w A PARSON 233 



heVe a-heard his chil'ern more 'n once crying for 

 summut to eat when there wasn't nort in the house, 

 nor any chance o' getting ort unless you went over 

 to Broken Rocks at low tide an' picked some 

 mussels, an' borrowed a bit o' salt an' coal for to 

 cook 'em with. That's been done. He wasn't 

 never one o' they sort what talks about it outside 

 or whiddles around district visitors an' the likes o' 

 they, an' goes an' sings hymns for grocery tickets 

 like some o'em do. I mind a parson coming down 

 to beach one Sunday evening, an' started preaching 

 about going to sea of a Sunday. Ol' Bare-knees 

 up an' told 'en quick: "Look here, sir, you has 

 Sunday once a week, don' 'ee?" 



' "Yes, my man," said the parson like they do 

 talk, as if you didn't know nort about nothing. 

 "Certainly." 



' "Well, us have had Sunday every day for two 

 months this winter, while it's been too rough for to 

 go to sea or the fish wasn't there. They don't take 

 no heed o' Sunday. An' now they be there, if they 

 an't sheered off. If you, sir, '11 go to your church 

 an' pray for the fish an' us to hae Sunday once a 

 week, like you do, an' your prayer's answered, I 

 be damn'd if I won't keep Sunday your way — an' 

 wi'out your pay for the same." 



