This local preacher was coming over the moor one fine summer night when
the moon shone so as to make the sands and the trees round the village
look splendid. The peacefulness of the night seemed to have impressed
him, and he was occupied with his own grave thoughts.

As he passed the tavern the front door opened, and a waft of rank
tobacco came out. Then came a little mob of fishermen, many of whom were
cursing and swearing. Two of them began to fight, and the local preacher
heard the thud of heavy blows. He stepped in amongst the crowd and tried
to separate the fighters, but he only got jeered at for his pains. He
was usually very civilly treated, but the men were in drink and could
not discriminate.

The next day was Sunday, and as the evening dropped down there was a
stir in the village, and a score or two of the villagers came out on the
green. Three or four men took to playing pitch and toss, and the women
got up little quarrels on their own account. A few big fellows walked
towards the shore, and got ready the boats to go out fishing, for there
was no respect shown to the Sabbath.

At seven o'clock the local preacher took his stand in the middle of the
green, and remained there bare-headed until he had attracted attention.
He began to pray aloud, and the villagers stood grinning round him until
he had finished. He then asked the people to join him in a hymn, but
this proposal was too comic, and the men and women laughed loudly.

The preacher, however, was not a man to be stopped by a little laughter.
He actually did sing a hymn in a beautiful tenor, and, before he had
finished, some of the men seemed rather ashamed of having laughed at