So early the next day (Tuesday, June 4), away they started; and, the day being hot and the pony slow, arrived at Bessie Bussow’s about four o’clock.  ’Tis a pretty peaceable spot on a June afternoon, with the sun dropping out to sea and right against your eyes; and this day the Cove seemed more peaceable than ordinary—­the boats at anchor, no sound of work at all, and scarcely a sign of life but the smoke from Bessie Bussow’s chimney.

“Where’s my boy?” was the first question Mrs. Geen put to her sister-in-law after the two women had kissed each other.

“Out seaning,” answered Bessie, as prompt as you please.  “But most likely he’ll be home some time to-night.  The master’s got a new sean-boat, and all the boys be out working her.  There’s not a soul left in the Cove barring the master himself and Uncle Billy.”

“Well, I’m glad of my life the boy’s at such innocent work; but I’ve come to see John Carter and take him away.  The preacher here says that smuggling is a sin and the soul’s destruction; he’s quite sure of it in his own mind, and whiles there’s any doubt I don’t want my Phoby to risk it.”

“Aw?” said Bessie.  “I’d dearly like to hear how he makes that out.  But I han’t got time to be talking just now.  You’d best take him across and let him try to persuade John Carter, while I get your room ready.  I saw John going towards his house ten minutes ago, and I’se warn he’ll offer the preacher a bed and listen to all he’s got to say.”

So, having stabled the pony, Mrs. Geen and the preacher walked over to Carter’s house together.  They found the King in his kitchen-parlour, divided between his accounts and a mug of cider, and he made them welcome, being always fond of preachers and having a great respect for Ann Geen because of her family.

There was a great heap of shavings in the fire-place, for the room was a sunny one, facing south by west.  But the King told her where to find some tea that had never paid duty, and she took off her bonnet and boiled the kettle in the kitchen at the back, and it wasn’t till they’d drunk a cup that she explained what had brought her, and called on the preacher to wrestle.

Captain John listened very politely, or seemed to, and nodded his head at the right time; but he couldn’t help being a bit absent-minded.  Fact was, he expected a cargo home that very evening, and didn’t feel so easy about it as usual.  Up to now he had always run his stuff in goodish-sized vessels—­luggers or cutter-rigged craft running up to fifty or sixty tons as we should reckon now.  But Captain Will Richards had taken a great fancy to the Cawsand plan of using light-built open row-boats or, as you might say, galleys, pulling eight oars, and put together to pass for sean-boats.  After the war, when there was no longer any privateering, vessels like Captain Carter’s, carrying eighteen or twenty guns apiece, couldn’t pretend to be other than smugglers