“Good day to you, brethren,” said one of the parsons, and departed.  Thus only could he express his horror of Jock’s sentiments.

In those days churches and chapels were not so empty that parsons had to go forth beating up congregations.  A pew was a privilege.  And those who did not frequent the means of grace had at any rate the grace to be ashamed of not doing so.  And, further, strolling players, in spite of John Wesley’s exhortations, were not considered salvable.  The notion of trying to rescue them from merited perdition was too fantastic to be seriously entertained by serious Christians.  Finally, the suggested connection between Jesus Christ and a stage-play was really too appalling!  None but Jock-at-a-Venture would have been capable of such an idea.

“I think, my friend—­” began the second remaining minister.

“Look at that good woman there!” cried Jock-at-a-Venture, interrupting him with a dramatic out-stretching of the right arm, as he pointed to a very stout but comely dame, who, seated on a three-legged stool, was calmly peeling potatoes in front of one of the more resplendent booths.  “Look at that face!  Is there no virtue in it?  Is there no hope for salvation in it?”

“None,” Jock’s pastor replied mournfully.  “That woman—­her name is Clowes—­is notorious.  She has eight children, and she has brought them all up to her trade.  I have made inquiries.  The elder daughters are actresses and married to play-actors, and even the youngest child is taught to strut on the boards.  Her troupe is the largest in the Midlands.”

Jock-at-a-Venture was certainly dashed by this information.

“The more reason,” said he, obstinately, “for saving her!...  And all hers!”

The two ministers did not want her to be saved.  They liked to think of the theatre as being beyond the pale.  They remembered the time, before they were ordained, and after, when they had hotly desired to see the inside of a theatre and to rub shoulders with wickedness.  And they took pleasure in the knowledge that the theatre was always there, and the wickedness thereof, and the lost souls therein.  But Jock-at-a-Venture genuinely longed, in that ecstasy of his, for the total abolition of all forms of sin.

“And what would you do to save her, brother?” Jock’s pastor inquired coldly.

“What would I do?  I’d go and axe her to come to chapel Sunday, her and hers.  I’d axe her kindly, and I’d crack a joke with her.  And I’d get round her for the Lord’s sake.”

Both ministers sighed.  The same thought was in their hearts, namely, that brands plucked from the burning (such as Jock) had a disagreeable tendency to carry piety, as they had carried sin, to the most ridiculous and inconvenient lengths.

IV

“Those are bonny potatoes, missis!”

“Ay!” The stout woman, the upper part of whose shabby dress seemed to be subjected to considerable strains, looked at Jock carelessly, and then, attracted perhaps by his eager face, smiled with a certain facile amiability.