gave them over to the ostler, and led us upstairs to a window which
overlooked the gathering.

The Market Strand at Falmouth is an open oblong space, not very wide,
leading off the main street to the water's edge, and terminating in
steps where as a rule the watermen wait to take off passengers to the
Packets. A lamp-post stands in the middle of it, and by the base of
this the preachers--a grey-headed man and two women in ugly bonnets--
were already assembled, with but a foot or two dividing them from the
crowd. Close behind the lamp-post stood a knot of men conversing
together one of whom stepped forward for a word with the grey-headed
preacher. He wore a rose in his hat, and at sight of him my heart
gave a wild incredulous leap. It was Nat Fiennes!

I pushed past my father and flung the open window still wider.
The grey-haired preacher had opened the Bible in his hand and was
climbing the stone base of the lamp-post when a handful of filth
struck the back of the book and bespattered his face. I saw Nat whip
out his sword and swing about angrily in the direction of the shot,
while the two women laid hands on either arm to check him; and at the
same moment my father spoke up sharply in my ear.

"Tumble out, lad," he commanded. "We are in bare time."

I vaulted over the window-ledge and dropped into the street; my
father after me, and Mr. Fett and Billy close behind. Indeed, that
first shot had but given the signal for a general engagement; and as
we picked ourselves up and thrust our way into the crowd, a whole
volley of filth bespattered the group of Methodists. In particular I
noted the man with whom Nat Fiennes, a minute since, had been
conversing--a little bald-headed fellow of about fifty-five or sixty,
in a suit of black which, even at thirty paces distant, showed rusty
in the sunshine. An egg had broken against his forehead, and the
yellow of it trickled down over his eyes; yet he stood, hat in hand,
neither yielding pace nor offering to resist. Nat, less patient, had
made a rush upon the crowd, which had closed around and swallowed him
from sight. By its violent swaying he was giving it something to
digest. One of the two women shrank terrified by the base of the
lamp-post. The other--a virago to look at, with eyes that glared
from under the pent of her black bonnet--had pulled the grey-headed
preacher down by his coat-tails, and, mounting in his room, clung
with an arm around the lamp-post and