“But, as I was sayin’, wan eye es a wisht business, howsomever you may turn et up’ards an’ call et your thorn i’ the flesh, an’ the likes; an’ more’n a few o’ the ‘Rig’nal Seceders fell away from th’ ould man’s Meetin’ House, and became backsliders dro’ fear o’ being overlooked an’ ill-wished, so they said.  I reckon ’twas all quignogs, but et did luk plaguey like th’ evil eye, an’ that there’s no denyin’.

“Well, sir, matters went on i’ this way for a brave time, an’ the ‘tendance got less, till Lawyer Mennear wos fairly at hes wits’ end.  He talked a’ weak-kneed brethren, an’ ‘puttin’ your han’s to the plough,’ an’ dreshed the pilm [2] out o’ cush’n afore ‘un, an’ kicked up a purty dido, till you cou’d hear the randivoose o’ Sunday mornin’s ‘way over t’other side o’ Carne hill; but ’twarn’t no manner o’ good.  An’ as for the childer at the Sunday-school—­th’ ould rapscallion laid powerful store by hes Sunday-school—­’twas ’bear a hand ivery wan’ to get mun to face that eye:  an’ you mou’t clane their faces an’ grease their hair as you wou’d, the mothers told me, an’ see mun off ‘pon the road to Meetin’ House; but turn your back, an’ they’d be mitchin’ [3] in a brace o’ shakes an’ ’way to go for Coombe beach, an’ playin’ hidey-peep in their clane pinnyfores ’mong the rocks.

“Aw, ’twas shee-vo! ‘mong the Church Members, an’ no mistake; an’ how ‘twud ha’ come round, there’s no telling, ef et hadn’ a-been for what Lawyer Mennear called a vouchsafement o’ marcy.  An’ the way thicky vouchsafement comed about was this: 

“Th’ ould man was up to Plymouth wan day ’bout some shares he’d a-tuk in a tradin’ schooner; for he’d a finger in most pies.  Nuthin’ i’ the way o’ bus’ness comed amiss to’n.  Like Nicholas Kemp, he’d occashun for all.”

“Who was Nicholas Kemp?” inquired Mr. Fogo.

“On’y a figger o’ speech, sir.  Well, ould Mennear had a-done bus’ness, an’ was strollin’ up Union Street ‘long wi’ his missus—­ Aunt Deb’rah Mennear, as her name was—­a fine, bowerly woman, but a bit ha’f-baked in her wits; put in wi’ the bread, as they say, an’ tuk out wi’ the cakes—­when he fetches up ’pon a sudden afore a shop-windey.  There was crutches inside, an’ jury-legs fash’ned out o’ cork, an’ plaster heads drawn out in maps wi’ county-towns marked in, an’ bumps to show why diff’rent folks broke diff’rent Commandments, an’ rows o’ teeth a-grizzlin’, an’ blue spectacles, an’ splints enough to camp-shed a thirty-acred field, an’ ear-trumpets an’ malignant growths—­”

“Malignant growths?”

“Iss, sir—­in speerits o’ wine.  But what tuk th’ ould man’s notice were a trayful o’ glass eyes put out for sale i’ the windey, an’ lookin’ so nat’ral as life—­blue eyes, brown eyes, eyes as black as a sloan, [4] an’ others, they told me, as went diff’rent colours ‘cordin’ as you looked at mun.  Anyway, ould Mennear pulled up short an’ clinched Deb’rah by the elbow.

“‘Like onto the fishpools in Heshbon!’ says he; an’ wi’ that he bounses into the shop.