They handled him as gentle as they could, for he
fought with fists, legs, and teeth, and his language was awful: but
my grandfather in his foresight had brought along a couple of
wainropes, and within ten minutes they had my gentleman trussed,
heaved him into the boat, covered him over, and were rowing him off
and down the creek to land him at Helford Quay.
By this 'twas past noon; and at one o'clock, or a little before,
Parson Polwhele come striding along home from Little Dinnis. He had
tied a handkerchief about his head to keep off the sun; his hands and
knees were coated with earth; and he sweated like a furze-bush in a
mist, for the footpath led through cornfields and the heat was
something terrible. Moreover, he had just called the funeral to
mind; and this and the damage he'd left at Little Dinnis fairly
hurried him into a fever.
But worse was in store. As he drew near the Parsonage, he spied a
man running towards him: and behind the man the most dreadful noises
were sounding from the house. The Parson came to a halt and swayed
where he stood.
"Oh, Calvin! Calvin!" he cried--for the man running was my
grandfather--"don't try to break it gently, but let me know the
worst!"
"Oh, blessed day! Oh, fearful and yet blessed day!" cries my
grandfather, almost catching him in both arms.
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