“No?” said Cæsar. “We're not children of Israel in the wilderness getting manna dropped from heaven twice a day. If it's only potatoes and herrings itself, we're wanting it three times, you see.” Do what he would to crush it, Philip could not help feeling a sense of relief. Fate was interfering; the girl was not for Pete. For the first moment since he returned to the kitchen he breathed freely and fully. But then came the prick of conscience: he had come to plead for Pete, and he must be loyal; he must not yield; he must exhaust all his resources of argument and persuasion. The wild idea occurred to him to take Cæsar by force of the Bible. “But think what the old book says, Mr. Cregeen, 'take no thought for the morrow'----” “That's what Johnny Niplightly said, Mr. Christian, when he lit my kiln overnight and burnt my oats before morning.”. “'But consider the lilies'----” “I have considered them, sir; but I'm foiling still and mother has to spin.” “And isn't Pete able to toil, too,” said Philip boldly. “Nobody better in the island; there's not a lazy bone in his body, and he'll earn his living anywhere.” “What _is_ his living, sir?” said Cæsar. Philip halted for an answer, and then said, “Well, he's only with me in the boat at present, Mr. Cregeen.” “And what's he getting? His meat and drink and a bit of pence, eh? And you'll be selling up some day, it's like, and going away to England over, and then where is he? Let the girl marry a mother-naked man at once.” “But you're wanting help yourself, father,” said Grannie. “Yes, you are though, and time for chapel too and aisément in your old days----” “Give the lad my mill as well as my daughter, is that it, eh?” said Cæsar. “No, I'm not such a goose as yonder, either. I could get heirs, sir, heirs, bless ye--fifty acres and better, not to spake of the bas'es. But I can do without them. The Lord's blest me with enough. I'm not for daubing grease on the tail of the fat pig.” “Just so, Cæsar,” said Philip, “just so; you can afford to take a poor man for your son-in-law, and there's Pete----” “I'd be badly in want of a bird, though, to give a groat for an owl,” said Cæsar. “The lad means well, anyway,” said Grannie; “and he was that good to his mother, poor thing--it was wonderful.” “I knew the woman,” said Cæsar; “I broke a sod of her grave myself. A brand plucked from the burning, but not a straight walker in this life. And what is the lad himself? A monument of sin without a name. A bastard, what else? And that's not the port I'm sailing for.”