, when Mrs. Joll and Lizzie tubbed the children there, and then
he would carry his books off to the best parlour or stroll around the
farm with Mr. Joll and discuss the stock. There were no loose rails
in Mr. Joll's gates, no farm implements lying out in the weather to
rust. Mr. Joll worked early and late, and his shoulders had a
tell-tale stoop--for he was a man in the prime of life, perhaps some
five years older than his wife.

One Saturday evening he unburdened his heart to Taffy. It happened
at the end of the hay-harvest, and the two were leaning over a gate
discussing the yet unthatched rick.

"What I say is," declared the farmer quite in-consequently, "a man
must be able to lay his troubles 'pon the Lord. I don't mean his
work, but his troubles; and go home and shut the door and be happy
with his wife and children. Now, I tell you that for months--iss,
years--after Bob was born I kept plaguing myself in the fields,
thinking that some harm might have happened to the child. Why, I
used to make an excuse and creep home, and then if I see'd a blind
pulled down you wouldn't think how my heart'd go thump; and I'd stand
wi' my head on the door-hapse an' say, 'If so be the Lord have
took'n, I must go and comfort Susan--not my will, but Thine, Lord--
but, Lord, don't 'ee be cruel this time!' And then find the cheeld
right as ninepence and the blind only pulled down to keep the sun off
the carpet. After a while my wife guessed what was wrong--I used to
make up such poor twiddling pretences. She said, 'Look here, the
Lord and me'll see after Bob; and if you can't keep to your own work
without poking your nose into ours, then I married for worse and not
for better.' Then it came upon me that by leaving the Lord to look
after my job I'd been treating Him like a farm labourer. It's the
things you can't help he looks after--not the work."

A few evenings later there came a knock at the door, and Lizzie, who
went to open it, returned with the Bryanite skipping behind her.

"Blessings be upon this here house!" he cried, cutting a sort of
double shuffle on the threshold. He shook hands with the farmer and
his wife, and nodded toward Taffy. "So you've got Parson Raymond's
boy here!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Joll; and turned to Taffy. "He've come to pray a
bit: perhaps you would rather be in the parlour?"

Taffy asked to be allowed to stay; and presently Mr. Pascoe had them
all down on their knees. He began by invoking