Knew, further, that Captain Darcy, after nonchalantly picking up the sack, dropping it within the garden hedge and closing the rickety gate, stood opposite him and quite civilly said: 

“I am sorry I could not give you the sort of assistance, sir, which you asked.  But the plan would not have worked.”

Sawyer boiled over.

“You have compounded a felony and done all that lay in your power to undermine my authority with my parishioners.  Fortunately I retain the boys’ names and can make further enquiries.  This, however, by no means relieves you of the charge of having behaved with reprehensible levity both towards my office and myself.”

“No—­no,” Faircloth returned, goodnaturedly.  “Sleep upon it, and you will take an easier view of the transaction.  I have saved you from putting unmerited disgrace upon two decent families and getting yourself into hot water up to the neck.  I know these Deadham folk better than you do.  I’m one of them, you see, myself.  They’ve uncommonly long memories where they’re offended, though it may suit them to speak you soft.  Take it from me, you’ll never hound them into righteousness.  They turn as stubborn as so many mules under the whip.”

He hailed the waiting flyman.

“Good evening to you, sir,” he said.  And followed by the carriage, piled with sea-chest and miscellaneous baggage, departed into the mysteriousness of deepening dusk.

Had the young clergyman been willing to leave it at that, all might yet have been well, his ministry at Deadham a prolonged and fruitful one, since his intentions, at least, were excellent.  But, as ill-luck would have it, while still heated and sore, every feather on end, his natural combativeness almost passionately on top, turning out in the high-road he encountered Dr. Cripps, faring westward like himself on the way to visit a patient at Lampit.  The two joined company, falling into a conversation the more confidential that the increasing darkness gave them a sense of isolation and consequent intimacy.

Of all his neighbours, the doctor—­a peppery disappointed man, struggling with a wide-strewn country practice mainly prolific of bad debts, conscious of his own inefficiency and perpetually smarting under imagined injuries and slights—­was the very last person to exercise a mollifying influence upon Sawyer in his existing angry humour.  The latter recounted and enlarged upon the insults he had just now suffered.  His hearer fanned the flame of indignation with comment and innuendo—­recognized Faircloth from the description, and proceeded to wash his hands in scandalous insinuation at the young sea-captain’s expense.

For example, had not an eye to business dictated the sheltering from justice of those infant, apple-stealing reprobates?  Their respective fathers were good customers!  The islanders all had the reputation of hard drinkers—­and an innkeeper hardly invites occasion to lower his receipts.  The inn stood in old Mrs. Faircloth’s name, it is true; but the son profited, at all events vicariously, by its prosperity.  A swaggering fellow, with an inordinate opinion of his own ability and merits; but in that he shared a family failing.  For arrogance and assumption the whole clan was difficult to beat.