And now the Pantomime, Plymouth, everything, seemed to have slipped
away from him into a far past. Only his father and mother had drawn
nearer and become more real. He tried to tell himself one of the old
stories; but it fell into pieces like the fragments of coloured glass
he was handling, and presently he began to think of the glass in his
hands and let the story go.
"On Monday we'll set to work," said his father. "I dare say Joel"--
this was the carpenter down at Innis village--"will lend me a few
tools to start with. But the clearing up will take us all to-day."
They ate their dinner in the vestry. Taffy observed that his father
said: "_We_ will do this," or "_Our_ best plan will be so-and-so,"
and spoke to him as to a grown man. On the whole, though the dusk
found them still at work, this was a happy day.
"But aren't you going to lock the door?" he asked, as they were
leaving.
"No," said Mr. Raymond. "We shall win, sonny; but not in that way."
On the morrow Taffy rang the bell for service as usual. To his
astonishment Squire Moyle was among the first-comers. He led Honoria
by the hand, entered the Tredinnis pew and shut the door with a slam.
It was the only pew left unmutilated. The rest of the congregation--
and curiosity made it larger than usual--had to stand; but a wife of
one of the miners found a hassock and passed it to Humility, who
thanked her for it with brimming eyes.
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