"Oh, no; half a dozen young fellows came out at the close of your appeal. I do not think it was because of what you said so much, but the fact that you were ill, and risked your life in trying to arouse them, which made them feel ashamed. Are you sure you are better?"
"I am quite all right," I repeated. "I cannot understand how I came to lose consciousness."
"I am going to run you up in my carriage," said the Squire; "I cannot think of allowing you to walk."
"There is not the slightest need for that," I replied; and as if to prove my words I walked across the room.
"Still, I am going to drive you home," said the Squire. "I am afraid I ought not to have let you speak, even although you have done what we all failed to do."
As I walked into the schoolroom, a group of people waited, evidently anxious to hear about me, and an old man came up and gripped me by the hand.
"I be glad you be better, maaster," he said. "'Twas good to 'ear ee for sure; you made me think of John Guttridge, when he used to come down 'ere preachin'. Yes, maaster, you made some of them feel what cowards they was; but we Cornish be curious people. Besides, maaster, we be'ant used to this sort of thing, and spite of all you say, we ca'ant grip it like."
"How is that?" I asked.
"For forty year we've bin tould the other thing, maaster. Tha's how it is. For forty year we've bin tould that war was wrong; and now to be tould it be our duty—well, you see, we ca'ant clunk it. It do'ant seem right. It'll take a lot to git the thought fixed in our minds that the Lord would have us do this. When you can do that, maaster, there won't be no need for meetin's; the difficulty then will be to keep the boys back."
Although I did not reply, I felt that the old man had got to the heart of the thing. One could not eradicate the teachings of half a century in a day.