“I’ve been a little on my travels,” said Tom. “Oh, indeed! where?” “Well, I crossed an arm of the sea, as my companion, simple Simon Grainger, called it, and got into a country on the other side.” “Ah! where did you cross this arm of the sea?” “At a place called Sawley.” “Sawley!” said several voices at once. “Why, that is on the Trent, Tom.” “Well, I dare say it is; but Grainger, who never was five miles from home, insisted that it was an arm of the sea.” “And what did you do on the other side, Tom?” “We were employed in getting gravel for roads out of the river Soar with a machine, and Grainger had a fine opportunity of earning a guinea in less time than he ever earned a groat in his life, if he had had faith enough.” “Not faith enough?” “No,” said Tom. “You see, a gentleman, as he was crossing the ferry near us, pulled out his gold watch to look at the time, and let it drop into the river. It was quite plain to be seen, for the river is as clear almost as air, but it was deeper than it seemed. The gentleman tried to get it up with his stick, but could not reach it, and he offered a guinea to any of the passengers as would fetch it up. None of them would. So the ferryman calls to us, and says to Grainger, ‘Old fellow, you’ve good six feet of stuff in you; just jump in and get hold of the watch, and there’s a guinea for you.’ ‘No, thank you,’ said Grainger; ‘don’t you believe it; I can trust God Almighty on the ground, or in a tree, but not i’ th’ water.’ It was no use urging him. ‘Stop a minute,’ said I, ‘I’m but a short ‘un, but there are more ways than one of roasting apples.’ So I asked the gentleman to lend me his stick. ‘It’s not long enough, my man,’ says he. ‘Isn’t it?’ says I, taking the stick. I just laid mysen down on the boat, stripped my arm bare to the shoulder, and in a jiffy I had twisted the hook of the stick into the guard-chain, and up comes the watch, and down goes the guinea into my pocket. ‘There’s not much of thee,’ said the gentleman, looking at me, as he handed me the guinea; ‘but thou’st got thy share of brains.’” Sylvanus thought Grainger’s speech almost impious, not to trust God in the water as well as on the land. “Ah! poor, ignorant man,” said Mrs. Heritage, “his faith only stops short at one point, and ours at another. Is there not a limit to the faith of every one of us?” she asked. “Would not Sylvanus find a limit to his faith in some other direction?” “Ay, that he would,” said Thorsby, as he lay kicking his legs about in the hay. “Let him walk over burning ploughshares as they did in the middle ages.” “As for that,” said Sylvanus, “I could walk over them readily enough, but I would decline walking upon them.” “Would your faith enable you to climb up the church-steeple and stand on the weather-cock, and turn round upon it, as a foolish fellow did the other day?”