his ignorance. He was Humility's child, born with the skill-of-hand
of generations of lace-workers. He did a dozen things wrongly, but
he neither fumbled, nor hammered his fingers, nor wounded them with
the chisel--which was Humility's husband's way.

At the end of four days of strenuous effort, they had their first pew
built. It was a recognisable pew, though it leaned to one side, and
the door (for it had a door) fell to with a bang if not cautiously
treated. The triumph was, the seat could be sat upon without risk.
Mr. Raymond and Taffy tested it with their combined weight on the
Saturday evening, and went home full of its praises.

"But look at your clothes," said Humility; and they looked.

"This is serious," said Mr. Raymond. "Dear, you must make us a
couple of working suits of corduroy or some such stuff: otherwise
this pew-making won't pay."

Humility stood out against this for a day or two. That _her_ husband
and child should go dressed like common workmen! But there was no
help for it, and on the Monday week Taffy went forth to work in
moleskin breeches, blue guernsey, and loose white smock. As for Mr.
Raymond, the only badge of his calling was his round clerical hat;
and as all the miners in the neighbourhood wore hats of the same soft
felt and only a trifle higher in the crown, this hardly amounted to a
distinction.

Humility's eyes were full of tears as she watched them from the door
that morning. But Taffy felt as proud as Punch. A little before
noon he carried out a board that required sawing, and rested it on a
flat tombstone where, with his knee upon it, he could get a good
purchase. He was sawing away when he heard a dog barking, and looked
up to see Honoria coming along the path with George's terrier
frisking at her heels.

She halted outside the lych-gate, and Taffy, vain of his new clothes,
drew himself up and nodded.

"Good-morning," said Honoria. "I'm not allowed to speak to you and
I'm not going to, after this." She swooped on the puppy and held
him. "See what George brought home from Plymouth for me. Isn't he
a beauty?"

Held so, by the scruff of his neck, he was not a beauty. Taffy had
it on the tip of his tongue to tell her about the collar. He wished
he had brought it.

"I wonder," she went on pensively, "your mother had the heart to
dress you out in that style. But I suppose now you'll be growing up
into quite a common boy."

Taffy decided to say nothing about