By and by the Parson, that wanted a nap just
as badly, dozed off beside her: and in this fashion they were brought
back through Falmouth streets and into the yard of the "Crown and
Anchor," where Mrs. Polwhele woke up with a scream, crying out:
"Prisoners or no prisoners, those men were up to no good: and I'll
say it if I live to be a hundred!"
That same afternoon they transhipped the parcels into a cart, and
drove ahead themselves in a light gig, and so came down, a little
before sunset, to the "Passage Inn" yonder. There, of course, they
had to unload again and wait for the ferry to bring them across to
their own parish. It surprised the Parson a bit to find the
ferry-boat lying ready by the shore and my grandfather standing there
head to head with old Arch'laus Spry, that was constable of Mawnan
parish.
"Hallo, Calvin!" the Parson sings out. "This looks bad--Mawnan and
Manaccan putting their heads together. I hope there's nothing gone
wrong since I've been away?"
"Aw, Parson dear," says my grandfather, "I'm glad you've come--yea,
glad sure 'nuff. We've a-been enjoying a terrible time!"
"Then something _has_ gone wrong?" says the Parson.
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