an’ I don’t say you’d be wrong.  But jest you stop an’ ax hes motives, an’ you’ll find ‘taint religion.  Lor’ bless ’ee, sir, a bull’s got no more use for religion than a toad for side-pockets.  ’Tes obstinacy—­that’s what ’tes.  You tells me a jackass es obstinate.  Well, an’ that’s true in a way; and so’s a hog.  Ef you wants quiet contrariness, a jackass or a hog’ll both sit out a bull; an’ tho’ you may cuss the pair till you sweats like a fuz’-bush on a dewy mornin’, ‘tes like heavin’ bricks into a bott’mless pit.  But a bull ups an’ lets ’ee know; there aint no loiterin’ round an’ arrangin’ yer subjec’ under heads when he’s about.  You don’t get no pulpit; an’, what’s more, you don’t stop to touch your hat when you makes your congees.  ’Tes just pull hot-foot, and thank the Lord for hedges; ‘cos he’s so full o’ his own notions as a Temp’rance speaker, an’ bound to convence ’ee, ef he rams daylight in ‘ee to do et.  That’s a bull.  An’ here’s anuther p’int; he lays head to ground when hes beliefs be crossed, an’ you may so well whissle as try the power o’ the human eye—­talkin’ o’ which puts me i’ mind o’ some curious fac’s as happ’n’d up to Penhellick wan time, along o’ this same power o’ the human eye.  Maybe you’d like to hear the yarn.”

“Eh?” Mr. Fogo roused himself from his abstraction.  “Yes, certainly, I should like to hear it.”

Caleb knocked his pipe meditatively against the bars of the grate; filled it again and lit it; took an energetic pull or two, and then, after another hard look at his master across the clouds of smoke, began without more ado.

CHAPTER XI.

OF A WESLEYAN MINISTER THAT WOULD IMPROVE UPON NATURE, AND THEREBY TRAINED A ROOK TO GOOD PRINCIPLES.

“Well, sir, et all happen’d when I lived up to Penhellick, an’ worked long wi’ Varmer Mennear.  Ould Lawyer Mennear, as he was a-nicknamed—­a little cribbage-faced man, wi’ a dandy-go-russet wig, an’ on’y wan eye:  leastways, he hadn’ but wan fust along when I knowed ‘n.  That’s what the yarn’s about, tho’; so us’ll go slow, ef you plaise, an’ hush a bit, as Mary Beswetherick said to th’ ingine-driver.

“Now, Lawyer Mennear was a circuit-preacher, o’ the Wesleyan Methody persuash’n, tho’ he’d a-got to cross-pupposes wi’ the rest o’ the brethren an’ runned a sect all to hissel’, which he called th’ United Free Church o’ ’Rig’nal Seceders.  They was called ’Rig’nal Seceders for short, an’ th’ ould man had a toler’ble dacent followin’, bein’ a fust-class mover o’ souls an’ powerful hot agen th’ unregenrit, which didn’ prevent hes bein’ a miserable ould varmint, an’ so deep as Garrick in hes ord’nary dealin’s.  Aw, he was a reg’lar split-fig, an’ ‘ud go where the devil can’t, an’ that’s atween the oak an’ the rind.”

“I see,” said Mr. Fogo.