"I'll ask them all to come to church to-morrow," whispered the vicar eagerly to Geoffrey, as Rhoda now came up, and a chilly greeting passed between her and the miner. "No," he said quickly; "don't undo your work. You have moved them more than you imagine. Let well alone." A slight frown crossed Rhoda's brow--forced there to keep herself from marking her approval of his words; and just then a diversion occurred, for Tom Jennen gave a pull at the crisp hair upon his forehead, muttered something about not hindering the stowage, and went off on tip-toe, his mates saluting the vicar in turn, and going gently out. Miss Pavey smiled as she closed the door behind them, and bowed in answer to their "Good-day, ma'am." Not a word was spoken as they made their way in a cluster down to the rails by the steep causeway leading to the boats, where they all grouped together, and stared from one to the other, waiting for some one to speak. That some one proved to be Tom Jennen, who, after hunting out his quid from where it lay, in company with some half-pence, a stray button, and a lucky sixpence that acted as a charm against the evil eye, picked off some pieces of flue, tucked the quid in his cheek, and said gruffly,-- "It's a gashly old job, lads, and we've been sold." "Ay, we have that," was chorused; and the men nodded and shook their heads. "I wouldn't ha' done it if I'd knowed he was such a good sort," growled Tom, rather excitedly, "for he is a good sort, arn't he?" "Ay, lad, that he is," was the ready answer. "And what I say is this," cried Tom. "I won the bet fair and square, and let him as says I didn't, say so right out like a man." "Ay, lad, you won it fair enough," was the reply. "Well then," said Tom Jennen, "let's go and drink parson's health in that there ale;" and he gave his lips, which were very dry with excitement, a hearty smack. "Ay, lad," was chorused, "we will." They did; and Amos Pengelly thought it was no harm to join. CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. A MEETING. "How's Madge?" said Geoffrey one morning, as he encountered Bess Prawle coming out of the bedroom with the baby in her arms. "Very poorly," said Bess sadly. "She's wearing away, I think." "Had I better get Dr Rumsey to call?" "No," said Bess quietly; "no doctor will do her any good. Poor mother's very ill too this morning. I hardly know what to do first." "Well, it is precious hard on you, Bessie," said Geoffrey. "We make a regular slave of you amongst us. Why not have a woman to come in and help? Money isn't flush: but I can pay her." "Oh, no, Mr Trethick, I can manage," cried Bess. "No woman would come here to help." Geoffrey frowned. "We're such a bad lot, eh?" "They don't like me," said Bess, smiling; "and father would not care to have a strange woman here."