"Come, Dick," he said genially, "cheer up, my lad; this haul will put the folk in a good temper, and they will forget their grudge against you."
"I hope they will, sir," replied Dick, "but there's one man who'll try to keep them in mind of it."
"You mean your cousin?"
"Yes."
"But surely he'll not be such a cur. He's a scoundrel—there now, what am I saying? I'll tackle him, my boy. Why, bless my soul, he was in church on Sunday, and my text was 'Love your neighbour as yourself.' I'll ride there now, and get him to give me some breakfast—though I detest the fellow," he added in one of his unconscious asides.
"He is away from home, I believe," said Dick.
"Well, then, I'll put it off till another day, but tackle him I will. I've a bit of news, Dick. The carrier brought me some books last night; that's not the news, though. No. You have heard, maybe, of a Frenchman named Delarousse?"
He looked slyly at Dick; everyone in Polkerran knew the name of the Frenchman with whom the smugglers had such close dealings.
"As a natural enemy of our country I don't pity him," pursued the parson, "but as a—h'm—an honest free-trader I own I feel for him. His privateer was badly knocked about in the Channel by a revenue cruiser a week or two ago, and while she was being repaired, it appears that he tried to run a cargo at Polperro. As ill-luck would have it—dear me! I wonder if I ought to have said that," he added under his breath—"he ran into the arms of the revenue people; they seized his lugger and carried him to Plymouth, where he'll cool his heels for a time until they put him among the other French prisoners on Dartmoor."
"Do they know it in the village yet, sir?"