So from Sunday to Sunday Taffy, pulling at his rope in the belfry, counted the new-comers, and Humility talked about them on the way home and at dinner.

They were fisher folk for the most part; the men in blue guernseys and corduroy trousers, and some with curled black beards and rings in their ears; the women, in gayer colours than you see in an up-country church; a southern-seeming race, with southern-sounding names--Santo, Jose, Hugo, Bennet, Cara.

They belonged--so Mr.Raymond often told himself--to the class which Christ called His Apostles.

Sometimes, scanning an olive-coloured face, he would be minded of the Sea of Gennesareth; and, a minute later, the sight of the grey coast-line with its whirled spray would chill the fancy.
The congregation always lingered outside the porch after service; and then one would say to another: "Wall, there's more in the man than you'd think.

See you up to the meetin' this evenin' I s'pose?
So long!" But having come once, they came again.