morning, an hour before noon
Never a notion had he that , from Rome to Land 's End , all his holy brethren were holding up their hands over his case . He sat in his cottage above the sands at Perranzabuloe and dozed to the hum of the breakers , in charity with all his parishioners , to whom his money was large as the salt wind ; for his sleeping partnership in the tin-streaming business brought him a tidy income . And the folk knew that if ever they wanted religion , they had only to knock and ask for it . But one fine morning , an hour before noon , the whole parish sprang to its feet at the sound of a horn . The blast was twice repeated , and came from the little cottage across the sands . '' 'T is the blessed saint 's cow-horn ! '' they told each other .