Bill Udy held a brazen ewer and
paten, and Jim a hammer; and Mr. Raymond had a hand on one shoulder
of each.
For a moment there was silence. As Taffy came running through the
lych-gate a man who had been sitting on a flat tombstone and
watching, stood up and touched his arm. It was Jacky Pascoe, the
Bryanite.
"Best go back," he said, "'tis a wisht poor job of it."
Taffy halted for a moment. The Squire's voice had risen to a sudden
scream--he sputtered as he pointed at Mr. Raymond.
"There he is, naybours! Get behind the varmint, somebody, and stop
his earth! Calls hisself a minister of God! Calls it _his_ church!"
Mr. Raymond took his hands off the men's shoulders, and walked
straight up to him. "Not _my_ church," he said, aloud and
distinctly. "God's church!"
He stretched out an arm. Taffy, running up, supposed it stretched
out to strike. "Father!"
But Mr. Raymond's palm was open as he lifted it over the Squire's
head. "God's church," he repeated. "In whose service, sir, I defy
you. Go! or if you will, and have the courage, come and stand while
I kneel amid the ruin you have done and pray God to judge between
us."
He paused, with his eyes on the Squire's.
"You dare not, I see. Go, poor coward, and plan what mischief you
will. Only now leave me in peace a little."
He took the boy's hand and they passed into the church together.
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