see his light burning bravely. Mr. Tregenza thinks all men are mistaken but
the Luke Gospelers--so you told me. But if that is the case, what becomes
of all your good Cornish saints? They were not Luke Gospelers--at least I
don't think they were."

Joan frowned over this tremendous problem, then dismissed it for the
pleasanter and simpler theme John Barron's last remark suggested.

"Them saints was righteous men anyhow, an' they worked miracles tu, so it
ban't no gude sayin' they wasn't godly in their ways, the whole boilin' of
'em. Theer's St. Piran, St. Michael, St. Austell, St. Blazey, St. Buryan,
St. Ives, St. Sennen, St. Levan, an' a many more, I could call home if I
was to think. Did 'e ever hear tell 'bout St. Neot, Mister Jan?"

"'No, Joan; I'm afraid I don't know much about him."

"Not 'bout they feesh?"

"Tell me, while you rest a minute or two."

"'Tis a holy story, an' true as any Bible tale, I should guess. St. Neot
had a well, an' wan day he seed three feesh a swimmin' in it an' he was
'mazed to knaw how they comed theer. So a angel flew down an' tawld en
that they was put theer for his eatin', but he must never draw out more'n
wan at a time. Then he'd all us find three when he comed again. An' so he
did; but wance he failed sick an' his servant had to look arter his vittles
meantime. He was a man by the name of Barius, an' he judged as maybe a
change of eatin' might do the saint good. So he goes an' takes two o' them
feesh 'stead o' wan as the angel said. An' he b'iled wan feesh, an' fried
t'other, an' took 'em to St. Neot; an' when he seed what his man been