“Spake up, now,” said the saint, glaring around; “fwich av ye’s gone an’ misbestowed me parush church?  For I won’t believe,” he said, “that it’s any worse than carelussness—­at laste, not yet-a-bit.”

Some remembered the church, and some did not:  but the faces of all were clear of guilt.  They trooped out on the sands to search.

Now, the sands by Perranzabuloe are for ever shifting and driving before the northerly and nor’-westerly gales; and in time had heaped themselves up and covered the building out of sight.  To guess this took the saint less time than you can wink your eye in; but the bother was that no one remembered exactly where the church, had stood, and as there were two score at least of tall mounds along the shore, and all of pretty equal height, there was no knowing where to dig.  To uncover them all was a job to last till doomsday.

“Blur-an’-agurs, but it’s ruined I am!” cried St. Piran.  “An’ the Visitashun no further away than to-morra at tin a.m.!” He wrung his hands, then caught up a spade, and began digging like a madman.

They searched all day, and with lanterns all the night through:  they searched from Ligger Point to Porth Towan:  but came on never a sign of the missing church.

“If it only had a spire,” one said, “there’d be some chance.”  But as far as could be recollected, the building had a dumpy tower.

“Once caught, twice shy,” said another; “let us find it this once, an’ next time we’ll have landmarks to dig it out by.”

It was at sunrise that St. Piran, worn-out and heart-sick, let fall his spade and spoke from one of the tall mounds, where he had been digging for an hour.

“My children,” he began, and the men uncovered their heads, “my children, we are going to be disgraced this day, and the best we can do is to pray that we may take it like men.  Let us pray.”

He knelt down on the great sand-hill, and the men and women around dropped on their knees also.  And then St. Piran put up the prayer that has made his name famous all the world over.

THE PRAYER OF ST. PIRAN.

Harr us, O Lord, and be debonair:  for ours is a particular case.  We are not like the men of St. Neot or the men of St. Udy, who are for ever importuning Thee upon the least occasion, praying at all hours and every day of the week.  Thou knowest it is only with extreme cause that we bring ourselves to trouble Thee.  Therefore regard our moderation in time past, and be instant to help us now.  Amen_.

There was silence for a full minute as he ceased; and then the kneeling parishioners lifted their eyes towards the top of the mound.

St. Piran was nowhere to be seen!

They stared into each other’s faces.  For a while not a sound was uttered.  Then a woman began to sob—­

“We’ve lost ’en!  We’ve lost ’en!”

“Like Enoch, he’s been taken!”

“Taken up in a chariot an’ horses o’ fire.  Did any see ’en go?”