like to forget what's in the book. Then 
 we're partners agin, an' the debt's no debt. 
 'A '11 be the biggest haul o' the lot to-night, an' 
 when 'tes safe in my cellar, I'll see what I can 
 do for 'ee. You d' knaw me ; I'm easy to deal 
 wi' when I edn' putt upon. When I'm putt 
 upon, I'm hard. Et makes me mis'rable to be 
 hard wi' you, Paul ; but 'tes my natur' — forgi'e 
 me for that.' 
 
 Paul was staring desperately before him. 
 Reseigh stood up and clapped him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' Come, partner ! ' he exclaimed, ' where's 
 your sperit ? Honest man, where's your honour ? 
 Edn' goin' to give in, are 'ee, an' miss all the 
 fun an' profit ? 'Tes profit for 'ee this time — my 
 word fur'n ; money down, soon's you come 
 back. Edn' afraid o' the risk, are 'ee? Paul 
 Carah afraid ! ' 
 
 He jumped at the sting. 
 
 ' Afraid, honest partner ! ' he laughed wildly. 
 ' Not though I stand in the face o' destruction, 
 with an honest partner at my heels! Never 
 say die ! There's sperit in me yet. An' while 
 
268 PAUL CARAH 
 
 there's sperit in Paul Carah, there's confusion 
 to all rogues. Shake han's, honest partner, an' 
 fare 'ee well. I'm off to say.' 
 
 He gripped Reseigh's fingers till they tingled 
 again ; and then, with a rush, he was gone. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 HE IS CAUGHT 
 
 PAUL rushed down to the quay like one pos- 
 sessed. He dared not allow himself to pause 
 and reflect, lest the terror at his heels should 
 overtake him. To stifle thought he must move 
 and act with desperate energy. If there was a 
 coherent idea in him, it was that by bustle and 
 rush he might confuse, as it were, the powers 
 invisible, and so get away, leaving them baulked 
 of their spring. 
 
 Dummy was waiting by the boat, fretting 
 and gesticulating about something. As Paul 
 approached, he ran forward, alternately pointing 
 to the dark shadows about the fish-cellars, and 
 making vehement signs, among which one, by 
 its recurrence, left a faint impress on Paul's 
 whirling senses. It was the hand to the mouth 
 and head thrown back, signifying drink to all 
 the world, and Steve Polkinhorne to Dummy's 
 
270 PAUL CARAH 
 
 familiars. Paul noticed it, and mechanically 
 translated it; and out of his brain it flitted, 
 driven by Dummy himself. Dummy ! He had 
 forgotten Dummy. Dummy must not go with 
 him. Strange! in all this welter he realised 
 with extraordinary vividness that he felt a 
 peculiar tenderness for Dummy, his simple, 
 stupid, faithful follower. If Dummy went with 
 him, two would be involved in the fate — what- 
 ever it might be — that was meant for one alone. 
 His wits flashed back to him, and at this 
 moment of supreme test, with an unknown 
 horror hanging over him, they worked, as they 
 were apt to work but seldom, for another than 
 himself. Dummy must not go. Dummy must 
 remain safe on shore. It introduced a tangible 
 risk, for the wind was fresh, and the boat was 
 too large for one man to manage with safety ; 
 but for that he cared nothing. He must go to 
 meet his fate alone. He must play the game 
 like a man, for it might be the last he would 
 play. 
 
 The boat was under the quay, just floating on 
 the rising tide. He strode through the water 
 and swung himself in, waving Dummy back as 
 he prepared to follow. At the gesture Dummy 
 stood, his feet in the water, a picture of blank 
 
IS CAUGHT 271 
 
 astonishment Paul repeated it vehemently. 
 You know the behaviour of a dog who has 
 surreptitiously followed his master out of doors, 
 when he is discovered and ordered home again. 
 Just so behaved Dummy. He turned back a 
 yard or so, faced round, stood staring, advanced 
 a timid step, was waved back, retreated a little 
 farther, stopped again, went forward with 
 desperate assurance, only to be arrested once 
 more by yet another impetuous signal. 
 
 Meanwhile Paul was getting the oars out and 
 unfastening the painter. This done, he waved a 
 farewell to Dummy, and pushed off. What was 
 passing in Dummy's mind one cannot tell. 
 Perhaps he read peril in Paul's face, perhaps 
 his dog-like instinct warned him. If peril there 
 was, he could not leave his master to face it 
 alone. As Paul thrust with his oar against the 
 quay wall, Dummy rushed forward, splashed 
 through the water up to his waist, clutched the 
 backward-pointing bow of the boat, and 
 scrambled in. Paul waved a despairing gesture, 
 and resigned himself. He had done what he 
 could. There must be no turning back that 
 night. Fate held the tiller ; what was to be 
 must be. 
 
 Away from the land, with the fresh sane 
 
272 PAUL CARAH 
 
 wind blowing against his face, and the waves 
 lapping steadily under the bows of the boat, 
 he grew cooler and more collected. He began 
 to regard the situation with a calm, dispassionate 
 interest, as a matter in which he had no personal 
 concern. With some curiosity, with next to no 
 alarm, he wondered what shape his impending 
 fate would assume. He tried to work out a 
 grotesque rule-of-three sum. If one hare's foot 
 was equal to a sprained wrist and an attack of 
 sea-sickness, what result would the whole 
 animal produce ? Then his thoughts wandered 
 altogether away, to the shore he was leaving 
 behind, to the village, to the Joses' cottage. He 
 pictured the scene in the kitchen — the shaded 
 lamp on the table, Ben Jose and Jennifer on 
 either side of it, their faces in a half shadow, 
 their hands moving in a bright light, the father's 
 slowly and steadily guiding his little pen 
 over the paper, the daughter's jerking with 
 swift, short abruptness as they manipulated the 
 gleaming needles. Were they thinking of him ? 
 he wondered. With calm consideration he 
 reviewed the past months, reading them through 
 as he would a story-book. They were interest- 
 ing, full of vivid incident — he delivered no 
 further judgment on them ; the queer sense 
 
IS CAUGHT 273 
 
 of detachment was complete. He felt without 
 hope, without fear, completely purged of all 
 human emotion. 'Twas as if he had broken 
 loose from life already, and sat surveying it 
 from afar. 
 
 The appointed spot was reached, exactly at 
 the appointed time. He peered about through 
 the darkness for signs of the approaching vessel. 
 Nothing was to be seen. By agreement, an 
 hour's grace was allowed. The floats of the 
 trammel made blacker spots on the black water 
 hard by. He had not meant to do so, but after 
 all he might as well haul up while he was wait- 
 ing. It would help to pass the time away. He 
 signed to Dummy, and they set to work. 
 
 The trammel was heavy to rending-point with 
 fish. Never since it was first put out had it 
 come up so full. To Paul, it seemed as an 
 ironic joke of Fate, smiling in her grim way on 
 her victim before delivering the blow. He 
 laughed back in her face, not in defiance, but 
 in frank acknowledgment of the humour of the 
 thing. 
 
 A light waved up and down in the darkness 
 ahead. Here they were ! Paul seized the 
 lantern and swung it thrice in the air. A dim 
 bulk loomed up and swept quickly past. There 
 
274 PAUL CARAH 
 
 was an excited chatter of foreign voices, a hail — 
 ' All-a-raight ? ' — in broken English, an echoing 
 response from Paul, the splash of a heavy body 
 in the water, and the stranger receded, dwindled, 
 was swallowed up in the night 
 
 They rowed up and hauled in. Three kegs 
 and two tarpaulined packages were distributed 
 under the thwarts, the barrel that served as a 
 buoy was staved in and set adrift, and the boat's 
 head was turned homewards. Nothing out of 
 the way had happened so far. As the Swiftsure 
 slipped through the waves, nearer every moment 
 to home and safety, the brooding horror was 
 lifted from Paul's spirits, and they rose buoyant. 
 Nothing had happened yet ; and what could 
 happen now? The wind, though fresh, 
 was fair and steady, his hand was firm on 
 the tiller, the trusty Dummy was with 
 him — what was there to fear? In an hour 
 he would be stretching his limbs between 
 the sheets in warm security. Surely the blow, 
 if it had been delivered, had fallen short, baulked 
 by his agility, checked by his show of calm 
 confidence. And was it not all nonsense and 
 foolishness, as he had ever declared — an old 
 wives' fable, fit to frighten children, but which it 
 were shame for a man to heed ? 
 
IS CAUGHT 275 
 
 The land grew up black against the dark 
 sky. Presently the town was to be made out, 
 a grey patch daubed against the cliff, glimmering 
 as if the walls and roofs were giving out a 
 dim phosphorescence stored up in the hours of 
 sunlight. Paul steered in, cautiously watching. 
 The quay was deserted, not a light showed in 
 a window. All was safe ; and there was no 
 need for noisy oars ; the wind was good to 
 take him right in under the quay. 
 
 Quay-head was rounded, the sails came down 
 with a subdued rattle, -the boat glided slowly 
 into the shadow of the cliff, and was stayed 
 under the windows of the shop. Paul stood up 
 and gave the signal, a curlew's cry twice 
 repeated. He waited, but nothing stirred. He 
 signalled again, and, after a longer wait, a third 
 time. Still no sign that he was heard. What 
 was up? Had Reseigh fallen asleep while 
 waiting ? Paul held anxious debate with himself 
 what to do. Should he go ashore and knock 
 Reseigh up ? And knock up half the street too ! 
 Or put out again and sink the goods by the 
 store-pot? Scarcely wise, when he suspected 
 that prying hands had been meddling there- 
 abouts. The best plan seemed to be to take 
 his cargo, fish and all, up to the cellars, and 
 
276 PAUL CARAH 
 
 leave it there for the present. All this time he 
 was standing, oars in hands, with his face to 
 the bow, keeping the boat steady against the 
 tide with an occasional dip of the blades into 
 the water. Now he leaned forward, pushing a 
 long stroke. In a moment the boat's keel 
 kissed the stones, and he and Dummy leapt 
 ashore and seized the painter. 
 
 A round eye of light glared at him suddenly 
 from behind a boat, a clatter of feet and a 
 dropping fire of shouts broke the silence, and 
 half-a-dozen men in blue jackets were round 
 him. His fists went up, he struck one blow, 
 the pebbles clinked as a man fell backwards; 
 and then with a calm — ' 'Twas to be,' he dropped 
 his arms and resigned himself. 
 
 Two men held him, two were struggling with 
 Dummy, who showed desperate fight, and the 
 other two were ransacking the boat. Dummy 
 was overpowered, though not until a rope was 
 round his wrists; the contraband was thrown 
 ashore and shouldered, and the procession 
 started up the beach. 
 
 Paul jerked his captors to a standstill. 
 
 ' Would 'ee mind haulin' up the li'll boat, 
 soase?' he pleaded. 'She dedn' knaw what 
 
"A round eye of light glared at him suddenly from behind a boat.'* 
 Paul Cara/i] Page 276 
 
IS CAUGHT 277 
 
 she was about, an' 'a edn' fair she should come 
 to harm.' 
 
 The two men behind good-naturedly complied. 
 
 •Thank 'ee kindly,' said Paul. *An' now, 
 forwards.' 
 
 On the capstan at the top of the beach a man 
 was sitting, swinging his legs, and singing a 
 traditional stave in a squeaky tenor voice. 
 
 ' A starless night, 
 
 No moon in sight, 
 An' no land-waiters handy ; 
 
 Come mates away, 
 
 We're off to say 
 To fish for kegs o' brandy.' 
 
 It was Steve Polkinhorne, unable to resist 
 the temptation of coming to gloat over his 
 enemy's downfall. 
 
 ' Haul' tongue, thou lemb ! ' growled one of 
 the men in disgust, and kicked contemptuously 
 at him in passing. 
 
 As they went up the street on their way to 
 the coastguard station, lights twinkled in upper 
 rooms, windows were pushed open, and pale, 
 curious faces were thrust out. At one window 
 there were two faces side by side, and Paul 
 heard a whispered ' Who is 'a ? ' 
 
 ' 'Tes me, Paul Carah, catched smugglin',' he 
 
278 PAUL CARAH 
 
 called out, not in bravado, but simply as one 
 supplying courteous information. The merest 
 gleam of elation shone in him when he heard 
 an amazed, half-admiring murmur of, 'Him 
 agin ? What a chap ! ' At any rate he had 
 given Porthvean one more shock of surprise. 
 Tongues would be clacking to-morrow. If he 
 never came back, here was an exit dramatic 
 enough, in all conscience. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HE IS RESCUED 
 
 To Jennifer, sitting listlessly by the fire in the 
 kitchen, her father entered, a newspaper in his 
 hand. 
 
 ' Jennifer,' he said, "' 'tes all in the paper 'bout 
 Paul ; an' I've brought en round, thinkin' you'd 
 like to hear. Shall I read en out ? ' 
 
 She set her face and nodded. 
 
 Mr Jose unfolded the paper, instituted a 
 muttering search, and after scanning three 
 pages in vain, hit on the right place. 
 
 ' Here 'a es, squeezed in a corner, as ef 'twas 
 nothin' at all,' he said, quite disappointed. 
 'Now listen. "East Trenwith Petty Sessions. 
 Paul Carah, twenty-eight, an' Albert Edward 
 Hendy, forty-six," — why ! ' he broke off, ' that's 
 Dummy, s'pose. His da was Ozias Hendy, 
 sure 'nough ; but I never knawed his name 
 before. Wonder how they got hold of en. 
 
280 PAUL CARAH 
 
 Albert Edward — that's our Dummy ! Think o* 
 that— Albert Edward ! * 
 
 Jennifer's fingers clutched at her gown. ' Go 
 on, da,' she said, in a close voice. 
 
 ' Ess, my dear. Where was I ? Aw ess — 
 
 "Paul Carah, twenty-eight, an' Albert Edward 
 
 Hendy, forty-six," — (Albert Edward ! — well, 
 
 well !) — " forty-six, were charged with smugglin' 
 
 contraband on the night of April 14th, an' also 
 
 with assaultin' the preventive officers in the 
 
 execution of their duty. On bein' placed in 
 
 the dock, the younger prisoner" — (that's Paul, 
 
 Jennifer), — " prisoner egzitedly addressed the 
 
 bench, assertin' that his companion " — (that's 
 
 Dummy), — " was deef an' dumb, and totally 
 
 incapable of understandin' the natur' of his 
 
 offence or of the charge brought against him. 
 
 To a question from the magistrates the officer 
 
 in charge replied, cor-robbyratin' the statement, 
 
 an' addin' that the man was a well-known 
 
 char'cter in the district," — (that's right! they've 
 
 got en right ; everybody do knaw Dummy, sure 
 
 'nough,) — "district, an' was little more than a 
 
 harmless idiot" (Idiot! That's so much as 
 
 they d' knaw about et!) "On hearin' this, 
 
 the Bench ordered the prisoner Hendy to be 
 
IS RESCUED 281 
 
 released, sayin' that he should never have 
 been brought before them." ' 
 
 Mr Jose laid the paper down, beaming. 
 
 'Dummy's all right then,' said he. 'They 
 hadn' the heart to do nothin' to he. An' Paul 
 stood up fur'n. Magistrates or no magistrates, 
 he wouldn* stand by an' see harm come to 
 Dummy. He spoke up to wance, like the 
 brave chap he allers was. Noble, wadn' 'a, 
 Jennifer? Not a word for hisself; 'twas 
 on'y Dummy he guv a thought for. Noble, 
 wadn"a?' 
 
 She did not voice her assent. 'Go on, da,' 
 she said. 
 
 Mr Jose took the paper up again. '"The 
 charges against Carah were then gone into. 
 Evidence was given of the srhugglin' an' of the 
 assault, an', the prisoner offerin' no defence, the 
 magistrates imposed fines amountin' altogether 
 to fifty pounds, or in default, three months' 
 imprisonment?" Fifty pound! Three months! 
 'A '11 be Bodmin fur'n, I'm afraid. How's 
 goin' to pay all that? Fifty pound!' ,He 
 glanced again at the paper. 'Hullo! Here's 
 another bit " Some egzitement was caused in 
 court by the be'aviour o' the man Hendy, who, 
 when the prisoner was removed, attempted to 
 
282 PAUL CARAH 
 
 follow him. It was necessary to use force to 
 prevent it. The uproar he raised at this was 
 so great that the magistrates ordered him to be 
 ejected." Poor chap! He knawed there was 
 somethin' wrong, an' he belonged to stand by 
 his friend. Poor chap! what 'a '11 do without 
 Paul I don't knaw. An' we shall miss him too, 
 sim' me. Brave an' queeat we shall be, without 
 the bustlin' ways of en, an' the loud spache of 
 en. Kep' us goin', he ded, sure 'riough.' 
 
 The paper dropped from his hands as he 
 mused. 
 
 'Nothin' but things happenin' ever sence he 
 came here. Seven years away, and six months 
 here; put the wan agin the other, an' there's 
 more happened in the six months. " 7'11 wake 
 'em up," said he to me wance ; an' so 'a ded, 
 sure 'nough. Never was such a wan for bustlin' 
 and schemin'; an' yet, somehow — ' he hesitated 
 in a puzzled way — 'somehow, nothin' do seem 
 to come of et all. They're talkin' a lot 'bout en 
 over to cove, an' I said to Jim Boase, said 
 I — " Give en a better chanst than he's had, an' 
 he'd 'a been a rich man 'fore now." An' Jim, he 
 said to me, " Ben," said he, " et's well a wild cow 
 has short horns, or creation 'ud be upsot brave 
 an' quick." That's what Jim said to me, manin' 
 
IS RESCUED 283 
 
 the- sayin' for Paul. Poor chap! A pretty 
 place all his schemin' 's landed him in.' 
 
 He woke from his musings to find Jennifer 
 kneeling beside him, her eyes shining. 
 
 ' Daddy dear,' she said in a low eager tone, 
 ' we do belong to get him out.' 
 
 ' We, my dear ! How ? ' 
 
 ' Look ! There's the money you've saved — two 
 hundred pound, edn' 'a ? An' 'tes for me, edn' 
 'a ? Fifty pound out o' that do leave a brae lot 
 yet — more than I look to have. How shouldn' 
 we send en to Paul, to get him out ? ' 
 
 ' Jennifer ! The money I've scraped an' saved 
 for 'ee, so's you should be comfortable, when I 
 edn' here no longer ! ' 
 
 ' Don't matter 'bout me,' she urged. * I can 
 work. Don't matter, so's we can save Paul 
 from disgrace. Paul in prison ! 'Twill kill him. 
 Send en off to wance, daddy, I beg of 'ee ! ' 
 
 Mr Jose pondered, eagerly watched. 
 
 ' No ! ' he said firmly. ' Et can't be done. 
 I'm brave an' fond o' Paul, an' I'm brave an' 
 sorry fur'n, an' I do wish to help en — but fifty 
 pound o' your money, no ! Mus' think for you 
 first, li'll maid. You're my cheeld ; Paul edn'. 
 You're a weak woman; Paul's a man, an' do 
 
284 PAUL CARAH 
 
 belong to stand on his own feet Fifty pound ! 
 No, no, et caan't be done.' 
 
 ' Daddy, I beg of 'ee ! ' The tears were in her 
 eyes. ' Haven't 'ee always said Paul was wan of 
 us — wan o' the fam'ly ? ' 
 
 Mr Jose shook his head. 'That's on'y^in a 
 manner speakin',' he said, ' jokin', like. 'Sides, I 
 thought — ' he broke off, glancing at her, and a 
 cunning expression came into his face. ' Wan o' 
 the family! Now ef there was any chanst o' 
 that ; ef you an' he — ' 
 
 ' Don't, daddy ! ' 
 
 * Listen to me, Jennifer. Ef there was any- 
 thin' between 'ee, now, 'twould be defferent. 
 Then what's yours 'ud be his. I've never spoke 
 ti' 'ee about et, but you d' knaw how I wish en 
 to be. Ef you can tell me 'tes like to be as I 
 do hope fur"n to be, I'll g' up wi' the money to- 
 morrow, so I will. Come, li'll maid o' mine, tell 
 your auld da. Has Paul ever said anythin' 
 ti"ee?' 
 
 For a moment she was ready to forswear her- 
 self, and save Paul with a yes. But she saw the 
 uselessness of it and the danger of it Her head 
 dropped, and — ' nothin',' she said. 
 
 'Norheedn'liketo?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
IS RESCUED 285 
 
 Mr Jose sighed. ' I do believe, ef you'd trated 
 en defferent, he'd ha' spoke,' he said, with a 
 spice of reproach. ' I'm sure he's fond of 'ee, 
 or ready to be so. An' you couldn' find a 
 smarter chap nowheres. But you allers were 
 a strange maid. I love 'ee, dear, I'm proud of 
 'ee; but — well, 'tes your natur'. I don't say 
 nothin' agin natur'. I do believe what you say, 
 an' I caan't help feelin' sorry fur'n. An' I'm 
 sorry for Paul ; but since 'tes as you say, he mus' 
 look out for his own self.' 
 
 She knew on what an inflexible foundation 
 his easy-going nature was built. She could 
 tell by his voice and manner when the founda- 
 tion was reached. There was no help for Paul 
 from this quarter. Whence, then ? She thought 
 and thought — that w^ich was within her lending 
 her with a supreme clarity to see, a supreme 
 steadiness to weigh and judge. She thought 
 and thought, and a hope came to her, and a 
 determination. A desperate hope, and a des- 
 perate venture, but desperate courage was there 
 to urge her on. 
 
 She waited till night closed in. Then she put 
 a shawl over her head and went across to the 
 village. At the shop-door she stopped and 
 entered. The girl behind the counter stared at 
 
286 PAUL CARAH 
 
 her. Jennifer in the village was a rare sight ; 
 Jennifer in Reseigh's shop was almost unique. 
 Porthvean knew next to nothing about her ; 
 there were no fetters on its imagination; to 
 what its imagination evolved it cheerfully com- 
 mitted itself; so the girl stared. 
 
 Jennifer asked to see Reseigh. He was in 
 the parlour, the girl said, but she would call 
 him. 
 
 No ; Jennifer wished to see him alone ; she 
 would go in to him. Her heart fluttered as she 
 walked across to the door ; but her head was 
 clear and cool, and the hand she laid on the 
 latch was quite steady. 
 
 Reseigh was sitting in a comfortable arm-chair, 
 his fat hands folded before him, enjoying the 
 good man's well-earned rest after labour. He 
 objected, as the best of men will, to being dis- 
 turbed after business hours ; and when the door 
 opened, he called out quite crossly, telling the 
 intruder to be off and not come plaguing him. 
 Then he looked up and saw Jennifer. His 
 features had learned to repress all involuntary 
 movements in the iron school of his will ; but 
 for a moment they forgot themselves, and 
 allowed his surprise to show itself. Then in a 
 flash they were a blank mask. He knew little 
 
IS RESCUED 287 
 
 of Jennifer, but he knew enough to judge that 
 no trivial errand had brought her to his shop, 
 and, unbidden, into his presence. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, what can I do for 'ee ? ' he 
 said affably. He was always polite when he 
 saw no reason to be otherwise. 
 
 ' I've come to spake ti' 'ee,' said Jennifer. 
 
 ' Ess, well ? Set 'ee down. What is 'a ? ' 
 
 ' I'll stand,' said Jennifer. ' 'Tes about Paul 
 I've come.' 
 
 ' Have 'ee now ? An' what about en, I 
 wonder.' 
 
 'Paul's in prison,' she said. 
 
 ' So 'a es, the fullish fellow. I'm sorry fur'n, 
 but he's a fullish fellow.' 
 
 ' Paul's in prison,' she continued steadily, ' an' 
 'tes all through you that he's there.' 
 
 If he had been walking onj the quay, and one 
 of a heap of fish had suddenly reared itself up 
 and denounced him as an infamous trafficker in 
 the flesh of its brethren, he could not have been 
 more genuinely astonished. He was actually 
 impelled to laugh. 
 
 * What nonsense are 'ee a-tellin' of, my dear ? ' 
 he said genially. ' All through me ? Sim' me, 
 you edn' azackly,. You'd better fit an' go 
 home.' 
 
288 PAUL CARAH 
 
 ' All through you,' she repeated. ' You spoke 
 en fair, an' led en on, an' put this business into 
 his head, that he'd never ha' thought upon else. 
 You made en think he was doin' a fine thing. 
 He never saw nothin' but good in you ; he 
 always stood up for you. An' you've brought en 
 to ruin. 'Twas for you he went out ; you sent 
 en. An' now he's in Bodmin, an' the fault's 
 yours.' 
 
 Reseigh was more amused than ever. ' There's 
 a pretty li'll ballat for 'ee!' he said in good- 
 humoured contempt. ' An' not a word o' truth 
 in et from beginnin' to eend. An' supposin' 
 there was — jus' supposin' for the sake of argy- 
 ment — what then ? ' 
 
 ' I look for 'ee to get him out,' said Jennifer. 
 
 * Oho ! ' he exclaimed softly. ' That's et, is 'a ? 
 I'm to pay fifty pound to get a rogue out o' jail, 
 am I ? Out o' friendship, like ? Fif-ty pound ! ' 
 The sum seemed to swell immeasurably on his 
 lips. ' Beggin's your arrand, then? An' for fifty 
 pound ! ' 
 
 ' I don't beg o' you] she said. ' I do knaw 
 better'n that Edn' beggary to ask a right ; an' 
 that's what I'm doin'. 'Twas through you he 
 was catched ; 'tes for you to get en out' 
 
 The good man was unused to such language. 
 
IS RESCUED 289 
 
 He may be pardoned for losing his temper a 
 little. 
 
 ' Aw ! 'tes for me to get en out, is 'a ? ' In his 
 irritation he abandoned his pretended ignorance. 
 'The rogue's lost me a matter o' ten pound 
 already through his carelessness. An* now I'm 
 to throw fifty more into the say, am I ? Sorry 
 for 'ee, my dear, but without you do pay the fine 
 yourself, he mus' rot in jail, mus' your fancy 
 man.' 
 
 She never flinched at the insult. * You've got 
 to get en out,' she repeated. * An 'a '11 be the 
 worse for 'ee ef you don't.' 
 
 A threat! 'Off wi' 'ee,' he said roughly. 
 ' Out o' this house to wance ! I've no time to 
 listen to such stuff. An' let me tell 'ee they 
 that do threaten me are like to be sorry fur'n 
 arterwards. Off you go ! ' 
 
 ' Ef I go,' she said, ' I go up to the coastguard 
 cap'n, to tell en there's smuggled goods in your 
 cellar.' 
 
 She spoke quietly, but she trembled. All 
 depended on the shape Reseigh's caution had 
 taken, whether he had removed the goods and 
 disposed of them at once, or whether he had 
 judged it safer to keep them by him for a while. 
 The sight of his face set her fears at rest, and 
 
290 PAUL CARAH 
 
 her heart a-leaping. For a moment he sat 
 paralysed; then for once in his life the mask 
 fell completely away, and he burst forth in a 
 torrent of evil speech. She waited till he 
 checked himself abruptly, and fell into a sullen 
 meditation. After. a minute's silence, she moved 
 towards the door. 
 
 ' Wait ! ' he said sulkily. She paused, while 
 he continued to reflect. Presently he looked up 
 with cunning eyes. 
 
 ' Ef they're there,' he said, — ' I don't say 
 they are — but ef they are, who's to tell they're 
 smuggled ? ' 
 
 ' 'Tes for you to show they're not,' she said. 
 * Sim' me, they'll ask you to show the receipts.' 
 
 ' That's so, sure 'nough,' he said, and thought 
 again. Again he looked up, and now his face 
 showed what was meant for frank admira- 
 tion. 
 
 ' You're a sharp wan ! ' he exclaimed heartily. 
 'For a queeat 11*11 maid, you're a sharp wan. 
 The auld chap's fairly beaten. Ess, you've got 
 the better o' me this time, an' there edn' many 
 can say that. I don't bear no malice. My 
 life ! what a sharp wan you are ! ' 
 
 If he thought to disarm her with flattery, he 
 failed. ' The money,' she said. 
 
IS RESCUED 291 
 
 'Ess, 'tes all right. 1*11 send en to him. I'll 
 send en to-morrow, never you fear.' 
 
 ' No,' she said. ' You'll give en to me now.' 
 
 'Dost doubt my word?' cried injured 
 innocence. 'I pass my word I'll send en 
 to-morrow. What more do 'ee want?' 
 
 ' I want the money,' she said. ' There wouldn' 
 be no 'ccasion for 'ee to send en to-morrow. 
 The goods '11 be gone 'fore then. Gie me the 
 money.' 
 
 'D'ye suppose,' he snarled, 'I keep all that 
 money by me ? Fifty pound ! Ef I've got so 
 much in all the world, I'm richer than I thought 
 for. I caan't give what I haven' got, can I ? ' 
 
 ' You're a savin' man,' she said ; ' you've got 
 en. You're a careful man ; you've got en by 'ee. 
 Gie me the money.' 
 
 The reiterated demand was like a blank wall, 
 against which he ran his head at every evasive 
 twist. 
 
 'No!' he ejaculated, and swore as profusely 
 as if the metaphor was a statement of fact. 
 Without another word, she turned away to go. 
 He threw up his hand. 
 
 1 Stop ! you shall have en,' he growled. In 
 silence he went to his desk and unlocked it. A 
 pile of notes rustled between his fingers; she 
 
292 PAUL CARAH 
 
 wondered if he could hear her heart beat above 
 the rustle. The little sounds of movement were 
 portentously magnified in her ears — his heavy 
 breathing, the flutter of papers, the chirping of 
 the keys in his hand, the thud of wood on wood 
 as he closed the desk, the metallic click when 
 he turned the lock, and behind all, the indifferent, 
 inconscient murmur of the sea without. 
 
 He turned about, and 'twas as if all the evil 
 passions in this world had flown together and 
 settled on his face. Jennifer's eyes were on 
 his hand and the bunch of notes in it. She 
 stretched out her hand. 
 
 'Hauld on!' he said in a voice of venom. 
 'How am I to knaw where this money's 
 goin' to? 'Tes a brae lot, a temptin' lot. 
 Maybe Paul 'ull have to stop in jail arter all.' 
 
 She looked at him, and stretched forth her 
 hand again. 
 
 ' An' ef you do send et, you'll get the credit, 
 'course, 'stead o' me.' It was certainly hard, 
 when one was performing a good action, even if 
 against one's will, to think that another was in 
 a position to appropriate the glory of it. 
 
 'Shall be in your name,' she said coldly. 
 ' He'll never knaw I had a hand in et' 
 
 ' So you say,' he sneered. 
 
IS RESCUED 293 
 
 ' So I say,' she replied. * Gie me the money.' 
 
 He flung the notes on the table. She 
 gathered them up, and turned to go. As she 
 went out into the shop, he followed her. Two 
 women were at the counter, being served. 
 In their presence, and for their benefit, he dealt 
 a parting stab in her back. 
 
 'You're well matched, you an' your man. 
 Jail-bird an' light woman — you're a pair.' 
 
 Her remaining strength took her safely 
 through the street and past the last of the 
 straggling houses along the cliff. Then the 
 tension snapped. She stumbled off the road 
 and sank on the hedge-bordering grass, shiver- 
 ing and sobbing, utterly wearied and supremely 
 happy. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 HE DEPARTS 
 
 In the kitchen Mr Jose was making feeble 
 attempts to smoke an after-dinner pipe. 
 Jennifer was quietly cleaning away the dishes, 
 and Dummy was sitting in a corner, his elbows 
 on his knees, his chin on his hands, his face 
 contracted with puzzled anxiety. The canary 
 was singing its loudest and merriest, and as 
 Jennifer went out to the door with a basin of 
 dish-water, she stopped and chirruped to it. 
 Mr Jose made a gesture of irritation. 
 
 'Sim' me, Jennifer/ he said, 'you edn' got 
 much feelin' in 'ee. How can you be so cheer- 
 ful? Even Dummy, poor chap, do take on 
 more'n you do. Look at en — there he goes 
 agin ! ' 
 
 For the hundredth time in the past few days 
 Dummy jumped up, clutched at Jennifer's arm, 
 and imitated Paul's characteristic gait, with a 
 
DEPARTS 295 
 
 gesture of vehement inquiry to follow. And 
 for the hundredth time Jennifer assured him, as 
 plainly as hands and face could speak, that Paul 
 was coming back to-morrow. 
 
 ' Poor Dummy,' mused the old man. ' A brae 
 many to-morrows before you see your partner 
 agin. My heavens ! I knawed I should miss 
 en, but I never thought to miss en so much. 
 Every minute I look to hear en come stavin' 
 along, whistlin' an' singin' ? In he comes, 
 " Hullo, uncle ? " says he, an' bangs down 'pon a 
 chair, fit to smash the legs of en. "Where's 
 denner ? " says he. " Hurry up wi' my denner," 
 says he. He allers was a rare wan for his 
 vittles. But there! — there wadn' nothin' but 
 what he took an int'rest in. Sim' me, that's 
 what made him such good comp'ny. This here 
 life's a dull business to most, but wi' he 'twas as 
 ef he was diggin' your ribs all the while, p'intin' 
 out the int'rest of en — fun in this, roguery in 
 that. An' now he's gone, 'tes as ef the taste o' 
 life's gone too. Aw me! I do feel kind o' 
 tired.' 
 
 Jennifer lifted her hand, listening. 
 
 'Here 'a do come,' she said in a low, glad 
 voice. 
 
 The old man started. 'Who? Paul? My 
 
296 PAUL CARAH 
 
 nerves ! you made me jump. You shouldn', my 
 dear ; you shouldn' play tricks like that Edn' 
 no fun in be'avin' so.' 
 
 ' 'Tes he, daddy ; I edn' jokin'. Do 'ee think 
 I don't knaw his step ? ' 
 
 'Paul? How can 'a be?' But he listened 
 and heard a step crunching on the path, a quick, 
 impetuous, familiar step. Then through the 
 window a momentary glimpse of swinging arms 
 and stooping head, and as they sprang to their 
 feet, Paul stood among them, grasping hands all 
 round, laughing, shouting, as of old. 
 
 ' Hullo, uncle ! Dummy, auld chap ! Jennifer! 
 Dedn' expec' to see me, ded 'ee ? Guv 'ee all 
 a surprise, aha! That's my way. I'm glad 
 to be'old 'ee all agin. Looks to me as ef you 
 were glad too. Heya, Dummy! Look at the 
 chap ! He'll have a fit direckly. Had denner, 
 I see. Fit an' get me a crust, will 'ee, Jennifer? 
 I'm rawnish.' 
 
 Mr Jose slapped his thigh delightedly. ' The 
 same auld Paul ! ' he laughed. 'Just the same ! 
 Edn' changed a bit Glad to be'old 'ee, sonny ? 
 I should think so ! But, how came you to come 
 back so soon ? ' 
 
 'Uncle,' said Paul impressively, 'never you 
 
DEPARTS 297 
 
 say another word agin Reseigh so long as you 
 live.' 
 
 'How?' exclaimed Mr Jose. 'Dost mane 
 to say — ? ' 
 
 ' 'Twas he that got me out ; that's what I d' 
 mane to say.' 
 
 ' Reseigh ? ' 
 
 'Reseigh an' no mistake. I asked about et 
 arterwards. The money was sent in a letter, an' 
 I see the letter. 'A wadn' in Reseigh's fist, but 
 there was his name, sure 'nough. There's a 
 friend for 'ee! I went over to thank en, 'fore 
 come here, but the maid said he was out. But 
 there's a true friend for 'ee ! An' to think that 
 last time I see him I was angry wed'n, an' 
 profaned agin him, the good auld man! But 
 never you say a word more agin him ! ' 
 
 ' I waan't,' said Mr Jose humbly^ ' I couldn', 
 arter that. But I'm puzzled, to tell 'ee the 
 truth. 'A edn' like Reseigh to pay away fifty 
 pound without he's fo'ced to.' 
 
 'There you go agin!' cried Paul irritably. 
 'There wadn' nobody fo'ced him. He's an 
 hon'rabble man-. I stood by en, I never spoke 
 his name ; I went to prison fur'n, you may say, 
 'Course, he feelt bound to stand by me an' help 
 me out. A good, hon'rabble man, I tell 'ee, an' 
 
298 PAUL CARAH 
 
 a true friend as ever was. Now that I'm 
 leavin' the auld place agin, there edn' many I'm 
 sorry to say good-bye to, but Reseigh's wan of 
 'em.' 
 
 'Paul! you're talkin' o' leavin' already, an' 
 you not back home five minutes. But you edn' 
 goin' jus' yet, s'pose? ' 
 
 ' Soon's I've finished the crust Jennifer's 
 gettin' for me.' 
 
 Clumsy Jennifer let fall the plate she was 
 carrying. The clatter started Mr Jose's eyes 
 from Paul's face, but in a moment they were 
 back again, staring in a stound. 
 
 'Paul!' 
 
 'Ess, uncle, I'm off this time for sure. All 
 this while I've been makin' my plans, an' now 
 'tes settled. Back to the States I go. I edn' for 
 Porthvean no longer.' 
 
 ' Paul ! you'll wait a bit 'fore go. You'll liv 
 us see you for a bit, an' get used to the notion. 
 You allers were a sudden chap, but you'll wait a 
 bit wi' your friends, won't you ? ' 
 
 ' Not I, uncle. I'm sorry to leave 'ee, but I 
 edn' wan to wait. When I'm set upon a thing, 
 I go fuf'n to wance — that's me! No diddlin' 
 about for Paul Carah. Haelf an hour, an' I'm 
 
DEPARTS 299 
 
 off Nothin' to keep me here, 'a b'lieve — not 
 even a swettard, aha, Jennifer ? ' 
 
 She was in his confidence ; she knew his views 
 on that subject ; and he gaily winked at her as 
 she set a plate before him. He fell to with a 
 zest. Mr Jose watched him with a melancholy 
 interest, prattling his regrets the while. 
 
 ' 'Twas to be, uncle,' said Paul, as he pushed 
 his plate away. 'I belonged to go back as I 
 came. 'Fore ever I set foot in the place, I had 
 a warnin' how 'a was to be. I never tauld 'ee 
 'bout that, did I ? Strange 'a was, sure 'nough.' 
 
 He related the story of the flock of plovers 
 and the solitary bird. 'An' now the token's 
 come true,' he concluded in a suitable tone of 
 dramatic melancholy. ' Off I go into the dark, 
 alone, like the bird.' 
 
 ' Not alone, Paul ! ' cried Jennifer, her heart 
 bursting into speech at last. 'Not alone; our 
 good wishes do go with you.' 
 
 ' Ess, that's so, Paul,' her father added earnestly. 
 ' Jennifer do say right ; our best wishes '11 follow 
 'ee wherever you d' go.' 
 
 Paul was touched. ' Then they mus' look to 
 v'yage a brae long way,' he laughed, ashamed to 
 show it. Then he was ashamed of his laughter. 
 ' But 'tes good of 'ee to say so, an' I thank 'ee 
 
300 PAUL CARAH 
 
 both fur'n. 'Tes good to think I do leave friends 
 behind. But, bless you, they d' knaw me out in 
 the States. I've fifty friends there for wan over 
 here. That's the place for me. Hooraw for the 
 States ! I'll go an' put up my things to wance.' 
 
 Up the stairs he clattered, and the silent folk 
 below could hear him whistling and singing as 
 he stamped about over their heads. In five 
 minutes he was down again, bundle in hand. 
 
 'All my worldly goods!' he exclaimed, 
 flourishing it ; ' barrin' a knife an' five shellin's in 
 my pocket.' 
 
 ' Paul,' said Mr Jose eagerly ; • ef I can — ' 
 
 ' Stop there, uncle ! ' he interrupted. ' I d' 
 knaw what you're agoin' to say, but you mus'n' 
 say et. I don't want nothin' but my fingers an' 
 my brain to get along wi'. I shall do very well, 
 never you fear. Gum ! ' he broke off, ' look at 
 Dummy ; he caan't make out what's up.' 
 
 Dummy's attention had been arrested and his 
 imagination excited by the bundle. He was 
 hovering about it, examining it dubiously, and 
 casting uneasy glances at Paul. A bundle 
 meant a journey. It was Paul's bundle. Was 
 his newly-restored friend and master about to 
 desert him again already ? 
 
 'Poor Dummy!' Paul exclaimed pityingly. 
 
DEPARTS 801 
 
 ' Ess, auld chap, I'm goin' to leave 'ee agin, an' 
 'tes for good this time. You'll have to fit an' 
 find another partner. My ivers ! ' he cried, 
 suddenly deserting pathos for animated narra- 
 tive. 'That minds me o' somethin' I clane 
 forgot to tell 'ee. When I come out o' the 
 station at Henliston this mornin', I see the back 
 of a man in front o' me. Thinks I, I knaw that 
 man. So I staved along an' catched him up ; 
 An' who d'ye think 'a was ? 'Twas Will Oliver, 
 the man that sold me the boat. An' such a 
 wisht, wretched-lookin' chap as he was, I never 
 see. " Hullo, soase ! " said I. " You mind me?' 
 So he stared at me, mis'rable like, an' — " Ess, 
 I mind 'ee," he said slowly. " Where you from ? " 
 said he. "Bodmin Jail," said I, for I edn' 
 ashamed to liv 'em knaw. " Where you from?" 
 said I. " London," said he, " an' a worse place 
 than jail." « How ? " said I. " Hell ! " said he, an' 
 'a made me jump, the way 'a said et " Curse the 
 men that built et!" garmed he. "Curse the 
 ground et's built on ! I'm out of en at last," 
 said he, " but I've left my money behind, an' my 
 stren'th, an' my hope. An' I'm goin' home to 
 my wife an' a cheeld I never set eyes on, an' 
 we're all goin' to starve together,' says he. An' 
 then, ef 'a dedn' start snoolin' like a baby, call 
 
302 PAUL CARAH 
 
 me a Devon man to wance! So a thought 
 come to me, an', said I, " Cheer up, soase," said I 
 " Look," said I, " you sold me your boat" "Id 
 knaw that," said he, bitter like. "Well," said I 
 "ef you've a mind to take en back, you can do so 
 I've guv up fishin'," said I. So he laffed, an' 'a 
 wadn' pretty to hear en. " I'm in rags, as you 
 d' see," said he, " an' there's holes in my pockets. 
 All the money's kind o' slipped out," said he. 
 So I said, "Money I don't want." "How? "said 
 he. " Thanks is all I do want," said I. " Take 
 the li'll boat, you're welcome," said I. That's 
 what I said to en, for et come into my mind 
 that I had bested en to g'up to London, an' no 
 man shall put the fault of his ruin 'pon me. So 
 " Take the li'll boat," said I ; an' you should ha* 
 seen the face of en. Thanks ! Ef thanks were 
 gold, I'd have a sackful, sure. Ess, I guv the 
 li'll boat away as ef 'twas nobbut a pair of auld 
 boots. An' I don't take no credit fur'n nuther." 
 
 All the same, he beamed round for applause. 
 Just like Paul, thought the one who knew him 
 best; — as careless and uncalculating in his 
 generosity as in his selfishness, and as deter- 
 mined as ever to give his right hand the fullest 
 information of the doings of his left hand. 
 
 • But come ! ' he exclaimed, starting up, 
 
DEPARTS 308 
 
 'mustn' stay yarnin' here. I'm off. Come to 
 the gate, all of 'ee, an' see the last o' Paul 
 Carah.' 
 
 As he strode out, the garden lay before him, 
 patched all over with bright green. He paused, 
 and an expression of genuine emotion now first 
 appeared on his face. 
 
 ' Lookin' grand, edn' 'a ? ' he said. ' There's a 
 brave scheme all come to nothin'. Ef I wadn' 
 goin* away, I'd — I've a mind to — Pouf! What 
 am I a-tellin' of? There's other plans, an' 
 bigger wans, in my heed now. Forward, 
 Paul ! ' 
 
 He hurried to the gate, and turned to await 
 them. 
 
 'An' now, good-bye, friends all. Good-bye, 
 11*11 house. Good-bye, uncle; stick to your 
 maps. Good-bye, Dummy ; good-bye, Jennifer. 
 I'll send 'ee all a letter 'fore long, an' you mus' 
 write back. An', ha-ha! — look, Jennifer! Ef 
 Dummy's got his four-master by then, you 
 mus' liv me knaw, an' I'll send 'ee a tay pot for 
 a weddin' present' 
 
 Dummy, realising the situation completely at 
 last, was blubbering profusely. Mr Jose blinked 
 and blew his nose. Jennifer's eyes were dry, 
 
304 PAUL CARAH 
 
 unnaturally dilated, fixed on Paul with an 
 unwinking stare. 
 
 Paul lingered, seeking a final dramatic word. 
 But it would not come. Somehow, at the last 
 moment, with his hand on the gate, a true and 
 deep emotion mastered him. Dear, kindly folk 
 — 'twas a wrench to part with them. He never 
 thought to feel it so much. The name of friend 
 suddenly had a new meaning to him ; he 
 realised that tendrils from without had, all 
 unknown, penetrated his self-contained, self- 
 enclosed nature. In the presence of the great 
 commonplaces of life — birth, death, meeting, 
 parting — all but the most commonplace words 
 are apt to fail us. And so Paul found it. 
 
 ' Friends, good-bye,' he repeated over and over 
 again. ' Good-bye, friends. My heart's sore to 
 leave 'ee. Ess, there's grief in my heart to leave 
 'ee, friends. True friends, we won't forget wan 
 another. Maybe I'll come back some day ; ess, 
 sure, I'll come back to my friends.' 
 
 He stood dumb for a moment; and then, 
 with one more abrupt, almost savage, ' Good-bye, 
 friends,' he turned and hurried away. 
 
 Up the hill, at the turn of the road, he looked 
 back to wave his hand. The three figures were 
 
DEPARTS 805 
 
 like statues at the gate. Once more the new- 
 found word came to his lips. 
 ' Friends ! I'm leavin' true friends behind me.' 
 Yes, and one who was something more, if he 
 only knew. 
 
 THE END 
 
 THE TEMPLE PRESS, PRINTERS, LETCHWORTH