and her mates looked on week-a-days, and that's how they behaved: but
you must understand that, though rough, they were respectable; the
most of them Wesleyan Methodists; and on Sundays they'd put on bonnet
and sit in chapel, and drink their tea afterwards and pick their
neighbours to pieces just like ordinary Christians. Sal herself was
a converted woman, and greatly exercised for years about her
husband's condition, that kept a tailor's shop halfway down Fore
Street and scoffed at the word of Grace; though he attended public
worship, partly to please his customers and partly because his wife
wouldn't let him off.

The way the fun started was this. In June month of the year 'five
(that's the date my mother always gave) the Wesleyans up at the
London Foundry sent a man down to preach a revival through Cornwall,
starting with Saltash. He had never crossed the Tamar before, but
had lived the most of his life near Wolverhampton--a bustious little
man, with a round belly and a bald head and high sense of his own
importance. He arrived on a Saturday night, and attended service
next morning, but not to take part in it: he "wished to look round,"
he said. So the morning was spent in impressing everyone with his
shiny black suit of West-of-England broadcloth and his beautiful
neckcloth and bunch of seals. But in the evening he climbed the
pulpit; and there Old Nick himself, that lies in wait for preachers,
must have tempted the poor fellow to preach on Womanly Perfection,
taking his text from St. Paul.

He talked a brave bit about subjection, and how a woman ought to
submit herself to her husband, and keep her head covered in places of
public worship. And from that he passed on to say that 'twas to this
beautiful submissiveness women owed their amazing power for good, and
he, for his part, was going through Cornwall to tackle the womenfolk
and teach 'em this beautiful lesson, and he'd warrant he'd leave the
whole county a sight nearer righteousness than he found it. With
that he broke out into extempory prayer for our dear sisters, as he
called them, dusted his knees, and gave out the hymn, all as pleased
as Punch.

Sal walked home from service alongside of her husband, very
thoughtful. Deep down in the bottom of his heart he was afraid of
her, and she knew it, though she made it a rule to treat him kindly.
But knowing him for a monkey-spirited little man, and spiteful as
well as funny, you could never be sure wh