away."

"She do have a long walk, John dear. St. Penfer isn't at the
door-step, I'm sure."

"You see, Joan, it is like this: Denas she be what she is, thank God!
but Roland Tresham, he be near to the quality, and they do say a great
scholar, and can speak langwidges; and aw, my dear, if rich and poor
do ride together the poor must ride behind, and a wayless way they
take through and over. I have seen that often and often."

"We mustn't be quick to think evil, John, must we? I'm sure Denas do
know her place and her right, and she isn't one to be put down below
it. You do take a sight of trouble you aren't asked to take, father."

"Do I, my dear?"

"To be sure you do. And they that go seeking trouble are very like to
find it. Is Roland Tresham home again?"

"Not as I know by certain. I haven't heard tell so."

"There, now! How people do go thinking wrong of others instead of
themselves! That isn't the Bible way, is it, father?"

"To be sure it isn't, Joan. But we aren't living among Bible people,
my dear, are we now?"

"Well, I don't know that, father. Fisher-folk feature one another all
the world over as much as their lines and boats do. I think we could
find all those Galilean fishers among the fishers of Penfer. I do,
really--plenty of Peters and sons of Zebedee, I'll warrant. Are not
John and Jacob Tenager always looking to be high up in the chapel? And
poor Cruffs and Kestal, how they do deny all the week through what
they say on Sunday! And I know one quiet, modest Andrew who never
grumbles, but is alway content and happy when his brothers are
favoured above him." And she looked and smiled at her husband with
such loving admiration that the big fisherman felt the glow of the
look and smile warm his heart and flush his cheeks, and he hastened to
the tea-table, and was glad to be silent and enjoy the compliment his
dear Joan had given him.

For Joan Penelles was not only a good wife, she was a pious, truthful,
sensible, patient woman. The days of her youthful beauty were over,
but her fine face left the heart satisfied with her. There was room in
her eyes, light upon her face, strength and mature grace in her tall
figure--the grace of a woman who has grown up like a forest tree in
fresh air and winds and liberty--the physical grace that never comes
by the dancing-master. And her print dress and white kerchief and
neatly braided hair seemed as much a part of her charm as the thatched
roof, the yellow stone