“But she—she—_she’s only a woman_! An’ she sort o’ feels bad. Not that ’twould make any difference t’ me—not t’ _me_. Oh, I tells her that. But she ’lows she wants it, anyhow. She sort o’ _hankers_ for it. An’ if you could manage—” “Not I!” Totley was very much out of temper. “Pay for your own parson,” he growled. “Ah, well,” Jonathan sighed, “she ’lowed, if you made a p’int of it, that she’d take the grub an’ do without—the other. Ay, do without—the other.” So Jonathan went home with what the parson needed to eat, and he was happy. * * * * * It was still windy weather. Dusks and dawns came in melancholy procession. The wind swept in the east—high, wet, cold. Fog and rain and drift-ice were to be met on the grounds of Candlestick Cove. From Nanny’s Old Head the outlook was more perturbing than ever: the sea’s distances were still hid in the mist; the breakers on the black rocks below gave the waste a voice, expressed its rage, its sullen purpose; the grounds where the men of Candlestick Cove must fish were still in a white-capped tumble; and the sores on the wrists of the men of Candlestick Cove were not healed. There was no fish; the coast hopelessly faced famine; men and women and children would all grow lean. The winter, approaching, was like an angry cloud rising from the rim of the sea. The faces of the men of Candlestick Cove were drawn—with fear of the sea and with dread of what might come to pass. In the meeting-house of Candlestick Cove, in district meeting assembled, the Black Bay clergy engaged in important discussions, with which the sea and the dripping rocks and the easterly wind had nothing to do.... * * * * * The Black Bay parsons were exchanging farewells at the landing-stage. The steamer was waiting. There had been no change in the weather: the wind was blowing high from the east, there was fog abroad, the air was clammy. Parson Jaunt took Parson All by the arm and led him aside. “How was you fixed, brother?” he whispered, anxiously. “I haven’t had time to ask you before.” Parson All’s eyebrows were lifted in mild inquiry. “Was you comfortable? Did you get enough to eat?” There was concern in Parson Jaunt’s voice—a sweet, wistful consideration. “Yes, yes!” Parson All answered, quickly. “They are very good people—the Stocks.” “They’re clean, but—” “Poor.” [Illustration: “YOU WAS FIXED ALL RIGHT?” PARSON JAUNT ASKED] “Very, very poor! Frankly, Brother All, I was troubled. Yes, indeed! I was troubled. I knew they were poor, and I didn’t know whether it was wise or right to put you there. I feared that you might fare rather badly. But there was nothing else to do. I sincerely hope—” Parson All raised a hand in protest. “You was fixed all right?” Parson Jaunt asked.