country church in order
and make it worthy of His presence--that is not the mission I should
have chosen. But so be it: I have accepted it. Only, to let others
step in at the last and finish even this--I say He must forgive me,
but I cannot."

"Your book--you can go back to it and finish it."

"I have burnt it."

"Dad!"

"I burned it. I had to. It was a temptation to me, and until I
lifted it from the grate and the flakes crumbled in my hands the
surrender was not complete."

Taffy felt a sudden gush of pity. And as he pitied suddenly he
understood his father.

"It had to be complete?"

"Either the book or the surrender. My boy"--and in his voice there
echoed the aspiration and the despair of the true scholar, who abhors
imperfection and incompleteness in a world where nothing is either
perfect or complete; "it is different with you. I borrowed you, so
to say, for the time. Without you I must have failed; but this was
never your work. For myself, I have learnt my lessons; but, please
God, you shall be my Solomon and be granted a temple to build."

Taffy had lost his shyness now. He laid a hand on his father's
sleeve.

"We will go on then."

"Yes, we will go on."

"And Jacky? Where has he been? I haven't seen him since the Squire
died."

Mr. Raymond searched in his coat-pocket and handed over a crumpled
letter. It ran:--

"Dear friend,--this is to say that you will not see me no more.
The dear Lord tells me that I have made a cauch of it.
He don't say how, all He says is go and do better somewheres
else.

"Seems to me a terrable thing to think _Religion_ can be bad for
any man. It have done me such powars of good. The late Moyle
esq he was like a dirty pan all the milk turned sour no matter
what. Dear friend I pored Praise into him and it come out
Prayer and all for him self. But the dear Lord says I was to
blame as much as Moyle esq so must do better next time but feel
terrable timid.

"My respects to Masr Taffy. Dear friend I done my best I come
like _Nicodemus_ by night. Seeming to me when Christians fall
out tis over what they pray for. When they _praise God_ forget
diffnses and I cant think where the quaraling comes in and so
no more at present from

"Yours respffly

"J. Pascoe."

After supper that night, in the Parsonage kitchen Humility kept
rising from her chair,