Banyard had been sent here to convert the heathens in the village to Christianity. He’d been told the villagers were primitive and superstitious; he hadn’t been told they were Catholics. He’d brought all his best arguments for Progress and Christ around the Cape Of Good Hope, ‘round all of Africa, and nobody told him ‘til he put his feet back on the dock that he had to argue against Papism, too. He’d left those notes at home in Sleaford.

The boy jumped up and down and pulled harder. Banyard swore he’d strike the child if he jerked his fingers like that again, caught himself. Charity, he reminded himself, and the lad was an ignorant savage.