"Well, then, I’ll put it off till another day, but tackle him I will. I’ve a bit of news, Dick. The carrier brought me some books last night; that’s not the news, though. No. You have heard, maybe, of a Frenchman named Delarousse?" He looked slyly at Dick; everyone in Polkerran knew the name of the Frenchman with whom the smugglers had such close dealings. "As a natural enemy of our country I don’t pity him," pursued the parson, "but as a—h’m—an honest free-trader I own I feel for him. His privateer was badly knocked about in the Channel by a revenue cruiser a week or two ago, and while she was being repaired, it appears that he tried to run a cargo at Polperro. As ill-luck would have it—dear me! I wonder if I ought to have said that," he added under his breath—"he ran into the arms of the revenue people; they seized his lugger and carried him to Plymouth, where he’ll cool his heels for a time until they put him among the other French prisoners on Dartmoor." "Do they know it in the village yet, sir?" "Probably not; the carrier was going straight on to Newquay; he had nothing for us except my books. But you may be sure the folk will soon know all about it. The carrier had a glass of brandy with Petherick, and Petherick, as you know, is the biggest gossip in the parish. His brandy is better than mine, the dog! I must ask him where he gets it." Dick could not help smiling at the parson’s unconscious self-revelation. "That’s right; you’re feeling better, I see," said Mr. Carlyon cheerily. "Now I’ll go on and bespeak my basket. Pilchards of the first catch are the daintiest dish I know. ’Tis a holiday to-day, but I shall see you to-morrow. Good-bye." He rode on. Dick turned to watch him, and saw Sam Pollex walking beside the maid-servant of the Dower House. When Sam observed his young master he left the girl and came sheepishly towards him. "I’ve been tellin’ to she the hows and whys of it, Maister Dick," said he. "Indeed." "Iss, I have. Bein’ a furriner, she be ’mazin simple for such a well-growed female. She axed me why I never brought no more eggs." "And what did you say?" "Well, not likin’ to hurt her feelings, I telled her our hens be uncommon idle lately, and she said she knows they do have fits that way sometimes. Maister John’s gone to Lunnon, to buy things for his mine." "I wish he’d stay there." "Her name be Susan." "Quite a common name." "She’s as nice a female as ever I’ve seed."