30, to the Moyles. Mr. Raymond's predecessor was
a kinsman of theirs by marriage, a pluralist, who lived and died at
the other end of the Duchy. He had sent curates from time to time;
the last of whom was dead, three years since, of solitude and drink.
But he never came himself, Squire Moyle having threatened to set the
dogs on him if ever he set foot in Nannizabuloe; for there had been
some dispute over a dowry. The result was that nobody went to
church, though a parson from the next parish held an occasional
service. The people were Wesleyan Methodists or Bryanites.
Each sect had its own chapel in the fishing village of Innis, on the
western side of the parish; and the Bryanites a second one, at the
cross-roads behind the downs, for the miners and warreners and
scattered farmfolk.

_Ding--ding--ding--ding--ding_.

It was Sunday morning, and Taffy was sounding the bell, by a thin
rope tied to its clapper. The heavy bell-rope would be ready next
week; but Humility must first contrive a woollen binding for it, to
prevent its chafing the ringer's hands.

Out on the towans the rabbits heard the sound, and ran scampering.
Others, farther away, paused in their feeding, and listened with
cocked ears.

_Ding--ding--ding_.

Mr. Raymond stood in the belfry at the boy's elbow. He wore his
surplice, and held his prayer-book, with a finger between the pages.
Glancing down toward the nave, he saw Humility sitting in the big
vicarage pew--no other soul in church.

He took the cord from Taffy, "Run to the door, and see if anyone is
coming."

Taffy ran, and after a minute came back.

"There's Squire Moyle coming along the path, and the little girl with
him, and some servants behind--five or six of them. Bill Udy's one."

"Nobody else?"

"I expect the people don't hear the bell," said Taffy. "They live
too far away."

"God hears. Yes, and God sees the lamp is lit."

"What lamp?" Taffy looked up at his father's face, wondering.

"All towers carry a lamp of some kind. For what else are they
built?"

It was exactly the tone in which he had spoken that afternoon at
Tewkesbury about men being like towers. Both these sentences puzzled
the boy; and yet Taffy never felt so near to understanding him as he
had then, and did again now. He was shy of his father. He did not
know that his father was just as shy of him. He began to ring with
all his soul--ding--ding-ding, ding-ding.

The old Squire entered the ch