" "By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. In short, more preparations were made than if a state criminal was about to be executed.
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