“Iss, sir.  Why, the very fust day I tuk sarvice—­I was a tiny tacker then—­he says to me, ‘Caleb, my boy, you’m lookin’ all skin an’ bones for the present, but there’s no knawin’ what Penhellick beef and pudden may do for ’ee yet, ef ‘tes eaten wi’ a thankful heart.  Hows’ever, ’bout the work.  I wants you to take the dree jackasses an’ go to beach for ore-weed, an’ as I likes to gie a good boy like you a vew privileges, you be busy an’ carry so many seams [1] as you can, an’ I’ll gie drappence for ivery seam more’n twenty.’

“Well, sir, I worked like a Trojan, an’ ha’f killed they jackasses; an’ I tell ’ee ’twas busy all to carry dree-an’-twenty seam.  In the eveling, arter work, I went to Lawyer Mennear an’ axed ’n ’bout the nine-pence—­I niver got ninepence so hard in all my born days.  When he paid me, he looked so sly, an’ says he—­

“’ You’m a nation clever boy, you be, an’ I doan’t gridge ’ee the money.  But now I sees what you can do, of cou’se I shall ’spect ’ee to carry dree-an’-twenty seam ivery day, reg’lar:  for the workman,’ says he, ‘es worthy of hes hire.’

“‘Darn et!’ thought I to mysel’, ‘this won’t do;’ an’ I niver seed azackly the beef an’ pudden th’ ould man talked about.  Hows’ever, I stayed wi’ the psalmas-’untin’ ould cadger, tho’ et made me ’most ‘mazed at times to hear the way he’d carry on down at the Meetin’ House ‘bout the sen o’ greed an’ the like, an’ all the time lookin’ round to see who owed ’n a happeny.  ‘My brethren,’ he’d call out, ‘my pore senful flock, ef you clings to your flocks an’ herds, an’ tents an’ dyed apparel, like onto Korah shall you be, an’ like onto Dathan an’ Abiram, so sure as I be sole agent for Carnaby’s Bone Manure in this ‘ere destrict.’  ‘Tes true, sir.  An’ then he’d rap out the hemn, ‘Common metre, my brethren, an’ Sister Tresidder’ll gie the pitch—­”

    ’Whativer, Lord, us lends to Thee
     Repaid a thousan’fold’ll be,
     Then gladly will us gie to Thee.’

“An’ I reckon that was ’bout the size o’t.  Aw, he was an anointed ould rascal.

“All the same, Lawyer Mennear was reckon’d a powerful wrastler en the sperrit by the rest o’ the Church-Membership; on’y there was wan thing as went agen ‘un, an’ that was he hadn’ but wan eye; tho’ Maria Chirgwin, as was known to have had experience, an’ was brought under conviction by th’ ould man, told me that et made ’n luk the more terrifyin’—­”

“Like Polyphemus,” put in Mr. Fogo.

“Polly which?”

“Never mind.”

“I disknowledged the surname.  But niver mind, as you say, sir; feelin’s es feelin’s, an’ th’ ould Mennear’s wan eye went mortal agen ‘un.  Not but what he wudn’ turn et to account now an’ then.  ‘Tummas doubted,’ he said wan day, ‘an’ how was he convenced?  Why, by oracular demonstrashun—­’”

“Ocular, Caleb.”

“Right you are, sir, an’ thankye for the correcshun, as the boy said to the pupil-teacher; ‘by oc-u-lar demonstrashun,’ says he.  ’P’raps you dunno what ocular demonstrashun es, my brethren.  Well, I’ll tell ‘ee.  That’s a wall, ain’t et?  An’ I’m a preacher, arn’t I?  An’ you be worms, bain’t ’ee?  Why, I can see that much tho’ I han’t but wan eye.  An’ that’s ocular demonstrashun.’