peared
that he, too, needed time to look about him.

And so he loitered about Langona until the architect's plans were
received, discussed, approved, and submitted to tender. A Bristol
builder secured the contract.

The day after it was signed Parson Jack walked over to Carwithiel again,
and asked leave to speak with Mr. Vyell. He wore his old working suit.

"I have come to ask a favour, sir," said he, speaking humbly. "I hear
that the contract for the church has been given to Miles & Co., of
Bristol; and I would take it kindly if you recommended me to them as a
workman."

The new Vicar was taken by surprise, and showed it.

"I have picked up some knowledge of the work in these years," Parson
Jack explained timidly. "And I know the weak points in the old fabric
better than most men. As for steadiness," he wound up, "I only ask to
be given a trial. You must discharge me the first time I give cause of
complaint."

"What on earth could I say to the man?" Mr. Vyell demanded that evening,
when he discussed the application with his uncle.

"I hope you accepted?" said Sir Harry sharply.

"Ye-es, though I fear it was imprudent."

"Fiddlestick! Speak a word for him to Miles; he won't find a better
workman."

So Parson Jack stayed at Langona, and beheld his best dream take shape,
though not at his command, and yet in part by his fashioning. Nay, even
some measure of that personal pride for which he had once bargained was
restored to him during the second year, on the day when the contractor--
who shared the common knowledge of his past, but respected his
unequalled knowledge of the old fabric and its weakness, his gentle
ardour in learning, and his mild authority among the men--appointed him
clerk of the works. In those days Parson Jack needed no man's pity, for
all day long he redeemed a debt and wrought into substance an ambition
that yet grew purer--as few ambitions do--in taking substance. And with
it he wove another dream which, in the intervals of labour, would draw
him out of the churchyard and hold him at gaze there, with his eyes on
the wedge of blue sea beyond the coombe.

From the hour of his fall no strong drink passed his lips. His was an
almost desperate case, but he fought with two strong allies. It was as
though the old church, rallying under his eyes for a new lease of life,
put new blood into him, repaying his love. Also he had Dick's letters.

"Upon my word," said Sir Harry to his