“As a Christian woman,” he said, “you must know his soul’s in danger.  What in comparison with that does his body matter?”

Mrs. Geen hadn’t any answer for this, so what she said was, “My Phoby ’ve never given me a day’s trouble since his teething.”  And then, seeing the preacher was upset, and wishing to keep things as pleasant as possible, she went on, “I don’t see no crime in learning to be a carpenter.”

“By your own showing,” said Mr. Meakin, “he is in danger of being led into smuggling by wild companions.”

“Nothing wild about John Carter,” she held out.  “A married man and as steady as you could wish to see; a man with convictions of sin, as I know, an’ two of his brothers saved.  You couldn’ hear a prettier preacher than Charles.  And John, he always runs a freight most careful.  I never heard of any wildness at all in connection with he—­not a whisper.”

The preacher fairly stamped, and began tapping the palm of his hand with his forefinger.

“But the smuggling, ma’am—­that’s what I call your attention to!  The smuggling itself is not only a crime but a sin; every bit as much a sin as the violence and swearing which go with it.”

“No swearing at all,” said Ann Geen.  “You don’t know John Carter, or you wouldn’ suggest such a thing.  Every man that swears in his employ is docked sixpence out of his pay.  My sister-in-law keeps the money in a box over her chimney-piece, and they drink it out together come Christmas.”

By this the preacher was fairly dancing.  “Woman!” he shouted, soon as he could recover his mouth-speech.

“I’m no such thing!” said she, up at once and very indignant.  “And your master, John Wesley, would never have said it.”

The preacher took a gulp and tried a quieter tack.  “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” says he, “but you seemed to be wilfully misunderstanding me.  Let us confine ourselves to smuggling,” says he.

“Very well,” says she; “I’m agreeable.”

“I tell you, then, that it’s a sin; it’s defrauding the King just as much as if you dipped your hand into His Majesty’s pocket”—­“I shouldn’ dream of being so familiar,” said Mrs. Geen, but he didn’t hear her—­ “and if you’ll permit me, I’ll explain how that is,” he said.

“Well,” she allowed, folding the shawl about her which she always wore in the hottest weather; “you can say what you mind to about it, so long as you help me get my Phoby back.  That’s what I come for.”

I daresay, now, you’ve sometimes heard it brought up against us in these parts that we’re like the men of Athens, always ready to listen to any new thing.  The preacher took up his parable then and there; and being, as I say, an able man in spite of his looks, within half an hour he had actually convinced the woman that there was something to be ashamed of in smuggling.  And as soon as he’d done that, nothing would satisfy her but to hire the pony-cart from the George and Dragon and drive the preacher to Prussia Cove the very next day to rescue her boy from these evil companions. “’Twould be a great thing to convince John Carter,” she said, “and a feather in your cap.  And even if you don’t, the place is worth seeing, and he usually kills a pair of ducks for visitors.”