ther time, perhaps," he heard his father say. Honoria rose
almost at once, and would not stay to drink tea, though Humility
pressed her.

"I suppose," said Taffy next day, looking up from his Virgil,
"I suppose Miss Honoria wants to make friends now and help on the
restoration?"

Mr. Raymond, who was on his knees fastening a loose hinge in a
pew-door, took a screw from between his lips.

"Yes, she proposed that."

"It must be splendid for you, dad!"

"I don't quite see," answered Mr. Raymond, with his head well inside
the pew.

Taffy stood up, put his hands in his pockets, and took a turn up and
down the aisle.

"Why," said he, coming to a halt, "it means that you have won.
It's victory, dad, and _I_ call it glorious!" His lip trembled.
He wanted to put a hand on his father's shoulder; but his abominable
shyness stood between.

"We won long ago, my boy." And Mr. Raymond wheeled round on his
knees, pushed up his spectacles, and quoted the famous lines, very
solemnly and slowly:

"'And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
But westward, look, the land is bright!'"

"I see," Taffy nodded. "And--I say, that's jolly. Who wrote it?"

"A man I used to see in the streets of Oxford and always turned to
stare after: a man with big ugly shaped feet and the face of a god--a
young tormented god. Those were days when young men's thoughts
tormented them. Taffy," he asked abruptly, "should you like to go to
Oxford?"

"Don't, father!" The boy bit his lip to keep back the tears.
"Talk of something else--something cheerful. It has been a splendid
fight, just splendid! And now it's over I'm almost sorry."

"What is over?"

"Well, I suppose--now that Honoria wants to help--we can hire workmen
and have the whole job finished in a month, or two at farthest: and
you--"

Mr. Raymond stood up, and leaning against a bench-end, examined the
thread of the screw between his fingers.

"That is one way of looking at it, no doubt," he said slowly; "and I
hope God will forgive me if I have put my own pride before His
service. But a man desires to leave some completed work behind him--
something to which people may point and say, '_he_ did it.'
There was my book, now: for years I thought that was to be my work.
But God thought otherwise and (to correct my pride, perhaps) chose
this task instead. To set a small forsaken