When these two ladies joined forces to attack Mr Hambly on the subject of Nicky-Nan’s atheism, presumed upon his neglect to attend public worship, the Minister’s lack of interest became fairly exasperating.  He arose and opened the window.

“Astonishing plague of house-flies we are suffering from this year,” he observed.  “You have noticed it, doubtless? . ..  Yes, yes—­about Nanjivell . . . it is so good of you to feel concerned.  I will talk it over with the Vicar.”

“God forbid!” Mrs Polsue ejaculated.

“One uses up fly-papers almost faster than Mrs Pengelly can supply them,” continued the Minister.  “And, moreover, she will sell me but two or three at a time, alleging that she requires all her stock for her own shop.  I fell back last week upon treacle.  Beer, in small glass jars, is also recommended.  I trust that if you ladies see me issuing from the Three Pilchards to-morrow with a jug of beer, you will make it your business to protect my character.  The purchase will not escape your knowledge, I feel sure. . . .  But we were talking of Nanjivell.  I have some reason to believe that he is a God-fearing man, though his religion does not take a—­er—­ congregational turn.  Moreover, he is a sick man.”

“H’mph!” Miss Oliver sniffed.

“The amount of disease disseminated by house-flies is, I am told, incalculable,” pursued Mr Hambly.  “Yes—­as I was saying, or about to say—­it’s a pity that, in a small town like Polpier, two ministers of religion cannot between them keep a general shop to suit all tastes, like Mrs Pengelly.”  Mr Hambly’s voice dropped as he wound up.  “Ah, if—­like Mrs Pengelly—­we kept bull’s-eyes for the children!”

“And for another year we have to sit under a man like that!” said Mrs Polsue to Miss Oliver on their way homeward.

Nicky-Nan had one thing in his favour.  He came of an old Polpier stock.  It had decayed, to be sure, and woefully come down in the world:  but the town, though its tongue may wag, has ever a soft heart towards its own.  And the Nanjivells had been of good “haveage” (lineage) in their time.  They had counted in the family a real Admiral, of whom Nicky-Nan had inherited a portrait in oil-colours.  It hung in the parlour-kitchen underneath his bedroom, between two marine paintings of Vesuvius erupting by day and Vesuvius erupting by night:  and the Penhaligon children stood in terrible awe of it because the eyes followed you all round the room, no matter what corner you took.

In neighbourliness, then, and for the sake of his haveage, Nicky-Nan’s first welcome home had been kindly enough.  His savings were few, but they bought him a small share in a fishing-boat, besides enabling him to rent the tenement in the Doctor’s House, and to make it habitable with a few sticks of furniture.  Also he rented a potato-patch, beyond the coastguard’s hut, around the eastward cliff, and tilled it assiduously.  Being a man who could do with a very little sleep, he would often be found hard at work there by nine in the morning, after a long night’s fishing.