And all this while the faces he passed on the road, though
shy, were kindlier than they had been in the days before his
self-confidence left him--it seemed not so long ago.
On a Saturday night early in May, the footsteps were heard again, and
this time in the porch itself. While Mr. Raymond and Taffy listened
the big latch went up with a creak, and a dark figure slipped into
the church.
"Who is there?" challenged Mr. Raymond from the chancel where he
stood peering out of the small circle of light.
"A friend. Pass, friend, and all's well!" answered a squeaky voice.
"Bless you, I've sarved in the militia before now."
It was Jacky Pascoe, with his coat-collar turned up high about his
ears.
"What do you want?" Mr. Raymond demanded sharply.
"A job."
"We can pay for no work here."
"Wait till thee'rt asked, Parson, dear. I've been spying in upon 'ee
these nights past. Pretty carpenters you be! T'other night, as I
was a-peeping, the Lord said to me, 'Arise, go, and for goodness'
sake show them chaps how to do it fitty.' 'Dear Lord,' I said,
'Thou knowest I be a Bryanite.' The Lord said to me, 'None of your
back answers! Go and do as I tell 'ee.' So here I be."
Mr. Raymond hesitated. "Squire Moyle is your friend, I hear, and the
friend of your chapel. What will he say if he discovers that you are
helping us?"
Jacky scratched his head.
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