the stone. Because
Martin had been right in his assertion concerning the gate-post,
Blanchard felt a hazy conviction that Blee's estimate of the stone's
virtue must also prove correct. He saw his wife at the window, and waved
to her, and cried aloud that the cross was uncovered.

"A poor thing in holy relics, sure 'nough," said Billy, wiping his
forehead.

"But a cross--a clear cross? Keep workin', Chown, will 'e? You still
think 'twill serve, doan't 'e, Blee?"

"No room for doubt, though woful out o' repair," answered Billy,
occupied with the ancient monument. "Just the stumps o' the arms left,
but more'n enough to swear by."

All laboured on; then the stone suddenly subsided and fell in such a
manner that with some sloping of one side of the excavated pit they were
able to drag it out.

"Something's talking to me as us have done the wan thing needful,"
murmured Will, in a subdued voice, but with more light than the sunset
on his face. "Something's hurting me bad that I said what I said in the
chamber, an' thought what I thought. God's nigher than us might think,
minding what small creatures we be. I hope He'll forgive them words."

"He's a peacock for eyes, as be well knawn," declared Mr. Blee. "An'
He've got His various manners an' customs o' handlin' the human race.
Some He softens wi' gude things an' gude fortune till they be bound to
turn to Him for sheer shame; others He breaks 'pon the rocks of His
wrath till they falls on their knees an' squeals for forgiveness. I've
seed it both ways scores o' times; an' if your little lad 's spared to
'e, you'll be brought to the Lard by a easier way than you deserve,
Blanchard."

"I knaw, I knaw, Mr. Blee. He 'm surely gwaine to let us keep li'l
Willy, an' win us to heaven for all time."

The cross now lay at their feet, and Billy was about to return to the
house and see how matters prospered, when Will bade him stay a little
longer.

"Not yet," he said.

"What more's to do?"

"I feel a kind o' message like to set it plumb-true under the sky. Us
caan't lift it, but if I pull a plank or two out o' the pig's house an'
put a harrow chain round 'em, we could get the cross on an' let a horse
pull un up theer to the hill, and set un up. Then us would have done all
man can."

He pointed to the bosom of the adjacent hill, now glowing in great
sunset light.

"Starve me! but you 'm wise. Us'll set the thing up under the A'mighty's
eye. 'Twill serve--mark my words. '