An' there in the long hall sat all the saints together
at a big table covered with red baize and plotted against us. There
was St. Petroc in the chair, with St. Guron by his side, an' St. Neot,
St. Udy, St. Teath, St. Keverne, St. Wen, St. Probus, St. Enodar, St.
Just, St. Fimbarrus, St. Clether, St. Germoe, St. Veryan, St. Winnock,
St. Minver, St. Anthony, with the virgins Grace, and Sinara, and
Iva--the whole passel of 'em. An' they were agreein' there was no
holiness left in this parish of mine; an' speakin' shame of me, my
childer--of me, that have banked your consciences these fifty years,
and always been able to pay on demand: the more by token that I kept a
big reserve, an' you knew it. Answer me: when was there ever a panic
in Perranzabuloe? ''Twas all very well,' said St. Neot, when his turn
came to speak, 'but this state o' things ought to be exposed.' He's
as big as bull's beef, is St. Neot, ever since he worked that miracle
over the fishes, an' reckons he can disparage an old man who was
makin' millstones to float when he was suckin' a coral.
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