“Well, but don’t you see,” said Amos, in an expounding tone of voice, “these here are all offerings for the harvest; and turnips and carrots may be as precious as offerings as your fine fruits, and grapes, and flowers.”
“Well said, lad,” exclaimed one of the fishermen; “and, like ’tatoes, a deal more useful.”
“Didn’t Cain an’ Abel bring their offerings to the altar?” said Amos, who gathered strength at these words of encouragement.
“Yes,” cried Tom Jennen, grinning, “and Cain’s ’tatoes, and turnips, and things weren’t much thought on, and all sorts o’ gashly trouble come out of it. Garden stuff ain’t the right thing for offerings. Tell ’ee what, lads, here’s our boat with the finest haul o’ mack’ral we’ve had this year, and Curnow’s boat half full o’ big hake. We arn’t got no lambs, but what d’yer say, Amos Pengelly, to our taking parson up a couple o’ pad o’ the finest mack’ral, and half a score o’ big hake?”
Tom Jennen winked at his companions as he said this, and his looks seemed to say,—“There’s a poser for him.”
Amos Pengelly rubbed one ear, and then he rubbed the other, as he stood there, apparently searching for precedent for such an act. He wanted to work in something from the New Testament about the Apostles and their fishing, and the miraculous draught, but poor Amos did not feel inspired just then, and at last, unable to find an appropriate quotation, he said,—
“I think it would be quite right, lads. It would be an offering from the harvest of the sea. Parson said he wanted all to give according to their means, and you, lads, have had a fine haul. Take up some of your best.”
“What, up to church?” cried Tom Jennen. “It’ll make a reg’lar gashly old smell.”
“Nay,” said Amos, “they’d be fresh enough to-morrow.”
“You daren’t take ’em up to parson, Tom Jennen,” said one of the men, grinning.