'bout, he was flustered, I tell 'e. Then the saint up and done a marvelous
straange thing, for he flinged them feesh back in the well, just as they
was, and began praayin' to the Lard to forgive his man. An' the feesh
comed alive ag'in and swimmed around, though Barius had cleaned 'em, I
s'pose, an' took the guts out of 'em an' everything. Then the chap just
catched wan feesh proper, an' St. Neot ate en, an' grawed well by sundown.
So he was a saint anyways."

"You can't have a miracle without a saint, of course, Joan?"

"Or else the Lard. But I'll hold in mind what you sez 'bout Him bein' hid
in flowers an' birds an' sich like, 'cause that's a butivul thing to knaw."

"And in the stars and the sun and the moon, Joan; and in the winds and
clouds. See how I've got on to-day. I don't think I ever did so much work
in an hour before."

She looked and blushed to note her brown frock and shoes.

"You've done a deal more to them fuzzes than what you have to me,
seemin'ly," she said.

"That's because the gorse is always here and you are not. I work at the
gorse morning after morning, when the sun is up, until my fingers ache.
You'll see great changes in the picture of yourself soon though."

But she was not satisfied, of course misunderstanding the unfinished work.

"You mustn't say anything yet, you know, Joan," added the artist, seeing
her pouting lips.