les. The stable yard was
empty but for the Gordon setter dozing by the pump-trough.
Across from the kitchens came the sound of the servants' voices
chattering. Honoria had never made friends with the servants.

She tilted her straw hat further over her eyes, and sauntered up the
drive with her hands behind her; through the great gates and out upon
the towans. She had started with no particular purpose, and had none
in her mind when she came in sight of the Parsonage, and of Humility
seated in the doorway with her lace pillow across her knees.

It had been the custom among the women of Beer Village to work in
their doorways on sunny afternoons, and Humility followed it.

She looked up smiling. "Taffy is down by the shore, I think."

"I didn't come to look for him. What beautiful work!"

"It comes in handy. Won't you step inside and let me make you a cup
of tea?"

"No, I'll sit here and watch you." Humility pulled in her skirts, and
Honoria found room on the doorstep beside her. "Please don't stop.
It's wonderful. Now I know where Taffy gets his cleverness."

"You are quite wrong. This is only a knack. All his cleverness
comes from his father."

"Oh, books! Of course, Mr. Raymond knows all about books.
He's writing one, isn't he?"

Mrs. Raymond nodded.

"What about?"

"It's about St. Paul's Epistle to the Hebrews; in Greek, you know.
He has been working at it for years."

"And he's indoors working at it now? What funny things men do!"
She was silent for a while, watching Humility's bobbins. "But I
suppose it doesn't matter just _what_ they do. The great thing is to
do it better than anyone else. Does Mr. Raymond think Taffy clever?"

"He never talks about it."

"But he _thinks_ so. I know; because at lessons when he says
anything to Taffy it's quite different from the way he talks to
George and me. He doesn't favour him, of course; he's much too fair.
But there's a difference. It's as if he _expected_ Taffy to
understand. Did Mr. Raymond teach him all those stories he knows?"

"What stories?"

"Fairy tales, and that sort of thing."

"Good gracious me, no!"

"Then _you_ must have. And you _are_ clever, after all. Asking me
to believe you're not, and making that beautiful lace all the while,
under my very eyes!"

"I'm not a bit clever. Here's the pattern, you see, and there's the
thread, and the rest is only practice. I couldn't make the pattern
out of my head. Besides, I do