I wish you'd pray for me. I've heerd that a
child'll do good sometimes when grown folk can't. I doubt your
father isn't goin' to do the good I looked for from en. He don't
believe in sudden conversion. Here, Bill, take the mare and lead her
home."

He dismounted, and seated himself with a groan on the edge of the
sand-pit.

"Look here; I've got convictions of sin, but I can't get no forrader.
What's to be done?"

"I don't know, sir," Taffy stammered, with his eyes on the Squire's
spurs.

"You can pray for me, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, do it. Do it to-night. I've got convictions, boy; but my
heart's like a stone. I've had a wisht day of it. If the weather
holds back, we'll kill a May fox this year. But where's the comfort?
All the time to-day 'twas '_Lippety-lop, no peace for the wicked!
Lippety-lop, no peace for the wicked!_' I couldn't stand it; I came
away. You'll do it, won't 'ee?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is your father at home? I'll call an' speak to en. He does me
good; but he can't melt what I carry here."

He tapped his breast and rising without another word strode off
across the sand-hills with his head down and his hands clasped
beneath his coat-tails, which flapped in the wind as he went.

Taffy ran and overtook Bill Udy and the mare.

"He's in a wisht poor state, id'n a'?" said Bill Udy, who was parish
clerk. "Bless 'ee, tidn' no manner of use. His father before en was
took in just the same way. Turned religious late in life. What
d'ee think he did? Got his men together one Sunday mornin', marched
them up to Meetin' house, up to Four Turnin's; slipped his ridin'
crop through the haps o' the door, an' 'Now my Billies,' says he,
through the key-hole, 'not a man or woman of 'ee leaves the place
till you've said that Amazin' Creed. Come along,' he says,
'_Whosoever will be saved_ an' the sooner 'tis over, the sooner
you gets home to dinner.' A fine talk there was! Squire, he's just
such another. Funny things he've a-done. Married a poor soul from
Roseland way--a Miss Trevanion--quite a bettermost lady. When Miss
Susannah was born--that's Miss Honoria's mother--she went to be
churched. What must he do, to show his annoyance that 'twasn't a
boy, but drive a she-ass into church? Very stiff behaviour.
He drove the beast right fore an' into the big pew. The Moyles, you
see, 've got a mule for their shield of arms. He've had his own way
too much; that's of it.

"One day he