“Ay, you be honest, miller: you allow that I am right and you have courage enough to praise what the Book condemns,” said Jake. “Look'ee here, friend,” said the miller, in his usual loud voice--the years that he had spent in his mill had caused him to acquire a voice whose tone could successfully compete with the creaking and clattering of the machinery. “Look'ee here, friend Jake, 'twould be easy enough for you or me that has done moderate well for ourselves in life, to turn up our eyes in holy horror at the bare thought of others being godly for what they may gain in daily life, but for myself, I would not think that I was broaching a false doctrine if I was to say to my son, 'Young man, be godly and thou 'll find it to bring gain to thee.' What, Jake, would 'ee have a man make gain out of ungodliness?” “Ay, that's a poser for him, miller: I've been thinking for that powerful proposal ever since the converse began,” said a small man who had sat silently smoking in a high-backed chair. He was one who had the aspect of unobtrusiveness, and a figure that somehow suggested to strangers an apologetic intention without the courage ever to put it in force. His name was Richard Pritchard, and he was by profession a water-finder--a practitioner with the divining rod, but one whose successes were never startling. When he had spoken, all the room, to the number of three, turned anxious eyes upon him, as if they were surprised at his having gone so far and feared a painful sequel. He seemed to feel that he had justified their worst forebodings, and hastened to relieve their minds. “I'm all friendly, friends, and Jake in especial,” he said. “Don't forget that though a man on the spur of the moment, and in the fierce stress of argyment, may say a bitter hard word or two, there may still be naught in his bosom's heart but neighbourly friendship, meaning no offence to you, Jake, that be a travelled man, viewing strange cities quite carelessly, where plain and simple men would gape and stare.” Jake, the carrier, gave no sign of having heard the other speak. “There's a many o' us in these parts as strong as in other parts, that be ready and willing to take things as they come,” said he; “to take the parson's preaching as they take the doctor's pills.” “Ay, wi' a wry face,” acquiesced the blacksmith with a readiness that one could see the carrier thought meant no good. He leant across the table once more until his face was close to the smith's, and said: “That's where you be wrong, Hal Holmes. You know as well as the most knowledgable----” “Meaning yourself, Jake?” said the smith drily. “You know well that though you may make a wry face when gulching down the doctor's pill, ye dursn't so much as show a wrinkle or a crinkle on your face when Parson Rodney is in his pulpit,” replied the carrier with emphasis. “'Cause why?” said the miller. “I'll tell ye truly--'tis because the parson gives us no bitter pills, only----”