“There's a many o' us in these parts as strong as in other parts, that be ready and willing to take things as they come,” said he; “to take the parson's preaching as they take the doctor's pills.”
“Ay, wi' a wry face,” acquiesced the blacksmith with a readiness that one could see the carrier thought meant no good.
He leant across the table once more until his face was close to the smith's, and said:
“That's where you be wrong, Hal Holmes. You know as well as the most knowledgable——”
“Meaning yourself, Jake?” said the smith drily.
“You know well that though you may make a wry face when gulching down the doctor's pill, ye dursn't so much as show a wrinkle or a crinkle on your face when Parson Rodney is in his pulpit,” replied the carrier with emphasis.
“'Cause why?” said the miller. “I'll tell ye truly—'tis because the parson gives us no bitter pills, only——”
“That's what I've been leading up to,” cried the carrier triumphantly. “The parson, like thousands of the rest of his cloth throughout the length and breadth o' the land, is content to preach pleasant things only, even as the false prophets of Israel prophesied fair things.”
“And why shouldn't he be content to preach pleasant things, friend Jake, if so be that we be content to hear them? and for myself I would muchly listen to an hour of pleasant things—ay, rather than half an hour of unhappy ones.”
“Ah, miller, what would you say if the doctor, who, when he saw your body suffering from a canker, gave you a sugar-plum and withheld his knife from cutting out the plague spot because you were apt to be squeamish at the sight of bloodletting!”