ven more of a
trust to me than any of you. He is a trust to you too--to me because I
am his guardian, pledged to see that he grows up into a man who will
make a good and just Squire to his tenants, to you because you are those
tenants. I think I can promise you that as your Squire grows up it will
mean better and better times for all of you, that things won't be so
hard. There was a time when the Squires of Cloom were noted for their
generosity and just dealing, when, so they say, every man on the estate
had his side of pork--ay, and half a sheep too--in his kitchen, and a
good coat to his back the year round, and wages to put in his stocking.
Those times will come again when the glories of Cloom are restored, when
it is once more a good gentleman's estate...."

The Parson had spoken quietly but very deliberately. He knew how public
feeling had sided with Annie and the dispossessed Archelaus. The people
had grown so used to associating on a familiar level with the powers at
the Manor that they had ceased to think of the advantages of a different
mode of intercourse. The idea that they would themselves benefit by the
restoration of Cloom and its owner to the old position of gentry had
never occurred to them. It was true that it would mean the elevation of
this intruding child, who was merely the son of their Annie, whom they
all knew, but at the same time it meant certain obligations towards
them. It meant more money, help in times of stress, security. That was
a thing worth considering. The old Squire had hoarded his income and let
his fortune swell; if the all-powerful Parson were going to bring this
child up in the way he suggested it meant that money would be spent, and
on them....

The Parson gave his idea time enough to arrive, though not long enough
to be turned over. He pushed Ishmael gently forward again.

"Say what I told you," he bade him, "and no more."

At that moment something came to Ishmael which had failed him in that
evening's ordeal--a poise, a confidence of touch which was his by
inheritance, though so long unsummoned. He straightened himself and
thrust his hands into the pockets of his little breeches.

"Thank you very much for having come to-night," he said, in a voice free
from any twang of dialect--the voice he fell into naturally after a day
alone with the Parson: "I'm very glad you could come. I hope I'll often
see you and that we'll all be very happy together...." He paused, could
think of