“Don’t talk nonsense, Thomas; come along with me.  When God wants to take you, He will take you; but you must not be trying to put your opinions in place of God’s.  Turn back, my man, and look at the Point there where the Cobbler’s Stone stands.  Now forget that you are looking at the calm stream, and think what you would feel like one dark night, with a northerly gale, if you had to fight your way round the Cobbler, and expected the sea to double over your boat every minute.  You are not in danger now, and your business is to worship.  Try to think, my lad, what you would feel if you expected that every sea would be the last one.  Now come away, and talk no more nonsense to-night.”

So Hob’s Tommy did not go trouting on that Sunday evening.

The next day, when he woke up, he had a sense of strangeness, and it suddenly flashed upon him that he ought to pray.  He did not exactly know how to begin, but he managed to produce a curious imitation of the prayer he had heard Musgrave deliver the day before.  He then put on his sea-boots and sou’-wester, and strolled into the kitchen.  When his mother heard his foot in the passage, she trembled a little, because Tom was not over civil as a rule.  To her utter astonishment, the ruffian whom she loved said, “Good morning, mother.  Is the coffee ready?” He then stepped up to her, and placed his arm round her shoulders.  He had never kissed anybody in his life; so that form of endearment did not occur to him; but he bent his bearded face, and laid his cheek clumsily against his mother’s.  The draggled woman was so startled that she was unable to form any idea as to the possible cause of this transformation.  She only said, “Sit down, my bonny man, and your bacon will be ready for you in two minutes.  I have never seen you look so well in my life.  Will I be sending to the town for some bottled beer for you by the time you get back?”

“No, mother; I am going to try and do without the drink for a bit.  I hit you last Saturday night, didn’t I?”

“Well, don’t speak about that, my bonny man.”

“Show us the mark, mother.”

She bared her arm to the shoulder, and there, sure enough, was a black bruise.

He ate his breakfast and went out, leaving his mother in a condition of exaltation which she had not known for many years.  All the day, while the lines were over the side, Tommy sat with his face in his hands.  His two mates joked with him, swore at him, tried all kinds of clumsy inducements to make him revert to his ordinary saturnine and entertaining mode of conversation; but he would not be tempted from his silence.  Towards evening a chill blast struck off from the shore, and Mary’s Jem, who was Tommy’s mate, said—­

“My man, we’ll have the white horses in half a minute!”