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came Covington’s and Joey’s turns. The two outshone the rest in a reading of the Prodigal Son. It had a special meaning for Phipps, and they guessed he was estranged in the way of a prodigal himself. It was then everyone’s bedtime and they heaped up the hay. John Phipps would not let Covington stay, but sent him home in the moonlight with a promise that he would call upon his father in the morning at the slaughteryard, and parley about Covington joining his boys.

True to his word John Phipps came there, and put his case.
    â€˜If you mean my boy to be an evangelist, like yourself,’ boomed Covington’s Pa, rising to his full height wearing a leather apron, addressing Phipps and waving a willow-stick around (that he was using to beat horsehide, to loosen the hairs from it to make head-plasters), ‘then you have chosen the wrong boy. My Syms could no more persuade a sinner from off his path than that sparrow there,’ he pointed with his wand, shooing a scrawny bird a few hops away, where it splashed through a cesspool composed of blood, chaff and urine. ‘He would as soon dirty himself in sin as cleanse himself in the rivers of Babylon—’
    â€˜If you mean he doesn’t know what sin is—’
    â€˜Aye, I do mean that. He would willingly serve the devil for a pat on the head, and likewise raise Christ’s hem from the dirt, e’en if it skunned his knees to the bone.’
    â€˜I can see that in him,’ said John Phipps. ‘It is why I want him in our crew.’
    â€˜Yours is a daft ship, being on land without keel or rigging,’ observed old Covington, with a barb of suspicion in his voice. ‘Are ye supported by any missionary society?’
    â€˜Only what God provides.’
    â€˜And your nose, from the sharp look of you.’
    John Phipps smiled. ‘You shall have one less mouth to feed if he comes.’
    â€˜That has occurred to me,’ said the father drily, ‘since yesterday, when the Quentins lost their market in hides.’
    â€˜I want to go,’ said Covington.
    â€˜It is to my sad advantage to let you go,’ said Covington senior, ‘whether I like it or not.’ He grabbed Covington and pulled him to him. ‘God love you, lad, as I do, and you’ll meet no harm.’ Then Covington went to Mrs Hewtson, and she grabbed him to her too, and said the same kind things to him. ‘What shall we do without you? Who will bring us such cheer?’ Word meantime was sent to their preacher, the printer and bookbinder Mr Squiggley, to ask for information in the matter. He said that John Phipps was known thereabouts; he was a wanderer; he had formerly been a rogue; his father had disowned him; he had seen a better way; he was known for his eloquence with boys. So really there was not a bad word said about him except by those who feared his scorn. His temper was fierce, he was possessive when roused, and was the special hate of game-keepers, on whose land he trespassed in a lofty spirit of freedom. It was said that he set a pace with his fast legs like Alexander the Great in crossing England, and as a boy had sailed in the English fleet against Nick Frog, and so was branded young to the ways of the sea.
    Mrs Hewtson stuffed a canvas satchel with rice pudding, cold mutton, cheese and bread. She handed Covington a bottle of mulberry wine which he slipped in his pocket. There was no more room left in his satchel. It was heavy, almost unbalancing him as he slung it around his back.
    â€˜I am a packhorse,’ he said.
    â€˜You are a donkey,’ jibed Mrs Hewtson, tugging his ears, putting her arms around him close. ‘John Phipps’s donkey and he’s got you cheap, my darling heart.’ Covington gave her a hot, tearful kiss. She had been long enough in their house for Covington to have forgotten when she came. Allthe busy, cosy, forgiving and playful times of his life were spent within a whistle