iP'i 
 
 cS- 
 
 ! Cs»'<?T
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS
 
 NOVELS, STORIES, SKETCHES AND 
 ESSAYS 
 
 [ARTHUR T. QUILLER-COUCH] 
 
 The Ship of Stars . 
 
 
 
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 TJ?e melody always became a story.
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 BY 
 
 A. T. QUILLER-COUCH 
 
 (Q) 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 NEW YORK 1899
 
 Copyright, 1899, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 TROW DIRECTORY 
 
 PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 K « 
 
 4 t t 
 • • •
 
 1^4 
 
 THE RIGHT HON. 
 LEONARD HENRY COURTNEY, M.P. 
 
 My Dear Mr. CouETisrEY, 
 
 It is with a peculiar pleasure and, I dare to 
 hope, with some appropriateness that I dedicate 
 to you this story of the West Country which 
 claims you with pride. To be sure, the places 
 here written of will be found in no map of your 
 own or any neighboring constituency. A visitor 
 may discover Nannizabuloe, but only to wonder 
 what has become of the lighthouse, or seek 
 along the sand-hills without hitting on Tredin- 
 nis. Yet much of the tale is true in a fashion, 
 even to fact. One or two things which happen 
 to Sir Harry Vyell did actually happen to a bet- 
 ter man, who lived and hunted foxes not a hun- 
 dred miles from the " model borough " of Lis- 
 keard, and are told of him in my friend Mr. W. 
 
 iii
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 F. Collier's memoir of Harry Terrell, a bygone 
 Dartmoor hero — a history on which I have levied 
 perhaps too boldly: and a true account of what 
 followed the wreck of the Samaritan will be 
 found in a chapter of Remembrances by that 
 true poet and large Christian, Robert Stephen 
 Hawkes. 
 
 But a novel ought to be true to more than fact : 
 and if this one come near its aim, no one will 
 need to be told why I dedicate it to you. If it 
 do not (and I wish the chance could be de- 
 spised!), its author will yet hold that among the 
 names of living Englishmen, he could have chos- 
 en none fitter to be inscribed above a story which 
 in the writing has insensibly come to rest upon 
 two texts, "Lord, make men as towers! " and 
 " All towers carry a light." Although for you 
 Heaven has seen fit to darken the light, believe 
 me it shines outwards over the waters and is a 
 help to men: a leading light tended by brave 
 hands. We pray, sir — we who sail in little boats 
 — for long life to the tower and the unfaltering 
 lamp. 
 
 A. T. Q. C. 
 
 St. John's Eve, 1899. 
 
 IV
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. 
 
 The Box in the Gate-house . . . . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 Music in the Town Square . 
 
 9 
 
 III. 
 
 Passengers by Jobt's Van . 
 
 . 22 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Running Sands 
 
 36 
 
 V. 
 
 Taffy Rings the Church-bell . . 
 
 45 
 
 VI. 
 
 A Cock-fight ....... 
 
 54 
 
 VII. 
 
 George 
 
 . 65 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Squire's Soul 
 
 75 
 
 IX. 
 
 Enter the King's Postman . 
 
 84 
 
 X. 
 
 A Happy Day 
 
 92 
 
 XI. 
 
 Lizzie Redeems her Doll and Honorij 
 Throws a Stone 
 
 111 
 
 XII. 
 
 Taffy's Childhood Comes to an End . 
 
 . 125 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Builders ...... 
 
 142 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Voices from the Sea .... 
 
 . 156 
 
 XV. 
 
 Taffy's Apprenticeship .... 
 
 170 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Lizzie and Honoria .... 
 
 . 183
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PA6B 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The Squire's Weird . 
 
 . 193 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The Barriers Fall . 
 
 . 209 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Oxford 
 
 . 220 
 
 XX. 
 
 Taffy Gives a Promise . 
 
 . 233 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Honoria's Letters . 
 
 . 241 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Men as Towers 
 
 . 259 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The Service of the Lamp 
 
 . 275 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Face to Face .... 
 
 . 288 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The Wreck op the Samaritan 
 
 . 298 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Salvage ... . . 
 
 . 309 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 HONORIA 
 
 . 327 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 A Odtrance .... 
 
 . 340 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Ship of Stars . . 
 
 . 351 
 
 VI
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 THE BOY IN THE GATE-HOUSE 
 
 Until his ninth year the boy about whom this 
 story is written lived in a house which looked 
 upon the square of a county town. The house had 
 once formed part of a large religious building, 
 and the boy's bedroom had a high groined roof, 
 and on the capstone an angel carved, with out- 
 spread wings. Every night the boy wound up 
 his prayers with this verse which his grand- 
 mother had taught him : 
 
 Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, 
 Bless the bed that I lie on. 
 Four corners to my bed. 
 Four angels round my head ; 
 One to watch and one to pray, 
 Two to bear my soul away. 
 
 Then he would look up to the angel and say: 
 
 " Only Luke is with me." His head was full of 
 
 1
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 queer texts and beliefs. He supposed the tkree 
 other angels to be always waiting in the next 
 room, ready to bear away the soul of his grand- 
 mother (who was bedridden), and that he had 
 Luke for an angel because he was called The- 
 ophilus, after the friend for whom St. Luke 
 had written his Gospel and the Acts of the 
 Holy Apostles. His name in full was The- 
 ophilus John Raymond, but people called him 
 Taffy. 
 
 Of his parents' circumstances he knew very lit- 
 tle, except that they were poor, and that his father 
 was a clergyman attached to the parish church. 
 As a matter of fact, the Eeverend Samuel Ray- 
 mond was senior curate there, with a stipend of 
 ninety-five pounds a year. Born at Tewkesbury, 
 the son of a miller, he had won his way to a servi- 
 torship at Christ Church, Oxford ; and somehow, 
 in the course of one Long Vacation, had found 
 money for travelling expenses to join a reading 
 party under the Junior Censor. The party spent 
 six summer weeks at a farm-house near Honiton, 
 in Devon. The farm belonged to an invalid 
 widow named Venning, who let it be managed by 
 her daughter Humility and two paid laborers, 
 
 while she herself sat by the window in her kitchen 
 
 2
 
 THE BOY m THE GATE-HOUSE 
 
 parlor, busied incessantly with lace-work, of that 
 beautiful kind for which Honiton is famous. 
 
 He was an unassuming youth ; and, although in 
 those days servitors were no longer called upon to 
 black the boots of richer undergraduates, the 
 widow and her daughter soon divined that he was 
 lowlier than the others, and his position an awk- 
 ward one, and were kind to him in small ways, 
 and grew to like him. l^ext year, at their invita- 
 tion, he travelled down to Honiton alone, with 
 a box of books; and, at twenty-two, having 
 taken his degree, he paid them a third visit, and 
 asked Humility to be his wife. At twenty-four, 
 soon after his admission to deacon's orders, they 
 were married. The widow sold the small farm, 
 with its stock, and followed, to live with them in 
 the friary gate-house; this having been part of 
 Humility's bargain with her lover, if the word 
 can be used of a pact between two hearts so 
 fond. 
 
 About ten years had gone since these things 
 happened, and their child Taffy was now past his 
 eighth birthday. 
 
 It seemed to him that, so far back as he could 
 remember, his mother and grandmother had been 
 making lace continually. At night, when his 
 
 3
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 mother took the candle away with her and left 
 him alone in the dark, he was not afraid; for, by 
 closing his eyes, he could always see the two 
 women quite plainly; and always he saw them at 
 work, each with a pillow on her lap, and the lace 
 upon it growing, growing, until the pins and bob- 
 bins wove a pattern that was a dream, and he 
 slept. He could not tell what became of all the 
 lace, though he had a collar of it, which he wore 
 to church on Sundays, and his mother had once 
 shown him a parcel of it, wrapped in tissue-paper, 
 and told him it was his christening robe. 
 
 His father was always reading, except on 
 Sundays, when he preached sermons. In his 
 thoughts, nine times out of ten, Taffy associated 
 his father with a great j^ile of books; but the 
 tenth time with something totally different. One 
 summer — it was in his sixth year — they had all 
 gone on a holiday to Tewkesbury, his father's old 
 home ; and he recalled quite clearly the close of a 
 warm afternoon which he and his mother had 
 spent there in a green meadow beyond the abbey 
 church. She had brought out a basket and cush- 
 ion, and sat sewing, while Taffy played about and 
 watched the haymakers at their work. Behind 
 them, within the great church, the organ was 
 
 4
 
 THE BOY IN" THE GATE-HOUSE 
 
 sounding; but by and by it stopped, and a door 
 opened in the abbey wall, and his father came 
 across the meadow toward them, with his surplice 
 on his arm. And then Humility unpacked the 
 basket and produced a kettle, a spirit-lamp, and a 
 host of things good to eat. The boy thought the 
 whole adventure splendid. When tea was done, 
 he sprang up with one of those absurd notions 
 which come into children's heads : 
 
 " ISTow let's feed the poultry," he cried, and 
 flung his last scrap of bun three feet in air toward 
 the gilt weather-cock on the abbey tower. While 
 they laughed, " Father, how tall is the tower?" 
 he demanded. 
 
 " A hundred and thirty-two feet, my boy, 
 from ground to battlements." 
 
 " What are battlements?" 
 
 He was told. 
 
 " But people don't fight here," he objected. 
 
 Then his father told of a battle fought in the 
 very meadow in which they were sitting; of 
 soldiers at bay with their backs to the abbey wall ; 
 of crowds that ran screaming into the church ; of 
 others chased down Mill Street and drowned; of 
 others killed by the Town Cross ; and how — peo- 
 ple said in the upper room of a house still stand- 
 
 5
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 ing in the High Street — a boy prince had been 
 stabbed. 
 
 Humility laid a hand on his arm. 
 
 " He'll be dreaming of all this. Tell him it 
 was a long time ago, and that these things don't 
 happen now." 
 
 But her husband was looking up at the tower. 
 
 " See it now with the light upon it! " he went 
 on. " And it has seen it all. Eight hundred 
 years of heaven's storms and man's madness, and 
 still foursquare and as beautiful now as when the 
 old masons took down their scaffolding. When 
 I was a boy " 
 
 He broke off suddenly. " Lord, make men as 
 towers," he added, quietly, after awhile, and no- 
 body spoke for many minutes. 
 
 To Taffy this had seemed a very queer saying; 
 
 about as queer as that other one about " men as 
 
 trees walking." Somehow — he could not say 
 
 why — he had never asked any questions about it. 
 
 But many times he had perched himself on a flat 
 
 tombstone under the church tower at home, and 
 
 tilted his head back and stared up at the courses 
 
 and pinnacles, wondering what his father could 
 
 have meant, and how a man could possibly be like 
 
 a tower. It ended in this — that whenever he 
 
 6
 
 THE BOY IN THE GATE-HOUSE 
 
 dreamed about his father, these two towers, or a 
 tower which was more or less a combination 
 of both, would get mixed up with the dream as 
 well. 
 
 The gate-house contained a sitting-room and 
 three bedrooms (one hardly bigger than a box- 
 cupboard) ; but a building adjoined it which had 
 been the old Franciscans' refectory, though now 
 it was divided by common planking into two 
 floors, the lower serving for a feoffee office, while 
 the upper was supposed to be a muniment-room, 
 in charge of the feoffees' clerk. The clerk used 
 it for drying his garden-seeds and onions, and 
 spread his hoarding apples to ripen on the floor. 
 So when Taffy grew to need a room of his own, 
 and his father's books began to cumber the very 
 stairs of the gate-house, the money which Humil- 
 ity and her mother made by their lace-work, and 
 which arrived always by post, came very handy 
 for the rent which the clerk asked for his upper 
 chamber. 
 
 Carpenters appeared and partitioned it off into 
 two rooms, communicating with the gate-house 
 by a narrow door-way pierced in the wall. All 
 
 this, whilst it was doing, interested Taffy might- 
 
 7
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 ily; and he announced his intention of being a 
 carpenter one of these days. 
 
 " I hope," said Humility, " you will look 
 higher, and be a preacher of God's Word, like 
 your father." 
 
 His father frowned at this and said : " Jesus 
 Christ was both." 
 
 Taffy compromised: " Perhaps I'll make pul- 
 pits." 
 
 This was how he came to have a bedroom with 
 a vaulted roof and a window that reached down 
 below the floor. 
 
 8
 
 II 
 
 MUSIC IN THE TOWN SQUARE 
 
 This window looked upon the town square, and 
 across it to the mayoralty. The square had once 
 been the Franciscans' burial-ground, and was 
 really no square at all, but a semicircle. The 
 townspeople called it Mount Folly. The chord 
 of the arc was formed by a large Assize Hall, with 
 a broad flight of granite steps, and a cannon 
 planted on either side of the steps. The children 
 used to climb about these cannons, and Taffy had 
 picked out his first letters from the words Sevasto- 
 pol and Russian Trophy, painted in white on their 
 lead-colored carriages. 
 
 Below the Assize Hall an open gravelled space 
 
 sloped gently down to a line of iron railings and 
 
 another flight of granite steps leading into the 
 
 main street. The street curved uphill around the 
 
 base of this open ground, and came level with it 
 
 just in front of the mayoralty, a tall stuccoed 
 
 building where the public balls were given, and 
 
 9
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 the judges had their lodgings in assize time, and 
 the colonel his quarters during the militia train- 
 ing. 
 
 Fine shows passed under Taffy's window. 
 Twice a year came the judges, with the sheriff in 
 uniform and his chaplain, and his coach, and his 
 coachman and lackeys in powder and plush and 
 silk stockings, white or flesh-colored; and the bar- 
 risters with their wigs, and the javelin men and 
 silver trumpets. Every spring, too, the Royal 
 Rangers Militia came up for training. Sudden- 
 ly, one morning, in the height of the bird-nesting 
 season, the street would swarm with countrymen 
 tramping up to the barracks on the hill, and back 
 with bundles of clothes and vmblackened boots 
 dangling. For the next six weeks the town 
 would be full of bugle-calls, and brazen music, 
 and companies marching and parading in suits 
 of invisible green, and clanking officers in black, 
 with little round forage caps, and silver badges 
 on their side-belts; and, toward evening, with 
 men lounging and smoking, or washing them- 
 selves in public before the doors of their billets. 
 
 Usually, too, Whitsun Fair fell at the height 
 
 of the militia training; and then, for two days, 
 
 booths and caravans, sweet-standings and shoot- 
 
 10
 
 MUSIC IN THE TOWN SQUARE 
 
 ing-galleries lined the main street, and Taffy 
 went out with a shilling in his pocket to enjoy 
 himself. But the bigger shows — the menagerie, 
 the marionettes, and the travelling theatre royal 
 — were pitched on Mount Folly, just under his 
 window. Sometimes the theatre would stay for 
 a week or two after the fair was over, until even 
 the boy grew tired of the naphtha-lamps and the 
 voices of the tragedians, and the cornet wheezing 
 under canvas, and began to long for the time 
 when they would leave the square open for the 
 boys to come and play at prisoner's base in the 
 dusk. 
 
 One evening, a fortnight before Whitsun Fair, 
 he had taken his book to the open window, and 
 sat there with it. Every night he had to learn 
 a text which he repeated next morning to his 
 mother. Already, across the square, the mayor- 
 alty house was brightly lit, and the bandsmen had 
 begun to arrange their stands and music before it ; 
 for the colonel was receiving company. Every 
 now and then a carriage arrived, and set down its 
 guests. 
 
 After awhile Taffy looked up and saw two per- 
 sons crossing the square — an old man and a little 
 girl. He recognized them, having seen them to- 
 ll
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 gether in church the day before, when his father 
 had preached the sermon. The old man wore a 
 rusty silk hat, cocked a little to one side, a high 
 stock collar, black cutaway coat, breeches and 
 gaiters of gray cord. He stooped as he walked, 
 with his hands behind him and his walking-stick 
 dangling like a tail — a very positive old fellow, 
 to look at. The girl's face Taffy could not see; 
 it was hidden by the brim of her Leghorn hat. 
 
 The pair passed close under the window. Taffy 
 heard a knock at the door below, and ran to the 
 liead of the stairs. Down in the passage his 
 mother was talking to the old man, who turned to 
 the girl and told her to wait outside. 
 
 " But let her come in and sit down," urged 
 Humility. 
 
 " No, ma'am; I know my mind. I want one 
 hour with your husband." 
 
 Taffy heard the door shut, and went back to 
 his window-scat. 
 
 The little girl had climbed the cannon oppo- 
 site, and sat there dangling her feet and eying the 
 house. 
 
 " Boy," said she, " what a funny window-seat 
 
 you've got! I can see your legs under it." 
 
 " Tliat's because the window reaches down to 
 
 12
 
 MUSIC IN THE TOWN SQUARE 
 
 the floor, and the bench is fixed across by the tran- 
 som here." 
 
 " What's your name?" 
 
 " Theophilus; but they call me Taffy." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Father says it's an imperfect example of 
 Grimm's Law." 
 
 " Oh ! Then, I suppose you're quite the gen- 
 tleman? My name's Honoria." 
 
 " Is that your father downstairs?" 
 
 " Bless the boy! What age d' you take me 
 for? He's my grandfather. He's asking your 
 father about his soul. He wants to be saved, and 
 says if he's not saved before next Lady-day, he'll 
 know the reason why. What are you doing up 
 there?" 
 
 " Eeading." 
 
 " Reading what?" 
 
 " The Bible." 
 
 " But, I say, can you really?'* 
 
 " You listen." Taffy rested the big Bible on 
 the window-frame; it just had room to lie open, 
 between the two mullions — " Noiu ivhen they had 
 gone throughout Phrygia and Galatia, and were 
 forbidden of the Holy Ghost to preach the word in 
 Asia, after they ivere come to Ilysia they assayed 
 
 13
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 to go into Bithynia ; but the Spirit suffered them 
 not. And they, passing by 3Iysia, came doion to 
 Troas. And a vision appeared to Paul in the 
 night. ..." 
 
 " I don't wonder at it. Did you ever have tlie 
 whooping-cough ?" 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 " I've had it all the winter. That's why I'm 
 not allowed to play with you. Listen!" 
 
 She coughed twice, and wound up with a ter- 
 rific whoop. 
 
 " Now, if you'd only put on your nightshirt 
 and preach, I'd be the congregation and interrupt 
 you with coughing." 
 
 " Very well," said Taffy, " let's do it." 
 
 " No; you didn't suggest it. I hate boys who 
 have to be told." 
 
 Taffy was huffed and pretended to return to his 
 book. By and by she called up to him: 
 
 " Tell me what's written on this gun of 
 yours?" 
 
 " Sevastopol — that's a Eussian town. The 
 English took it by storm." 
 
 " What! the soldiers over there?'* 
 
 " No, they're only bandsmen ; and they're too 
 young. But I expect the Colonel was there. 
 
 14
 
 MUSIC IN THE TOWN SQUARE 
 
 He's upstairs in the mayoralty, dining. He's 
 quite an old man, but I've heard father say he 
 was as brave as a lion when the fighting hap- 
 pened." 
 
 The girl climbed off the gun. 
 
 " I'm going to have a look at him," she said ; 
 and turning her back on Taffy, she sauntered off 
 across the square, just as the band struck up the 
 first note of the overture from " Semiramide." 
 A waltz of Strauss followed, and then came a cor- 
 net solo by the bandmaster, and a melody of old 
 English tunes — to all of these Taffy listened. It 
 had fallen too dark to read, and the boy was al- 
 ways sensitive to music. Often when he played 
 alone, broken phrases and scraps of remembered 
 tunes came into his head and repeated themselves 
 over and over. Then he would drop his game 
 and wander about restlessly, trying to fix and 
 complete the melody; and somehow in the proc- 
 ess the melody always became a story, or so like 
 a story that he never knew the difference. Some- 
 times his uneasiness lasted for days together. But 
 when the story came complete at last — and this 
 always sprang on him quite suddenly — he wanted 
 to caper and fling his arms about and sing aloud ;, 
 
 and did so, if nobody happened to be looking. 
 
 15
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 The bandmaster, too, liad music, and a reputa- 
 tion for imparting it. Famous regimental bands 
 contained pupils of his; and his old pupils, when 
 they met, usually told each other stories of his 
 atrocious temper. But he kept his temper to- 
 night, for his youngsters were playing well, and 
 the small crowd standing quiet. 
 
 The English melodies had scarcely closed with 
 " Come, lassies and lads," when across in the 
 mayoralty a blind was drawn, and a window 
 thrown open, and Taffy saw the warm room with- 
 in, and the officers and ladies standing with 
 glasses in their hands. The Colonel was giving 
 the one toast of the evening: 
 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen — The Queen!" 
 
 The adjutant leaned out and lifted his hand 
 for signal, and the band crashed out with the Na- 
 tional Anthem. Then there was silence for a 
 minute. The window remained open. Taffy 
 still caught glimpses of jewels and uniforms, and 
 white necks bending, and men leaning back in 
 their chairs, with their mess-jackets open, and the 
 candle-light flashing on their shirt-fronts. Be- 
 low, in the dark street, the bandmaster trimmed 
 the lamp by his music-stand. In the rays of it 
 he drew out a handkerchief and polished the keys 
 
 16
 
 MUSIC IN" THE TOWN SQUARE 
 
 of his cornet; then passed the cornet over to his 
 left hand, took up his baton, and nodded. 
 
 What music was that, stealing, rippling across 
 the square? The bandmaster knew nothing of 
 the tale of Tannhauser, but was wishing that he 
 had violins at his beck, instead of stupid flutes 
 and reeds. And Taffy had never heard so much 
 as the name of Tannhauser. Of the meaning of 
 the music he knew nothing — nothing beyond its 
 wonder and terror. But afterward he made a 
 tale of it to himself. 
 
 In the tale it seemed that a vine shot up and 
 climbed on the shadows of the warm night; and 
 the shadows climbed with it and made a trellis 
 for it right across the sky. The vine thrust 
 through the trellis faster and faster, dividing, 
 throwing out little curls and tendrils ; then leaves 
 and millions of leaves, each leaf unfolding about 
 a drop of dew, which trickled and fell, and tin- 
 kled like a bird's song. 
 
 The beauty and scent of the vine distressed 
 him. He wanted to cry out, for it was hiding the 
 sky. Then he heard the tramp of feet in the dis- 
 tance, and knew that they threatened the vine, 
 and with that he wanted to save it. But the feet 
 came nearer and nearer, tramping terribly. 
 2 17
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 He could not bear it. He ran to the stairs, stole 
 down them, opened the front door cautiously, and 
 slipped outside. He was half-way across the 
 square before it occurred to him that the band 
 had ceased to play. Then he wondered why he 
 had come, but he did not go back. He found 
 Honoria standing a little apart from the crowd, 
 with her hands clasped behind her, gazing up at 
 the window of the banqueting-room. 
 
 She did not see him at once. 
 
 " Stand on the steps, here," he whispered, 
 " then you can see him. That's the Colonel — 
 the man at the end of the table, with the big, gray 
 mustache." 
 
 He touched her arm. She sprang away and 
 stamped her foot. 
 
 "Keep off with you! Who told jou—Ohl 
 you bad boy!" 
 
 " Nobody. I thought you hated boys who 
 wait to be told." 
 
 " And now you'll get the whooping-cough, and 
 goodness knows what will happen to you, and 
 you needn't think I'll be sorry!" 
 
 " Who wants you to be sorry? As for you,'^ 
 Taffy went on, sturdily, " I think your grand- 
 father might have more sense than to keep yau 
 
 18
 
 MUSIC IN THE TOWN SQUARE 
 
 waiting out here in the cold, and giving jour 
 cough to the whole town!" 
 
 ** Ha! you do, do you?" • 
 
 It was not the girl who said this. Taffy 
 swung round and saw an old man staring down 
 on him. There was just light enough to reveal 
 that he had very formidable gray eyes. But 
 Taffy's blood was up. 
 
 " Yes, I do," he said, and wondered at himself. 
 
 " Ha ! Does your father whip you some- 
 times?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " I should, if you were my boy. I believe in 
 it. Come, Honoria!" 
 
 The child threw a glance at Taffy as she was 
 led away. He could not be sure whether she 
 took his side or her grandfather's. 
 
 That night he had a very queer dream. 
 
 His grandmother had lost her lace-pillow, and 
 after searching for some time, he found it lying 
 out in the square. But the pins and bobbins were 
 darting to and fro on their own account, at an in- 
 credible rate, and the lace as they made it turned 
 into a singing beanstalk, and rose and threw out 
 branches all over the sky. Very soon he found 
 himself climbing among these branches, up and 
 
 19
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 up, until he came to a Palace, which was really 
 the Assize Hall, with a flight of steps before it, 
 and a cannon on either side of the steps. "Within 
 sat a giant, asleep, with his head on the table and 
 bis face hidden; but his neck bulged at the back 
 just like the bandmaster's during a cornet solo. 
 A harp stood on the table. Taffy caught this up, 
 and was stealing downstairs with it, but at the 
 third stair the harp — which had Honoria's head 
 and face — began to cough, and wound up with a 
 whoop! This woke the giant — he turned out to 
 be Honoria's grandfather — who came roaring 
 after him. Glancing down below as he ran, 
 Taffy saw his mother and the bandmaster far be- 
 low with axes, hacking at the foot of the bean- 
 stalk. He tried to call out and prevent them, but 
 they kept smiting. And the worst of it was, that 
 down below, too, his father was climbing into a 
 pulpit, quite as if nothing was happening. The 
 pulpit grew and became a tower, and his father 
 kept calling, " Be a tower! Be a tower, like 
 me!" 
 
 But Taffy couldn't for the life of him see how 
 to manage it. The beanstalk began to totter; he 
 felt himself falling, and leapt for the tower. . . . 
 
 And awoke in his bed shuddering, and, for the 
 
 20
 
 MUSIC IN THE TOWN SQUAKE 
 
 first time in his life, afraid of the dark. He 
 would have called for his mother, but just then 
 down by the turret clock in Fore Street the 
 buglers began to sound the " Last Post," and he 
 hugged himself and felt that the world he knew 
 was still about him, companionable and kind. 
 
 Twice the buglers repeated their call, in more 
 distant streets, each time more faintly; and the 
 last flying notes carried him into sleep again. 
 
 21
 
 Ill 
 
 PASSENGERS BY JOBy's VAN 
 
 At breakfast next morning he saw by his par- 
 ents' faces that something unusual had happened. 
 Nothing was said to him about it, whatever it 
 might be. But once or twice after this, coming 
 into the parlor suddenly, he found his father and 
 mother talking low and earnestly together; and 
 now and then they would go up to his grand- 
 mother's room and talk. 
 
 In some way he divined that there was a ques- 
 tion of leaving home. But the summer passed 
 and these private talks became fewer. Toward 
 August, however, they began again; and by and 
 by his mother told him. They were going to a 
 parish on the North Coast, right away across the 
 Duchy, where his father had been presented to a 
 living. The place had an odd name — Nanniz- 
 abuloe. 
 
 " And it is lonely," said Humility, " the most 
 of it sea-sand, so far as I can hear." 
 
 22
 
 PASSENGERS BY JOBY'S VAN 
 
 It was by the sea, then. How would they get 
 there ? 
 
 " Oh, Joby's van will take us most of the 
 way." 
 
 Of all the vans which came and went in the 
 Fore Street, none could compare for romance 
 with Joby's. People called it the Wreck Ashore; 
 but its real name, " Vital Spark, J. Job, Propri- 
 etor," was painted on its orange-colored sides in 
 letters of vivid blue, a blue not often seen except 
 on ships' boats. It disappeared every Tuesday 
 and Saturday over the hill and into a mysterious 
 country, from which it emerged on Mondays and 
 Fridays with a fine flavor of the sea renewed 
 upon it and upon Joby. No other driver wore 
 a blue guernsey, or rings in his ears, as Joby did. 
 No other van had the same mode of progressing 
 down the street in a series of short tacks, or 
 brought such a crust of brine on its panes, or such 
 a mixture of mud and fine sand on its wheels, or 
 mingled scraps of dry sea-weed with the straw on 
 its floor. 
 
 " Will there be ships?" Taffy asked. 
 
 " I daresay we shall see a few, out in the dis- 
 tance. It's a poor, outlandish place. It hasn't 
 
 even a proper church." 
 
 23
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " If there's no church, father can get into a 
 boat and preach; just like the Sea of Galilee, you 
 know." 
 
 " Your father is too good a man to mimic the 
 Scriptures in any such way. There is a church, 
 I believe, though it's a tumble-down one. No- 
 body has preached in it for years. But Squire 
 Moyle may do something now. He's a rich 
 man." 
 
 " Is that the old gentleman who came to ask 
 father about his soul?" 
 
 " Yes; he says no preaching ever did him so 
 much good as your father's. That's why he 
 came and offered the living." 
 
 " But he can't go to heaven if he's rich?" 
 
 " I don't know, Taffy, wherever you pick up 
 such wicked thoughts." 
 
 " AVliy, it's in the Bible." 
 
 Humility would not argue about it; but she 
 told her husband that night what the child had 
 said. 
 
 " My dear," he answered, " the boy must think 
 of these things." 
 
 " But he ought not to be talking disrespectful- 
 ly," contended she. 
 
 24
 
 PASSENGEES BY JOBY'S VAN 
 
 One Tuesday, toward the end of September, 
 Taffy saw bis father off by Job's van; and the 
 Eriday after, walked down with his mother to 
 meet him on his return. Ahnost at once the 
 household began to pack. The packing went on 
 for a week, in the midst of which his father de- 
 parted again, a wagon-load of books and furni- 
 ture having been sent forward on the road that 
 same morning. Then followed a day or two, 
 during which Taffy and his mother took their 
 meals at the window-seat, sitting on corded boxes; 
 and an evening, when he went out to the cannon 
 in the square, and around the little back garden, 
 saying good-by to the fixtures and the few odds 
 and ends which were to be left behind — the tool- 
 shed (Crusoe's hut, Cave of Adullam, and treas- 
 ury of the Forty Thieves), the stunted sycamore- 
 tree, which he had climbed at different times as 
 Zacchseus, Ali Baba, and Man Friday with the 
 bear behind him ; the clothes' prop, which, on the 
 strength of its forked tail, had so often played 
 Dragon to his St. George. "When he returned 
 to the empty house, he found his mother in the 
 passage. She had been for a walk alone. The 
 candle was lit, and he saw she had been crying. 
 This told him where she had been; for, although 
 
 25
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 he remembered nothing about it, he knew he had 
 once possessed a small sister, who lived with them 
 less than two months. He had, as a rule, very- 
 definite notions of death and the grave; but he 
 never thought of her as dead and buried, partly 
 because his mother would never allow him to go 
 with her to the cemetery, and partly because of a 
 picture in a certain book of his, called " Child's 
 Play." It represented a little girl wading across 
 a pool among water-lilies. She wore a white 
 nightdress, kilted above her knees, and a dark 
 cloak, which dragged behind in the water. She 
 let it trail, while she held up a hand to cover one 
 of her eyes. Above her were trees and an owl, 
 and a star shining under the topmost branch ; and 
 on the opposite page this verse: 
 
 I have a little sister, 
 
 They call her Peep-peep, 
 She wades through the waters, 
 
 Deep, deep, deep ; 
 She climbs up the mountains, 
 
 High, high, high ; 
 This poor little creature 
 
 She has but one eye. 
 
 For years TafFy believed that this was his little 
 sister, one-eyed, and always wandering; and that 
 
 26
 
 PASSENGERS BY JOBY'S VAN 
 
 his mother went out in the dusk to persuade her 
 to return; but she never would. 
 
 When he woke next morning his mother was 
 in the room ; and while he washed and dressed she 
 folded his bed-clothes and carried them down to 
 a wagon which stood by the door, with horses al- 
 ready harnessed. It drove away soon after. He 
 found breakfast laid on the window-seat. A 
 neighbor had lent the crockery, and Taffy was 
 greatly taken with the pattern on the cups and 
 saucers. He wanted to run round again and re- 
 peat his good-byes to the house, but there was no 
 time. By and by the door opened, and two men, 
 neighbors of theirs, entered with an invalid's lit- 
 ter; and. Humility directing, brought down old 
 Mrs. Venning. She wore the comer of a Paisley 
 shawl over her white cap, and carried a nosegay 
 of flowers in place of her lace-pillow; but other- 
 wise looked much as usual. 
 
 " Quite the traveller, you see," she cried gay- 
 ly to Taffy. 
 
 Then the woman who had lent the breakfast- 
 ware came running to say that Job was getting 
 impatient. Humility handed the door-key to 
 her, and so the little procession passed out and 
 
 down across Mount Folly. 
 
 27
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Job had drawn his van up close to the granite 
 steps. They were the only passengers, it seemed. 
 The invalid was hoisted in, and laid with her 
 couch across the seats, so that her shoulders rested 
 against one side of the van and her feet against 
 the other. Humility climbed in after her; but 
 Taffy, to his joy, was given a seat outside on the 
 box. 
 
 "C'k!"— they were off. 
 
 As they crawled up the street a few townspeo- 
 ple paused on the pavement and waved fare- 
 wells. At the top of the town they overtook 
 three sailor-boys, with bundles, who climbed up 
 and perched themselves a-top of the van, on the 
 luggage. 
 
 On they went again. There were two horses 
 • — a roan and a gray. Taffy had never before 
 looked down on the back of a horse, and Job's 
 horses astonished him; they were so broad be- 
 hind, and so narrow at the shoulders. He wanted 
 to ask if the shape were at all common, but felt 
 shy. He stole a glance at the silver ring in Job's 
 left ear, and blushed when Job turned and caught 
 him. 
 
 "Here, catch hold!" said Job, handing him 
 the whip. " Only you mustn't use it too fierce." 
 
 28
 
 PASSENGERS BY JOBY'S VAN 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " I suppose you'll be a scholar, like your 
 father? Can 'ee spell? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Cipher?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That's more than I can. I counts upon my 
 fingers. When they be used up, I begins upon 
 my buttons. I ha'n't got no buttons — visible 
 that is — 'pon my week-a-day clothes; so I keeps 
 the long sums for Sundays, and adds 'em up and 
 down my weskit during sermon. Don't tell any 
 person." 
 
 " I won't." 
 
 " That's right. I don't want it known. Ever 
 see a gipsy?" 
 
 " Oh, yes— often." 
 
 " Next time you see one you'll know why he 
 wears so many buttons. You've a lot to learn." 
 
 The van zigzagged down one hill and up an- 
 other, and halted at a turnpike. An old woman 
 in a pink sun-bonnet bustled out and handed Job 
 a pink ticket. A little way beyond they passed 
 the angle of a mining district, with four or five 
 engine-houses high up like castles on the hill-side, 
 
 and rows of stamps clattering and working up 
 
 29
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 and down like ogres' teeth. Next they came to 
 a church town, with a green and a heap of linen 
 spread to dry (for it was Tuesday), and a flock of 
 geese that ran and hissed after the van, until Joby 
 took the whip and, leaning out, looped the gander 
 by the neck and pulled him along in the dust. 
 The sailor-boys shouted with laughter and struck 
 up a song about a fox and a goose, which lasted 
 all the way up a long hill and brought them to a 
 second turnpike, on the edge of the moors. Here 
 lived an old woman in a blue sun-bonnet; and 
 she handed Joby a yellow ticket. 
 
 " But why does she wear a blue bonnet and 
 give yellow tickets?" Taffy asked as they drove 
 on. 
 
 Joby considered for a minute. " Ah, you're 
 one to take notice, I see. That's right, keep your 
 eyes skinned when you travel." 
 
 Taffy had to think this out. The country was 
 changing now. They had left stubble fields and 
 hedges behind, and before them the granite road 
 stretched like a white ribbon, with moors on 
 either hand, dotted with peat-ricks and reedy 
 pools and cropping ponies, and rimmed in the 
 distance with clay-works glistening in the sunny 
 weather. 
 
 30
 
 PASSENGERS BY JOBY'S VAN 
 
 *' What sort of place is Nannizabuloe?" 
 " I don't go on there. I drop ycu at Indian 
 Queen's." 
 
 " But what sort of place is it?" 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what folks say of it: 
 
 All sea and san's, 
 
 Out of the world and into St. Ann's. 
 
 That's what they say, and if I'm wrong you may 
 call me a liar." 
 
 " And Squire Moyle? " Taffy persevered. 
 
 " What kind of man is he? " 
 
 Joby turned and eyed him severely. " Look 
 here, sonny, I got my living to get." 
 
 This silenced Taify for a long while, but he 
 picked up his courage again by degrees. There 
 was a small window at his back, and he twisted 
 himself round, and nodded to his mother and 
 grandmother inside the van. He could not hear 
 what they answered, for the sailor-boys were 
 singing at the top of their voices : 
 
 I will sing you One, O ! 
 What is your One, O ? 
 Number One sits all alone, and ever more shall be-e so. 
 
 31
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 " They're home 'pon leave," said Joby. The 
 song went on and reached Number Seven: 
 
 I will sing you Seven, O ! 
 What is your Seven, O ? 
 Seven be seven stars in the ship a-sailing round in 
 Heaven, O! 
 
 One of the boys leaned from the roof and 
 twitched Taffy by the hair. "Hullo, nipper! 
 Did you ever see a ship of stars?" He grinned 
 and pulled open his sailor's jumper and singlet; 
 and there, on his naked breast, Taffy saw a ship 
 tattooed, with three masts, and a half-circle of 
 stars above it, and below it the initials W. P. 
 
 " D'ee think my mother'll know me again?" 
 asked the boy, and the other two began to laugh. 
 
 " Yes, I think so," said Taffy, gravely; which 
 made them laugh more than ever. 
 
 " But why is he painted like that?" he asked 
 Joby, as they took up their song again. 
 
 " Ah, you'll larn over to St. Ann's, being one 
 to notice things." The nearer he came to it, the 
 more mysterious this new home of Taffy'sseeroed 
 to grow. By and by Humility let down the win- 
 dow and handed out a pasty. Joby searched 
 
 under his seat and found a pasty, twice the size of 
 
 32
 
 PASSENGERS BY JOBY'S VAN 
 
 Taffy's, in a nose-bag. They ate as they went. 
 Late in the afternoon they came to hedges again, 
 and at length to an inn; and in front of it Taffy 
 spied his father waiting with a farm-cart. While 
 Joby baited his horses, the sailor-boys helped to 
 lift out the invalid and transship the luggage; 
 after which they climbed on the roof again, and 
 were jogged away northward in the dusk, waving 
 their caps and singing. 
 
 The most remarkable thing about the inn was 
 its signboard. This bore on either side the pict- 
 ure of an Indian queen and two blackamoor chil- 
 dren, all with striped parasols, walking together 
 across a desert. The queen on one side wore a 
 scarlet turban and a blue robe ; but the queen on 
 the other side wore a blue turban and a scarlet 
 robe. Taffy dodged from side to side, compar- 
 ing them, and had not made up his mind which 
 he liked best when Humility called him indoors 
 to tea. 
 
 They had ham and eggs with their tea, which 
 they took in a great hurry; and then his grand- 
 mother was lifted into the cart and laid on a bed 
 of clean straw beside the boxes, and he and his 
 mother clambered up in front. So they started 
 again, his father walking at the horse's head. 
 
 33
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 They took the road toward the sunset. As the 
 dusk fell closer around, Mr. Raymond lit a horn 
 lantern and carried it before them. The rays of 
 it danced and wheeled upon the hedges and gorse 
 bushes. Taffy began to feel sleepy, though it 
 was long before his usual bedtime. The air 
 seemed to weigh his eyelids down. Or was it a 
 sound lulling him? He looked up suddenly. His 
 mother's arm was about him. Stars flashed 
 above, and a glimmer fell on her gentle face — a 
 dew of light, as it were. Her dark eyes appeared 
 darker than usual as she leaned and drew her 
 shawl over his shoulder. 
 
 Ahead, the rays of the lantern kept up their 
 dance, but they flared now and again upon stone 
 hedges built in zigzag layers, and upon un- 
 known feathery bushes, intensely green, and 
 glistening every now and then like metal. 
 
 The cart jolted and the lantern swung to a 
 soundless tune that filled the night. When Taffy 
 listened it ceased; when he ceased listening, it be- 
 gan again. 
 
 The lantern stopped its dance and stood still 
 over a ford of black water. The cart splashed 
 into it and became a ship, heaving and lurching 
 over a soft, irregular floor that returned no sound. 
 
 34
 
 PASSENGEES BY JOBY'S VAN 
 
 But suddenly the ship became a cart again, and 
 stood still before a house with a narrow garden- 
 path and a light streaming along it from an open 
 door. 
 
 His father lifted him down; his mother took 
 his hand. They seemed to wade together up 
 that stream of light. Then came a staircase and 
 room with a bed in it, which, oddly enough, 
 turned out to be his own. He stared at the pink 
 roses on the curtains. Yes; certainly it was his 
 own bed. And satisfied of this, he nestled down 
 in the pillows and slept, to the long cadence of 
 the sea. 
 
 35
 
 IV 
 
 THE RUNNING SANDS 
 
 He awoke to find the sun shining in at his win- 
 dow. At first he wondered what had happened. 
 The window seemed to be in the ceihng, and the 
 ceiling sloped down to the walls, and all the furni- 
 ture had gone astray into wrong positions. Then 
 he remembered, jumped out of bed, and drew the 
 blind. 
 
 He saw a blue line of sea, so clearly drawn that 
 the horizon might have been a string stretched 
 from the corner eaves to the snow-white light- 
 house standing on the farthest spit of land; blue 
 sea and yellow sand curving round it, with a 
 white edge of breakers; inshore, the sand rising 
 to a cliff ridged with grassy hummocks; farther 
 inshore, the hummocks united and rolling away 
 up to inland downs, but broken here and there on 
 their way with scars of sand ; over all, white gulls 
 wheeling. He could hear the nearest ones mew- 
 ing as they sailed over the house. 
 
 Taffy had seen the sea once before, at Dawlish, 
 
 36
 
 THE RUNNING SANDS 
 
 on the journey to Tewkesbury ; and again on the 
 way home. But here it was bhier altogether, and 
 the sands were yellower. Only he felt disap- 
 pointed that no ship was in sight, nor any dwell- 
 ing nearer than the light-house and the two or 
 three white cottages behind it. He dressed in a 
 hurry and said his prayers, repeating at the close, 
 as he had been taught to do, the first and last 
 verses of the Morning Hymn: 
 
 Awake, my soul, and with the sun 
 
 Thy daily stage of duty run ; 
 Sliake off dull sloth, and joyful rise 
 
 To pay thy morning sacrifice. 
 
 Praise God, from whom all blessings flow. 
 Praise Him, all creatures here below ; 
 
 Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, 
 Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 
 
 He ran downstairs. In this queer house the stairs 
 led right down into the kitchen. The front door, 
 too, opened into the kitchen, which was really a 
 slate-paved hall, with a long table set between the 
 doorway and the big open hearth. The floor was 
 always strewn with sand; there was no trouble 
 about this, for the wind blew plenty under the 
 door. 
 
 37 
 
 4€3ec?3
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Taffy found the table laid, and his mother busi- 
 ly slicing bread for his bread and milk. He 
 begged for a hot cake from the hearth, and ran 
 out of doors to eat it. Humility lifted the latch 
 for him, for the cake was so hot that he had to 
 pass it from hand to hand. 
 
 Outside, the wind came upon him with clap 
 on the shoulder, quite as if it had been a comrade 
 waiting. 
 
 Taffy ran down the path and out upon the 
 sandy hummocks, setting his face to the wind and 
 the roar of the sea, keeping his head low, and still 
 shifting the cake from hand to hand. By-and-by 
 he fumbled and dropped it; stooped to pick it up, 
 but saw something which made him kneel and 
 peer into the ground. 
 
 The whole of the sand was moving; not by fits 
 and starts, but constantly; the tiny particles run- 
 ning over each other and drifting in and out of 
 the rushes, like little creatures in a dream. While 
 he looked, they piled an embankment against the 
 edge of his cake. He picked it up, ran forward a 
 few yards, and peered again. Yes, here too; 
 here and yonder, and over every inch of that long 
 shore. 
 
 He ate his cake and climbed to the beach, 
 
 38
 
 THE RUNNING SANDS 
 
 and ran along it, watching the sandhoppers that 
 skipped from under his boots at every step, and 
 were lost on the instant. The beach here was 
 moist and firm. He pulled off his boots and 
 stockings, and ran on, conning his footprints and 
 the driblets of sand split ahead from his bare 
 toes. By and by he came to the edge of the surf. 
 The strand here was glassy wet, and each curving 
 wave sent a shadow flying over it, and came after 
 the shadow, thundering and hissing, and chased 
 it up the shore, and fell back, leaving for a second 
 or two an edge of delicate froth which reminded 
 the boy of his mother's lace-work. 
 
 He began a sort of game with the waves, choos- 
 ing one station after another, and challenging 
 them to catch him there. If the edge of froth 
 failed to reach his toes, he won. But once or 
 twice the water caught him fairly, and ran rip- 
 pling over his instep and about his ankles. 
 
 He was deep in this game when he heard a 
 horn blown somewhere high on the towans be- 
 hind him. 
 
 He turned. No one was in sight. The house 
 lay behind the sand-banks, the first ridge hiding 
 even its chimney-smoke. He gazed along the 
 beach, where the perpetual haze of spray seemed 
 
 39
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 to have removed the light-house to a vast dis- 
 tance. A sense of desolation came over him 
 with a rush, and with something between a gasp 
 and a sob, he turned his back to the sea and ran, 
 his boots dangling from his shoulders by their 
 knotted laces. 
 
 He pounded up the first slope and looked for 
 the cottage. No sign of it! An insane fancy 
 seized him. These silent moving sands were 
 after him. 
 
 He was panting along in real distress when he 
 heard the baying of dogs, and at the same instant 
 from the top of a hummock caught sight of a 
 figure outlined against the sky, and barely a quar- 
 ter of a mile away; the figure of a girl on horse- 
 back — a small girl on a very tall horse. 
 
 Just as Taffy recognized her, she turned her 
 horse, walked him down into the hollow beyond, 
 and disappeared. Taffy ran toward the spot, 
 gained the ridge where she had been standing, 
 and looked down. 
 
 In a hollow about twenty feet deep and per- 
 haps a hundred wide were gathered a dozen 
 riders, with five or six couples of hounds, and two 
 or three dirty terriers. Two of the men had dis- 
 mounted. One of these, stripped to his shirt and 
 
 40
 
 THE KUNNING SANDS 
 
 breeches, was leaning on a long-handled spade 
 and laughing. The other — a fellow in a shabby 
 scarlet coat — held up what Taffy guessed to be a 
 fox, though it seemed a very small one. It was 
 bleeding. The hounds yapped and leapt at, and 
 fell back a-top of each other, snarling, while the 
 Whip grinned and kept them at bay. A knife 
 lay between his wide-planted feet, and a visgy* 
 close behind him on a heap of disturbed sand. 
 
 The boy came on them from the eastward, and 
 his shadow fell across the hollow. 
 
 "Hullo!" said one of the riders, looking up. 
 It was Squire Moyle himself. " Here's the new 
 Passon's boy!" 
 
 All the riders looked up. The Whip looked 
 too, and turned to the old Squire with a wider 
 grin than before. 
 
 " Shall I christen en, maister?" 
 
 The Squire nodded. Before Taffy knew what 
 it meant, the man was climbing toward him with 
 a grin, clutching the rush bents with one hand, 
 and holding out the blood-dabbled mask with the 
 other. The child turned to run, but a hand 
 clutched his ankle. He saw the man's open 
 mouth and yellow teeth; and, choking with dis- 
 
 * Mattock. 
 41
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 gust and terror, slung his boots at them with all 
 his small force. At the same instant he was 
 jerked off his feet, the edge of the bank crumbled 
 and broke, and the two went rolling down the 
 sandy slope in a heap. He heard shouts of laugh- 
 ter, caught a glimpse of blue sky, felt the grip of 
 fingers on his throat, and smelt the verminous 
 odor of the dead cub, as the Whip thrust the 
 bloody mess against his face and neck. Then the 
 grip relaxed, and — it seemed to him, amid dead 
 silence — Taffy sprang to his feet, spitting sand 
 and fury. 
 
 " You — you devils!" He caught up the visgy 
 and stood, daring all to come on. " You devils!" 
 He tottered forward with the visgy lifted — it was 
 all he could manage — at Squire Moyle. The old 
 man let out an oath, and the curve of his whip- 
 thong took the boy across the eyes and blinded 
 him for a moment, but did not stop him. The 
 gray horse swerved, and half-wheeled, exposing 
 his flank. In another moment there would have 
 been mischief; but the Whip, as he stood wiping 
 his mouth, saw the danger and ran in. He 
 struck the visgy out of the child's grasp, set his 
 foot on it, and with an open-handed cuff sent him 
 floundering into a sand-heap. 
 
 42
 
 THE RUNNING SANDS 
 
 "Nice boy, that!" said somebody, and the 
 whole company laughed as they walked their 
 horses slowly out of the hollow. 
 
 They passed before Taffy in a blur of tears; 
 and the last rider to go was the small girl, Hon- 
 oria, on her tall sorrel. She moved up the broad 
 shelving path, but reined up, just within sight, 
 turned her horse, and came slowly back to him. 
 
 " If I were you, I'd go home." She pointed 
 in its direction. 
 
 Taffy brushed the back of his hand across his 
 eyes. " Go away. I hate you — I hate you all!" 
 
 She eyed him while she smoothed the sorrel's 
 mane with her riding-switch. 
 
 " They did it to me three years ago, when I 
 was six. Grandfather called it ' entering ' me." 
 
 Taffy kept his eyes sullenly on the ground. 
 Finding that he would not answer, she turned her 
 horse again and rode slowly after the others. 
 Taffy heard the soft footfalls die away, and when 
 he looked up she had vanished. 
 
 He picked up his boots and started in the direc- 
 tion to which she had pointed. Every now and 
 then a sob shook him. By and by the chimneys 
 of the house hove in sight among the ridges, and 
 
 he ran toward it. But within a gunshot of the 
 
 43
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 white garden-wall his breast swelled suddenly 
 and he flung himself on the ground and let the 
 big tears run. They made little pits in the mov- 
 ing sand; and more sand drifted up and covered 
 them. 
 
 " Taffy ! Taffy ! Whatever has become of the 
 child?" 
 
 His mother was standing by the gate in her 
 print frock. He scrambled up and ran toward 
 her. She cried out at the sight of him, but he 
 hid his blood-smeared face against her skirts. 
 
 44
 
 TAFFY EINGS THE CHURCH-BELL 
 
 They were in the church — Squire Moyle, Mr. 
 Raymond, and Taffy close behind. The two men 
 were discussing the holes in the roof and other 
 dilapidations. 
 
 " One, two, three," the Squire counted. " I'll 
 send a couple of men with tarpaulin and rick- 
 ropes. That'll tide us over next Sunday,' unless 
 it blows hard." 
 
 They passed up three steps under the belfry 
 arch. Here a big bell rested on the flooring. Its 
 rim was cracked, but not badly. A long ladder 
 reached up into the gloom. 
 
 " What's the beam like ? " the Squire called up 
 to someone aloft. 
 
 " Sound as a bell," answered a voice. 
 
 " I said so. We'll have en hoisted by Sunday. 
 
 I'll send a wagon over to Wheel Gooniver for a 
 
 tackle and winch. Damme, up there! Don't 
 
 45
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 keep sheddin' such a muck o' dust on your bet- 
 ters! " 
 
 " I can't help no other, Squire! " said the voice 
 overhead; " such a cauch o' pihn an' twigs an' 
 birds' droppin's! If I sneeze I'm a lost man." 
 
 Taffy, staring up as well as he could for the 
 falling rubbish, could just spy a white smock 
 above the beam, and a glint of daylight on the 
 toe-scutes of two dangling boots. 
 
 " I'll dam soon make you help it. 7s the 
 beam sound?" 
 
 " Ha'n't I told 'ee so? " said the voice, queru- 
 lously. 
 
 " Then come down off the ladder, you son of 
 
 a — ■-:' 
 
 " Gently, Squire ! " put in Mr. Raymond. 
 
 The Squire groaned. " There I go again — an' 
 
 in the House of God itself ! Oh ! 'tis a case with 
 
 me! I've a heart o' stone — a heart o' stone." 
 
 He turned and brushed his rusty hat with his 
 
 coat-cuff. Suddenly he faced round again. 
 
 " Here, Bill Udy," he said to the old laborer who 
 
 had just come down the ladder, " catch hold of 
 
 my hat an' carry en fore to porch. I keep forget- 
 
 tin' I'm in church, an' then on he goes." 
 
 The building stood half a mile from the sea, 
 
 46
 
 TxVFFY RINGS THE CHURCH-BELL 
 
 surrounded by the rolling towans and rabbit bur- 
 rows, and a few lichen-spotted tombstones slant- 
 ing inland. Early in the sixteenth century a Lon- 
 don merchant had been shipwrecked on the coast 
 below Nannizabuloe and cast ashore, the one 
 saved out of thirty. He asked to be shown a 
 church in which to give thanks for his preserva- 
 tion, and the people led him to a ruin bedded in 
 the sands. It had lain since the days of Arundel's 
 Rebellion. The Londoner vowed to build a new 
 church there on the towans, where the songs of 
 prayer and praise should mingle with the voice 
 of the waves which God had baffled for him. The 
 people warned him of the sand; but he would 
 not listen to reason. He built his church — a squat 
 perpendicular building of two aisles, the wider 
 divided into nave and chancel merely by a granite 
 step in the flooring; he saw it consecrated, and 
 returned to his home and died. And the church 
 steadily decayed. He had mixed his mortar with 
 sea-sand. The stonework oozed brine, the plaster 
 fell piece-meal; the blown sand penetrated like 
 water; the foundations sank a foot on the south 
 side, and the whole structure took a list to lee- 
 ward. The living passed into the hands of the 
 Dean and Chapter of Exeter, and from them, in 
 
 A7
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 1730, to the Moyles. Mr. Raymond's predeces- 
 sor was a kinsman of theirs by marriage, a plural- 
 ist, who lived and died at the other end of the 
 Duchy. He had sent curates from time to time ; 
 the last of whom was dead, three years since, of 
 solitude and drink. But he never came himself. 
 Squire Moyle having threatened to set the dogs 
 on him if ever he set foot in Nannizabuloe ; for 
 there had been some dispute over a dowry. The 
 result was that nobody went to church, though 
 a parson from the next parish held an occasional 
 service. The people were Wesleyan Methodists 
 or Bryanites. Each sect had its own chapel in 
 the fishing village of Innis, on the western side 
 of the parish; and the Bryanites a second one, 
 at the cross-roads behind the downs, for the 
 miners and warreners and scattered farm-folk. 
 
 Ding — ding — ding — ding — ding. 
 
 It was Sunday morning, and Taffy was sound- 
 ing the bell, by a thin rope tied to its clapper. 
 
 The heavy bell-rope would be ready next 
 week ; but Humility must first contrive a woollen 
 binding for it, to prevent its chafing the ringer's 
 hands. 
 
 Out on the towans the rabbits heard the sound, 
 and ran scampering. Others, farther away, 
 
 48
 
 TAFFY EINGS THE CHURCH-BELL 
 
 paused in their feeding, and listened with cocked 
 ears. 
 
 Ding — ding — ding. 
 
 Mr. Raymond stood in the belfry at the boy's 
 elbow. He wore his surplice, and held his prayer- 
 book with a finger between the pages. Glancing 
 down toward the nave, he saw Humility sitting in 
 the big vicarage pew — no other soul in church. 
 
 He took the cord from Taffy, " Run to the 
 door, and see if anyone is coming." 
 
 Taffy ran, and after a minute came back. 
 
 " There's Squire Moyle coming along the path, 
 and the little girl with him, and some servants be- 
 hind — five or six of them. Bill Udy's one." 
 
 "Nobody else?" 
 
 " I expect the people don't hear the bell," said 
 Taffy. " They live too far away." 
 
 " God hears. Yes, and God sees the lamp is 
 lit." 
 
 "What lamp?" Taffy looked up at his 
 father's face, wondering. 
 
 " All towers carry a lamp of some kind. For 
 what else are they built? " 
 
 It was exactly the tone in which he had spoken 
 that afternoon at Tewkesbury about men being- 
 like towers. Both these sentences puzzled the 
 
 49
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 boy; and yet Taffy never felt so near to under- 
 standing him as he had then, and did again now. 
 He was shy of his father. He did not know that 
 his father was just as shy of him. He began to 
 ring with all his soul — ding — ding-ding, ding- 
 ding. 
 
 The old Squire entered the church, paused, and 
 blew his nose violently, and, taking Honoria by 
 the hand, marched her up to the end of the south 
 aisle. The door of the great pew was shut upon 
 them, and they disappeared. Before Honoria 
 vanished, Taffy caught a glimpse of a gray felt 
 hat with pink ribbons. 
 
 The servants scattered, and found seats in the 
 body of the church. He went on ringing, but no 
 one else came. After a minute or two Mr. Ray- 
 mond signed to him to stop and go to his mother, 
 which he did, blushing at the noise of his shoes 
 on the slate pavement. Mr. Raymond followed, 
 walked slowly past, and entered the reading-desk. 
 
 " When the wicked man tumeth away from 
 his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth 
 that which is lawful and right, he shall save his 
 soul alive. . . ." 
 
 Taffy looked toward the Squire's pew. The 
 bald top of the Squire's head was just visible 
 
 50
 
 TAFFY RINGS THE CHUECH-BELL 
 
 above the ledge. He looked up at his mother, but 
 her eyes were fastened on her prayer-book. He 
 felt — he could not help it — that they were all 
 gathered to save this old man's soul, and that 
 everybody knew it, and secretly thought it a hope- 
 less case. The notion dogged him all through the 
 service, and for many Sundays after. Always 
 that bald head above the ledge, and his father 
 and the congregation trying to call down salva- 
 tion on it. He wondered what Honoria thought, 
 boxed up with it, and able to see its face. 
 
 Mr. Raymond mounted an upper pulpit to 
 preach his sermon. He chose his text from Saint 
 Matthew, Chapter vii., verses 26 and 27: 
 
 " And every one that Jieareth these sayings of 
 mine and doeth them not, shall he likened unto a 
 foolish man which built his house upon the sand; 
 
 " And the rain descended, and the foods came, 
 and the ivinds blew, and beat upon that house; 
 and it fell; and great was the fall of it." 
 
 Taffy never followed his father's sermons close- 
 ly. He would listen to a sentence or two, now 
 and again, and then let his wits wander. 
 
 " You think this church is built upon the sands. 
 
 The rain has come, the winds have blown and 
 
 51
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 beaten on it; the foundations have sunk, and it 
 leans to leeward. ... By the blessing of God 
 we will shore it up, and upon a foundation of 
 rock. Upon what rock, you ask? . . . Upon 
 that Rock which is the everlasting foundation of 
 the Church spiritual. . . . Hear what com- 
 fortable words our Lord spake to Peter. . . . 
 Our foundation must be faith, which is God's 
 continuing Presence on earth, and which we shall 
 recognize hereafter as God Himself. . . . 
 Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the 
 evidence of things not seen. ... In other 
 words, it is the rock we search for. . . . Draw 
 near it, and you will know yourself in God's very 
 shadow — the shadow of a great rock in a weary 
 land. ... As with this building, so with you, 
 O man, cowering from wrath, as these walls are 
 cowering. . . ." 
 
 The benediction was pronounced, the pew-door 
 opened, and the old man marched down the aisle, 
 looking neither to right nor to left, with his jaw 
 set like a closed gin. Honoria followed. She 
 had not so much as a glance for Taffy; but in 
 passing she gazed frankly at Humility, whom she 
 had not seen before. 
 
 Humility was rather ostentatiously cheerful at 
 
 52
 
 TAFFY EINGS THE CHURCH-BELL 
 
 dinner that day; a sure sign that at heart she was 
 disappointed. She had looked for a bigger con- 
 gregation, Mrs. Venning, who had been carried 
 downstairs for the meal, saw this, and asked few 
 questions. Both the women stole glances at Mr. 
 Raymond when they thought he was not observ- 
 ing them. He at least pretended to observe noth- 
 ing, but chatted away cheerfully. 
 
 " Taffy," he said, after dinner, " I want you to 
 run up to Tredinnis with a note from me. May- 
 be I will follow later, but I must go to the village 
 first." 
 
 53
 
 VI 
 
 A COCK-FIGHT 
 
 A footpath led Taffy past the church, and out 
 at length upon a high road, in face of two tall 
 granite pillars with an iron gate between. The 
 gate was surmounted with a big iron lantern, and 
 the lantern with a crest — two snakes' heads inter- 
 twined. The gate was shut, but the fence had 
 been broken down on either side, and the gap, 
 through which Taffy passed, was scored with 
 wheel-ruts. He followed these down an ill-kept 
 road bordered with furze-whins, tamarisks, and 
 clumps of bannel broom. By and by he came to 
 a ragged plantation of stone pines, backed by a 
 hedge of rhododendrons, behind Avhich the 
 hounds were baying in their kennels. It put him 
 in mind of the " Pilgrim's Progress," He heard 
 the stable clock strike three, and caught a 
 glimpse, over the shrubberies, of its cupola and 
 gilt weathercock. And then a turn of the road 
 
 brought him under the gloomy northern face of 
 
 54
 
 A COCK-FIGHT 
 
 the house, with its broad carriage sweep and sun- 
 less portico. Half the windows on this side had 
 been blocked up and painted black, with white 
 streaks down and across to represent frame-work. 
 
 He pulled at an iron bell-chain which dangled 
 by the great door. The bell clanged far within 
 and a dozen dogs took up the note, yelping in full 
 peal. He heard footsteps coming; the door was 
 opened, and the dogs poured out upon him — 
 spaniels, terriers, lurchers, greyhounds, and a big 
 Gordon setter — barking at him, leaping against 
 him, sniffing his calves. Taffy kept them at bay 
 as best he could and waved his letter at a wall- 
 eyed man in a dirty yellow waistcoat, who looked 
 down from the door-step but did not offer to call 
 them off. 
 
 " Any answer? " asked the wall-eyed man. 
 
 Taffy could not say. The man took the letter 
 and went to inquire, leaving him alone with the 
 dogs. 
 
 It seemed an age before he reappeared, having 
 
 in the interval slipped a dirty livery coat over his 
 
 yellow waistcoat. " The Squire says you're to 
 
 come in." Taffy and the dogs poured together 
 
 into a high, stone-flagged hall; then through a 
 
 larger hall and a long, dark corridor. The foot- 
 
 55
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 man's coat, for want of a loop, had been hitched 
 on a peg by its collar, and stuck out behind his 
 neck in the most ludicrous manner; but he shuf- 
 fled ahead so fast that Taffy, tripping and stumb- 
 ling among the dogs, had barely time to observe 
 this before a door was flung open, and he stood 
 blinking in a large room full of sunlight. 
 " Hello! Here's the parson's bantam! " 
 The room had four high, bare windows through 
 which the afternoon sunshine streamed on the 
 carpet. The carpet had a pattern of pink peonies 
 on a delicate buff ground, and was shamefully 
 dirty. And the apartment, with its white paint 
 and gilding and Italian sketches in water-color 
 and statuettes under glass, might have been a 
 lady's drawing-room. But paint and gilding 
 were tarnished ; the chintz chair-covers soiled and 
 torn; the pictures hung askew; and a smell of 
 dog filled the air. 
 
 Squire Moyle sat huddled in a deep chair, be- 
 side the fire-place, facing the middle of the room, 
 where a handsome, high-complexioned gentle- 
 man, somewhat past middle age, lounged on a 
 settee and dangled a gold-mounted riding crop. 
 A handsome boy knelt at the back of the settee 
 and leaned over the handsome gentleman's 
 
 56
 
 A COCK-FIGHT 
 
 shoulder. On the floor, between the two men, 
 lay a canvas bag; and something moved inside it. 
 At the end of the room, by the farthest window, 
 Ilonoria knelt over a big portfolio. She wore the 
 gray frock and pink sash which Taffy had seen in 
 church that morning, and she tossed her dark hair 
 back from her eyes as she looked up. 
 
 The Squire crumpled up the letter in his hand. 
 
 " Put the bag away," he safd to the handsome 
 gentleman. " 'Tis Sunday, I tell 'ee, and Parson 
 will be here in an hour. This is young six-foot I 
 was telling about." He turned to Taffy — 
 
 " Boy, go and shake hands with Sir Harry 
 Vyell." 
 
 Taffy did as he was bidden. " This is my son 
 George," said Sir Harry; and Taffy shook hands 
 with him, too, and liked his face. 
 
 " Put the bag away, Harry," said the Squire. 
 
 " Just to comfort 'ee now! " 
 
 " I tell 'ee I won't look at 'em." 
 
 Sir Harry untied the neck of the bag, and drew 
 out a smaller one; untied this, and out strutted a 
 game-cock. 
 
 The old Squire eyed it. " H'm, he don't seem 
 flourishing." 
 
 " Don't abuse a bird that's come twelve miles 
 
 57
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 in a bag, on purpose to cheer you up. He's a 
 match for anything you can bring." 
 
 " Tuts, man, he's dull — no color nor condition. 
 Get along with 'ee ; I wouldn' ask a bird o' mine 
 to break the Sabbath for a wastrel like that." 
 
 Sir Harry drew out a shagreen-covered case 
 and opened it. Within, on a lining of pale blue 
 velvet, lay two small sharp instruments of steel, 
 very highly polished. He lifted one, felt its 
 point, replaced it, set down the Qase on the carpet, 
 and fell to toying with the ears of the Gordon 
 setter, which had come sniffing out of curiosity. 
 
 " You're a very obstinate man," said Squire 
 Moyle. After a long pause he added, " I sup- 
 pose you're wanting odds? " 
 " Evens will do," said Sir Harry. 
 
 The old man turned and rang the bell. 
 
 " Tell Jem to fetch in the red cock," he 
 shouted to the wall-eyed footman — who must 
 have been waiting in the corridor, so promptly 
 he appeared. 
 
 " And Jim won't be long about it either," 
 whispered Honoria. She had come forward 
 quietly, and stood at Taffy's elbow. 
 
 Sir Harry shook a finger at her and laid it on 
 
 his lips. But the old Squire did not hear. He 
 
 58
 
 A COCK-FIGHT 
 
 sat glum, pulling a whisker and keeping a sour 
 eye on the bird, which was strutting about in 
 rather foolish bewilderment at the pink peonies 
 on the carpet. 
 
 " I'm giving you every chance," he grumbled 
 at length. 
 
 " Oh, as for that," Sir Harry replied, equably, 
 " have it out in the yard, if you please, on your 
 own dunghill." 
 
 " No. Indoors is bad enough." 
 
 Jim appeared just then, and turned out to be 
 Taffy's old enemy, the Whip, bearing the Squire's 
 game-cock in a basket. He took it out; a very 
 handsome bird, with a hackle in which gold, 
 purple, and the richest browns shone and were 
 blended. 
 
 Sir Harry had picked up his bird and was heel- 
 ing it with the long steel spurs; a very delicate 
 process, to judge by the time occupied and the 
 pucker on his good-tempered brow. 
 
 " Ready? " he asked at length. 
 
 Jim, who had been heeling the Squire's bird, 
 nodded, and the pair were set down. They ruf- 
 fled and flew at each other without an instant's 
 hesitation. The visitor, which five minutes be- 
 fore had been staring at the carpet so foolishly, 
 
 59
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 was prompt enough now. For a moment tlicy 
 paused, beak to beak, eye to eye, furious, witli 
 necks outstretched and hackles stiff with the 
 rage of battle. Then they began to rise and 
 fall like two feathers tossing in the air, very 
 quietly. But for the soft whir of wings there 
 was no sound in the room. Taffy could scarcely 
 believe they were fighting in earnest. For a mo- 
 ment they seemed to touch — to touch and no 
 more, and for a moment only — but in that mo- 
 ment the stroke was given. The home champion 
 fluttered down, stood on his legs for a moment, as 
 if nothing had happened, then toppled over and 
 lay twitching, as his conqueror strutted over him 
 and lifted his throat to crow. 
 
 Squire Moyle rose, clutching the corner of his 
 chair. His mouth opened and shut, but no words 
 came. Sir Harry caught up his bird, whipped off 
 his spurs, and thrust him back into the bag. The 
 old man dropped back, letting his chin sink on his 
 high stock-collar. 
 
 " It serves me right. Who shall deliver me 
 from the wrath to come? " 
 
 " Oh! as for that " Sir Harry finished 
 
 tying the neck of the bag, and lazily fell to fin- 
 gering the setter's ear. 
 
 GO
 
 A COCK-FIGHT 
 
 The old man was muttering to himself. Taffy 
 looked at the dead bird, then at Honoria. She 
 was gazing at it too, with untroubled eyes. 
 
 " But I will be saved ! I tell you, Harry, I 
 will! Take those birds away. Honoria, hand 
 me my Bible. It's all here " — he tapped the 
 heavy book — " miracles, redemption, justifica- 
 tion by faith — I will have faith. I will believe, 
 every d d word of it! " 
 
 Sir Harry broke in with a peal of laughter. 
 Taffy had never heard a laugh so musical. 
 
 The old man was adjusting his spectacles; but 
 he took them off and laid them down, his hands 
 shaking with rage. 
 
 " You came here to taunt me " — his voice 
 shook as his hand — " me, an old man, with no 
 son to my house. You think there's no fight left 
 in us or in the parish. I tell you what; make 
 that boy of yours strip and stand up, and I'll back 
 the Parson's youngster for doubles or quits. Off 
 with your coat, my son, and stand up to him ! " 
 
 Taffy turned round in a daze. He did not 
 
 understand. His eyes met Honoria's, and they 
 
 were fastened on him curiously. He was white 
 
 in the face; the sight of the murdered game-cock 
 
 had sickened him. 
 
 61
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " He doesn't look flourishing." Sir Harry 
 mimicked the Squire's recent manner. 
 
 Taffy turned with the look of a hunted animal. 
 He did not want to fight. He hated this house 
 and its inhabitants. The other boy was stripping 
 off his jacket with a good-humored smile. 
 
 " I — I don't want " Taffy began fumbling 
 
 with a button. " Please " 
 
 " Off with your coat, boy! You were game 
 enough t'other day. If you lick en, I'll put a new 
 roof on your father's church." 
 
 Taffy was still fumbling with his jacket-but- 
 ton when a bell sounded, clanging through the 
 house. 
 
 "The Parson!" 
 
 Squire Moyle clutched at his Bible like a child 
 who has been caught playing in school. Sir 
 Harry stepped to the window and flung up the 
 sash. " Out you tumble, youngsters — you too. 
 Miss, if you like. Pick up your coat, George — 
 cut and run to the stables ; I'll be round in a min- 
 ute — quick, out you go ! " 
 
 The children scrambled over the sill and 
 dropped onto the stone terrace. As his father 
 closed the sash behind him, George Vyell 
 laughed out. Then Taffy began to laugh; he 
 
 62
 
 A COCK-FIGHT 
 
 laughed all the way as they ran. When they 
 reached the stables he was swaying with laugh- 
 ter. There was a hepping-stock by the stable- 
 wall, and he flung himself onto the slate steps. 
 He could not stop laughing. The two others 
 stared at him. They thought he had gone 
 mad. 
 
 " Here comes Dad ! " cried George Vyell. 
 
 This sobered Taffy. He sat up and brushed 
 his eyes. Sir Harry whistled for Jim, and told 
 him to saddle the horses. 
 
 George and Honoria stood by the stable-door 
 and watched the saddling. The horses were led 
 out; Sir Harry's, a tall gray, George's, a roan 
 cob. 
 
 " Look, here! " Sir Harry said to Jim; " you 
 take my bird, and comfort your master with him. 
 I don't want him any more." 
 
 The two rode out of the yard and away up the 
 avenue. Honoria planted herself in front of 
 Taffy. 
 
 " Would you have fought just now? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " I — I don't know. That's my father call- 
 mg." 
 
 " But, would you have fought ? " 
 
 63
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " I must go to him." He would not look her 
 in the face. 
 '' Tell me." 
 
 "Don't bother! I don't know." 
 He ran out of the yard. 
 
 G4
 
 VII 
 
 GEOEGE 
 
 It appeared that Honoria and Taffy were to do 
 lessons together, and Mr. Raymond was to teach 
 them. This had been the meaning of his visit to 
 Tredinnis House. They began the very next day, 
 in the library at Tredinnis — a deserted room 
 carpeted with badgers' skins, and lined with un- 
 dusted books — works on farriery, veterinary sur- 
 gery, and sporting subjects, long rows of the 
 Annual Register, the Arminian Magazine. 
 
 Taffy began by counting the badgers' skins. 
 There were eighteen, and the moths had got into 
 them, so that the draught under the door puffed 
 little drifts of hair over the polished boards. 
 Then he settled down to the first Latin declension 
 — Musa, a muse; vocative, Musa, O muse! ; gen- 
 itive, Musce, of a muse. Honoria began upon the 
 ABC. 
 
 Mr. Raymond brought a pile of his own books, 
 and worked at them, scribbling notes in the mar- 
 
 C5
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 gin or on long slips of paper, while the children 
 learnt. A servant came in with a message from 
 Squire Moyle, and he left them for awhile. 
 
 " I call this nonsense," said Honoria. " How 
 am I to get these silly letters into my head? " 
 
 Taffy was glad of the chance to show off. 
 " Oh, that's easy. You make up a tale about 
 them. See here. A is the end of a house; it's 
 just like one with a beam across. B is a cat with 
 his tail curled under him — watch me drawing it. 
 C is an old woman, stooping; and D is another 
 cat, only his back is more rounded. Once upon a 
 time, there lived in a cottage an old woman who 
 went about with two cats, one on each side of her 
 — that's how you go on." 
 
 " But I can't go on. You must do it for me." 
 
 " Well, each of these cats had a comb, and was 
 combed every Saturday night. One was a good 
 cat, and kept his comb properly — like E, you see. 
 But the other had broken a tooth out of his — 
 that's F " 
 
 " I expect he was a fulmart," said Honoria. 
 
 Taffy agreed. He didn't know what a fulmart 
 
 was, but he was not going to confess it. So he 
 
 went on hurriedly, and Honoria thought him a 
 
 wonder. They came to "W. 
 
 66
 
 GEORGE 
 
 " So they got into a ship (I'll show you how to 
 make one out of paper, exactly like W), and sailed 
 up into the sky, for the ship was a Ship of Stars — 
 you make X's for stars; but that's a witch-ship; 
 so "it stuck fast in Y, which is a cleft ash-stick, and 
 then came a stroke of lightning, Z, and burnt 
 them all up! " He stopped, out of breath. 
 
 " I don't understand the ending at all," said 
 Honoria. " What is a Ship of Stars? " 
 
 " Haven't you ever seen one ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I have. There's a story about it " 
 
 "Tell me about it?" 
 
 " I'll tell you lots of stories afterwards ; about 
 the Frog-king and Aladdin and Man Friday and 
 The Girl who trod on a Loaf." 
 
 "And the Ship of Stars?" 
 
 "N— no." Taffy felt himself blushing. 
 " That's one of the stories that won't come — and 
 they're the loveliest of all," he added, in a burst 
 of confidence. 
 
 Honoria thought for a moment, but did not 
 understand in the least. All she said was, " What 
 funny words you use! " She went back to her 
 alphabet — A, house; B, cat. It came more easi- 
 ly now. 
 
 67
 
 THE SHIP OF STAKS 
 
 After lessons she made him tell her a story; 
 and Taffy, who wished to be amusing, told her 
 about the " Valiant Tailor who killed Seven at a 
 Blow." To his disgust, it scarcely made her 
 smile. But after this, she was always asking for 
 stories, and always listened solemnly, with her 
 dark eyes fixed on his face. She never seemed to 
 admire him at all for his gift, but treated it with 
 a kind of indulgent wonder, as if he were some 
 queer animal with uncommon tricks. This 
 dashed Taffy a bit, for he liked to bethought a fine 
 fellow. But he went on telling his stories, and 
 sometimes invented new ones for her. George 
 Vyell was much more appreciative. Sir Harry 
 had heard of the lessons, and wrote to beg that his 
 son might join the class. So George rode over 
 three times a week to learn Latin, which he did 
 with uncommon slowness. But he thought Taf- 
 fy's stories stunning, and admired him without a 
 shade of envy. The two boys liked each other; 
 and when they were alone Taffy stood an inch or 
 two higher in self-conceit than when Honoria 
 happened to be by. But he took more pains with 
 his stories if she was listening. As for her lessons, 
 Honoria got through them by honest plodding. 
 
 She never quite saw the use of them, but she liked 
 
 68
 
 ^ GEORGE 
 
 Mr. Raymond. She learnt more steadily than 
 either of the boys. 
 
 One day George rode over with two pairs of 
 boxing-gloves dangling from his saddle. After 
 lessons he and Taffy had a try with them, in a 
 clearing behind the shrubberies where the gar- 
 dener had heaped his sweepings of dry leaves to 
 rot down for manure. 
 
 " But, look here," said George, after the first 
 round; " you'll never learn if you hit so wild as 
 that. You must keep your head up, and watch 
 my eyes and feint." 
 
 Taffy couldn't help it. As soon as ever he 
 struck out, he forgot that it was not real fighting. 
 And he felt ashamed to look George straight in 
 the face, for his own eyes were full of tears of ex- 
 citement. At the end of the bout, when George 
 said, " Now we must shake hands; it's the proper 
 thing to do," he looked bewildered for a moment. 
 It made George laugh in his easy way, and then 
 Taffy laughed too. 
 
 After this they had a bout almost every day; 
 
 and he was soon able to hold his own and treat it 
 
 as sport. But somehow he always felt a passion 
 
 behind it, whispering to him to put some nastiness 
 
 into his blows, especially when Honoria came to 
 
 69
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 look on. And yet he liked George far better than 
 he liked Honoria. Indeed he adored George, and 
 the Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings 
 when George appeared were the bright spots in 
 his week. Lessons were over at twelve o'clock; 
 by one o'clock Taffy had to be home for dinner. 
 Loneliness filled the afternoons, but the child 
 peopled them with extravagant fancies. He and 
 George were crusaders sworn to defend the Holy 
 Sepulchre, and bound by an oath of brotherhood, 
 though George was a Ked Cross Knight and he a 
 plain squire; and after the most surprising ad- 
 ventures Taffy received the barbed and poisoned 
 arrow intended for his master, and died most im- 
 pressively, with George and Honoria, and Rich- 
 ard Coeur de Lion, and most of the characters 
 from " Ivanhoe," sobbing round his bed. There 
 was a Blondel variant too, with George im- 
 prisoned in a high tower; and a monstrous con- 
 glomerate tale in which most of the heroes of his- 
 tory and romance played second fiddle to George, 
 whose pre-eminence, though occasionally chal- 
 lenged by Achilles, Sir Lancelot, or the Black 
 Prince, was regularly vindicated by Taffy's time- 
 ly help. 
 
 This tale, with endless variations, actually 
 
 70
 
 GEOEGE 
 
 lasted him for two good years. Tlie scene of it 
 never lay among the towans, but round about his 
 old home or the well-remembered meadow at 
 Tewkesbury. That was his Plain of Troy, his 
 Field of Cressy, his lists of Ashby de la Zouche. 
 The high road at the back of the towans crossed 
 a stream, by a ford and a foot-bridge; and the 
 travelling postman, if he had any letters for the 
 Parsonage, would stop by the foot-bridge and 
 blow a horn. He little guessed what challenges 
 it sounded to the small boy who came running for 
 the post. 
 
 The postman came by, as a rule, at two o'clock, 
 or thereabouts. One afternoon in early spring 
 Mr. Raymond happened to be starting for a walk 
 when the horn was blown, and he and Taffy went 
 to meet the post together. There were three or 
 four letters which the Vicar opened ; and one for 
 Humility, which he put in his pocket. In the 
 midst of his reading, he looked up, smiled over his 
 spectacles, and said: 
 
 " Oxford has won the boat-race." 
 
 Taffy had been deep in the Fifth JEneid for 
 
 some weeks, and boat-racing ran much in his 
 
 mind. 
 
 " Who is Oxford? " he asked. 
 
 71
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Mr. Raymond took off his spectacles and wiped 
 them. It came on him suddenly that his child, 
 whom he loved, was shut out from many of his 
 dearest thoughts. 
 
 " Oxford is a city," he answered; and added, 
 " the most beautiful city in the world." 
 
 " Shall I ever go there? " Taffy asked. 
 
 Mr. Raymond walked off without seeming to 
 hear the question. But that evening after sup- 
 per he told the most wonderful tales of Oxford 
 while Taffy listened and hoped his mother would 
 forget his bed-time; and Humility listened too, 
 bending over her guipure. The love with which 
 he looked back to Oxford was the second passion 
 of Samuel Raymond's life; and Humility was 
 proud of it, not jealous at all. He forgot all the 
 struggle, all the slights, all the grip of poverty. 
 To him those years had become an heroic age, 
 and men Homeric men. And so he made them 
 appear to Taffy, to whom it was wonderful 
 that his father should have moved among such 
 giants. 
 
 " And shall I go there too? " 
 
 Humility glanced up quickly, and met her hus- 
 band's eyes. 
 
 " Some day, please God ! " she said. Mr. Ray- 
 
 72
 
 GEOEGE 
 
 mond stared at the embers of wreck-wood on the 
 hearth. 
 
 Erom that night Oxford became the main 
 scene of Taffy's imaginings; a wholly fictitious 
 Oxford, pieced together of odds and ends from 
 picture-books, and peopled with all the old heroes. 
 And so, with contests on the models of the Fifth 
 -^neid, the story went forward gallantly for 
 many months. 
 
 But the afternoons were long; and at times 
 the interminable sand-hills and everlasting roar of 
 the sea oppressed the child with a sense of loneli- 
 ness beyond words. The rabbits and gulls would 
 not make friends with him, and he ached for com- 
 panionship. Of that ache was born his half -crazy 
 adoration of George Vyell. There were hours 
 when he lay in some nook of the towans, peering 
 into the ground, seeing pictures in the sand — pict- 
 ures of men and regiments and battles, shifting 
 with the restless drift; until, unable to bear it, he 
 flung out his hands to efface them, and hid his 
 face in the sand, sobbing, " George! George! " 
 
 At night he would creep out of bed to watch 
 
 the light-house winking away in the northeast. 
 
 George lived somewhere beyond. And again it 
 
 would be " George! George! " 
 
 73
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 ' And when the happy mornings came, and 
 George with them, Taffy was as shy as a lover. 
 So George never guessed. It might have sur- 
 prised that very careless young gentleman, when 
 he looked up from his verbs which govern the da- 
 tive, and caught Taffy's eye, could he have seen 
 himself in his halo there. 
 
 U
 
 yiii 
 
 THE SQUIRE^S SOUL 
 
 Two years passed, and a third winter. The 
 church was now well on its way to restoration. 
 The roof had been repaired, the defective timbers 
 removed and sound ones inserted, the south wall 
 strengthened with three buttresses, the founda- 
 tions on that side examined and shored up. The 
 old Squire did not halt here. Furniture arrived 
 for the interior; a handsome altar cloth, a small 
 gilt cross, a dozen hanging lamps, an oaken lec- 
 tern, cushions, hymn-books, a big new Bible with 
 purple book-markers. He promised to take out 
 the east window — which was just a patch-work of 
 common glass, like a cucumber frame — and re- 
 place it with sound mullions and stained glass, in 
 memory of his only daughter, Honoria's mother. 
 She had run away from Tredinnis House, and 
 married a penniless captain; and Honoria's sur- 
 name was Callastair, though nobody uttered it in 
 
 the old man's hearing. Husband and wife had 
 
 75
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 died in India, of cholera, within three years of 
 their marriage; and the old man had sent for the 
 child. Having relented so far, he went on to do 
 it thoroughly, in his own fashion. He neglected 
 Honoria; but she might have anything she want- 
 ed for the asking. It seemed, though, that she 
 wanted very little. 
 
 He allowed Mr. Raymond to choose the design 
 for this window. He only stipulated that the sub- 
 ject should be Jonah and the whale. " There's 
 no story '11 compare with it for trying a man's 
 faith." 
 
 When the window came and was erected he 
 complained that it left out most of the whale, of 
 which the jaws and one wicked little red eye were 
 all that appeared. " It looks half-hearted. Why 
 didn't they swim en all in? 'Tis neck or nothin' 
 wi' that story; but they've made it neck and 
 nothin'. An' after coloring en violet too ! " 
 
 In return the Vicar had hunted up some county 
 histories and heraldic works in the library at Tre- 
 dinnis, and was now busy re-emblazoning with his 
 own hand the devices carved on the Moyle pew. 
 
 Little by little, too, the congregation had 
 
 grown. The people came shyly at first. They 
 
 mistrusted the Established Church. But they 
 
 76
 
 THE SQUIRE'S SOUL 
 
 treated the Vicar with politeness when he visited 
 them. And seeing him so awkward, and how 
 with all his book-learning he listened to their 
 opinions and blushed when he offered any small 
 service, they grew to like him, being shy them- 
 selves. They pitied him too, knowing the old 
 Squire better than he did. So from Sunday to 
 Sunday Taffy, pulling at his rope in the belfry, 
 counted the new-comers, and Humility talked 
 about them on the way home and at dinner. 
 They were fisher folk for the most part; the men 
 in blue guernseys and corduroy trousers, and 
 some with curled black beards and rings in their 
 ears ; the women, in gayer colors than you see in 
 an up-country church; a southern-seeming race, 
 with southern-sounding names — Santo, Jose, 
 Hugo, Bennet, Cara. They belonged — so Mr. 
 Raymond often told himself — to the class from 
 which Christ called His Apostles. Sometimes, 
 scanning an olive-colored face, he would be mind- 
 ed of the Sea of Gennesareth; and, a minute 
 later, the sight of the gray coast-line with its 
 whirled spray would chill the fancy. 
 
 The congregation always lingered outside the 
 porch after service; and then one would say to 
 
 another: " Wall, there's more in the man than 
 
 77
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 you'd think. See you up to meetin' this evenin', 
 Is'pose? So long!" 
 
 But having come once, they came again. And 
 the family at the Parsonage were full of hope, 
 though Taffy longed sometimes for a play-fellow, 
 and sometimes for he knew not what, and Humil- 
 ity bent over her lace-pillow and thought of green 
 lanes and of Beer Village and women at work by 
 sunshiny doorways; and wondered if their faces 
 had changed. 
 
 O, that I were where I would be ! 
 
 Then would I be where I am not ; 
 But where I am, there I must be, 
 
 And where I would be, I cannot. 
 
 She never told a soul of her home thoughts. 
 Her husband never guessed them. But Taffy 
 (without knowing why), whenever this verse 
 from his old play-book came into his head, con- 
 nected it with his mother. 
 
 But the old Squire was getting impatient. He 
 took quite a feudal view of the saving of his soul, 
 and would have dragged the whole parish to 
 church by main force, had it been possible. 
 
 Late one afternoon, Taffy was lying in one of 
 his favorite nooks in the lee of the towans, when 
 he heard voices and looked. And there sat the 
 
 78
 
 THE SQUIEE'S SOUL 
 
 old gentleman looking down on him from horse- 
 back, with Bill Udy at his side. The Squire was 
 in hunting dress. 
 
 " What be doin' down there ? " he asked. 
 "Praying?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " I wish you would. 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 con- 
 victions, 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 
 
 79
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 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 an- 
 other word, strode off across the sand-hills, with 
 his head down and 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 em up to Meetiu' 
 
 house, up to Four Turnin's ; slipped his ridin' 
 
 crop through the haps o' the door, an' ' jSTow, 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, 
 
 ^ \Yliosoever will he 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 
 
 80
 
 THE SQUIRE'S 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 he's an- 
 noyance that 'twasn't a boy, but drive a she-ass 
 into church ? Very stiff behavior. 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 dropped into church just before 
 sarmon-time. There was a rabbit squattin' out- 
 side 'pon his father's tombstone. Squire crep' 
 up an' clapped his Sunday hat 'pon top of en. 
 Took en into church. One o' the curate chaps 
 was preachin' — a timorous little fellah. By 'n 
 by Squire slips out his rabbit. ' Wirroo, boys ! 
 Coorse en, coorse en — we'll have en for dinner ! ' 
 Aw, a pretty dido ! The curate fellah ran out to 
 door an' the rabbit after en. Folks did say the 
 rabbit was the old Squire's soul, an' that he'd 
 turned black inside the young Squire's hat. Very 
 stiff behavior. 
 
 "He've had his own way too much; that's 
 what it is. When he was pricked for sheriff, he 
 hired a ramshackle po'shay, painted a mule 'pon 
 
 81
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 the panel, an' stuffed the footmen's stockings 
 with bran till it looked a case of dropsy. He was 
 annoyed at bein' put to the expense. The judge 
 lost his temper at bein' met in such a way, an' 
 pitched into en in open court, specially about the 
 mule. He didn't know 'twas the Squire's shield 
 of arms. Squire stood it for some time; but at 
 last he ups an' says, ' If you was an old woman of 
 mine, I'd dress 'ee different; an' if you was an 
 old woman of mine an' kep scolding like that, I'd 
 have 'ee in the duckin'-stool for your sauce ! ' He 
 almost went to gaol for that. But they put it on 
 the ground the judge had insulted his shield-of- 
 arms, an' so he got off. 
 
 " Well, wish — 'ee — well! Don't you trouble 
 about he. He've had his own way too much, but 
 he won't get it this time." 
 
 That night Taffy dreamed that he met Squire 
 Moyle walking along the shore; but the sand 
 clogged him, and his spurs sank in it and his rid- 
 ing-boots. "When he was ankle deep he began to 
 call out, " Pray for me! " Then Taffy saw a 
 black rabbit running on the firm sand to the 
 breakers; and the Squire cried "Pray for me! 
 I must catch en ! 'Tis my father's soul running 
 
 off! " and put his hand into his breast and drew 
 
 82
 
 THE SQUIEE'S SOUL 
 
 out a stone and flung it. But the stone, as soon 
 as it touched the sand, turned into another rab- 
 bit, and the pair ran off together along the shore. 
 The old man tried to follow, but the sand held 
 him; and tide was rising. 
 
 83
 
 IX 
 
 ENTER THE KING's POSTMAN 
 
 A faint south wind murmured beneath the 
 eaves. It died away, and for an hour there was 
 peace on the towans. Then the sands began to 
 trickle again, and the rushes to whisper and bend 
 away from the sea, toward the high moors over 
 which the gulls had flown yesterday and disap- 
 peared. By and by a spit or two of rain came 
 flying out of the black northwest. The drops fell 
 in the path of the sand, but the sand drove over 
 and covered them, racing faster and faster. 
 
 Day rose, and Taffy awoke. The house walls 
 
 were shaking. "With each blow the wind ran up a 
 
 scale of notes and ended with a howl. He looked 
 
 out. Sea and sky had melted into one; only now 
 
 and then the white surf line heaved into sight, 
 
 and melted back into gray. After breakfast he 
 
 and his father started to battle their way to Tre- 
 
 dinnis House, while Humility barricaded the 
 
 84
 
 ENTER THE KING'S POSTMAN 
 
 door behind them. Taffy wore a suit of oilers, 
 of which he was mightily proud. 
 
 They made their way under the lee of the 
 towans to escape the stinging sand. Within Tre- 
 dinnis Gates they found a couple of pine-trees 
 blown down across the road, and scrambled over 
 their trunks. Before lessons, Taffy boasted a lot 
 of his journey, to Honoria, and almost forgot to 
 be sorry that George did not appear, though it 
 was Wednesday. 
 
 They had no trouble in reaching home. The 
 gale hurled them along. Taffy, leaning his back 
 against it, could scarcely feel his feet touching 
 ground. Humility unfastened the door, looking 
 white and anxious. Before they could close it 
 again, the wind swept a big dish off the dresser 
 with a crash. 
 
 Taffy slept soundly that night. He did not 
 hear a knocking which sounded on the house- 
 door, soon after eleven o'clock. The man who 
 knocked came from Tresedder, one of the moor- 
 farms. " Oh, sir! did 'ee see the rockets go up 
 over Innis ? There'll be dead men down 'pon the 
 Island rocks." 
 
 Taffy slept on. When he came downstairs, 
 
 next morning, there was a stranger in the kitchen 
 
 85
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 — a little old man, huddled in a blanket before 
 the great fireplace, where a line of clothes hung 
 drying. Humility was stooping to wedge a sand- 
 bag under the door. She looked up at Taffy with 
 a wan little smile. 
 
 " There has been a wreck," she said. 
 
 " Glory be ! " exclaimed the stranger from the 
 fireplace. 
 
 Taffy glanced at him, but could see little 
 more than the back of a bald head above the 
 blankets. 
 
 " Where's the ship? " he asked. 
 
 " Gone," answered the Vicar, coming at that 
 moment from the inner room where his books 
 were. " She must have broken up in less than 
 ten minutes after she struck the Island — parted 
 and gone down in six fathoms of water." 
 
 " And the men? Was father there? " It be- 
 wildered Taffy that all this should have hap- 
 pened while he was sleeping. 
 
 " There was no time to fix the rocket appa- 
 ratus. She was late in making her distress sig- 
 nals. But I doubt if anything could have been 
 done. She went down too quickly." 
 
 " But " Taffy's gaze wandered to the 
 
 bald head. 
 
 8G
 
 ENTER THE KING'S POSTMAN 
 
 " He was washed clean over the ridge where 
 she struck, and swept into Innis Pool — one big 
 wave carried him into safety — one man out of 
 six." 
 
 " Hallelujah ! " cried the rescued man facing 
 round in his chair. " Might ha' been scat like an 
 eggshell, and here I be shoutin' praises ! " Taffy 
 saw that he was a clean-shaven little fellow, with 
 puckered cheeks and two wisps of gray hair curl- 
 ing forward from his ears. 
 
 Mr. Raymond frowned. " I am sure," said he, 
 " you ought not to be talking so much." 
 
 " I will sing and give praise, sir, beggin' your 
 pardon, with the best member that I have. Who 
 is weak, and I am not weak? Who is offended 
 and I burn not? Hallelujah! A-men! " 
 
 He took his basin of bread and milk from Hu- 
 mility's hand, and ate by the fire. She had 
 wrung his clothes through fresh water, and as 
 soon as they were thoroughly dry he retired up- 
 stairs to change. He came back to his seat by 
 the fire. 
 
 " Now, I be like 'Possel Paul," he said, rub- 
 bing his hands, and stretching them out to the 
 blaze. " After his shipwreck, you know, when 
 
 the folks 'pon the island showed en kindness. 
 
 87
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in 
 your eyes. 
 
 Not fearing nor doubting, 
 With Christ by my side, 
 I hopes to die shouting, 
 The Lord will provide." 
 
 Humility thought that for certain the ship- 
 wreck had turned his head. 
 
 " But where do you come from? " she asked. 
 
 " They call me Jacky Pascoe, ma'am ; but I 
 calls myself the King's Postman — 
 
 Jack Paseoe is my name, 
 
 Wendron is my nation, 
 Nowhere is my dwelling-place, 
 
 For Christ is my salvation. — 
 
 I was brought to a miner, ovey to Wheal Jewel, 
 in Illogan Parish; but got conversion fifteen 
 years since, an' now I go about praising the 
 Name. I've been miner, cafender, cooper, 
 mason, seaman, scissor-grinder, umbrella-mender, 
 hollibubber, all by turns. I sticks my hands in 
 my pockets, an' waits on the Lord; an' what He 
 tells me to do, I do. This day week I was up to 
 Fowey, working on the tip.* There was a little 
 schooner there, the Garibaldi, of Newport, dis- 
 
 • Loading vessels from the jetties. 
 88
 
 ENTER THE KING'S POSTMAN 
 
 charging coal. The Lord said to me, ' Arise, go 
 in that there schooner I ' I sought out the skip- 
 per, and said, ' Where be bound for next? Back 
 to Newport,' says he. ' That'll suit me,' I says, 
 an' persuaded en to take me. But the Lord knew 
 where she were bound, better'n the skipper ; and 
 here I be!" 
 
 It seemed to his hearers that this man took 
 little thought of his drowned shipmates. Mr. 
 Raymond looked up as he strapped his books to- 
 gether. 
 
 " You were not the only man in that schoon- 
 er," he said, rather severely. 
 
 " Glory be ! Who be I, to question the Lord's 
 
 ways? One day I picked up a map an' seed a 
 
 place on it called ' Little Sins.' ' Little Sins 
 
 wants great Deliverance,' says I, an' I started 
 
 clane off an' walked to the place, though I'd 
 
 never so much as heard of it till then. 'Twas 
 
 harvest-time there, an' I danced into the field, 
 
 shouting ' Glory, glory ! The harvest is plenty, 
 
 but the laborers be few ! ' The farmer was moved 
 
 to give me a job 'pon the spot. I bided there two 
 
 year, an' built them a chapel an' preached the 
 
 Word in it. They offered me money to stop an' 
 
 preach; and I laid it before the Lord. But He 
 
 89
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 said, ' You're the King's Postman. Keep mov- 
 ing, keep on moving! ' I've built two more 
 chapels since then." 
 
 Late that afternoon, three bodies were recov- 
 ered from the sea — the captain, the mate, and a 
 boy of about sixteen; and were buried in the 
 church-yard next day, as soon as the inquest was 
 over. Pascoe followed the coffins, and pointed 
 the service at the grave-side with inter jaculations 
 of his own. ''Glory be!" "A-men!" "Hal- 
 lelujah! " " Great Redemption! " To the Vic- 
 ar's surprise, the small crowd, after a minute, 
 began to follow the man's lead, until at length he 
 could scarcely read for these interruptions. 
 
 At supper that night Pascoe sprang a question 
 on the Vicar. 
 
 " Be you convarted? " he asked, looking up, 
 with his mouth full of bread and cheese. 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 "Aw, you hopes! 'Tis a bad case with 'ee, 
 then. When a man's convarted, he knows. 
 Seemin' to me, vou baint. You don't show 
 enough of the bright side. Now, as I go along, 
 my very toes keep ticking salvation. Down goes 
 one foot, ' Glory be ! ' Down goes the other, 
 ' A-men,' Aw! I must dance for joy!" 
 
 90
 
 ENTER THE KING'S POSTMAN 
 
 He got up and danced around the kitchen. 
 
 " I wish the man would go," Humility thought 
 to herself. 
 
 His very next words answered her wish. 
 
 " I'll be leavin' to-morrow, friends. I've got 
 a room down to the village, an' I've borreyed a 
 razor. I'm goin' to tramp round the mines at the 
 back here, an' shave the miners at a ha'penny a 
 chin. That'll pay my way. There's a new 
 preacher planned to the Bible Christians, down 
 to Innis, an' I'm goin' to help he. My dears, 
 don't 'ee tell me the Lord didn' know what He 
 was about when He cast the Garibaldi ashore ! " 
 
 He left the Parsonage next day. " Ma'am," 
 he said to Humility, on leaving, " I salute this 
 here house. Peace be on this here house, for it is 
 worthy. He that receiveth a prophet in the name 
 of a prophet, shall receive a prophet's reward." 
 
 Two mornings later, Taffy, looking out from 
 his bed-room window soon after daybreak, saw 
 the prophet trudging along the road. He had a 
 clean white bag slung across his shoulder; it car- 
 ried his soap and razors, no doubt. And every 
 now and then he waved his walking-stick and 
 skipped as he went. 
 
 91
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 A volley of sand darkened and shook the pane. 
 Taffy, sponging himself in his tub and singing 
 between his gasps, looked up hastily, then flung 
 a big towel about him and ran to the window. 
 
 Honoria was standing below, and Comedy, her 
 gray pony, with a creel and a couple of fishing- 
 rods strapped to his canvas girth. 
 
 " Wake up! I've come to take you fishing." 
 
 Mr. Raymond had started off at daybreak to 
 walk to Truro on business; so there would be no 
 lessons that morning, and Taffy had been looking 
 forward to a lonely whole holiday. 
 
 " I've brought two pasties," said Honoria, 
 " and a bottle of milk. We'll go over to George's 
 country and catch trout. He is to meet us at 
 Vellingey Bridge. We arranged it all yesterday, 
 only I kept it for a surprise." 
 
 Taffy could have leapt for joy. " Go in and 
 speak to mother," he said, " she's in the kitchen." 
 
 Honoria hitched Comedy's bridle over the 
 
 92
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 gate, walked up the barren little garden, and 
 knocked at the door. When Mrs. Raymond 
 opened it she held out a hand politely. 
 
 " How do you do? " she said, " I have come to 
 ask if Taffy may go fishing with me." 
 
 Except in chursh, and outside the porch for a 
 formal word or two. Humility and Honoria had 
 never met. This was Honoria's first visit to the 
 Parsonage, and the sight of the clean kitchen and 
 shining pots and pans filled her with wonder. 
 Humility shook hands and made a silent note of 
 the child's frock, which was torn and wanted 
 brushing. 
 
 " He may go, and tliank you. It's lonely for 
 him here, very often." 
 
 " I suppose," said Honoria gravely, " I ought 
 
 to have called before. I wish " She was 
 
 about to say that she wished Humility would 
 come to Tredinnis House. But her eyes wan- 
 dered to the orderly dresser and the scalding-pans 
 by the fireplace. 
 
 '^ I mean — if Taffy had a sister it would be 
 different." 
 
 Humility bent to lift a kettle off the fire. 
 When she faced round again, her eyes were smil- 
 ing, though her lip trembled a little. 
 
 93
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 "How bright you keep everything here!" 
 said Ilonoria. 
 
 " There's a plenty of sand to scour with; it's 
 bad for the garden though." 
 
 " Don't you grow any flowers? " 
 
 " I planted a few pansies the first year; they 
 came from my home up in Devonshire. But the 
 sand covered them. It covers everything." She 
 smiled, and asked suddenly, " May I kiss you? " 
 
 " Of course you may," said Honoria. But she 
 blushed as Humility did it, and they both laughed 
 shyly. 
 
 "Hullo! " cried Taffy from the foot of the 
 stairs. Honoria moved to the window. She 
 heard the boy and his mother laughing and mak- 
 ing pretence to quarrel, while he chose the brown- 
 est of the hot cakes from the wood-ashes. She 
 stared out upon Humility's buried pansies. It 
 was strange — a minute back she had felt quite 
 happy. 
 
 Humility set them off and watched them till 
 they disappeared in the first dip of the towans; 
 and then sat down in the empty kitchen and wept 
 a little before carrying up her mother's breakfast. 
 
 Ilonoria rode in silence for the first mile ; but 
 
 Taffy sang and whistled by turns as he skipped 
 
 91
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 alongside. The whole world flashed and glit- 
 tered around the boy and girl; the white gulls 
 fishing, the swallows chasing one another across 
 the dunes, the lighthouse on the distant spit, the 
 whitewashed mine-chimneys on the ridge beside 
 the shore. Away on the rises of the moor one 
 hill-farm laughed to another in a steady flame of 
 furze blossom — laughed with a tinkle of singing 
 larks. And beyond the last rise lay the land of 
 wonders, George's country. " Hark ! " Honoria 
 reined up. " Isn't that the cuckoo? " Taffy 
 listened. Yes, somewhere among the hillocks 
 seaward its note was dinning. 
 "Count!" 
 
 Cuckoo, cherry-tree, 
 
 Be a good bird and tell to me 
 
 How many years before I die? 
 
 " Ninety-six ! " Taffy announced. 
 
 " Ninety-two," said Honoria, " but we won't 
 quarrel about it. Happy month to you ! " 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " It is the first of May. Come along; perhaps 
 we shall meet the Mayers, though we're too late, I 
 expect. Hullo! there's a miner — let's ask him." 
 
 The miner came upon them suddenly — foot- 
 steps make no sound among the towans ; a young 
 
 95
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 man in a suit stained orange-tawny, with a tallow 
 candle stuck with a lump of clay in the brim of 
 his hat, and a striped tulip stuck in another lump 
 of clay at the back and nodding. 
 
 " Good-morning, miss. You've come a day 
 behind the fair." 
 
 " Is the Maying over? " Honoria asked. 
 
 " Iss, fay. I've just been home to shift my- 
 self." 
 
 He walked along with them and told them all 
 about it in the friendliest manner. It had been 
 a grand Maying — all the boys and girls In the 
 parish — with the hal-an-tow, of course — such 
 dancing! Fine and tired some of the maids must 
 be — he wouldn't give much for the work they'd 
 do to-day. Two May mornings in one year 
 would make a grass-captain mad, as the saying 
 was. But there — 'twas a poor spirit that never 
 rejoiced. 
 
 " Which do you belong to? " Taffy nodded 
 toward the mine-chimneys on the sky-line high 
 on their left, which hid the sea, though it lay less 
 than half a mile away and the roar of it was in 
 their ears — just such a roar as the train makes 
 when rushing through a tunnel. 
 
 " Bless you, I'm a tinner. I belong to Wheal 
 
 96
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 Gooniver, up the valley. Wheal Ylo there, 'pon 
 the cliff, he's lead. And the next to him. Wheal 
 Penhale, he's iron. I came a bit out of my way 
 with you for company." 
 
 Soon after parting from him they crossed the 
 valley-stream (Taffy had to wade it), and here 
 they happened on a dozen tall girls at work 
 " spalling " the tin-ore, but not busy. The most 
 of them leaned on their hammers, or stood with 
 hands on hips, their laughter drowning the thud, 
 thud, of the engine-house and the rattle of the 
 stamps up the valley. And the cause of it all 
 seemed to be a smaller girl who stood by with 
 a basket in her arms. 
 
 " Here you be, Lizzie! " cried one. " Here's 
 a young lady and gentleman coming with money 
 in their pockets." 
 
 Lizzie turned. She was a child of fourteen, 
 perhaps; brown skinned, with shy, wild eyes. 
 Her stockings were torn, her ragged clothes dec- 
 orated with limp bunches of bluebells, and her 
 neck and wrists with twisted daisy chains. She 
 skipped up to Honoria and held out a basket. 
 Within it, in a bed of fern, lay a May-doll among 
 a few birds' eggs — a poor wooden thing in a sin- 
 gle garment of pink calico. 
 
 97
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 " Give me something for my doll, miss! " she 
 begged. 
 
 " Aw, that's too tame," one of the girls called 
 out, and pitched her voice to the true beggar's 
 whine: " Spare a copper! My only child, dear 
 kind lady, and its only father broke his tender 
 neck in a blasting accident, and left me twelve to 
 maintain! " 
 
 All the girls began laughing again. Honoria 
 did not laugh. She was feeling in her pocket. 
 
 " What is your name ? " she asked. 
 
 " Lizzie Pezzack. My father tends the light- 
 house. Give me something for my doll, miss ! '^ 
 
 Ilonoria held out a half-crown piece. 
 
 " Hand it to me." 
 
 The child did not understand. " Give me 
 something — " she began again in her dull, level 
 voice. 
 
 Ilonoria stamped her foot. " Give it to me! " 
 She snatched up the doll and thrust it into the 
 fishing creel, tossed the coin into Lizzie's basket, 
 and, taking Comedy by the bridle, moved up the 
 path. 
 
 " Slie've adopted en!" They laughed and 
 
 called out to Lizzie that she was in luck's way. 
 
 But Taffy saw the child's face as she stared into 
 
 98
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 the empty basket, and that it was perplexed and 
 forlorn. 
 
 "Why did you do that?" he asked, as he 
 caught up with Ilonoria. She did not answer. 
 
 And now they turned away from the sea, and 
 struck a high road which took them between 
 up-land farms and across the ridge of cultivated 
 land to a valley full of trees. A narrow path led 
 inland up this valley. They followed it under 
 pale-green shadows, in Indian file, the pony at 
 Honoria's heels, and Taffy behind, and stepped 
 out into sunlight again upon a heathery moor, 
 where a trout stream chattered and sparkled. 
 And there by a granite bridge they found George 
 fishing, with three small trout shining on the turf 
 beside him. 
 
 This was a day which Taffy remembered all his 
 life, and yet most confusedly. Indeed there was 
 little to remember it by — little to be told — ex- 
 cept that all the while the stream talked, the larks 
 sang, and in the hollow of the hills three chil- 
 dren were happy. George landed half a dozen 
 trout before lunch-time; but Taffy caught none, 
 partly because he knew nothing about fishing, 
 partly because the chatter of the stream set him 
 
 telling tales to himself, and he forgot the rod in 
 
 99
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 his hand. And Honoria, after hooking a tiny fish 
 and throwing it back into the water, wandered 
 off in search of larks' nests. She came slowly 
 back when George blew a whistle announcing 
 lunch. 
 
 " Hullo! What's this? " he asked, as he dived 
 a hand into her creel. " Ugh! a doll! I say, 
 Taffy, let's float her down the river. What hum- 
 bug, Honoria! " 
 
 But she had snatched the doll and crammed it 
 back roughly into the creel. A minute later, 
 when they were not looking, she lifted the lid 
 again and disposed the poor thing more gently. 
 
 " Why don't you talk, one of you ? " George 
 demanded, with his mouth full. 
 
 Taffy shook himself out of his waking dream 
 — " I was wondering where it goes to," he said, 
 and nodded toward the running water. 
 
 " It goes down to Langona," said George, 
 
 " and that's just a creek full of sand, with a 
 
 church right above it in a big grass meadow — 
 
 the queerest small church you ever saw. But 
 
 I've heard my father tell that hundreds of years 
 
 back a big city stood there, with seven fine 
 
 churches, and quays, and deep water alongside 
 
 and above, so that ships could sail right up 
 
 100
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 to the ford. They came from all parts of the 
 world for tin and lead, and the people down in 
 the city had nothing to do but sit still and grow 
 rich." 
 
 " Somebody must have worked," interrupted 
 Honoria; " on the buildings and all that." 
 
 " The building was done by convicts. The 
 story is that convicts were transported here from 
 all over the kingdom." 
 
 " Did they live in the city? " 
 
 " No ; they had a kind of camp across the 
 creek. They dug out the harbor too, and kept it 
 clear of sand. You can still see the marks of 
 their pick-axes along the cliffs; I'll show them 
 to you, some day. My father knows all about it, 
 because his great-great-great-great-grandfather 
 (and a heap more ' greats,' I don't know how 
 many) was the only one saved when the city was 
 buried." 
 
 " Was he from the city, or one of the con- 
 victs? " asked Honoria, who had not forgiven 
 George's assault upon her doll. 
 
 '* He was a baby at the time, and couldn't re- 
 member," George answered with fine composure. 
 " They say he was found high up the creek, just 
 
 where you cross it by the foot-bridge. The bridge 
 
 101
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 is covered at high water; and if you try to cross 
 below, especially when the tide is flowing, just 
 you look out! Twice a day the sands become 
 quick there. They've swallowed scores. I'll tell 
 you another thing; there's a bird builds some- 
 where in the cliffs there — a crake, the people call 
 it — and they say that whenever he goes crying 
 about the sands, it means that a man will be 
 drowned there." 
 
 " Rubbish ! I don't believe in your city." 
 
 " Very well, then, I'll tell you something else. 
 The fishermen have seen it — five or six of them. 
 You know the kind of haze that gets up some- 
 times on hot days, when the sun's drawing water? 
 They say that if you're a mile or two out and this 
 happens between you and Langona Creek, you 
 can see the city quite plain above the shore, with 
 the seven churches and all." 
 
 " I can see it! " Taffy blurted this out almost 
 without knowing that he spoke; and blushed 
 furiously when George laughed. " I mean — 
 I'm sure " he began to explain. 
 
 " If you can see it," said Ilonoria, " you had 
 
 better describe George's property for him." She 
 
 yawned. " He can't tell the story himself — not 
 
 one little bit." 
 
 102
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 " Right you are, miss," George agreed. " Fire 
 ahead, Taffy ! " 
 
 Taffy thought for a minute, and then, still with 
 a red face, began. " It is all true, as George says. 
 A fine city lies there, covered with the sands; 
 and this was what happened. The King of 
 Langona had a son, a handsome young Prince, 
 who lived at home until he was eighteen, and 
 then went on his travels. That was the custom, 
 you know. The Prince took only his foster- 
 brother, whose name was John, and they trav- 
 elled for three years. On their way back, as they 
 came to Langona Creek, they saw the convicts at 
 work, and in one of the fields was a girl digging 
 alone. She had a ring round her ankle, like the 
 rest, with a chain and iron weight, but she was 
 the most beautiful girl the Prince had ever seen. 
 So he pulled up his horse and asked her who she 
 was and how she came to be wearing the chain. 
 She told him she was no convict, but the daughter 
 of a convict, and it was the law for the convict's 
 children to wear these things. " To-night," said 
 the Prince, " you shall wear a ring of gold and be 
 a Princess," and he commanded John to file away 
 the ring and take her upon his horse. They rode 
 
 across the creek and came to the palace ; and the 
 
 103
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 Prince, after kissing his father and mother, said, 
 " I have brought you all kinds of presents from 
 abroad; but best of all I have brought home a 
 bride." His parents, who wondered at her 
 beauty and never doubted but that she must be a 
 King's daughter, were full of joy and set the bells 
 ringing in all the seven churches. So for a year 
 everybody was happy, and at the end of time a 
 son was bom. 
 
 " You're making it up," said Honoria. Taffy's 
 own stories always puzzled her, with hints and 
 echoes from other stories she half-remembered, 
 but could seldom trace home. He had too cun- 
 ning a gift. 
 
 George said, " Do be quiet ! Of course he's 
 making it up, but who wants to know that ? " 
 
 " Two days afterward," Taffy went on, " the 
 Prince was out hunting with his foster-brother. 
 The Princess in her bed at home complained to 
 her mother-in-law, * Mother, my feet are cold. 
 Bring me another rug to wrap them in.' The 
 Queen did so, but as she covered the Princess's 
 feet she saw the red mark left by the ankle ring, 
 and knew that her son's wife was no true Prin- 
 cess, but a convict's daughter. And full of rage 
 and shame she went away and mixed two cups. 
 
 104
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 The first she gave to the Princess to drink ; and 
 when it had killed her (for it was poison) she 
 dipped a finger into the dregs and rubbed it in- 
 side the child's lips, and very soon he was dead 
 too. Then she sent for two ankle-chains and 
 weights — one larger and one very small — and 
 fitted them on the two bodies and had them flung 
 into the creek. When the Prince came home he 
 asked after his wife. ' She is sleeping/ said the 
 Queen, ' and you must be thirsty with hunting? ' 
 She held out the second cup and the Prince drank 
 and passed it to John, who drank also. ]!^ow in 
 this cup was a drug which took away all memory. 
 And at once the Prince forgot all about his wife 
 and child; and John forgot too. 
 
 " For weeks after this the Prince complained 
 that he felt unwell. He told the doctors that 
 there was an empty place in his head, and they 
 advised him to fill it by travelling. So he set out 
 again, and John went with him as before. On 
 their journey they stayed for a week with the 
 King of Spain, and there the Prince fell in love 
 with the King of Spain's daughter, and married 
 her and brought her home at the end of a year, 
 during which she too had brought him a son. 
 
 " The night after their return, when the 
 
 105
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 Prince and his second wife slept, John kept watch 
 outside the door. About midnight he heard the 
 noise of a chair dragging, but very softly, and up 
 the stairs came a lady in white with a child in her 
 arms. John knew his former mistress at once, 
 and all his memory came back to him, but she 
 put a finger to her lips and went past him into 
 the bed-chamber. She went to the bed, laid a 
 hand on her husband's pillow, and whispered : 
 
 Wife and babe below the river ; 
 
 Twice will I come and then come never. 
 
 Without another word she turned and went slow- 
 ly past John and down the stairs." 
 
 " I know that, anyhow," Honoria interrupted. 
 " That's ' East of the Sun and West of the 
 Moon,' or else it's the Princess whose brother was 
 
 changed into a Roebuck, or else " But 
 
 George flicked a pebble at her, and Taffy went 
 on, warming more and more to the story. 
 
 *' In the morning, when the Prince woke, his 
 second wife saw his pillow on the side farthest 
 from her, and it was wet. ' Husband,' she said, 
 ' you have been weeping to-night.' ' Well,' said 
 he, ' that is queer, for I haven't wept since I was 
 a boy. It's true, though, that I had a miserable 
 
 106
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 dream.' But when lie tried to remember it, lie 
 could not. 
 
 " The same thing happened on the second 
 night, only the dead wife said : 
 
 Wife and babe below the river, 
 
 Once will I come and then come never. 
 
 And again in the morning there was a mark on 
 the pillow where her wet hand had rested. But 
 the Prince in the morning could remember noth- 
 ing. On the third night she came and said : 
 
 Wife and babe below the river, 
 Now I am gone and gone forever, 
 
 and went down the stairs with such a reproachful 
 look at John that his heart melted and he ran 
 after her. But at the outer door a flash of light- 
 ning met him and such a storm broke over the 
 palace and city as had never been before and 
 never will be again. 
 
 " John heard screams, and the noise of doors 
 banging and feet running throughout the palace ; 
 he turned back and met the Prince, his master, 
 coming down-stairs with his child in his arms. 
 The lightning flash had killed his second wife 
 where she lay. John followed him out into the 
 
 107
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 streets, where the people were running to and fro, 
 and through the whiuling sand to the ford which 
 crossed the creek a mile above the city. And 
 there, as they stepped into the water, a woman 
 rose before John, with a child in her arms, and 
 said: ' Carry us.' The Prince, who was leading, 
 did not see. John took them on his back, but 
 they were heavy because of the iron chains and 
 weights on their ankles, and the sands sank under 
 him. Then, by and by, the Princess put her child 
 into John's arms, and said, ' Save him,' and 
 slipped off his back into the water. ' What 
 sound was that? ' asked the Prince. ' That was 
 my heart cracking,' said John. So they went on 
 till the sands rose half-way to their knees. Then 
 the Prince stopped and put his child into John's 
 arms. ' Save him,' he said, and fell forward on 
 his face; and John's heart cracked again. But 
 he went forward in the darkness until the water 
 rose to his waist, and the sand to his knees. He 
 was close to the farther shore now, but could not 
 reach it unless he dropped one of the children; 
 and this he would not do. He bent forward, 
 holding out one in each arm, and could just man- 
 age to push them up the bank and prop them 
 there with his open hands; and while he bent, 
 
 108
 
 A HAPPY DAY 
 
 tlie tide rose and his heart cracked for the third 
 time. Though he was dead, his stiff arms kept 
 the children propped against the bank. But just 
 at the turning of the tide the one with the ankle- 
 weight slipped and was drowned. The other was 
 found next morning by the inland people, high 
 and dry. And some do say," Taffy wound up, 
 " that his brother was not really drowned, but 
 turned into a bird, and that, though no one has 
 seen him, it is his voice that gives the ' crake,' 
 imitating the sound made by John's heart when 
 it burst ; but others say it comes from John him- 
 self, down there below the sands." 
 
 There was silence for a minute. Even Hon- 
 oria had grown excited toward the end. 
 
 " But it was unfair! " she broke out. " It 
 ought to have been the convict-child that was 
 saved." 
 
 " If so, I shouldn't be here," said George; 
 " and it's not very nice of you to say it." 
 
 " I don't care. It was unfair; and anyone but 
 a boy " — with scorn — " would see it." She 
 turned upon the staring Taffy — " I hate your 
 tale; it was horrid." 
 
 She repeated it, that evening, as they turned 
 
 their faces homeward across the heathery moor. 
 
 109
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 Taffy had halted on the top of a hillock to wave 
 good-night to George. For years he remembered 
 the scene — the brown hollow of the hills; the 
 clear evening sky, with the faint purple arch, 
 which is the shadow of the world, climbing 
 higher and higher upon it; and his own shadow 
 stretching back with his heart toward George, 
 who stood fronting the level rays and waved his 
 glittering catch of fish. 
 
 " What was that you said? " he asked, when 
 at length he tore himself away and caught up 
 with Honoria. 
 
 " That was a horrid story you told. It spoiled 
 my afternoon, and I'll trouble you not to tell any 
 more of the sort." 
 
 110
 
 XI 
 
 LIZZIE REDEEMS HER DOLL AND HONOEIA 
 THROWS A STONE 
 
 A broad terrace ran along the southern front 
 of Tredinnis House. It had once been decorated 
 with leaden statues, but of these only the pedes- 
 tals remained. 
 
 Honoria, perched on the terrace-wall, with her 
 legs dangling, was making imaginary casts with 
 a trout-rod, when she heard footsteps. A child 
 came timidly round the angle of the big house — 
 Lizzie Pezzack. 
 
 " Hullo! What do you want? " 
 
 " If you please, miss " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " If you please, miss " 
 
 " You've said that twice." 
 
 Lizzie held out a grubby palm with a half- 
 crown in it : " I wants my doll back, if you please, 
 miss." 
 
 " But you sold it." 
 
 Ill
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " I didn't mean to. You took me so sudden." 
 
 " I gave you ever so much more than it was 
 worth. Why, I don't believe it cost you three 
 ha'pence! " 
 
 " Tuppence," said Lizzie. 
 
 " Then you don't know when you're well off. 
 Go away." 
 
 " 'Tisn' that, miss " 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 Lizzie broke into a flood of tears. 
 
 Honoria, the younger by a year or so, stood 
 and eyed her scornfully; then turning on her 
 heel marched into the house. 
 
 She was a just child. She went upstairs to her 
 bed-room, unlocked her wardrobe, and took out 
 the doll, which was clad in blue silk and reposed 
 in a dog-trough lined with the same material. 
 Honoria had recklessly cut up two handkerchiefs 
 (for underclothing) and her Sunday sash, and 
 had made the garments In secret. They were 
 prodigies of bad needlework. With the face of a 
 Medea she stripped the poor thing, took it in her 
 arms as if to kiss it, but checked herself sternly. 
 She descended to the terrace with the doll in one 
 hand and its original calico smock in the other. 
 
 " There, take your twopenny baby ! " 
 
 112
 
 LIZZIE EEDEEMS HER DOLL 
 
 Lizzie caught and strained it to her breast; 
 covered its poor nakedness hurriedly and hugged 
 it again with passionate kisses. 
 
 " You silly! Did you come all this way by 
 yourself? " 
 
 Lizzie nodded. " Father thinks I'm home, 
 minding house. He's off duty this evening and 
 he walked over here to the Bryanite Chapel, up 
 to Four Turnings. There's going to be a big 
 Prayer Meeting to-night. When his back was 
 turned I slipped out after him, so as to keep him 
 in sight across the towans." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I'm terrible timid. I can't bear to walk 
 across the towans by myself. You can't see 
 where you be — they're so much alike — and it 
 makes a person feel lost. There's so many bones, 
 too." 
 
 " Dead rabbits." 
 
 " Yes, and dead folks, I've heard father say." 
 
 " Well, you'll have to go back alone, any 
 way." 
 
 She hugged the doll. " I don't mind so much, 
 
 now. I'll keep along by the sea, and run, and 
 
 only open my eyes now and then. Here's your 
 
 money, miss." 
 
 113
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 She went off at a run. Honoria pocketed the 
 half-crown and went back to her fly-fishing. But, 
 after a few casts, she desisted, and took her rod 
 to pieces, slowly. The afternoon was hot and sul- 
 try. She sat down in the shadow of the balus- 
 trade and gazed at the long, blank fagade of the 
 house, baking in the sun ; at the tall, uncurtained 
 windows; at the peacock stalking to and fro like 
 a drowsy sentinel. 
 
 " You are a beast of a house," she said, 
 contemplatively; " and I hate every stone of 
 you!" 
 
 She stood up and strolled toward the stables. 
 The stable-yard was empty but for the Gordon 
 setter dozing by the pump-trough. Across from 
 the kitchens came the sound of the servants' 
 voices chattering. Ilonoria had never made 
 friends with the servants. 
 
 She tilted her straw hat farther over her eyes, 
 and sauntered up the drive with her hands be- 
 hind her; through the great gates and out upon 
 the towans. She had started with no particular 
 purpose, and had none in her mind when she 
 came in sight of the Parsonage, and of Humility 
 seated in the doorway, with her lace pillow across 
 her knees.
 
 LIZZIE REDEEMS HER DOLL 
 
 It had been the custom among the women of 
 Beer Village to work in their doorways on sunny 
 afternoons, and Humility followed it. 
 
 She looked up, smiling. " Taffy is down by 
 the shore, I think." 
 
 " I didn't come to look for him. What beauti- 
 ful work! " 
 
 " It comes in handy. Won't you step inside, 
 and let me make you a cup of tea? " 
 
 " No, I'll sit here and watch you." Humility 
 pulled in her skirts and Honoria found room on 
 the doorstep beside her. " Please don't stop. 
 It's wonderful. Now I know where Taffy gets 
 his cleverness." 
 
 " You are quite wrong. This is only a knack. 
 All his cleverness comes from his father." 
 
 " Oh, books ! Of course, Mr. Raymond knows 
 all about books. He's writing one, isn't he ? " 
 
 Mrs. Raymond nodded. 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " It's about St. Paul's Epistle to the Hebrews; 
 in Greek, you know. He has been working at it 
 for years." 
 
 " And he's indoors working at it now? What 
 
 funny things men do! " She was silent for 
 
 awhile, watching Humility's bobbins. " But 
 
 115
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 I suppose it doesn't matter just what they do. 
 The great thing is to do it better than anyone 
 else. Does Mr. Raymond think Taffy clever? " 
 
 " He never talks about it." 
 
 " But he thinks so. I know ; because at les- 
 sons when he says anything to Taffy it's quite 
 different from the way he talks to George and me. 
 He doesn't favor him, of course; he's too much 
 fair. But there's a difference. It's as if he ex- 
 pected Taffy to understand. Did Mr. Raymond 
 teach him all those stories he knows? " 
 
 " What stories? " 
 
 " Fairy-tales and that sort of thing." 
 
 " Good gracious me, no! " 
 
 " Then you must have. And you are clever, 
 after all. Asking me to believe you're not, and 
 making that beautiful lace all the while, under 
 my very eyes ! " 
 
 " I'm not a bit clever. Here's the pattern, you 
 see, and there's the thread, and the rest is only 
 practice. I couldn't make the pattern out of my 
 head. Besides, I don't like clever women." 
 
 " A woman must try to be something." Hon- 
 
 oria felt that this was vague, but wanted to 
 
 argue. 
 
 " A woman wants to be loved," said Mrs. Ray- 
 
 116
 
 LIZZIE REDEEMS HER DOLL 
 
 mond, thoughtfully. " There's such a heap to be 
 done about the house that she won't find time for 
 much else. Besides, if she has children, she'll be 
 planning for them." 
 
 " Isn't that rather slow? " 
 
 Humility wondered where the child had 
 picked up the word. " Slow? " she echoed, with 
 her eyes on the horizon beyond the dunes. 
 " Most things are slow when you look forward to 
 them." 
 
 " But these fairy-tales of yours? " 
 
 " I'll tell you about them. When my mother 
 was a girl of sixteen, she went into service as a 
 nurse-maid in a clergyman's family. Every even- 
 ing the clergyman used to come into the nursery 
 and tell the children a fairy-tale. That's how it 
 started. My mother left service to marry a farm- 
 er — it was quite a grand match for her — and 
 when I was a baby she told the stories to me. 
 She has a wonderful memory still, and she tells 
 them capitally. When I listen, I believe every 
 word of them; I like them better than books, 
 too, because they always end happily. But I 
 can't repeat them a bit. As soon as I begin they 
 fall to pieces, and the pieces get mixed up, 
 
 and, worst of all, the life goes right out of them. 
 
 117
 
 THE SHIP OF STABS 
 
 But Taffy, lie takes the pieces and puts them to- 
 gether, and the tale is better than ever: quite 
 different, and new, too. That's the puzzle. It's 
 not memory with him; it's something else." 
 
 " But don't you ever make up a story of your 
 own? " Honoria insisted. 
 
 Now you might talk with Mrs. Raymond for 
 ten minutes, perhaps, and think her a simpleton ; 
 and then suddenly a cloud (as it were) parted, 
 and you found yourself gazing into depths of 
 clear and beautiful wisdom. 
 
 She turned on Honoria with a shy, adorable 
 smile : 
 
 " Why, of course I do — about Taffy. Come 
 in and let me show you his room and his books." 
 
 An hour later when Taffy returned he found 
 Honoria seated at the table and his mother pour- 
 ing tea. They said nothing about their visit to 
 his room; and though they had handled every 
 one of his treasures, he never discovered it. But 
 he did notice — or rather, he felt — that the two 
 understood each other. They did: and it was 
 an understanding he would never be able to 
 share, though he lived to be a hundred. 
 
 Mr. Raymond came out from his study and 
 
 drank his tea in silence. Honoria observed that 
 
 118
 
 LIZZIE REDEEMS HEE DOLL 
 
 he blinked a good deal. He showed no surprise 
 at her visit and after a moment seemed unaware 
 of her presence. At length he raised the cup to 
 his lips and finding it empty set it down and rose 
 to go back to his work. Humility interfered and 
 reminded him of a call to be paid at one of the 
 upland farms. The children might go too, she 
 suggested. It would be a very little distance out 
 of Honoria's way. 
 
 Mr. Eaymond sighed, but went for his walk- 
 ing-stick; and they set out. 
 
 When they reached the farm-house he left the 
 children outside. The town-place was admirably 
 suited for a game of " Follow-my-leader," which 
 they played for twenty minutes with great seri- 
 ousness, to the disgust of the roosting poultry. 
 Then Taffy spied a niche, high up, where a slice 
 had been cut out of a last year's haystack, and 
 fetched a ladder. Up they climbed, drew the 
 ladder after them, and played at being Outlaws 
 in a Cave, until the dusk fell. 
 
 Still Mr. Kaymond lingered indoors. " He 
 thinks we have gone home," said Honoria. 
 " Now the thing would be to creep down and 
 steal one of the fowls, and bring it back and cook 
 
 it." 
 
 119
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " We can make believe to do it," Taffy sug- 
 gested. 
 
 Honoria considered for a moment. " I'll tell 
 you what: there's a great Bryanite meeting, to- 
 night, down at the Chapel. I expect there'll be 
 a devil hunt." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " They turn out the lights and hunt for him 
 in the dark." 
 
 " But he isn't really there." 
 
 " I don't know. Suppose we play at scouts 
 and creep down the road? If the Chapel is lit 
 up we can spy in on them; and then you can 
 squeeze your nose on the glass and make a face, 
 while I say ' Boo ! ' and they'll think the Old 
 Gentleman is really come." 
 
 They stole down the ladder and out of the 
 town-place. The Chapel stood three-quarters of 
 a mile away, on a turfed wastrel where two high- 
 roads met and crossed. 
 
 Long before they reached it, they heard clam- 
 orous voices and groans. 
 
 " I expect the devil hunt has begun," said 
 
 Honoria. But when they came in sight of the 
 
 building, its windows were brightly lit. The 
 
 noise inside was terrific. 
 
 120
 
 LIZZIE EEDEEMS HER DOLL 
 
 The two children approached it with all the 
 precaution proper to scouts. Suddenly the clam- 
 or ceased, and the evening fell so silent that Taffy 
 heard the note of an owl away in the Tredinnis 
 plantations to his left. This silence was daunt- 
 ing, but they crept on and soon were standing in 
 the illuminated ring of furze whins which sur- 
 rounded the Chapel. 
 
 " Can you reach up to look in? " 
 
 Taffy could not; so Honoria obligingly went 
 on hands and knees, and he stood on her back. 
 
 "Can you see? What's the matter? " 
 
 Taffy gasped. " He's in there! " 
 
 " What?— the Old Gentleman? " 
 
 " Yes; no — your grandfather! " 
 
 "What? Let me get up. Here, you 
 kneel " 
 
 It was true. Under the rays of a paraffin 
 
 lamp, in face of the kneeling congregation, sat 
 
 Squire Moyle; his body stiffly upright on the 
 
 bench, his jaws rigid, his eyes, with horror in 
 
 them, fastened upon the very window through 
 
 which Honoria peered — fastened, it seemed to 
 
 her, upon her face. But, no; he saw nothing. 
 
 The Bryanites were praying; Honoria saw their 
 
 lips moving. Their eyes were all on the old 
 
 121
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 man's face. In the straining silence his mouth 
 opened — but only for a moment — while his 
 tongue wetted his parched lips. 
 
 A man by the pulpit-stairs shuffled his feet. 
 A sigh passed through the Chapel as he rose and 
 relaxed the tension. It was Jacky Pascoe. He 
 stepped up to the Squire, and, laying a hand on 
 his shoulder, said, gently, persuasively, yet so 
 clearly that Honoria could hear every word : 
 
 " Try, brother. Keep on trying. O, I've 
 knowed cases — . You can never tell how near 
 salvation is. One minute the heart's like a stone, 
 and the next maybe 'tis melted and singing like 
 fat in a pan. 'Tis working! 'tis working! " 
 
 The congregation broke out with cries: 
 " Amen! " " Glory, glory! " The Squire's lips 
 moved and he muttered something. But stony 
 despair sat in his eyes. 
 
 " Ay, glory, glory ! You've been a doubter, 
 
 and you doubt no longer. Soon you'll be a 
 
 shouter. Man, you'll dance like as David danced 
 
 before the ark! You'll feel it in your toes! 
 
 Come along, friends, while he's resting a minute ! 
 
 Sing all together — Oh, the blessed peace of 
 
 it! " 
 
 I long to be there, His glory to share 
 
 122
 
 LIZZIE REDEEMS HER DOLL 
 
 He pitched the note, and the congregation 
 took up the second line with a rolling, gathering 
 volume of song. It broke on the night like the 
 footfall of a regiment at charge. Honoria scram- 
 bled off Taffy's back, and the two slipped away 
 to the highroad. 
 
 " Shall you tell your father? " 
 
 " I— I don't know." 
 
 She stooped and found a loose stone. " He 
 sha'n't find salvation to-night," she said, heroic- 
 ally. 
 
 As the stone crashed through the window, the 
 two children pelted off. They ran on the soft 
 turf by the wayside, and only halted to listen 
 when they reached Tredinnis's great gates. The 
 sound of feet running, far up the road, set them 
 off again, but now in opposite ways. Honoria 
 sped down the avenue, and Taffy headed for the 
 Parsonage, across the towans. Ordinarily, this 
 road at night would have been full of terrors for 
 him; but now the fear at his heels kept him go- 
 ing, while his heart thumped on his ribs. He 
 was just beginning to feel secure, when he blun- 
 dered against a dark figure which seemed to rise 
 straight out of the night. 
 
 "Hullo!" 
 
 123
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Blessed voice! The wayfarer was his own 
 father. 
 
 " Taffy ! I thought you were home an hour 
 ago. Where on earth have you been ? " 
 
 " With Honoria." He was about to say more, 
 but checked himself. " I left her at the top of 
 the avenue," he explained. 
 
 124
 
 XII 
 
 taffy's childhood comes to an end 
 
 The summer passed. There was a talk in the 
 early part of it that the Bishop would be com- 
 ing, next spring, to consecrate the restored 
 church and hold a confirmation service. Taffy 
 and Honoria were to be confirmed, and early in 
 August Mr. Raymond began to set apart an hour 
 each day for preparing them. In a week or two 
 the boy's head was full of religion. He spent 
 much of his time in the church, watching the 
 carpenter at work upon the new seats; his mind 
 ran on the story of Samuel, and he wished his 
 mother had followed Hannah's example and 
 dedicated him to God; he had a suspicion that 
 God would be angry with her for not doing so. 
 
 He did not observe that, as the autumn crept 
 
 on, a shadow gathered on Humility's face. One 
 
 Sunday the old Squire did not come to church; 
 
 and again on the next Wednesday, at the harvest 
 
 festival, Honoria sat alone in the Tredinnis pew. 
 
 125
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 The shadow was on his mother's face as he chat- 
 tered about this on their way home to the Parson- 
 age; but the boy did not perceive it. He loved 
 his parents, but their lives lay outside his own, 
 and their sayings and doings passed him by like a 
 vain show. He walked in the separate world of 
 childhood, and it seemed an enormous world yet, 
 though a few weeks were to bring him abruptly 
 to the end of it. 
 
 But just before he came to the precipice he was 
 given a glimpse of the real world — and of a 
 world beyond that, far more splendid and roman- 
 tic than any region of his dreams. 
 
 The children had no lessons during Christmas, 
 or for three weeks after. On the last morning 
 before the holidays, George brought a letter for 
 Mr. Raymond, who read it, considered for 
 awhile, and laid it among his papers. 
 
 " It's an invitation," George announced, in a 
 whisper. " I wonder if he'll let you come." 
 
 " Where ? " whispered Taffy. 
 
 " Up to Plymouth — to the Pantomime." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Oh — clowns, and girls dressed up like boys, 
 
 and policemen on slides, and that sort of thing." 
 
 Taffy sat bewildered. He vaguely remem- 
 
 12G
 
 TAFFY'S CHILDHOOD ENDS 
 
 bered Plymouth as a mass of roofs seen from tlie 
 train, as it drew up for a minute or two on a high 
 bridge. Someone in the railway carriage had 
 talked of an engine called Brutus, which (it ap- 
 peared) had lately run away and crashed into the 
 cloak-room at the end of the platform. He still 
 thought of railway engines as big, blundering 
 animals, with wills of their own, and of Plym- 
 outh as a town rendered insecure by their va- 
 garies; but the idea that its roofs covered girls 
 dressed up like boys and policemen on slides was 
 new to him, and pleasant on the whole, though 
 daunting. 
 
 " Will you give my thanks to Sir Harry," said 
 Mr. Eaymond after lessons; " and tell him that 
 Taffy may go." 
 
 So on New Year's Day Taffy found himself in 
 Plymouth. It was an experience which he could 
 never fit into his life except as a gaudy interlude; 
 for when he awoke and looked back upon it, he 
 was no longer the boy who had climbed up be- 
 side Sir Harry and behind Sir Harry's restless 
 pair of bays. The whirl began with that drive to 
 the station; began again in the train; began 
 again as they stepped out on the pavement at 
 Plymouth, just as a company of scarlet-coated 
 
 127
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 soldiers came down tlie roadway with a din of 
 brazen music. The crowd, the shops, the vast 
 size of the hotel, completely dazed him, and he 
 seriously accepted the waiter, in his black suit 
 and big white shirt-front, as a contribution to the 
 fun of the entertainment. 
 
 " We must dine early," Sir Harry announced 
 at lunch; " the Pantomime begins at seven." 
 
 "Isn't— isn't this the Pantomime?" Taffy 
 stammered. 
 
 George giggled. Sir Harry set down his glass 
 of claret, stared at the boy and broke into musical 
 laughter. Taffy perceived he had made some 
 ridiculous mistake and blushed furiously. 
 
 " God bless the child — Pantomime's at the 
 theatre!" 
 
 " Oh! " Taffy recalled the canvas booth and 
 wheezy cornet of his early days with a faint chill 
 of disappointment. 
 
 But with George at his side it was impossible 
 to be anything but happy. After lunch they sal- 
 lied out, and it would have been hard to choose 
 the gayest of the three. Sir Harry's radiant 
 good-temper seemed to gild the streets. He took 
 the boys up to the Hoe and pointed out the war- 
 ships; he whisked them into the Camera Ob- 
 
 128
 
 TAFFY'S CHILDHOOD ENDS 
 
 scura; thence to the Citadel, where they watched 
 a squad of recruits at drill ; thence to the Barbi- 
 can, where the trawling-fleet lay packed like her- 
 ring, and the shops were full of rope and oil-skin 
 suits and marine instruments, and dirty children 
 rolled about the roadway between the legs of sea- 
 booted fishermen; and so up to the town again, 
 where he lingered in the most obliging manner 
 while the boys stared into the fishing-tackle shops 
 and toy shops. On the way he led them up a 
 narrow passage and into a curious room, where 
 fifteen or twenty men were drinking, and talking 
 at the top of their voices. The most of them 
 seemed to know Sir Harry well and greeted him 
 with an odd mixture of respect and familiarity. 
 Their talk was full of mysterious names and ex- 
 pressions, and Taffy thought at first they must 
 be free-masons. ' Something or other was a 
 walk-over for the Milkman; Lapidary was 
 scratched, which left it a soft thing, unless Sir 
 Harry fancied Nursery Governess at nine-stone- 
 eight, in which case Billy behind the bar would 
 do as much business as he liked at six-to-one ' — 
 and so forth. After awhile Taffy discovered they 
 were talking about horses, and wondered why 
 
 they should meet to discuss horses in a dingy 
 
 129
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 room up a back yard. " Youngster of yours is 
 growin', Surrarry," said a red-faced man. 
 " Who's his stable companion? " Taffy was in- 
 troduced, and to his embarrassment Sir Harry 
 began to relate his ridiculous mistake at lunch. 
 The men roared with laughter. 
 
 He made another, quite as ridiculous, at the 
 pastry-cook's where Sir Harry ordered tea, 
 " What'll you take with it? Call for what you 
 like, only don't poison yourselves." Taffy re- 
 ferring his gaze from the buns and confections 
 on the counter to the card in his hands, which 
 was inscribed with words in unknown tongues, 
 made a bold plunge and announced that he would 
 take a " marasheno." 
 
 This tickled Sir Harry mightily. He ordered 
 the waitress with a wink to " bring the young 
 gentleman a marasheno; " and Taffy, who had 
 expected something in the shape of a macaroon, 
 was confronted with a tiny glass of a pale liquor 
 which, when tasted, in the most surprising man- 
 ner put sunshine into his stomach and brought 
 tears into his eyes. But under Sir Harry's quiz- 
 zical gaze he swallowed it down bravely and sat 
 gasping and blinking. 
 
 It may have been that the maraschino in- 
 
 130
 
 TAFFY'S CHILDHOOD ENDS 
 
 duced a liaze upon the rest of the afternoon. 
 The gas-lamps were lit when they left the pastry- 
 cook's and entered a haberdasher's where Taffy, 
 without knowing why, was fitted with a pair of 
 white kid gloves. Of dinner at the hotel he re- 
 membered nothing except that the candles on 
 the tables had red shades, of which the silverware 
 gave funny reflections; that the same waiter 
 flitted about in the penumbra; and that Sir 
 Harry, who was dressed like the waiter, said, 
 " Wake up, young Marasheno ! Do you take 
 your coffee black? " " It's usually light brown 
 at home," answered Taffy; at which Sir Harry 
 laughed again. " Black will suit you better to- 
 night," he said, and poured out a small cupful 
 which Taffy drank and found exceedingly nasty. 
 And a moment later he was wide awake, and the 
 three were following a young woman along a 
 passage which seemed to run in a complete circle. 
 The young woman flung open a door; they en- 
 tered a little room with a balcony in front; and 
 the first glorious vision broke on the child with a 
 blaze of light, a crash of music and the murmur 
 of hundreds of voices. 
 
 Faces, faces, faces ! — faces mounting from the 
 
 pit below him, up and up to the sky-blue ceiling, 
 
 131
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 where painted goddesses danced and scattered 
 pink roses around the enormous gasalier. Fauns 
 piping on the great curtain, fiddles sawing in the 
 orchestra beneath, ladies in gay silks and jewels 
 leaning over the gilt balconies opposite — which 
 were real, and which a vision only? He turned 
 helplessly to George and Sir Harry. Yes, they 
 were real. But what of Nannizabuloe, and the 
 sand-hills, and the little parsonage to which that 
 very morning he had turned to wave his hand- 
 kerchief? 
 
 A bell rang, and the curtain rose upon a com- 
 pany of russet-brown elves dancing in a green 
 wood. The play was " Jack the Giant-killer; " 
 but Taffy, who knew the story in the book by 
 heart, found the story on the stage almost mean- 
 ingless. That mattered nothing; it was the 
 w^orld — the new and unimagined world, stretch- 
 ing deeper and still deeper as the scenes were 
 lifted — a world in which solid walls crumbled, 
 and forests melted, and loveliness broke through 
 the ruins, unfolding like a rose; it was this 
 that seized on the child's heart until he could 
 have wept for its mere beauty. Often he had 
 sought out the trout-pools on the moors behind 
 the towans and lying at full length had watched 
 
 132
 
 TAFFY'S CHILDHOOD ENDS 
 
 the fish moving between the stones and water- 
 plants; and watching through a summer's after- 
 noon had longed to change places with them and 
 glide through their grottoes or anchor among the 
 reed-stalks and let the ripple run over him. As 
 long back as he could remember, all beautiful 
 sights had awakened this ache, this longing — 
 
 O, that I were where I would be! 
 
 Then would I be where I am not ; 
 For where I am I would not be, 
 
 And where I would be, I can not. 
 
 It seemed to him that these bright beings on the 
 stage had broken through the barriers, had 
 stepped beyond the flaming ramparts, and were 
 happy. Their horse-play, at which George 
 laughed so immoderately, called to Taffy to 
 come and be happy, too; and when Jack the 
 Giant-killer changed to Jack in the Beanstalk, 
 and when in the Transformation Scene a real 
 beanstalk grew and unfolded its leaves, and each 
 leaf revealed a fairy seated, with the limelight 
 flashing on star and jewelled wand, the longing 
 became unbearable. The scene passed in a min- 
 ute. The clown and pantaloon came on, and 
 presently Sir Harry saw Taffy's shoulders shak- 
 
 133
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 ing, and set it down to laughter at the harlequin- 
 ade. He could not see the child's face. 
 
 But, perhaps, the queerest event of the even- 
 ing (when Taffy came to review his recollections) 
 was this: He must have fallen into a stupor on 
 leaving the theatre, for when he awoke he found 
 himself on a couch in a gas-lit room, with George 
 beside him, and Sir Harry was shaking him 
 by the collar, and saying, " God bless the chil- 
 dren, I thought they were in bed hours ago! " 
 A man — the same who had talked about race 
 horses that afternoon — was standing by the 
 table, on which a quantity of cards lay scattered 
 among the drinking glasses; and he laughed 
 at this, and his laugh sounded just like the 
 rustling of paper. " It's all very well — " 
 began Sir Harry, but checked himself and lit 
 a candle, and led the two boys off shivering to 
 bed. 
 
 The next morning, too, had its surprises. To 
 begin with. Sir Harry announced at breakfast 
 that he must go and buy a horse. He might be 
 an hour or two over this business, and mean- 
 while the boys had better go out into the town 
 and enjoy themselves. Perhaps a sovereign 
 
 apiece might help them. 
 
 134
 
 TAFFY'S CHILDHOOD ENDS 
 
 Taffy, who had never in his life possessed 
 more than a shilling, was staring at the gold 
 piece in his hand, when the door opened, and Sir 
 Harry's horse-racing friend came in to breakfast 
 and nodded " Good-morning." 
 
 " Pity you're leaving to-day," he said, as he 
 took his seat at a table hard by them. 
 
 " My revenge must wait,'* Sir Harry an- 
 swered. 
 
 It seemed a cold-blooded thing to be said so 
 carelessly. Taffy wondered if Sir Harry's 
 search for a horse had anything to do with this 
 revenge, and the notion haunted him in the in- 
 tervals of his morning's shopping. 
 
 But how to lay out his sovereign? That was 
 the first question. George, who within ten min- 
 utes had settled his own problem by purchasing 
 a doubtful fox-terrier of the Boots of the hotel, 
 saw no difficulty. The Boots had another pup 
 for sale — one of the same litter. 
 
 " But I want something for mother, and the 
 others — and Honoria." 
 
 ''Botheration! I'd forgotten Honoria, and 
 
 now the money's gone! Never mindj she can 
 
 have my pup." 
 
 135
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 "Oh!" said Taffy, ruefully. "Then she 
 won't think much of my present." 
 
 " Yes she will. Suppose you buy a collar for 
 him — you can get one for five shillings." 
 
 They found a saddler's and chose the dog-col- 
 lar, which came to four shillings; and for eigh- 
 teen pence the shopman agreed to have " Hon- 
 oria from Taffy " engraved on it within an hour. 
 Humility's present was chosen with surprising 
 ease-^a large, framed photograph of the Bishop 
 of Exeter; price, six shillings. 
 
 " I don't suppose," objected George, " your 
 mother cares much for the Bishop of Exeter." 
 
 " Oh, yes, she does," said Taffy; " he's com- 
 ing to confirm us next spring. Besides," he 
 added, with one of those flashes of wisdom 
 which surely he derived from her, " mother 
 won't care what it is, so long as she's remem- 
 bered. And it costs more than the collar." 
 
 This left him with eight-and-sixpence; and 
 for three-and-sixpence he bought a work-box for 
 his grandmother, with a view of Plymouth Hoe 
 on the lid. But now came the crux. What 
 should he get for his father? 
 
 " It must be a book," George suggested. 
 
 " But what kind of a book ? He has so many." 
 
 ICG
 
 TAFFY'S CHILDHOOD ENDS 
 
 " Something in Latin." 
 
 The bookseller's window was filled with yel- 
 low-backed novels and toy-books, which obvi- 
 ously would not do. So they marched in and de- 
 manded a book suitable for a clergyman who 
 had a good many books already — " a middle- 
 aged clergyman," George added. 
 
 " You can't go far wrong with this," sug- 
 gested the bookseller, producing Crockford's 
 '' Clerical Directory " for the current year. 
 But this was too expensive; " and," said Taffy, 
 " I think he would rather have something in 
 Latin." The bookseller rubbed his chin, went to 
 his shelves, and took down a small De Imita- 
 tione Christi, bound in half-calf. " Y^ou can't 
 go far wrong with this, either," he assured them. 
 So Taffy paid down his money. 
 
 Just as the boys reached the hotel. Sir Harry 
 drove up in a cab; and five minutes later they 
 were all rattling off to the railway station. Taffy 
 eyed the cab-horse curiously, never doubting it 
 to be Sir Harry's new purchase; and was ex- 
 tremely surprised when the cabman whipped it 
 up and trotted off — after receiving his money, 
 too. But in the bustle there was no time to ask 
 
 questions. 
 
 137
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 It was about three in the afternoon, and the 
 sun already low in the southwest, when they 
 came in sight of the cross-roads and Sir Harry 
 pulled up his bays. And there, on the green by 
 the sign-post, stood Mrs. Raymond. She caught 
 Taffy in her arms and hugged him till he felt 
 ashamed, and glanced around to see if the others 
 were looking; but the phaeton was bowling 
 away down the road. 
 
 " But why are you here, mother? " 
 
 Mrs. Raymond stared awhile after the car- 
 riage before speaking. " Your father had to be 
 at the church," she said. 
 
 " But there's no service " He broke off. 
 
 " See what I've brought for you! " And he 
 pulled out the portrait. " Do you know who it 
 is?" 
 
 Humility thanked him and kissed him pas- 
 sionately. There was something odd with her 
 this afternoon. 
 
 " Don't you like your present? " 
 
 " Darling, it is beautiful," she stooped and 
 kissed him again, passionately. 
 
 " I've a present for father, too; a book. Why 
 are you walking so fast ? " In a little while he 
 asked again, " Why are you walking so fast? " 
 
 138
 
 TAFFY'S CHILDHOOD ENDS 
 
 " I — I thought you would be wanting your 
 tea." 
 
 " Mayn't I take father his book first? " 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 " But mayn't I? " he persisted. 
 
 They had reached the garden-gate. Humility 
 seemed to hesitate. " Yes; go," she said at 
 length; and he ran, with the De Imitatione 
 Christi under his arm. 
 
 As he came within view of the church he saw 
 a knot of men gathered about the door. They 
 were pulling something out from the porch. He 
 heard the noise of hammering, and Squire 
 Moyle, at the back of the crowd, was shouting at 
 the top of his voice: 
 
 " The church is yours, is it? I'll see about 
 that! Pitch out the furnitcher, my billies — 
 thafs mine, anyway! " 
 
 Still the hammers sounded within the church. 
 
 " Don't believe in sudden convarsion, don't 
 'ee? I reckon you will when you look round 
 your church. Bishop coming to consecrate it, is 
 he ? Consecrate my furnitcher ? I'll see you and 
 your bishop to blazes first! " 
 
 A heap of shattered timber came flying 
 
 through the porch. 
 
 139
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " Your church, hey ? Your church ? " 
 
 The crowd fell back and Mr. Raymond stood 
 in the doorway, between Bill Udy and Jim the 
 Huntsman. 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 watch- 
 ing, stood up and touched his arm. It was 
 Jackey 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 sput- 
 tered as he pointed at Mr. Raymond. 
 
 " There he is, nay hours! Get behind the var- 
 mint, somebody, and stop his earth! Calls his- 
 self a minister of God ! Call 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 
 
 140
 
 TiVFFY'S CHILDHOOD ENDS 
 
 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. No one followed. Hand 
 in hand they stood before the dismantled chan- 
 cel. Taffy heard the sound of feet shuffling on 
 the walk outside, and looked up into Mr. Ray- 
 mond's face. 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 " Kiss me, sonny." 
 
 The De Imitatione Christi slipped from Taf- 
 fy's fingers and fell upon the chancel step. 
 
 So his childhood ended. 
 
 141
 
 XIII 
 
 THE BUILDERS 
 
 These things happened on a Friday. After 
 breakfast next morning Taffy went to fetch his 
 books. He did so out of habit and without think- 
 ing; but his father stopped him. 
 
 " Put them away," he said. " Some day we'll 
 go back to them, but not yet." 
 
 Instead of books Humility packed their din- 
 ner in the satchel. They reached the church and 
 found the interior just as they had left it. Taffy 
 was set to work to pick up and sweep together 
 the scraps of broken glass which littered the 
 chancel. His father examined the wreckage of 
 the pews. 
 
 While the boy knelt at his task, his thoughts 
 were running on the Pantomime. He had meant, 
 last night, to recount all its wonders and the 
 wonders of Plymouth; but somehow the words 
 had not come. After displaying his presents he 
 could find no more to say: and feeling his 
 
 142
 
 THE BUILDEES 
 
 father's hand laid on his shoulder, had burst into 
 tears and hidden his face in his mother's lap. 
 He wanted to console them and they were pity- 
 ing him — why he could not say — but he knew 
 it was so. 
 
 And now the Pantomime, Plymouth, every- 
 thing, 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 colored 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 car- 
 penter 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 " Ow 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. 
 
 US
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 " ISTo," 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 
 amiong 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 un- 
 mutilated. 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. Mr. Raymond 
 said afterward that this was the first success of 
 the campaign. 
 
 Not willing to tire his audience, he preached 
 a very short sermon; but it was his manifesto, and 
 all the better for being short. He took his text 
 from Nehemiah, Chapter II., verses 19 and 20. 
 
 " But when Sanhallat the Horonite, and To- 
 hiah the servant, the Ammonite, and Geshem the 
 Arabian, heard it, they laughed us to scorn, and 
 despised us, and said: ' What is this thing that 
 ye do ? Will ye rebel against the King ? ' " 
 
 " Then answered I them and said unto them, 
 ' the God of Heaven, He will prosper us; there- 
 fore, we His servants will arise and build.'' " 
 
 144
 
 THE BUILDERS 
 
 " Fellow-parishioners," he said, " you see the 
 state of this church. Concerning the cause of 
 it I require none of you to judge. I enter no 
 plea against any man. Another will judge, 
 who said, ' Destroy this temple and in three 
 days I will rear it up.^ But He spake of the 
 temple of His body; which was destroyed and 
 is raised up; and its living and irrevocable tri- 
 umph I, or some other servant of God, will cel- 
 ebrate at this altar, Sunday by Sunday, that 
 whosoever will may see, yes, and taste it. The 
 state of this poor shell is but a little matter to a 
 God whose majesty once inhabited a stable; yet 
 the honor of this, too, shall be restored. You 
 wonder how, perhaps. It may he the Lord will 
 work for us; for there is no restraint to the 
 Lord to save hy many or by few. Go to your 
 homes now and ponder this; and having pon- 
 dered, if you will, pray for us." 
 
 As the Raymonds left the church they found 
 Squire Moyle waiting by the porch. Honoria 
 stood just behind him. The rest of the congre- 
 gation had drawn off a little distance to watch. 
 The Squire lifted his hat to Humility, and 
 turned to Mr. Raymond with a sour frown. 
 
 " That means war?" 
 
 145
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " It means that I stay," said the Vicar. " The 
 war, if it comes, comes from your side." 
 
 " I don't think the worse of 'ee for fighting. 
 You're not going to law, then?" 
 
 Mr. Raymond smiled. " I don't doubt you've 
 put yourself within the reach of it. But if it 
 eases your mind to know, I am not going to law." 
 
 The Squire grunted, raised his hat again and 
 strode off, gripping Honoria by the hand. 
 
 She had not glanced toward Taffy. Clearly 
 she was not allowed to speak to him. 
 
 The meaning of the Vicar's sermon became 
 plain next morning, when he walked down to 
 the village and called on Joel Hugh, the car- 
 penter. 
 
 " I knows what thee'rt come after," began 
 Joel; "but 'tis no use, parson dear. Th' old 
 fellow owns the roofs over us, and if I do a day's 
 work for 'ee, out I goes, neck and crop." 
 
 Mr. Raymond had expected this. " It's not 
 for work I come," said he; " but to hire a few 
 tools, if you're minded to spare them." 
 
 Joel scratched his head. " Might manage 
 that, now. But, Lord bless 'ee! thee'lt never 
 make no hand of it." He chose out saw, ham- 
 mer, plane and auger, and packed them up in a 
 
 U6
 
 THE BUILDEES 
 
 carpenter's frail, with a few other tools. " Don't 
 'ee talk about payment, now; naybors must be 
 nayborly. Only, you see, a man must look 
 after his own." 
 
 Mr. Raymond climbed the hill toward the 
 towans with the carpenter's frail slung over his 
 shoulder. As luck would have it, near the top 
 he met Squire Moyle descending on horseback. 
 The Vicar nodded " Good-morning " in passing, 
 but had not gone a dozen steps when the old man 
 reined up and called after him. 
 
 "Hi!" 
 
 The Vicar halted. 
 
 " Whose basket is that you're carrying?" 
 Then, getting no answer, " "Wait till next Satur- 
 day night, when Joel Hugh comes to thank you. 
 I suppose you know he rents his cottage by the 
 week?" 
 
 " ]^o harm shall come to him through me," 
 said the Vicar, and retraced his steps down the 
 hill. The Squire followed at a foot-pace, grin- 
 ning as he went. 
 
 That night Mr. Raymond went back to his 
 
 beloved books, but not to read; and early next 
 
 morning was ready at the cross-roads for the van 
 
 which plied twice a week between Innis village 
 
 U7
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 and Truro. He had three boxes with him — 
 heavy boxes, as Calvin the van-driver remarked 
 when it came to lifting them on board. 
 
 " Thee'rt not leaving us, surely?" said he. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " But however didst get these lumping boxes 
 up the hill?" 
 
 " My son helped me." 
 
 He had modestly calculated on averaging a 
 shilling a volume for his books; but discovered 
 on leaving the shop at Truro that it worked out 
 at one-and-threepence. He returned to Nanni- 
 zabuloe that night with one box only — but it 
 was packed full of tools — and a copy of Fuller's 
 *' Holy State," which at the last moment had 
 proved too precious to be parted with — at least, 
 just yet. 
 
 The woodwork of the old pews — painted deal 
 for the most part, but mixed with a few boards 
 of good red pine and one or two of teak, relics of 
 some forgotten shipwreck — lay stacked in the 
 belfry and around the front under the west gal- 
 lery. Mr. Kaymond and Taffy spent an hour 
 in overhauling it, chose out the boards for their 
 first pew, and fell to work. 
 
 At the end of another hour the pair broke off 
 
 148
 
 THE BUILDERS 
 
 and looked at each other. Taffy could not help 
 laughing. His own knowledge of carpentry 
 had been picked up by watching Joel Hugh at 
 work, and just sufficed to tell him that his father 
 was possibly the worst carpenter in the world. 
 
 " I think my fingers must be all thumbs," de- 
 clared Mr. Raymond. 
 
 The puckers in his face set Taffy laughing 
 afresh. They both laughed and fell to work 
 again, the boy explaining his notions of the diffi- 
 cult art of mortising. They were rudimentary, 
 but sound as far as they went, and his father 
 recognized this. Moreover, when the boy had 
 a tool to handle he did it with a natural deftness, 
 in spite of his ignorance. He was Humility's 
 child, born with the skill-of-hand of generations 
 of lace-workers. He did a dozen things wrong- 
 ly, but he neither fumbled, nor hammered his 
 fingers, nor wounded them with the chisel — 
 which was Humility's husband's way. 
 
 At the end of four days of strenuous effort, 
 they had their first pew built. It was a recog- 
 nizable pew, though it leaned to one side, and 
 the door (for it had a door) fell to with a bang if 
 not cautiously treated. The triumph was, the 
 seat could be sat upon without risk. Mr. Ray-
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 mond and Taffy tested it with their combined 
 weight on the Saturday evening, and went home 
 full of its praises. 
 
 " But look at your clothes," said Humility; 
 and they looked. 
 
 " This is serious," said Mr. Raymond. 
 
 " Dear, you must make us a couple of work- 
 ing suits — corduroy or some such stuff — other- 
 wise this pew-making won't pay." 
 
 Humility stood out against this for a day or 
 two. That lier husband and child should go 
 dressed like common workmen! But there was 
 no help for it, and on the Monday week Taffy 
 went forth to work in moleskin breeches, blue 
 guernsey, and loose white smock. As for Mr, 
 Raymond, the only badge of his calling was his 
 round clerical hat; and as all the miners in the 
 neighborhood wore hats of the same soft felt and 
 only a trifle higher in the crown, this hardly 
 amounted to a distinction. 
 
 Humility's eyes were full of tears as she 
 watched them from the door that morning. But 
 Taffy felt as proud as Punch. A little before 
 noon he carried out a board that required saw- 
 ing, and rested it on a flat tombstone where, with 
 
 his knee upon it, he could get a good purchase. 
 
 150
 
 THE BUILDEES 
 
 He was sawing away when he heard a dog bark- 
 ing, and looked up to see Honoria coming along 
 the path, with George's terrier frisking at her 
 heels. 
 
 She halted outside the lych-gate, and Taffy, 
 vain of his new clothes, drew himself up and 
 nodded. 
 
 " Good-morning," said Honoria. " I'm not 
 allowed to speak to you, and I'm not going to, 
 after this." She swooped on the puppy and 
 held him. " See what George brought home 
 from Plymouth for me. Isn't he a beauty?" 
 
 Held so, by the scruff of his neck, he was not 
 a beauty. Taffy had it on the tip of his tongue 
 to tell her about the collar. He wished he had 
 brought it. 
 
 " I wonder," she went on, pensively, " your 
 mother had the heart to dress you out in that 
 style. But I suppose now you'll be growing up 
 into quite a common boy." 
 
 Taffy decided to say nothing about the collar. 
 " I like the clothes," he declared, defiantly. 
 
 " Then you can't have the common instincts 
 of a gentleman. Well, good-by! Grandfather 
 has salvation all right this time; he said he'd put 
 the stick about me if I dared to speak to you." 
 
 151
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " He won't know." 
 
 " Won't know? Why I shall tell him, of 
 course, when I get back." 
 
 " But — but he mustiiH beat you! " 
 
 She eyed him for a moment or two in silence. 
 " Mustn't he? I advise you to go and tell him." 
 She walked away slowly, whistling; but by and 
 by broke into a run and was gone, the puppy 
 scampering behind her. 
 
 As the days grew longer and the weather 
 milder, Taffy and his father worked late in- 
 to the evenings; sometimes, if a job needed 
 to be finished, by the light of a couple of 
 candles. 
 
 One evening, about nine o'clock, the boy as 
 he planed a bench paused suddenly. " What's 
 that?" 
 
 They listened. The door stood open, and 
 after a second or two they heard the sound of 
 feet tip-toeing away up the path outside. 
 
 " Spies, perhaps," said his father. " If so, 
 let them go in peace." 
 
 But he was not altogether easy. There had 
 
 been strange doings up at the Bryanite Chapel 
 
 of late. He still visited a few of his parishioners 
 
 regularly — hill farmers and their wives for the 
 
 152
 
 THE BUILDERS 
 
 most part, who did not happen to be tenants of 
 Squire Moyle, and on whom his visits therefore 
 could bring no harm; and one or two had hinted 
 of strange doings, now that the Bryanites had 
 gotten hold of the old Squire. They themselves 
 had been up — just to look; they confessed it 
 shame-facedly, much in the style of men who 
 have been drinking overnight. Without press- 
 ing them and showing himself curious, the Vicar 
 could get at no particulars. But as the summer 
 grew he felt a moral sultriness, as it were, grow- 
 ing with it. The people were off their balance, 
 restless; and behind their behavior he had a 
 sense, now of something electric, menacing, now 
 of a hand holding it in check. Slowly in those 
 days the conviction deepened in him that he was 
 an alien on this coast, that between him and the 
 hearts of the race he ministered to there 
 stretched an impalpable, impenetrable veil. 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 now so long ago! 
 
 On a Saturday jiight early in May, the foot- 
 steps were heard again, and this time in the 
 porch itself. AVhile Mr. Kaymond and Taffy 
 
 153
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 listened the big latch went up with a creak, and 
 a dark figure slipped into the church. 
 
 " Who's 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 de- 
 manded, 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 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-an- 
 swers! 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?" 
 
 154
 
 THE BUILDERS 
 
 Jacky scratched his head. " I reckon the 
 Lord must have thought o' that, too. Suppose 
 you put me to work in the vestry? There's only 
 one window looks in on the vestry, you can 
 block that up with a curtain, and there I'll be 
 like a weevil in a biscuit." 
 
 When this screen was fixed, the little Bryan- 
 ite looked round and rubbed his hands. " Now 
 I'll tell 'ee a prabble," he said — " a prabble 
 about this candle I'm holding. When God Al- 
 mighty said ' Let there he light,' He gave every 
 man a candle — to some folks, same as you, long 
 sixes perhaps and best wax; to others, a farthing 
 dip. But they all helps to light up; and the 
 beauty of it is. Parson " — he laid a hand on Mr. 
 Raymond's cuff — " there isn' one of 'em burns 
 a ha'porth the worse for every candle that's lit 
 from 'em. Now sit down, you and the boy, and 
 I lam 'ee how to join a board." 
 
 155
 
 XIV 
 
 VOICES FROM THE SEA 
 
 Before winter and the long nights came round 
 again, Taffy had become quite a clever carpen- 
 ter. From the first his quickness fairly aston- 
 ished the Bryanite, who at the best was but a 
 journeyman and soon owned himself beaten. 
 
 " I doubt," said he, " if you'll ever make so 
 good a man as your father; but you can't help 
 making a better workman." He added, with 
 his eyes on the boy's face, " There's one thing in 
 which you might copy 'em. He hasn't much 
 of a gift, hut he lays it 'pon the altar." 
 
 By this time Taffy had resumed his lessons. 
 Every day he carried a book or two in the 
 satchel with his dinner, and read or translated 
 aloud while his father worked. Two hours 
 were allowed for this in the morning, and again 
 two in the afternoon. Sometimes a day would 
 be set apart during which they talked nothing 
 but Latin. Difficulties in the text of their au- 
 thors they postponed until the evening, and 
 
 156
 
 VOICES FEOM THE SEA 
 
 worked them out at home, after supper, with the 
 help of grammar and dictionary. 
 
 The boy was not unhappy, on the whole; 
 though for weeks together he longed for sight 
 of George Vyell, who seemed to have vanished 
 into space, or into that limbo where his child- 
 hood lay like a toy in a lumber-room. Taffy 
 seldom turned the key of that room. The 
 stories he imagined now were not about fairies 
 or heroes, but about himself. He wanted to be 
 a great man and astonish the world. Just how 
 the world was to be astonished he did not clearly 
 see, even in his dreams; but the triumph, in 
 whatever shape it came, was to involve a new 
 gown for his mother, and for his father a whole 
 library of books. 
 
 Mr. Raymond never went back to his books 
 now, except to help Taffy. The Commentary 
 on the Epistle to the Hebrews was laid aside. 
 "Some day!" he told Humility. The Sunday 
 congregation had dwindled to a very few, mostly 
 farm people; Squire Moyle having threatened 
 to expel any tenant of his who dared to set foot 
 within the church. 
 
 In the autumn two things happened which set 
 
 Taffy wondering. 
 
 157
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 During the first three years at Nannizabuloe 
 old Mrs. Venning had regularly been carried 
 downstairs to dine with the family. The sea-air 
 (she said) had put new life into her. But now 
 she seldom moved from her room, and Taffy sel- 
 dom saw her except at night, when — after the 
 old childish custom — he knocked at her door to 
 wish her pleasant dreams and pull up the weights 
 of the tall clock which stood by her bed's head. 
 
 One night he asked, carelessly, " What do you 
 want with the clock? Lying here you don't need 
 to know the time; and its ticking must keep you 
 awake." 
 
 " So it does, child; but, bless you, I like it,'^ 
 
 " Like being kept awake? " 
 
 " Dear, yes! I have enough of rest and quiet 
 up here. You mind the litany I used to say over 
 to you? — Parson Kempthorne taught it to us 
 girls when I was in service with him ; 'twas made 
 up, he said, by another old Devonshire parson, 
 years and years ago — 
 
 When I lie within my bed 
 Sick in heart and sick in head, 
 And with doubts discomforted, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 
 
 When the house do sigh and weep — 
 158
 
 VOICES FROM THE SEA 
 
 That's it. You wouldn't think how quiet it is up 
 here all day. But at night, when you're in bed 
 and sleeping, all the house begins to talk; little 
 creakings of the furniture, you know, and the 
 wind in the chimney, and sometimes the rain in 
 the gutters running — it's all talk to me. Mostly 
 it's quite sociable too; but sometimes, in rainy 
 weather, the tune changes, and then it's like some 
 poor soul in bed and sobbing to itself. That's 
 when the verse comes in : 
 
 When the house do sigh and weep 
 And the world is drowned in sleep, 
 Yet my eyes the watch do keep, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 And then the clock's ticking is a wonderful com- 
 fort. Tick-iack, tick-tack! and I think of you 
 stretched asleep and happy and growing up to be 
 a man, and the minutes running and trickling 
 away to my deliverance " 
 
 "Granny!" 
 
 " My dear, I'm as well off as most ; but that 
 isn't saying I sha'n't be glad to go and take the 
 pain in my joints to a better land. Before we 
 came here, in militia-time, I used to lie and listen 
 for the buglers, but now I've only the clock. 2^o 
 
 159
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 more bugles for me, I reckon, till I hear them 
 blown on t'other side of Jordan." 
 
 Taffy remembered how he too had lain and 
 listened to the bugles; and with that he suddenly 
 saw his childhood, as it were a small round globe 
 set within a far larger one and wrapped around 
 with other folks' thoughts. He kissed his grand- 
 mother and went away wondering ; and as he lay 
 down that night it still seemed wonderful to him 
 that she should have heard those bugles, and 
 more wonderful that night after night for years 
 she should have been thinking of him while he 
 slept, and he never have guessed it. 
 
 One morning, some three weeks later, he and 
 his father were putting on their oilskins before 
 starting to work — for it had been blowing hard 
 through the night and the gale was breaking up 
 in floods of rain — when they heard a voice hal- 
 looing in the distance. Humility heard it too and 
 turned swiftly to Taffy. " Run upstairs, dear. 
 I expect it's someone sent from Tresedder Farm ; 
 and if so, he'll want to see your father alone." 
 
 Mr. Raymond frowned. " Ko," he said; " the 
 time is past for that." 
 
 A fist hammered on the door. Mr. Raymond 
 
 threw it open. 
 
 160
 
 VOICES FROM THE SEA 
 
 " Brigantine — on the sands — half a mile this 
 side of the lighthouse! " Taffy saw across his 
 father's shoulder a gleam of yellow oilskins and 
 a flapping sou-wester' hat. The panting voice 
 belonged to Sam Udy — son of old Bill Udy — a 
 laborer at Tresedder. 
 
 " I'll go at once," said Mr. Raymond. '" Run 
 you for the coast-guard." 
 
 The oilskins went by the window; the side 
 gate clashed to. 
 
 '' Is it a wreck? " cried Taffy. " May I go 
 with you? " 
 
 *' Yes, there may be a message to run with." 
 
 From the edge of the towans, where the 
 ground dipped steeply to the long beach, they 
 saw the wreck, about a mile up the coast and, as 
 well as they could judge, a hundred or a liundred- 
 and-fifty yards out. She lay almost on her beam- 
 ends, with the waves sweeping high across her 
 starboard quarter, and never less than six ranks 
 of ugly breakers between her and dry land. A 
 score of watchers — in the distance they looked 
 like emmets — were gathered by the edge of the 
 surf. But the coast-guard had not arrived yet. 
 
 " The tide is ebbing, and the rocket will reach. 
 
 Can you see anyone aboard ? " 
 
 161
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 Taffy spied through his hands, but could see 
 no one. His father set off running and he fol- 
 lowed, half-blinded by the rain, at every fourth 
 step foundering knee-deep in loose sand or trip- 
 ping in a rabbit hole. They had covered three- 
 fourths of the distance when Mr. Raymond 
 pulled up and waved his hat as the coast-guard 
 carriage swept into view over a ridge to the right 
 and came plunging across the main valley of the 
 towans. It passed them close — the horses fet- 
 lock-deep in sand, with heads down and heaving, 
 smoking shoulders; the coast-guardsmen with 
 keen strong faces like heroes' — and the boy 
 longed to copy his father and send a cheer after 
 them as they went galloping by. But something 
 rose in his throat. 
 
 He ran after the carnage, and reached the 
 shore just as the first rocket shot singing out 
 toward the wreck. By this time at least a hun- 
 dred miners had gathered, and between their legs 
 he caught a glimpse of two figures stretched at 
 length on the wet sand. He had never looked on 
 a dead body before. The faces of these were hid- 
 den by the crowd ; and he hung about the fringe 
 of it, dreading and yet courting a sight of 
 them. 
 
 162
 
 VOICES FEOM THE SEA 
 
 The first rocket was swept down the wind to 
 leeward of the wreck. The chief officer judged 
 his second beautifully and the line fell clean 
 across the vessel and all but amidships. A figure 
 started up from the lee of the deckhouse and 
 springing into the main shrouds grasped it and 
 made it fast. The beach being too low for them 
 to work the cradle clear above the breakers, the 
 coast-guardsmen carried the shore end of the line 
 up the shelving cliff and fixed it. Within ten 
 minutes the cradle was run out, and within twen- 
 ty, the first man came swinging shoreward. 
 
 Four men were brought ashore alive, the cap- 
 tain last. The other two of the crew of six lay on 
 the sands, with Mr. Raymond kneeling beside 
 them. He had covered their faces, and, still on 
 his knees, gave the order to lift them into the car- 
 riage. Taffy noticed that he was obeyed without 
 demur or question. And there flashed on his 
 memory a gray morning, not unlike this one, 
 when he had missed his father at breakfast : " He 
 had been called away suddenly," Humility had 
 explained, " and there would be no lessons that 
 day," and had kept the boy indoors all the morn- 
 ing and busy with a netting-stitch he had been 
 
 bothering her to teach him. 
 
 163
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " Father," he asked as they followed the cart, 
 " does this often happen? " 
 
 '^ Your mother hasn't thought it well for you 
 to see these sights." 
 
 " Then it has happened often? " 
 
 " I have buried seventeen," said Mr. Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 That afternoon he showed Taffy their graves. 
 " I know the names of all but two. The bodies 
 have marks about them — tattooed, you know — 
 and that helps. And I write to their relatives or 
 friends, and restore whatever small property 
 may be found on them. I have often wished to 
 put up some grave-stone, or a wooden cross, with 
 their names. I keep a book and enter all particu- 
 lars, and where each is laid." 
 
 He went to his chest in the vestry and took out 
 the volume — a cheap account book, ruled for fig- 
 ures. Taffy turned over the pages. 
 
 Nov. 3rd. 187 — . Brig '^ James and Maria:"" 
 J. D., fair-haired, height 5 ft. 8 in., marked on 
 chest with initials and cross swords, tattooed, 
 also anchor and coil of rope on right fore-arm: 
 large hroiv?i mole on right shoulder-hlade. 
 Striped fiannel drawers: othenvise naked: no 
 property of any kind. 
 
 164
 
 VOICES FROM THE SEA 
 
 Ditto. Grown man, age JfO or thereabouts: 
 dark; iron gray heard; lovers^ knot tattooed on 
 right fore-arm, with initials R. L., E. W., in the 
 loops: clad in flannel shirt, guernsey, trousers 
 (blue sea-cloth), socks (heather-mixture), all un- 
 marked. Silver chain in pocket, with free- 
 mason's token: a half-crown, a florin, and four- 
 pence and so on. On the opposite page were 
 
 entered the full names and details afterward 
 discovered, with notes of the Vicar's correspond- 
 ence, and position of the grave. 
 
 " They ought to have grave-stones," said Mr. 
 Eaymond. " But as it is I can only get about 
 thirty shillings for the funeral from the county 
 rate. The balance has come out of my pocket — 
 from two to three pounds for each. From the be- 
 ginning the Squire refused to help to bury sailors. 
 He took the ground that it wasn't a local claim." 
 
 "Hullo! " said Taffy: for as he turned the 
 leaves his eye fell on this entry : — 
 
 Jan. 30th, 187—. 8. S. "Rifleman'' (all 
 
 hands). Cargo, China-clay: W. P., Age, about 
 
 eighteen, fair skin, reddish hair, short and 
 
 curled, height 5 ft. 10% in. Initials tattooed on 
 
 chest under a three-masted ship and semi-circle 
 
 of seven stars; clad in flannel singlet and trou- 
 
 165
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 sers (cloth) : singlet marked with same initial 
 in red cotton: pockets empty 
 
 " But he was in the Navy! " cried Taffy, with 
 his finger on the entry. 
 
 "Which one? Yes, he was in the l^avy. 
 You'll see it on the opposite page. He deserted, 
 poor boy, in Cork Harbor, and shipped on board 
 a tramp steamer as donkey-man. She loaded at 
 Fowey and was wrecked on the voyage back. 
 William Pellow he was called; his mother lives 
 but ten miles up the coast; she never heard of it 
 until six weeks after." 
 
 " But we — I, I mean — knew him. He was 
 one of the sailor boys on Toby's van. You re- 
 member their helping us with the luggage at 
 Indian Queen'' sf He showed me his tattoo 
 marks that day." 
 
 And again he saw his childhood as it were set 
 about with an enchanted hedge, across which 
 many voices would have called to him, and some 
 from near, but all had hung muted and arrested. 
 
 The inquest on the two drow^ned sailors was 
 held next day at the Fifteen Balls, down in Innis 
 village. Later in the afternoon, the four sur- 
 \dvors walked up to the church, headed by the 
 Captain. 
 
 166
 
 VOICES FEOM THE SEA 
 
 " We've been hearing," said tlie Captain, " of 
 your difficulties, sir: likewise your kindness to 
 other poor sea-faring chaps. We have liked to 
 make ye a small offering for your church, but 
 sixteen shillings is all we can raise between us. 
 So we come to say that if you can put us on to a 
 job, why we're staying over the funeral, and a 
 day's work or more after that won't hurt us one 
 way or another." 
 
 Mr. Raymond led them to the chancel and 
 pointed out a new beam, on which he and Jacky 
 Pascoe had been working a week past, and over 
 which they had been cudgelling their brains how 
 to get it lifted and fixed in place. 
 
 " I can send to one of the miners and borrow a 
 couple of ladders." 
 
 " Ladders? Lord love ye, sir, and begging 
 your pardon, we don't want ladders. With a 
 sling. Bill, hey? — and a couple of tackles. You 
 leave it to we, sir." 
 
 He went off to turn over the gear salved from 
 his vessel, and early next forenoon had the ap- 
 paratus rigged up and ready. He was obliged to 
 leave it at this point, having been summoned 
 across to Ealmouth, to report to his agents. His 
 last words before starting were addressed to his 
 
 167
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 crew. " I reckon you can fix it now, boys. 
 There's only one thing more, and don't you for- 
 get it: any man that wants to spit must go out- 
 side." 
 
 That afternoon Taffy learnt for the first time 
 what could be done with a few ropes and pulleys. 
 The seamen seemed to spin ropes out of them- 
 selves like spiders. By three o'clock the beam 
 was hoisted and fixed; and they broke off work 
 to attend their shipmates' funeral. After the fu- 
 neral they fell to, again, though more silently, 
 and before nightfall the beam shone with a new 
 coat of varnish. 
 
 They left early next morning, after a good 
 deal of handshaking, and Taffy looked after them 
 wistfully as they turned to wave their caps and 
 trudged away over the rise toward the cross-roads. 
 Away to the left in the wintry sunshine, a speck 
 of scarlet caught his eye against the blue-gray of 
 the town. He watched it as it came slowly 
 toward him, and his heart leapt — yet not quite 
 as he had expected it to leap. 
 
 For it was George Vyell. George had lately 
 
 been promoted to " pink " and made a gallant 
 
 figure on his strapping gray hunter. For the 
 
 first time Taffy felt ashamed of his working suit 
 
 168
 
 VOICES FEOM THE SEA 
 
 and would have slipped back to the church. But 
 George had seen him, and pulled up. 
 
 "Hullo! "said he. 
 
 " Hullo! " said Taffy; and, absurdly enough, 
 could find no more to say. 
 
 " How are you getting on? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right." There was another 
 pause. " How's Honoria? " 
 
 " Oh, she's all right. I'm riding over there 
 now; they meet at Tredinnis to-day." He 
 tapped his boot with his hunting crop. 
 
 "Don't you have any lessons now?" asked 
 Taffy, after awhile. 
 
 "Dear me, yes; I've got a tutor. He's no 
 good at it. But what made you ask? " 
 
 Really Taffy could not tell. He had asked 
 merely for the sake of saying something. George 
 pulled out a gold watch. 
 
 " I must be getting on. Well, good-by ! " 
 
 "Good-by!" 
 
 And that was all. 
 
 169
 
 XV 
 
 taffy's appkenticeship 
 
 They could manage the carpentering now. 
 And Jacky Pascoe, who in addition to his other 
 trades was something of a glazier, had taken the 
 damaged east window in hand. For six months 
 it had remained boarded up, darkening the chan- 
 cel. Mr. Raymond removed the boards and 
 fixed them up again on the outside, and the 
 Bryanite worked behind them night after night. 
 He could only be spied upon through two lancet 
 windows at the west end of the church, and these 
 they curtained. 
 
 But what continually bothered them was their 
 ignorance of iron-work. Staples, rivets, hinges 
 were for ever wanted. At length, one evening 
 toward the end of March, the Bryanite laid down 
 his tools. 
 
 " Tell 'ee what 'tis, Parson. You must send 
 
 the boy to someone that'll teach 'er smithy-work. 
 
 There's no sense in this cold hammering." 
 
 170
 
 TAFFY'S APFEENTICESHIP 
 
 " Wkeelwright Hocken holds his shop and cot- 
 tage from the Squire." 
 
 " Why not put the boy to Mendarva the 
 Smith, over to Benny Beneath? He's a first-rate 
 workman." 
 
 " That is more than six miles away." 
 
 " No matter for that. There's Joll's Farm 
 close by ; Farmer JoU would board and lodge 'en 
 for nine shilling a week, and glad of the chance ; 
 and he could come home for Sundays." 
 
 Mr. Raymond, as soon as he reached home, 
 sat down and wrote a letter to Mendarva the 
 Smith and another to Farmer Joll. Within a 
 week the bargains were struck, and it was settled 
 that Taffy should go at once. 
 
 " I may be calling before long, to look you 
 up," said the Bryanite, " but mind you do no 
 more than nod when you see me." 
 
 Joll's Farm lay somewhere near Carwithiel, 
 across the moor where Taffy had gone fishing 
 with George and Honoria. On the Monday 
 morning when he stepped through the white 
 front gate, with his bag on his shoulder, and 
 paused for a good look at the building, it seemed 
 to him a very comfortable farmstead, and vastly 
 superior to the tumble-down farms around JSTan- 
 
 171
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 nizabuloe. The flagged path, which led up to 
 the front door between great bunches of purple 
 honesty, was swept as clean as a dairy, 
 
 A dark-haired maid op'ened the door and led 
 him to the great kitchen at the back. Hams 
 wrapped in paper hung from the rafters, and 
 strings of onions. The pans over the fireplace 
 were bright as mirrors, and through the open 
 window he heard the voices of children at play as 
 well as the clacking of poultry in the townplace. 
 
 " I'll go and tell the mistress," said the maid ; 
 but she paused at the door. " I suppose you don't 
 remember me, now? " 
 
 " Is^," said Taffy, truthfully. 
 
 " My name's Lizzie Pezzack. You was with 
 the young lady, that day, when she bought my 
 doll. I mind you quite well. But I put my hair 
 up last Easter, and that makes a difference." 
 
 " Why, you were only a child." 
 
 " I was seventeen last w^eek. And — I say, do 
 you know the Bryanite, over to Innis ? — Preacher 
 Jacky Pascoe ? " 
 
 He nodded, remembering the caution given 
 him. 
 
 " I got salvation off him. Master and mis'ess, 
 they've got salvation too; but they take it very 
 
 172
 
 TAFFY'S APPRENTICESHIP 
 
 quiet. They're very fond of one another ; if you 
 please one you'll please both. They let me walk 
 over to prayer-meetin' once a week. But I don't 
 go by Mendarva's shop — that's where you work 
 — though 'tis the shortest way; because there's a 
 woman buried in the road there, with a stake 
 through her, and I'm a terrible coward for 
 ghosts." 
 
 She paused as if expecting him to say some- 
 thing; but Taffy was staring at a "neck" of 
 corn, elaborately plaited, which hung above the 
 mantle-shelf. And just then Mrs. Joll entered 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Taffy — without any reason — had expected to 
 see a middle-aged house-wife. But Mrs. Joll was 
 hardly over thirty; a shapely woman, with a 
 plain, pleasant face and auburn hair, the wealth 
 of which she concealed by wearing it drawn 
 straight back from the forehead and plaited in 
 the severest coil behind. She shook hands. 
 
 " You'll like a drink of milk before I show you 
 your room? " 
 
 Taffy was grateful for the milk. While he 
 drank it, the voices of the children outside rose 
 suddenly to shouts of laughter. 
 
 " That will be their father come home," said 
 
 173
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Mrs. Joll and going to the side-door called to 
 him, " John, put the children down; Mr. Ray- 
 mond's son is here." 
 
 Mr. Joll, who had been galloping round the 
 farmyard with a small girl of three on his back, 
 and a boy of six tugging at his coat-tails, pulled 
 up, and wiped his good-natured face. 
 
 " Glad to see you," said he, coming forward 
 and shaking hands, while the two children stared 
 at Taffy. 
 
 After a minute, the boy said, " My name's 
 Bob. Come and play horses, too." 
 
 Farmer Joll looked at Taffy shyly. " Shall 
 we?" 
 
 " Mr. Raymond will be tired enough already," 
 his wife suggested. 
 
 "Not a bit," declared Taffy; and hoisting 
 Bob on his back, he set off furiously prancing 
 after the farmer. 
 
 By dinner-time he and the family were fast 
 friends, and after dinner the farmer took him off 
 to be introduced to Mendarva the Smith. 
 
 Mendarva's forge stood on a triangle of turf 
 
 beside the high-road, where a cart-track branched 
 
 off to descend to Joll's Farm in the valley. And 
 
 Mendarva was a dark giant of a man with a beard 
 
 174
 
 TAFFY'S APPRENTICESHIP 
 
 like those you see on the statues of Nineveh. 
 On Sundays he parted his beard carefully and 
 tied the ends with little bows of scarlet ribbon; 
 but on week days it curled at will over his mighty 
 chest. He had one assistant whom he called 
 " the Dane; " a red-haired youth as tall as him- 
 self and straighter from the waist down. Men- 
 darva's knees had come together with years of 
 poising and swinging his great hammer, 
 
 " He's little, but he'll grow," said he, after 
 eying Taffy up and do^vn. " Dane, come fore 
 and tell me if we'll make a workman of 'en." 
 
 The Dane stepped forward and passed his 
 hands over the boy's shoulders and down his ribs. 
 " He's slight, but he'll fill out. Good pair o' 
 shoulders. Give's hold o' your hand, my son." 
 
 Taffy obeyed; not very well liking to be han- 
 dled thus. 
 
 " Hand like a lady's. Tidy wrist, though. 
 He'll do, master." 
 
 So Taffy was passed, given a leathern apron, 
 
 and set to his first task of keeping the forge-fire 
 
 raked and the bellows going, while the hammers 
 
 took up the music he was to listen to for a year to 
 
 come. 
 
 This music kept the day merry; and beyond 
 
 175
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 the window along the bright high-road there was 
 usually something worth seeing — farm-carts, 
 jowters' carts, the doctor and his gig, pedlars and 
 Johnny-fortnights, the miller's wagons from the 
 valley-bottom below Joll's Farm, and on Tues- 
 days and Fridays, the market van going and re- 
 turning. Mendarva knew or speculated upon 
 everybody, and, with half the passers-by, broke 
 off work and passed the time of day, leaning on 
 his hammer. But down at the farm all was 
 strangely quiet, in spite of the children's voices; 
 and at night the quietness positively kept Taffy 
 awake, listening to the pur-r of the pigeons in 
 their cote against the house-wall, thinking of his 
 grandmother awake at home and hearkening to 
 the tick-tack of her tall clock. Often when he 
 woke to the early summer daybreak and saw 
 through his attic-window the gray shadows of 
 the sheep, still and long, on the slope above the 
 farmstead, his ear was wanting something, ask- 
 ing for something; for the murmur of the sea 
 never reached this inland valley. And he would 
 lie and long for the chirruping of the two chil- 
 dren in the next room and the drawing of bolts 
 and clatter of milk-pails below stairs. 
 
 He had a plenty to eat, and that plenty simple 
 
 176
 
 TAFFY'S APPRENTICESHIP 
 
 and good; and clean linen to sleep between. 
 The kitchen was his, except on Saturday nights, 
 when Mrs. Joll and Lizzie tubbed the children 
 there; and then he would carry his books off to 
 the best parlor, or stroll around the farm with Mr. 
 Joll and discuss the stock. There were no loose 
 rails in Mr. Joll's gates, no farm implements ly- 
 ing out in the weather to rust. Mr. Joll worked 
 early and late, and his shoulders had a tell-tale 
 stoop — for he was a man in the prime of life, per- 
 haps some five years older than his wife. 
 
 One Saturday evening he unburdened his 
 heart to Taffy. It happened at the end of the 
 hay-harvest, and the two were leaning over a 
 gate discussing the yet unthatched rick. 
 
 " What I say is," declared the farmer, quite 
 inconsequently, " a man must be able to lay his 
 troubles 'pon the Lord, I don't mean his work, 
 but his troubles; and go home and shut the door 
 and be happy with his wife and children. Now 
 I tell you that for months — iss, years — after Bob 
 was born, I kept plaguing myself dn the fields, 
 thinking that some harm might have happened 
 to the child. Why, I used to make an excuse and 
 creep home, and then if I see'd a blind pulled 
 down, you wouldn't think how my heart 'd go 
 
 177
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 thump; and I'd stand wi' my hand on the door- 
 hapse an' say, ' If so be the Lord have took'n, I 
 must go and comfort Susan — not my will but 
 Thine, Lord — but. Lord, don't 'ee be cruel this 
 time! ' And then find the cheeld right as nine- 
 pence and the blind only pulled down to keep the 
 sun off the carpet ! After awhile my wife guessed 
 what was wrong — I used to make up such poor 
 twiddling pretences. She said, ' Look here, the 
 Lord and me '11 see after Bob; and if you can't 
 keep to your own work without poking your nose 
 into ours, then I married for worse and not for 
 better.' Then it came upon me that by leaving 
 the Lord to look after my job I'd been treating 
 Him like a farm-laborer. It's the things you 
 can't help He looks after — not the work." 
 
 A few evenings later there came a knock at 
 the door, and Lizzie, who went to open it, 
 returned with the Bryanite skipping behind 
 her. 
 
 " Blessings be upon this here house! " he cried, 
 cutting a sort of double-shuffle on the threshold. 
 He shook hands with the farmer and his wife, 
 and nodded toward Taffy. " So you've got Par- 
 son Raymond's boy here ! " 
 
 Yes," said Mrs. Joll; and turned to Taffy, 
 
 178 
 
 i(
 
 TAFFY'S APPEENTICESHIP 
 
 " He've come to pray a bit ; perhaps you would 
 rather be in the parlor? " 
 
 Taffy asked to be allowed to stay; and pres- 
 ently Mr. Pascoe had them all down on their 
 knees. He began by invoking God's protection 
 on the household; but his prayer soon ceased to 
 be a prayer. It broke into ejaculations of praise 
 — " Friends, I be too happy to ask for anything 
 — Glory, glory! The blood! The precious 
 blood! O deliverance! O streams of redemp- 
 tion running! " The farmer and his wife began 
 to chime in— "Hallelujah!" "Glory!" and 
 Lizzie Pezzack to sob. Taffy, kneeling before a 
 kitchen chair, peeped between his palms and 
 saw her shoulders heaving. 
 
 The Bryanite sprang to his feet, overturning 
 the settle with a crash. " Tid'n no use. I must 
 skip. Who'll dance wi' me? " 
 
 He held out his hands to Mrs. Joll. She took 
 them, and skipped once shame-facedly. Lizzie, 
 with flaming cheeks, pushed her aside. " Leave 
 me try, mis'ess; I shall die if I don't." She 
 caught the preacher's hands, and the two leapt 
 about the kitchen. " I can dance higher than 
 mis'ess! I can dance higher than mis'ess! " 
 Farmer Joll looked on with a dazed face. " Hal- 
 
 179
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 lelujali! " " Amen! " he said at intervals, quite 
 mechanically. The pair stood under the bacon 
 rank and began to whirl like dervishes — hands 
 clasped, toes together, bodies leaning back and 
 almost rigid. They whirled until Taffy's brain 
 whirled with them. 
 
 With a louder sob, Lizzie let go her hold, and 
 tottered back into a chair, laughing hysterically. 
 The Bryanite leaned against the table, panting. 
 
 There was a long pause. Mrs. Joll took a nap- 
 kin from the dresser and fell to fanning the girl's 
 face, then to slapping it briskly. " Get up and 
 lay the table," she commanded; " the preacher'll 
 stay to supper." 
 
 " Thank 'ee, ma'am, I don't care if I do," 
 said he; and ten minutes later they were all 
 seated at supper and discussing the fall in wheat 
 in the most matter-of-fact voices. Only their 
 faces twitched, now and again. 
 
 " I hear you had the preacher down to Joll's 
 last night," said Mendarva the Smith. " What'st 
 think of 'en?" 
 
 " I can't make him out," was Taffy's colorless 
 but truthful answer. 
 
 " He's a bellows of a man. I do hear he's heat- 
 ing up th' old Squire Moyle's soul, to knack an 
 
 180
 
 TAFFY'S APPRENTICESHIP 
 
 angel out of 'en. He'll find that a job and a half. 
 You mark my words, there'll be Hamlet's ghost 
 over in your parish one o' these days." 
 
 During work-hours Mendarva bestowed most 
 of his talk on Taffy. The Dane seldom opened 
 his lips, except to join in the Anvil Chorus — 
 
 Here goes one — 
 
 Sing, sing, Johnny! 
 
 Here goes two- 
 Sing, Johnny, sing! 
 
 Whaclt'n till he's red 
 
 Whack'n till he's dead 
 
 And whop ! goes the widow with a 
 brand new ring ! 
 
 and when the boy took a hammer and joined in, 
 he fell silent. Taffy soon observed that a singu- 
 lar friendship knit these two men, who were both 
 unmarried. Mendarva had been a famous wres- 
 tler in his day, and his great ambition now was to 
 train the other to win the County belt. Often, 
 after work, the pair would try a hitch together 
 on the triangle of turf, with Taffy for stickler; 
 Mendarva illustrating and explaining, the Dane 
 nodding seriously whenever he understood, but 
 never answering a word. Afterward the boy re- 
 called these bouts very vividly — the clear even- 
 
 181
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 ing sky, the shoulders of the two big men shin- 
 ing against the level sun as they gripped and 
 swayed, their long shadows on the grass under 
 which (as he remembered) the poor self-mur- 
 dered woman lay buried. 
 
 He thought of her at night, sometimes, as he 
 worked alone at the forge: for Mendarva al- 
 lowed him the keys and use of the smithy over- 
 time, in consideration of a small payment for 
 coal. And then he blew his fire and hammered, 
 with a couple of candles on the bench and a 
 Homer between them; and beat the long hex- 
 ameters into his memory. The incongruity 
 of it never struck him. He was going to be a 
 great man, and somehow this was going to be the 
 way. These scraps of iron — these tools of his 
 forging — were to grow into the arms and shield 
 of Achilles. In its own time would come the 
 magic moment, the shield find its true circum- 
 ference and swing to the balance of his arm, 
 proof and complete. 
 
 iv 8' iridei irorafJiOio fj.fya adeyos 'fl/ceacojo 
 livTvya vap wfidTijv craKeos irvKU irotrtroio. , 
 
 182
 
 XVI 
 
 LIZZIE AND HONOEIA 
 
 His apprenticeship lasted a year and six 
 months, and all this while he lived with the Jolls, 
 walking home every Sunday morning and re- 
 turning every Sunday night, rain or shine. He 
 carried his deftness of hand into his new trade, 
 and it was Mendarva who begged and obtained 
 an extension of the time agreed on. " Rather 
 than lose the boy I'll tache 'en for love." So 
 Taffy stayed on for another six months. 
 
 He was now in his seventeenth year — a boy no 
 longer. One evening, as he blew up his smithy 
 fire, the glow of it fell on the form of a woman 
 standing just outside the window and watching 
 him. He had no silly fears of ghosts; but the 
 thought of the buried woman flashed across his 
 mind and he dropped his pincers with a clatter. 
 
 " 'Tis only me," said the woman. " You 
 
 needn't to be afeared." And he saw it was the 
 
 girl Lizzie. 
 
 183
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 She stepped inside the forge and seated her- 
 self on the Dane's anvil, 
 
 " I was walking back from prayer-meeting," 
 she said, " 'Tis nigher this way, but I don't 
 ever dare to come. Might, I dessay, if I'd some- 
 body to see me home." 
 
 " Ghosts? " asked Taffy, picking up the pin- 
 cers and thrusting the bar back into the hot cin- 
 ders, 
 
 " I dunno; I gets frightened o' the very shad- 
 ows on the road sometimes. I suppose, now, 
 you never walks out that way ? " 
 
 "Which way?" 
 
 " Why, toward where your home is. That's 
 the way I comes." 
 
 "No, I don't," Taffy blew at the cinders 
 until they glowed again. " It's only on Sundays 
 I go over there." 
 
 " That's a pity," said Lizzie, candidly. " I'm 
 kept in, Sunday evenings, to look after the chil- 
 dren while farmer and mis'ess goes to Chapel. 
 That's the agreement I came 'pon." 
 
 Taffy nodded. 
 
 " It would be nice now, wouldn't it — " She 
 
 broke off, clasping her knees and staring at the 
 
 blaze. 
 
 184
 
 LIZZIE AND HONOEIA 
 
 " What would be nice? " 
 
 Lizzie laughed confusedly. " Aw, you make 
 me say 't. I can't abear any of the young men 
 up to the Chapel. If me and you " 
 
 Taffy ceased blowing. The fire died down and 
 in the darkness he could hear her breathing hard. 
 
 " They're so rough," she went on. " And 
 t'other night I met young Squire Vyell riding 
 along the road, and he stopped me and wanted 
 to kiss me." 
 
 " George Yyell? Surely he didn't? " Taffy 
 blew up the fire again. 
 
 " Iss he did. I don't see why not, neither." 
 
 " "Why he shouldn't kiss you? " 
 
 " Why he shouldn't want to." 
 
 Taffy frowned, carried the white hot bar to his 
 anvil and began to hammer. He despised girls, 
 as a rule, and their ways. Decidedly Lizzie an- 
 noyed him: and yet as he worked he could not 
 help glancing at her now and then, as she sat and 
 watched him. By and by he saw that her eyes 
 were full of tears. 
 
 " What's the matter? " he asked, abruptly. 
 
 " I — I can't walk home alone. I'm afeared." 
 
 He tossed his hammer aside, raked out the 
 
 fire, and reached his coat off its peg. As he 
 
 185
 
 THE SHIP OF STAKS 
 
 swimg round in the darkness to put it on, he 
 blundered against Lizzie or Lizzie blundered 
 against him. She clutched at him nervously. 
 
 " Clumsy! can't you see the doorway? " 
 
 She passed out, and he followed and locked the 
 door. As they crossed the turf to the highroad, 
 she slipped her arm into his. " I feel safe, that 
 way. Let it stay, co! " After a few paces, she 
 added, " You're different from the others — 
 that's why I like you." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "I dunno; but you he diff'rent. You don't 
 think about girls, for one thing." 
 
 Taffy did not answer. He felt angry, ashamed, 
 uncomfortable. He did not turn once to look at 
 her face, dimly visible by the light of the young 
 moon — the Hunter's moon — now sinking over 
 the slope of the hill. Thick dust — too thick for 
 the heavy dew to lay — covered the cart-track 
 down to the farm, mufSing their footsteps. Liz- 
 zie paused by the gate. 
 
 " Best go in separate," she said; paused again 
 and whispered, " You may, if you like." 
 
 " May do what? " 
 
 " What — what young Squire Vyell wanted." 
 
 They were face to face now. She held up her 
 
 186
 
 LIZZIE AND HONORIA 
 
 lips, and as she did so, they parted in an amorous 
 murmurous little laugh. The moonlight was on 
 her face. Taffy bent swiftly and kissed her. 
 
 " Oh, you hurt! " With another little laugh, 
 she slipped up the garden-path and into the house. 
 
 Ten minutes later Taffy followed, hating him- 
 self. 
 
 For the next fortnight he avoided her; and 
 then, late one evening, she came again. He was 
 prepared for this, and had locked the door of the 
 smithy and let down the shutter while he worked. 
 She tapped upon the outside of the shutter with 
 her knuckles. 
 
 "Let me in!" 
 
 " Can't you leave me alone ? " he answered, 
 pettishly. " I want to work, and you interrupt." 
 
 " I don't w^ant no love-making — I don't in- 
 deed. I'll sit quiet as a mouse. But I'm afeared, 
 out here." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " I'm afeared o' the ghost. There's something 
 comin' — let me in, co! " 
 
 Taffy unlocked the door and held it half open 
 while he listened. 
 
 " Yes, there's somebody coming, on horseback. 
 
 187
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 ISTow, look here — it's no gliost, and I can^t have 
 you about here, with people passing. I — I don't 
 want you here at all; so make haste and slip 
 away home, that's a good girl." 
 
 Lizzie glided like a shadow into the dark lane 
 as the trample of hoofs drew close, and the rider 
 pulled up beside the door. 
 
 " You're working late, I see. Is it too late to 
 make a shoe for Aide-de-camp here ? " 
 
 It was Honoria. She dismounted and stood in 
 the doorway, holding her horse's bridle. 
 
 " 1^0," said Taffy; " that is, if you don't mind 
 the waiting." 
 
 With his leathern apron he wiped the Dane's 
 anvil for a seat, while she hitched up Aide- 
 de-camp and stepped into the glow of the forge- 
 fire. 
 
 " The hounds took us six miles beyond Car- 
 withiel: and there, just as they lost. Aide-de- 
 camp cast his off-hind shoe. I didn't find it out 
 at first, and now I've had to walk him all the way 
 back. Are you alone here ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Who was that I saw leaving as I came up? " 
 
 " You saw someone? " 
 
 " Yes." She nodded, looking him straight in 
 
 188
 
 LIZZIE AND HONOEIA 
 
 the face. " It looked like a woman. Who was 
 she?" 
 
 " That was Lizzie Pezzaek, the girl who sold 
 you her doll, once. She's a servant down at the 
 farm where I lodge." 
 
 Honoria said no more for the moment, but 
 seated herself on the Dane's anvil, while Taffy 
 chose a bar of iron and stepped out to examine 
 Aide-de-camp's hoof. He returned and in si- 
 lence began to blow up the fire. 
 
 " I dare say you were astonished to see me," 
 she remarked at length. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I'm still forbidden to speak to you. The 
 last time I did it, grandfather beat me." 
 
 " The old brute! " Taffy nipped the hot iron 
 savagely in his pincers. 
 
 " I wonder if he'll do it again. Somehow I 
 don't think he will." 
 
 Taffy looked at her. She had drawn herself 
 up, and was smiling. In her close riding-habit 
 she seemed very slight, yet tall, and a woman 
 grown. He took the bar to the anvil and began 
 to beat it flat. His teeth were shut, and with 
 every blow he said to himself, " Brute! " 
 
 " That's beautiful," Honoria went on. " I 
 
 189
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 stopped Mendarva, the other day, and he told me 
 wonders about you. He says he tried you with a 
 hard-boiled egg and you swung the hammer and 
 chipped the shell all round without bruising the 
 white a bit. Is that true? " 
 
 Taffy nodded. 
 
 " And your learning — the Latin and Greek, I 
 mean ; do you still go on with it ? " 
 
 He nodded again, toward a volume of Eu- 
 ripides that lay open on the work-bench. 
 
 " And the stories you used to tell George and 
 me; do you go on telling them to yourself? " 
 
 He was obliged to confess that he never did. 
 She sat for awliile watching the sparks as they 
 flew. Then she said, " I should like to hear you 
 tell one again. That one about Aslog and Orm, 
 who ran away by night across the ice-fields and 
 took a boat and came to an island with a house on 
 it, and found a table spread and the fire lit, but 
 no inliabitants anywhere — You remember? It 
 began ' Once upon a time, not far from the city 
 of Drontheim, there lived a rich man ' " 
 
 Taffy considered a moment and began, " Once 
 upon a time, not far from the city of Dront- 
 heim " He paused, eyed the horse-shoe 
 
 cooling between the pincers, and shook his head. 
 
 190
 
 LIZZIE AND HONORIA 
 
 It was no use. Apollo had been too long in 
 service with Admetus, and the tale would not 
 come. 
 
 " At any rate," Honoria persisted, " you can 
 tell me something out of your books: something 
 you have just been reading." 
 
 So he began to tell her the story of Ion, and 
 managed well enough in describing the boy and 
 how he ministered before the shrine at Delphi, 
 sweeping the temple and scaring the birds away 
 from the precincts; but when he came to the 
 plot of the play and, looking up, caught Hon- 
 oria's eyes, it suddenly occurred to him that all 
 the rest of the story was a sensual one and he 
 could not tell it to her. He blushed, faltered, 
 and finally broke down. 
 
 " But it was beautiful," said she, " so far as it 
 went; and it's just what I wanted. I shall re- 
 member that boy Ion now, whenever I think of 
 you helping your father in the church at home. 
 If the rest of the story is not nice, I don't want to 
 hear it." 
 
 How had she guessed ? It was delicious, at any 
 
 rate, to know that she thought of him, and Taffy 
 
 felt how delicious it was, while he fitted and 
 
 hammered the shoe on Aide-de-camp's hoof, she 
 
 191
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 standing by with a candle in either hand, the 
 flame scarcely quivering in the windless night. 
 
 When all was done, she raised a foot for him 
 to give her a mount. " Good-night! " she called, 
 shaking the reins. Taffy stood by the door of the 
 forge, listening to the echoes of Aide-de-camp's 
 canter, and the palm of his hand tingled where 
 her foot had rested. 
 
 192
 
 XVII 
 
 THE squire's weird 
 
 He took leave of Mendarva and the Jolls just 
 before Christmas. The smith was unaffectedly 
 sorry to lose him. " But," said he, " the Dane 
 will be entered for the Championship next sum- 
 mer, so I s'pose I must look forward to that." 
 
 Everyone in the Joll household gave him a 
 small present oh his leaving. Lizzie's was a New 
 Testament, with her name on the fly-leaf, and 
 under it " Converted, April 19, 187—." Taffy 
 did not want the gift, but took it rather than hurt 
 her feelings. 
 
 Farmer Joll said, " Well, wish 'ee well ! Been 
 pretty comfiable, I hope. Now you'm goin', I 
 don't mind telling 'ee I didn't like your coming 
 a bit. But now 'tis wunnerful to me you've been 
 wi' us less than two year' ; we've made such prog- 
 
 ress." 
 
 At home Taffy bought a small forge and set 
 
 it up in the church, at the west end of the north 
 
 193
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 aisle. Mr. Eaymond, under his direction, had 
 been purchasing the necessary tools for some 
 months past ; and now the main expense was the 
 cost of coal, which pinched them a little. But 
 they managed to keep the fire alight, and the 
 work went forward briskly. Save that he still 
 forbade the parish to lend them the least help, 
 the old Squire had ceased to interfere. 
 
 Mr. Raymond's hair was grayer; and Taffy 
 might have observed — but did not — how readily, 
 toward the close of a day's laborious carpentry, 
 he would drop work and turn to Dindorf's Poetce 
 Scenici Grceci, through which they were reading 
 their way. On Sundays, the congregation rarely 
 numbered a dozen. It seemed that as the end of 
 the Vicar's task drew nearer, so the prospect of 
 filling the church receded and became more 
 shadowy. And if his was a queer plight, Jacky 
 Pascoe's was a queerer. The Bryanite continued 
 to come by night and help, but at rarer intervals. 
 He was discomforted in mind, as anyone could 
 see; and at length he took Mr. Raymond aside 
 and made confession. 
 
 " I must go away; that's what 'tis. My bur- 
 den is too great for me to bear." 
 
 " Why," said Mr. Raymond, who had grown 
 
 194
 
 THE SQUIRE'S WEIED 
 
 surprisingly tolerant during the past twelve 
 months, " what cause have you, of all men, to 
 feel dejected? You can set the folk here on fire 
 like flax." He sighed. 
 
 " That's azackly the reason — I can set 'em 
 afire with a breath ; but I can't hold 'em under. 
 I make 'em too strong for me — and Fm afeard. 
 Parson, dear, it's the gospel truth ; for two years 
 I've a been strivin' agen myself, wrastlin' upon 
 my knees, and all to hold this parish in." He 
 mopped his face. " 'Tis like fightin' with beasts 
 at Ephesus," he said. 
 
 " Do you want to hold them in? " 
 
 " I do and I don't. I've got to try, anyway. 
 Sometimes I tell mysel' 'tis putting a hand to the 
 plough and turning back ; and then I reckon I'll 
 go on. But when the time comes, I can't. I'm 
 afeard, I tell 'ee." He paused. " I've laid it be- 
 fore the Lord, but He don't seem to help. 
 There's two voices inside o' me. 'Tis a terrible 
 responsibility." 
 
 " But the people, what are you afraid of their 
 doing? " 
 
 " I don't know. You don't know what a run- 
 away boss will do, but you're afeard all the 
 
 same." He sank his voice. " There's wanton- 
 
 195
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 ness, for one thing — six love-children born in the 
 parish this year, and more coming. They do say 
 that Vashti Clemow destroyed her child. And 
 Old Man Johns — him they found dead on the 
 rocks under the Island — he didn't go there by 
 accident. 'Twas a calm day, too." 
 
 As often as not Taffy worked late — sometimes 
 until midnight — and blew his forge-fire alone in 
 the church, the tap of his hammer making hollow 
 music in the desolate aisles. He was working 
 thus one windy night in February, when the door 
 rattled open and in walked a totally unexpected 
 visitor — Sir Harry Vyell. 
 
 "Good-evening! I was riding by and saw 
 your light in the windows dancing up and down. 
 I thought I would hitch up the mare and drop 
 in for a chat. But go on with your work." 
 
 Taffy wondered what had brought him so far 
 
 from his home at that time of night, but asked 
 
 no questions. And Sir Harry placed a hassock 
 
 on one of the belfry steps and, taking his seat, 
 
 watched for awhile in silence. He wore his long 
 
 riding boots and an overcoat with the collar 
 
 turned up about a neck-cloth less nattily folded 
 
 than usual. 
 
 " I wish," he said at length, " that my boy 
 
 196
 
 THE SQUIRE'S WEIED 
 
 George was clever like you. You were great 
 friends once — you remember Plymouth, hey? 
 But I dare say you've not seen much of each 
 other lately." 
 
 Taffy shook his head. 
 
 " George is a bit wild. Oxford might have 
 done something for him; made a man of him, I 
 mean. But he wouldn't go. I believe in wild 
 oats to a certain extent. I have told him from 
 the first he must look after himself and decide 
 for himself. That's my theory. It makes a 
 youngster self-reliant. He goes and comes as he 
 likes. If he comes home late from hunting, I 
 ask no questions; I don't wait dinner. Don't 
 you agree with me? " 
 
 " I don't know," Taffy answered, wondering 
 why he should be consulted. 
 
 " Self-reliance is what a man wants." 
 
 " Couldn't he have learnt that at school ? " 
 
 Sir Harry fidgeted with the riding-crop in his 
 
 hands. " Well, you see, he's an only son . 
 
 I dare say it was selfish of me. You don't mind 
 my talking about George? " 
 
 Taffy laughed. " I like it." 
 
 Sir Harry laughed too, in an embarrassed way. 
 
 " But you don't suppose I rode over from Car- 
 
 107
 
 THE SHIP OF STAKS 
 
 withiel for that? You're not so far wrong, 
 though. The fact is — one gets foolish as one 
 grows old — George went out hunting this morn- 
 ing, and didn't turn up for dinner. I kept to my 
 rule, and dined alone. Nine o'clock came ; half- 
 past; no George. At ten Hoskings locked up as 
 usual, and off I went to bed. But I couldn't 
 sleep. After awhile, it struck me that he might 
 be sleeping here over at Tredinnis; that is, if no 
 accident had happened. No sleep for me until I 
 made sure; so I jumped out, dressed, slipped 
 down to the stables, saddled the mare and rode 
 over. I left the mare by Tredinnis great gates 
 and crept down to Moyle's stables like a house- 
 breaker; looked in through the window, and, 
 sure enough, there was George's gray in the loose 
 box to the right. So George is sleeping there, 
 and I'm easy in my mind. No doubt you think 
 me an old fool ? " 
 
 But Taffy was not thinking anything of the 
 sort. 
 
 " I couldn't wish better than that. You under- 
 stand ? " said Sir Harry, slyly. 
 
 " Not quite." 
 
 " He lost his mother early. He wants a wom- 
 an to look after him, and for him to think about. 
 
 198
 
 THE SQUIEE'S WEIRD 
 
 If he and Honoria would only make up a match". 
 . . . And Carwithiel would be quite a different 
 house." 
 
 Taffy hesitated, with a hand on the forge-bel- 
 lows. 
 
 " I dare say it's news to you, what I'm telling. 
 But it has been in my mind this long while. 
 "Why don't you blow up the fire? I bet Miss 
 Honoria has thought of it, too; girls are deep. 
 She has a head on her shoulders. I'll warrant 
 she'd send half a dozen of my servants packing 
 within a week. As it is, they rob me to a stair. 
 I know it, and I haven't the pluck to interfere." 
 
 " What does the old Squire say? " Taffy man- 
 aged to ask. 
 
 " It has never come to saying anything. But 
 I believe he thinks of it, too, when he happens to 
 think of anything but his soul. He'll be pleased; 
 everyone will be pleased. The properties touch, 
 you see." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, he's failing fast. This 
 
 religion of his is a symptom; all of his family 
 
 have taken to it in the end. If he hadn't the 
 
 constitution of a horse, he'd have been converted 
 
 ten years before this. What puzzles me is, he's 
 
 19U
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 so quiet. You mark my words" — Sir Harry 
 rose, buttoned his coat and shook his riding-crop 
 prophetically — " he's brewing up for something. 
 There'll be the devil of a flare-up before he has 
 done." 
 
 It came with the midsummer bonfires. At 
 nine o'clock on St. John's Eve, Mr. Raymond 
 read prayers in the church. It was his rule to 
 celebrate thus the vigils of all saints in the Eng- 
 lish calendar and some few Cornish saints be- 
 sides; and he regularly announced these services 
 on the preceding Sundays; but no parishioner 
 dreamed of attending them. 
 
 To-night, as usual, he and Taffy had prayed 
 alone; and the lad was standing after service at 
 the church door, with his surplice on his arm (for 
 he always wore a surplice and read the lessons on 
 these vigils), when the flame of the first bonfire 
 shot up from the headland over Innis village. 
 
 Almost on the moment a flame answered it 
 
 from the point where the lighthouse stood; and 
 
 within ten minutes the horizon of the towans 
 
 was cressetted with these beacon-fires; surely 
 
 (thought Taffy) with many more than usual. 
 
 And he remembered that Jacky Pascoe had 
 
 200
 
 THE SQUIEE'S WEIRD 
 
 thrown out a hint of a great revival to be held on 
 Baal-fire ISTight (as he had called it). 
 
 The night was sultry and all but windless. 
 For once the tormented sands had rest. The 
 flame of the bonfires shone yellow — orange-yel- 
 low — and steady. He could see the dark figures 
 of men and women passing between him and the 
 nearest, on the high wastrel in front of Tredinnis 
 great gates. Their voices reached him in a con- 
 fused murmur, broken now and then by a child's 
 scream of delight. And yet a hush seemed to 
 hang over sea and land: an expectant hush. 
 Eor weeks the sky had not rained. Day after 
 day, a dull indigo blue possessed it, deepening 
 with night into duller purple, as if the whole 
 heavens were gathering into one big thunder- 
 cloud, which menaced but never broke. And in 
 the hush of those nights a listener could almost 
 fancy he heard, between whiles, the rabbits stir- 
 ring uneasily in their burrows. 
 
 By and by the bonfire on the wastrel appeared 
 
 to be giving out sparks of light which blazed 
 
 independently; yet without decreasing its own 
 
 volume of flame. The sparks came dancing, 
 
 nearer and larger; the voices grew more distinct. 
 
 The spectators had kindled torches and were ad- 
 
 201
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 vancing in procession to visit other bonfires. The 
 torches, too, were supposed to bless the fields they 
 passed across. 
 
 The procession rose and sank as it came over 
 the uneven ridges like a fiery snake; topped the 
 nearest ridge and came pouring down past the 
 churchyard wall. At its head danced Lizzie 
 Pezzack, shrieking like a creature possessed, her 
 hair loose and streaming, while she whirled her 
 torch. Taffy knew these torches; bundles of 
 canvas steeped in tar and fastened in the middle 
 to a stout stick or piece of chain. Lizzie's was 
 fastened to a chain, and as he watched her up- 
 lifted arm swinging the blazing mass he found 
 time to wonder how she escaped setting her hair 
 on fire. Other torch-bearers tossed their arms and 
 shouted as they passed. The smoke was suffocat- 
 ing, and across the patch of quiet graveyard the 
 heat smote on Taffy's face. But in the crowd he 
 saw two figures clearly — Jacky Pascoe and 
 Squire Moyle; and the Bryanite's face was agi- 
 tated and white in the glare. He had given an 
 arm to the Squire, who was clearly the centre of 
 the procession, and tottered forward with jaws 
 working and cavernous eyes. 
 
 " He's saved! " a voice shouted. 
 
 202
 
 THE SQUIRE'S WEIRD 
 
 Others took up the cry. " Saved! " " The 
 Squire's saved ! " " Saved to-night — saved to 
 glory!" 
 
 The Squire paused, still leaning on the Bryan- 
 ite's arm. While the procession swayed around 
 him, he gazed across the gate, as a man who had 
 lost his bearings. No glint of torchlight reached 
 his eyes; but the sight of Mr. Raymond's sur- 
 pliced figure, standing behind Taffy's shoulders 
 in the full glare, seemed to rouse him. He lifted 
 a fist and shook it slowly. 
 
 " Com'st along, sir! " urged the Bryanite. 
 
 But the Squire stood irresolute, muttering to 
 himself. 
 
 " Com'st along, sir! " 
 
 " Lev' me be, I tell 'ee ! " He laid both hands 
 on the gate and spoke across it to Mr. Raymond, 
 his head nodding while his voice rose. 
 
 " D'ee hear what they say? I'm saved. I'm 
 the Squire of this parish, and I'm going to 
 Heaven. I make no Account of you and your 
 church. Old Satan's the fellow I'm after, and 
 I'm going to have him out o' this parish to-night 
 or my name's not Squire Moyle." 
 
 " That's of it. Squire! " " Hunt 'en! " " Out 
 
 with 'en! " 
 
 203
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 He turned on the slionting throng. 
 
 " Hunt 'en ? Iss fay I will ! Come along, 
 boys — back to Tredinnis! No, no " — this to the 
 Bryanite — " we'll go back. I'll show 'ee sport, 
 to-night — we'll hunt th' ould Divvle by scent and 
 view^ I'm Squire Moyle, ain't I? And I've a 
 pack o' hounds, ha'n't I? Back, boys — back, I 
 tell'ee!" 
 
 Lizzie Pezzack swung her torch. " Back — 
 back to Tredinnis ! " The crowd took up the cry, 
 " Back to Tredinnis! " The old man shook off 
 the Bryanite's hand, and as the procession 
 wheeled and re-formed itself confusedly, rushed 
 to the head of it, waving his hat — 
 
 " Back!— Back to Tredinnis! " 
 
 " God help them," said Mr. Raymond ; and 
 taking Taffy by the arm, drew him back into the 
 church. 
 
 The shouting died away up the road. For 
 three-quarters of an hour father and son worked 
 in silence. The reddened sky shed its glow gen- 
 tly through the clear glass windows, suffusing 
 the shadows beneath the arched roof. And, in 
 the silence, the lad wondered what was happen- 
 ing up at Tredinnis. 
 
 204
 
 THE SQUIEE'S WEIRD 
 
 Jim the Whip took oath afterward that it was 
 no fault of his. He had suspected three of the 
 hounds for a day or two — Chorister, White Boy, 
 and Bellman — and had separated them from the 
 pack. That very evening he had done the same 
 with Eifler, who was chewing at the straw in a 
 queer fashion and seemed quarrelsome. He had 
 said nothing to the Squire, whose temper had 
 been ugly for a week past. He had hoped it was 
 a false alarm — had thought it better to wait, and 
 so on. 
 
 The Squire went down to the Kennels with a 
 lantern, Jim shivering behind him. They had 
 their horses saddled outside and ready; and the 
 crowd was waiting along the drive and up by the 
 great gates. The Squire saw at a glance that two 
 couples were missing, and in two seconds had 
 their names on his tongue. He was like a mad- 
 man. He shouted to Jim to open the doors. 
 " Better not, maister! " pleaded Jim. The old 
 man cursed, smote him across the neck with the 
 butt-end of his whip, and unlocked the doors 
 himself. Jim, though half-stunned, staggered 
 forward to prevent him, and took another blow 
 which felled him. He dropped across the thresh- 
 old of Chorister's kennel, the doors of all opened 
 
 205
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 outwards, and the weight of his body kept this 
 one shut. But he saw the other three hounds 
 run out — saw the Squire turn with a ghastly face, 
 drop the lantern and run for it as White Boy 
 snapped at his boot. Jim heard the crash of the 
 lantern and the snap of teeth, and with that he 
 fainted off in the darkness. He had cut 
 his forehead against the bars of the big 
 kennel, and when he came to himself, one of the 
 hounds was licking his face through the grat- 
 ing. 
 
 Men told for years after how the old Squire 
 came up the drive that night, hoof to belly; his 
 chin almost on mare Nonesuch's neck; his face 
 like a man's who hears hell cracking behind him; 
 and of the three dusky hounds which followed 
 (the tale said) with clapping jaws and eyes like 
 coach-lamps. 
 
 Down in the quiet church Taffy heard the out- 
 cry, and, laying down his plane, looked up and 
 saw that his father had heard it too. His mild 
 eyes, shining through his spectacles, asked, as 
 plainly as words: " What was that? " 
 
 "Listen!" 
 
 206
 
 THE SQUIRE'S WEIRD 
 
 Eor a minute — two minutes — they heard 
 nothing more. Then out of the silence broke a 
 rapid, muffled beat of hoofs; and Mr. Eaymond 
 clutched Taffy's arm as a yell — a cry not human, 
 or if human, insane — ripped the night as you 
 might rip linen, and fetched them to their feet. 
 Taffy gained the porch first, and just at that mo- 
 ment a black shadow heaved itself on the church- 
 yard wall and came hurling over with a thud — 
 a clatter of dropping stones — then a groan. 
 
 Before they could grasp what was happening, 
 the old Squire had extricated himself from the 
 fallen mare, and came staggering across the 
 graves. 
 
 "Hide me! " 
 
 He came with both arms outstretched, his face 
 turned sideways. Behind him, from the far side 
 of the wall, came sounds — horrible shuffling 
 sounds, and in the dusk they saw the head of one 
 of the hounds above the coping and his fore- 
 paws clinging as he strained to heave himself 
 over. 
 
 "Save me! Save " 
 
 They caught him by both arms, dragged him 
 "within and slammed the door. 
 
 "Save! sa~! " 
 
 207
 
 TPIE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 The word ended with a thud as he pitched 
 headlong on the slate pavement. Through the 
 barred door, the scream of the mare Nonesuch 
 answered it. 
 
 208
 
 XVIII 
 
 THE BAKEIEKS FALL 
 
 There were marks of teeth on his right boot, 
 but no marks at all on his body. Fright — or 
 fright following on that evening's frenzy — had 
 killed him. 
 
 He was buried three days later, and Mr. Ray- 
 mond read the service. No rain had fallen, and 
 the blood of the three hounds still stained the 
 gravel dividing the grave from the porch, where 
 the crowd had shot them down. 
 
 For awhile his death made small difference to 
 the family at the Parsonage. They had fought 
 the shadow of his enmity and proved it for what 
 it was; a shadow and little else. But they had 
 scarcely realized their success, and wondered 
 why the removal of the shadow did not affect 
 them more. 
 
 About this time Taffy began to carry out a 
 
 scheme which he and his father had often dis- 
 
 209
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 cussed, but hitherto had found no leisure for — 
 the setting up of wooden crosses on the graves 
 of the drowned sailormen. They had wished 
 for slate : but good slate was expensive and hard 
 to come by, and Taffy had no skill in stone-cut- 
 ting. Since wood it must be, he resolved to put 
 his best work into it. The names, etc., should 
 be engraved, not painted merely. Some of the 
 pew-fronts in the church had panels elaborately 
 carved in flat and shallow relief — fine Jacobean 
 designs, all of them. He took careful rubbings 
 of the narrowest, made tracings, and set to work 
 to copy them on the face of his crosses. 
 
 One afternoon, some three weeks after the 
 Squire's funeral, he happened to return to the 
 house for a tracing which he had forgotten, and 
 found Honoria seated in the kitchen and talking 
 with his father and mother. She was dressed in 
 black, of course, and either this or the solemnity 
 of her visit gave her quite a grown-up look. 
 But to be sure, she was mistress of Tredinnis 
 now, and a child no longer. 
 
 Taffy guessed the meaning of her visit at once. 
 And no doubt this act of formal reconciliation 
 between Tredinnis House and the Parsonage 
 had cost her some nervousness. When he en- 
 
 210
 
 THE BARRIERS FALL 
 
 tered his parents stood up and seemed just as 
 awkward as their visitor. " Another time, per- 
 haps," he heard his father saj. Honoria rose al- 
 most at once, and would not stay to drink tea, 
 though Humility pressed her. 
 
 " I suppose," said Taffy next day, looking up 
 from his Virgil, " I suppose Miss Honoria wants 
 to make friends now, and help on the restora- 
 tion?" 
 
 Mr. Raymond, who was on his knees fasten- 
 ing a loose hinge in a pew-door, took a screw 
 from between his lips. 
 
 " Yes, she proposed that." 
 
 " It must be splendid for you, dad!" 
 
 " I don't quite see," answered Mr. Raymond, 
 with his head well inside the pew. 
 
 Taffy stood up, put his hands in his pockets, 
 and took a turn up and down the aisle. 
 
 " Why," said he, coming to a halt, " it means 
 that you have won. It's victory, dad, and / call 
 it glorious! " His lip trembled. He wanted to 
 put a hand on his father's shoulder, as any other 
 comrade would. But his abominable shyness 
 stood between. 
 
 " We won long ago, my boy." And Mr. Ray- 
 mond wheeled roimd on his knees, pushed up 
 
 211
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 his spectacles, and quoted the famous lines, very 
 solemnly and slowly : 
 
 And not by eastern windows only, 
 
 When daylight comes, comes in the light ; 
 
 In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly, 
 But westward, look, the land is bright. 
 
 " I see," Taffy nodded. " And— I say, that's 
 jolly. Who wrote it? " 
 
 " A man I used to see in the streets of Ox- 
 ford, and always turned to stare after: a man 
 with big oddly shaped feet and the face of a god 
 — a young tormented god. Those were days 
 when young men's thoughts tormented them. 
 Taffy," he asked, abruptly, " should you like to 
 go to Oxford? " 
 
 " Don't, father! " The boy bit his lip to keep 
 back the tears. " Talk of something else — 
 something cheerful. It has been a splendid 
 fight, just splendid! And now it's over I'm al- 
 most sorry." 
 
 "What is over?" 
 
 " AVell, I suppose — now that Honoria wants 
 
 to help — we can hire workmen and have the 
 
 whole job finished in a month or two at farthest: 
 
 and you " 
 
 212
 
 THE BARMERS FALL 
 
 Mr. Raymond stood up, and leaning against a 
 bench-end examined the thread of the screw be- 
 tween his fingers. 
 
 " That is one way of looking at it, no doubt," 
 he said, slowly; " and I hope God will forgive 
 me if I have put my own pride before His ser- 
 vice. But a man desires to leave some completed 
 work behind him: something to which people 
 may point and say, ' he did it.' There was my 
 book, now: for years I thought that was to be 
 my work. But God thought otherwise and — to 
 correct my pride, perhaps — set me to this task 
 instead. To set a small forsaken country church 
 in order and make it worthy of His presence — 
 that is not the mission I should have chosen. 
 But so be it: I have accepted it. Only, to let 
 others step in at the last and finish even this — I 
 say He must forgive me, but I cannot." 
 
 " Your book . . . you can go back to it 
 and finish it." 
 
 " I have burnt it." 
 
 ''Dad!" 
 
 " I burned it. I had to. It was a temptation 
 
 to me, and until I lifted it from the grate and 
 
 the flakes crumbled in my hands, the surrender 
 
 was not complete." 
 
 213
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Taffy felt a sudden gush of pity. And as he 
 pitied, suddenly he understood his father. 
 
 " It had to be complete? " 
 
 " Either the book or the surrender. My boy " 
 — and in his voice there echoed the aspiration 
 and the despair of the true scholar who abhors 
 imperfection and incompleteness in a world 
 where nothing is either perfect or complete, " it 
 is different with you. I borrowed you, so to say, 
 for the time. Without you I must have failed ; 
 but this was never your work. For myself, I 
 have been humble and learnt my lesson; but, 
 please God, you shall be my Solomon and be 
 granted a temple to build." 
 
 Taffy had lost his shyness now. He laid a 
 hand on his father's sleeve. 
 
 " We will go on, then." 
 
 " Yes, we will go on." 
 
 "AndJacky? Where has he been? I haven't 
 seen him since the Squire died." 
 
 Mr. Raymond searched in his coat-pocket and 
 handed over a crumpled letter. It ran: — 
 
 " Dear friend. — This is to say that you will 
 not see me no more. The dear Lord tells me I 
 have made a cauch of it. He don't sav how, 
 
 214
 
 THE BARRIERS FALL 
 
 all He says is go and do better somewheres 
 else. 
 
 " Seems to me a terrable thing to think Re- 
 ligion can be bad for any man. It have done 
 me such powars of good. The late Moyle esq 
 he was like a dirty pan all the milk turned sour 
 no matter what. Dear friend I pored Praise into 
 him and it come out Prayer and all for him self. 
 But the dear Lord says I was to blame as much 
 as Moyle esq so must do better next time but 
 feel terrable timid. 
 
 " My respects to Masi: Taffy. Dear friend I 
 done my best I come like Nicodemus by night. 
 Seeming to me when Christians fall out tis over 
 what they pray for. When they praise God for- 
 get diff°"^ and I cant think where the quaral- 
 ing comes in and so no more at present from 
 
 " Yours resp*''.^ 
 
 " J. Pascoe." 
 
 After supper that night, in the Parsonage 
 kitchen, Humility kept rising from her chair, 
 and laying her needlework aside to re-arrange 
 the pans and kettles on the hearth. This rest- 
 lessness was so unusual that Taffy, seated in the 
 ingle with a book on his knee, had half raised his 
 
 215
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 head to twit her when he felt a hand laid softly 
 on his hair, and looked up into his mother's eyes. 
 
 " Taffy, should you like to go to Oxford? " 
 
 "Don't, mother!" 
 
 " But you can." The tears in her eyes an- 
 swered his at once. She turned to his father. 
 " Tell him " 
 
 " Yes, my boy, you can go," said Mr. Kay- 
 mond; " that is, if you can win a scholarship. 
 Your mother and I have been talking it over." 
 
 " But — " Taffy began and could get no 
 farther. He knew nothing of his parents' affairs 
 except that they were poor: he had always sup- 
 posed, almost desperately poor. 
 
 " We have money enough, with care," said 
 Mr. Raymond. 
 
 But the boy's eyes were on his mother. Her 
 cheeks, usually so pale, were flushed; but she 
 turned her face away and walked slowly back 
 to her chair. " The lace-work," he heard her 
 say: " I have been saving . . . from the be- 
 ginning " 
 
 " For this? " He followed and took her hand. 
 With the other she covered her eyes; but 
 nodded. 
 
 " O mother — mother! " He knelt and let his 
 
 216
 
 THE BARRIERS FALL 
 
 brow drop on her lap. She ceased to weep; her 
 palms rested on his bowed head, but now and 
 then her body shook with a sob that would not 
 be restrained. And but for the ticking of the 
 tall clock there was silence in the room. 
 
 It was wonderful ; and the wonder of it grew 
 when they recovered themselves and fell to dis- 
 cussing their actual plans. In spite of his idola- 
 try, Mr. Kaymond could not help remembering 
 certain slights which he, a poor miller's son, had 
 undergone at Christ Church. He had chosen 
 Magdalen, which Taffy knew to be the most 
 beautiful of all the colleges; and the news that 
 his name had been entered on the college books 
 for years past gave him a delicious shock. It 
 was now July. He would matriculate in the Oc- 
 tober term, and in January enter for a demy- 
 ship. But (the marvels followed so fast on each 
 other's heels) there would be an examination 
 held in ten days' time — actually in ten days' 
 time — a " Certificate " examination, Mr. Ray- 
 mond called it — which would excuse the boy not 
 only the ordinary Matriculation test, but Re- 
 sponsions too. And, in short, Taffy was to pack 
 his box and go. 
 
 " But the subjects? " 
 
 217 •
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " You have been reading them and the pre- 
 scribed books for four months past. And I have 
 had sets of the old papers by me for a guide. 
 Your mathematics are shaky — but I think you 
 should do well enough." 
 
 It was now Humility's turn, and the discus- 
 sion plunged among shirts and collars. Never 
 had evening been so happy; and whether they 
 talked of mathematics or of collars, Taffy could 
 not help observing how from time to time his 
 father's and mother's eyes would meet and say, 
 as plainly as words, " We have done rightly," 
 " Yes, we have done rightly." 
 
 And the wonder of it remained next morning, 
 when he awoke to a changed world and took 
 down his books with a new purpose. Already 
 his box had been carried into old Mrs. Venning's 
 room, and his mother and grandmother were 
 busy, the one packing and repacking, the other 
 making a new and important suggestion every 
 minute. 
 
 He was to go up alone, and to lodge in Trinity 
 College, where an old friend of Mr. Raymond's, 
 a resident fellow just then abroad and spending 
 his Long Vacation in the Tyrol, had placed his 
 own room at the boy's service. 
 
 218
 
 THE BARRIERS FALL 
 
 To see Oxford — to be lodging in college ! He 
 had to hug his mother in the midst of her pack- 
 ing. 
 
 " You will be going by the Great Western," 
 she said. " You won't be seeing Honiton on 
 your way." 
 
 When the great morning came, Mr. Raymond 
 travelled with him in the van to Truro, to see 
 him off. Humility went upstairs to her mother's 
 room, and the two women prayed together. 
 
 They also serve who only stand and wait. 
 
 219
 
 XIX 
 
 OXFORD 
 
 "Eight o'clock, sir!" 
 
 Taffy heard the voice speaking above a noise 
 which his dreams confused with the rattle of yes- 
 terday's journey. He was still in the train, rush- 
 ing through the rich levels of Somersetshire. 
 He saw the broad horizon, the cattle at pasture, 
 the bridges and flagged pools flying past the win- 
 dow — and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Blenkiron, 
 the scout, stood between him and the morning 
 sunshine, emptying a can of water into the tub 
 beside his bed. 
 
 Blenkiron wore a white waistcoat, and a tie of 
 orange scarlet and blue, the colors of the College 
 Servants Cricket Club. These were signs of the 
 Long Vacation. For the rest his presence would 
 have become an archdeacon; and he guided 
 Taffy's choice of a breakfast with an air which 
 suggested the hand of iron beneath the glove of 
 velvet. 
 
 220
 
 OXFORD 
 
 " And begging your pardon, sir, but will you 
 be lunching in ? " 
 
 Tatfy would consult Mr. Blenkiron's conven- 
 ience. 
 
 " The fact is, sir, we've arranged to play 
 Teddy 'All this afternoon at Cowley, and the 
 drag starts at one-thirty sharp." 
 
 " Then I'll get my lunch out of college," 
 said Taffy, wondering who Teddy Hall might 
 be. 
 
 " I thank you, sir. I had, indeed, took the 
 liberty of telling the manciple that you was not a 
 gentleman to give more trouble than you could 
 'elp. Fried sole, pot of tea, toast, pot of black- 
 berry jam, commons of bread — " Mr. Blenk- 
 iron disappeared. 
 
 Taffy sprang out of bed and ran to the open 
 window in the next room. The gardens lay be- 
 low him — smooth turf flanked with a border of 
 gay flowers, flanked on the other side with yews; 
 and beyond the yews, with an avenue of limes; 
 and beyond these, with tall elms. A straight 
 gravelled walk divided the turf. At the end of 
 it two yews of magnificent spread guarded a 
 great iron gate. Beyond these the chimneys and 
 battlements of Wadham College stood gray 
 
 221
 
 THE SHIP OF STAKS 
 
 against the pale eastern sky, and over them the 
 larks were singing. 
 
 So this was Oxford; more beautiful than all 
 his dreams. And since his examination would 
 not begin until to-morrow, he had a whole long- 
 day to make acquaintance with her. Half a 
 dozen times he had to interrupt his dressing to 
 run and gaze out of the window, skipping back 
 when he heard Blenkiron's tread on the staircase. 
 And at breakfast again he must jump up and ex- 
 amine the door. Yes, there was a second door 
 outside — a heavy oak — just as his father had de- 
 scribed. What stories had he not heard about 
 these oaks! He was handling this one almost 
 idolatrously when Blenkiron appeared suddenly 
 at the head of the stairs. Blenkiron was good 
 enough to explain at some length how the door 
 worked; while Taffy, who did not need his in- 
 struction in the least, blushed to the roots of his 
 hair. 
 
 For, indeed, it was like first love, this adora- 
 tion of Oxford; shamefast, shy of its own rapt- 
 ures; so shy, indeed, that when he put on his hat 
 and walked out into the streets he could not 
 pluck up courage to ask his way. Some of the 
 colleges he recognized from his father's descrip- 
 
 222
 
 OXFORD 
 
 tion: of one or two he discovered the names by 
 peeping through their gateways and reading the 
 notices pinned up by the porters' lodges: for it 
 never occurred to him that he was free to step 
 inside and ramble through the quadrangles. He 
 wondered where the river lay, and where Mag- 
 dalen, and where Christ Church. He passed 
 along the Turl, and down Brasenose Lane; and 
 at the foot of it, beyond the great chestnut-tree 
 leaning over Exeter wall, the vision of noble 
 square, the dome of the Radcliffe, and St. Mary's 
 spire caught his breath and held him gasping. 
 
 His feet took him by the gate of Brasenose 
 and across the High. On the farther pavement 
 he halted, round-eyed, held at gaze by the beauty 
 of the Virgin's Porch with the creeper drooping 
 like a veil over its twisted pillars. High up, 
 white pigeons wheeled round the spire, or flut- 
 tered from niche to niche, and a queer fancy 
 took him that they were the souls of the carved 
 saints, up there, talking to one another above the 
 city's traffic. At length he withdrew his eyes, 
 and reading the name " Oriel Street " on an 
 angle of the wall above him, passed down a nar- 
 row by-lane in search of further wonders. 
 
 The clocks were striking three when, after re- 
 
 223
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 gaining tlie High and luncliing at a pastry-cook's, 
 Taffy turned down into St. Aldates and recog- 
 nized Tom Tower ahead of him. The great 
 gates were closed. Through the open wicket he 
 had a glimpse of green turf and an idle foun- 
 tain; and while he peered in a jolly-looking 
 porter stepped out of the lodge for a breath of air 
 and nodded in the friendliest manner. 
 
 " You can walk through, if you want to. 
 Were you looking for anyone ? " 
 
 "No," said Taffy; and explained, proudly, 
 " My father used to be at Christ Church." 
 
 The porter seemed interested. " What 
 name? " he asked. 
 
 " Raymond." 
 
 " That must have been before my time. I 
 suppose you'll be wanting to see the Cathedral. 
 That's the door — right opposite." 
 
 Taffy thanked him, and walked across the 
 great empty quadrangle. Within the Cathedral 
 the organ was sounding and pausing; and from 
 time to time a boy's voice broke in upon the 
 music like a flute, the pure treble rising to the 
 roof as though it were the very voice of the 
 building and every pillar sustained its petition, 
 ' Lord have mercy upon us, and -incline our 
 
 224
 
 OXFORD 
 
 hearts to keep this law! " Neither organist nor 
 chorister was visible, and Taffy tiptoed along the 
 aisles in dread of disturbing them. For the mo- 
 ment this voice adoring in the noble building 
 expressed to him the completest, the most per- 
 fect thing in life. All his own boyish handi- 
 work, remember, had been guided under his 
 father's eye toward the worship of God. 
 
 "... and incline our hearts to Jceep this 
 law.'' The music ceased. He heard the organ- 
 ist speaking, up in the loft; criticising, no 
 doubt: and it reminded him somehow of the 
 small sounds of home and his mother moving 
 about her house-work in the hush between break- 
 fast and noon. 
 
 He stepped out into the sunlight again, and 
 wandering through archway and cloister found 
 himself at length beyond the college walls and 
 at the junction of two avenues of elms, between 
 the trunks of which shone the acres of a noble 
 meadow, level and green. The avenues ran at 
 a right angle, east and south; the one old, with 
 trees of magnificent girth, the other new and 
 interset with poplars. 
 
 Taffy stood irresolute. One of these avenues, 
 
 he felt sure, must lead to the river; but which? 
 
 225
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Two old gentlemen stepped out from tlie 
 wicket of the Meadow Buildings, and passed 
 him, talking together. The taller — a lean man, 
 with a stoop — was clearly a clergyman. The 
 other wore cap and gown, and Taffy remarked, 
 as he went by, that his cap was of velvet; and 
 also that he walked with his arms crossed just 
 above the Avrists, his right hand clutching his 
 left cuff, and his left hand his right cuff, his el- 
 bows hugged close to his sides. 
 
 After a few paces the clergyman paused, said 
 something to his companion, and the two turned 
 back toward the boy. 
 
 " Were you wanting to know your way? " 
 
 " I was looking for the river," Taffy an- 
 swered. He was thinking that he had never in 
 his life seen a face so full of goodness. 
 
 " Then this is your first visit to Oxford ? Sup- 
 pose, now, you come with us? and we will take 
 you by the river and tell you the names of the 
 barges. There is not much else to see, I'm 
 afraid, in Vacation time." 
 
 He glanced at his companion in the velvet cap, 
 who drew down an extraordinarily bushy pair of 
 eyebrows (yet he, too, had a beautiful face) and 
 seemed to come out of a dream. 
 
 226
 
 OXFORD 
 
 " So much the better, boy, if you come up to 
 Oxford to worship false gods." 
 
 Taffy was taken aback. 
 
 " Eight false gods in little blue caps, seated in 
 a trough and tugging at eight poles: and all to 
 discover if they can get from Putney to Mort- 
 lake sooner than eight other false gods in little 
 blue caps of a lighter shade! What do they do 
 at Mortlake when they get there in such a hurry? 
 Eh, boy?" 
 
 " I — I'm sure I don't know," stammered 
 Taffy. 
 
 The clergyman broke out laughing, and 
 turned to him. " Are you going to tell us your 
 name? " 
 
 " Raymond, sir. My father used to be at 
 Christ Church." 
 
 " What? Are you Sam Raymond's son? " 
 
 " You knew my father? " 
 
 " A very little. I was his senior by a year or 
 two. But I know something about him." He 
 turned to the other. " Let me introduce the son 
 of a man after your own heart — of a man fight- 
 ing for God in the wilds, and building an altar 
 there with his own hands and by the lamp of 
 
 sacrifice." 
 
 227
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " But how do you know all this? " cried 
 Taffy. 
 
 " Oh," the old clergyman smiled, " we are not 
 so ignorant up here as you suppose." 
 
 They walked by the river-bank, and there 
 Taffy saw the college barges and was told the 
 name of each. Also he saw a racing eight go by : 
 it belonged to the Vacation Rowing Club. From 
 the barges they turned aside and followed the 
 windings of the Cherwell. The clergyman did 
 most of the talking; but now and then the old 
 gentleman in the velvet cap interposed a ques- 
 tion about the church at home, its architecture, 
 the materials it was built of, and so forth; or 
 about Taffy's own work, his carpentry, his ap- 
 prenticeship with Mendarva the Smith. And to 
 all these questions the boy found himself reply- 
 ing with an ease which astonished him. 
 
 Suddenly the old clergyman said, " There is 
 your College ! " 
 
 And unperceived by Taffy a pair of kindly 
 eyes watched his own as they met the first vision 
 of that lovely tower rising above the trees and 
 (so like a thing of life it seemed) lifting its pin- 
 nacles exultantly into the blue heaven. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 228
 
 OXFORD 
 
 All three had come to a halt. The boy turned, 
 blushing furiously. 
 
 " This is the best of all, sir." 
 
 " Boy," said old Yelvet-cap, " do you know 
 the meaning of ' edification ' ? There stands 
 your lesson for four years to come, if you can 
 learn it in that time. Do you think it easy? 
 Come and see how it has been learnt by men who 
 have spent their lives face to face with it." 
 
 They crossed the street by Magdalen bridge, 
 and passed under Pugin's gateway, by the Chapel 
 door and into the famous cloisters. All was 
 quiet here; so quiet that even the voices of the 
 sparrows chattering in the ivy seemed but a part 
 of the silence. The shadow of the great tower 
 fell across the grass, on which (so a notice-board 
 announced) nobody was allowed to walk. 
 
 " This is how one generation read the lesson. 
 Come and see how another, and a later, read 
 it." 
 
 A narrow passage led them out of gloom into 
 sudden sunlight; and the sunlight spread itself 
 on fair grass-plots and gravelled walks, flower- 
 beds and the pale yellow fagade of a block of 
 buildings in the classical style, stately and ele- 
 gant, with a colonnade which only needed a few 
 
 22U
 
 THE SHIP OF STAllS 
 
 promenading figures in laced coats and tie-wigs 
 to complete the agreeable picture. 
 
 " What do you make of that? " 
 
 As a matter of fact, Taffy's thoughts had run 
 back to the theatre at Plymouth with its sudden 
 changes of scenery. And he stood for a moment 
 while he collected them. 
 
 '" It's different — that is," he added, feeling 
 that this was lame, " it means something differ- 
 ent; I cannot tell what." 
 
 " It means the difference between godly fear 
 and civil ease, between a house of prayer and one 
 of no-prayer. It spells the moral change which 
 came over this University when religion, the 
 spring and source of collegiate life, was dis- 
 carded. The cloisters behind you were built for 
 men who walked with God." 
 
 " But why," objected Taffy, plucking up 
 courage, " couldn't they do that in the sun- 
 light? " 
 
 Velvet-cap opened his mouth. The boy felt 
 he was going to be denounced; when a merry 
 laugh from the old clergyman averted the 
 storm. 
 
 " Be content," he said to his companion; " we 
 are Gothic enough in Oxford nowadays. And 
 
 230
 
 ()\i'()i:n 
 
 llir liid is ii;'lil luo. Tlicn' vvMS li(t|»<' «'V('ii for 
 rif'lilcciil li ((III iiiv M;i<'(lnl('ii wliilc ilH Imildiii;';^ 
 looked on siiiilijdil mid on tli;il lower. We liiy 
 loo iiMieli MiresM on priiyer. 'I'lie lei.hdii ol I lint 
 lower (Willi :ill deleicnce jo your :iiii;i/,in>'; (Mh- 
 eernnieiil :iiid e(|ii:illy :iiiiM/in<'' \vliiin:i) IH iiol. 
 pijiver, Idll priiiMc. And Itelween olliHelveM, 
 W'lieii all men iinile lo wdrMlii|> (<o(l, ilMI Ix) 
 praise, iiol prayer, llial, l)rinf';s tlieiii l.of^eliier. 
 
 Vnilnc Ih <I(<v<>II(>ii fit for nohld miIiwIh, 
 
 'I'Imi (liirerin;r worli I'h a.f^i-eeinjj Hiicf i llc(i. . ." 
 
 *' ( )li, if you're fioln'-; l(» Mlii^ (piolalionM from 
 n (apMler'H won al my head. . . . I.el me see 
 liou' does il fo on'^ . . . VVIiere — 
 Hoiiiel Inn;'; or oilier dillei-eiil laitliH— 
 
 Wlicn^ II(-av(ii divided I'nidiH iinifcd (IikIh. . . ." 
 
 And in a moinenl llie pair were in Iiol, piU'HIlit, 
 ahcr (lie ipiolalioii, trippin*;' eaeli oilier up, lik<i 
 Iw'o selioollioys al. n f'ame. TalTy neyer for;';(il, 
 llie lasl slan/.a, llie lasl line (d wliieli lliey re 
 eovere(| exa<'lly in llie middle (d llie sireel, Vel 
 vel cap Hlaiidiiif^ between Iwo Irani lines, right
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 in the path of an advancing car, while he de- 
 claimed — 
 
 " By penitence when we ourselves forsake, 
 'Tis but in wise design on piteous Heaven ; 
 In praise — 
 
 (The gesture was magnificent) 
 
 ■ In praise we nobly give what God may take, 
 And are without a beggar's blush forgiven. 
 
 — Confound these trams! " 
 
 The old clergyman shook hands with Taffy in 
 some haste. " And when you reach home give 
 my respects to your father. Stay, you don't 
 know my name. Here is my card, or you'll for- 
 get it." 
 
 " Mine too," said Yelvet-cap. 
 
 Taffy stood staring after them as they walked 
 off down the lane which skirts the Botanical 
 Gardens. The names on the two cards were fa- 
 mous ones, as even he knew. He walked back 
 toward Trinity a proud and happy boy. Half- 
 way up Queen's Lane, finding himself between 
 blank walls, with nobody in sight, he even 
 skipped. 
 
 232
 
 XX 
 
 TAFFY GIVES A PROMISE 
 
 The postman halted by the foot-bridge and 
 blew his horn. The sound sent the rabbits 
 scampering into their burrows; and just as they 
 began to pop out again, Taffy came charging 
 across the slope; whereupon they drew back 
 their noses in disgust, and to avoid the sand scat- 
 tered by his toes. 
 
 The postman held up a blue envelope and 
 waved it. " Here, 'tis come, at last ! " 
 
 " It may not be good news," said Taffy, 
 clutching it, and then turning it over in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Well, that's true. And till you open it, it 
 won't be any news at all." 
 
 " I wanted mother to be the first to know." 
 
 " Oh, very well — only as you say, it mightn't 
 be good news." 
 
 " If it's bad news, I want to be alone. But 
 why should they trouble to write? " 
 
 233
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " True again. I s'pose now you're sure it is 
 from them? " 
 
 " I can tell by the seal." 
 
 " Take it home, then," said the postman. 
 " Only if you think 'tis for the sake of a twid- 
 dling sixteen shilling a week that I traipse all 
 these miles every day " 
 
 Taffy fingered the seal. " If you would really 
 like to know " 
 
 '' Don't 'ee mention it. Not on any account." 
 He waved his hand magnanimously and trudged 
 off toward Tredinnis. 
 
 Taffy waited until he disappeared behind the 
 first sand-hill, and broke the seal. A slip of 
 parchment lay inside the envelope. 
 
 " This is to certify " 
 
 He had paused! He pulled off his cap and 
 waved it round his head. And once more the 
 rabbits popped back into their burrows. 
 
 Toot — toot — toot! — It was that diabolical 
 postman. He had fetched a circuit round the 
 sand-hill, and was peeping round the north side 
 of it and grinning as he blew. 
 
 Taffy set off running, and never stopped un- 
 til he reached the Parsonage and burst into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 234
 
 TAFFY GIVES A PROMISE 
 " Mother — it's all right ! I've passed ! 
 
 5> 
 
 Somebody was knocking at the door. Taffy 
 jumped up from his knees and Humility made 
 the lap of her apron smooth. 
 
 "May I come in?" asked Honoria, and 
 pushed the door open. She stepped into the mid- 
 dle of the kitchen and dropped Taffy an elabo- 
 rate courtesy. " A thousand congratulations, 
 sir! " 
 
 " Why, how did you know? " 
 
 " Well, I met the postman : and I looked in 
 through the window before knocking." 
 
 Taffy bit his lip. " People seem to be taking 
 a deal of interest in us, all of a sudden," he said 
 to his mother. Humility looked distressed, un- 
 comfortable. Honoria ignored the snub. " I 
 am starting for Carwithiel to-day," she said, 
 " for a week's visit; and thought I would look in 
 — after hearing what the postman told me — and 
 pay my compliments." 
 
 She talked for a minute or two on matters of 
 no importance; asked after old Mrs. Venning's 
 health ; and left, turning at the door to give Hu- 
 mility a cheerful little nod. 
 
 235
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 " Taffy, you ought not to have spoken so." 
 Humility's eyes were tearfuh 
 
 Taffy's conscience was already accusing him. 
 He snatched up his cap and ran out. 
 
 " Miss Honoria ! " 
 
 She did not turn. 
 
 " Miss Honoria — I am sorry." He overtook 
 her, but she turned her face away. " Forgive 
 me " 
 
 She halted, and after a moment looked him 
 in the eyes. He saw then that she had been 
 crying. 
 
 " The first time I came to see you, he whipped 
 me," she said slowly. 
 
 " I am sorry ; please " 
 
 " Taffy " 
 
 " Miss Honoria." 
 
 " I said— Taffy." 
 
 " Honoria, then." 
 
 "Do you know what it is to feel lonely, here? " 
 
 Taffy remembered the afternoons when he had 
 roamed the sand-hills longing for George's com- 
 pany. " Why, yes," said he; " it used to be al- 
 ways lonely." 
 
 " I think we have been the loneliest children 
 
 in the whole world — you and I and George; 
 
 236
 
 TAFFY GIVES A PROMISE 
 
 only George didn't feel it in the same way. And 
 now it's coming to an end with you. You are 
 going up to Oxford, and soon you will have heaps 
 of friends. Can you not understand? Suppose 
 there were two prisoners, alone in the same 
 prison, but shut in different cells; and one heard 
 that the other's release had come. He would 
 feel — would he not? — that now he was going to 
 be lonelier than ever. And yet he might be glad 
 of the other's liberty, and if the chance were 
 given, might be the happier for shaking hands 
 with the other and wishing him joy." 
 
 Taffy had never heard her speak at all like 
 this. 
 
 " But you are going over to Carwithiel, and 
 George is famous company." 
 
 " I am going over to Carwithiel because I hate 
 
 Tredinnis. I hate every stone of it, and will sell 
 
 the place as soon as ever I come of age. And 
 
 George is the best fellow in the world. Some 
 
 day I shall marry him (Oh, it's all arranged!) 
 
 and we shall live at Carwithiel and be quite 
 
 happy; for I like him, and he likes people to be 
 
 happy. And we shall talk of you. Being out 
 
 of the world ourselves, we shall talk of you, and 
 
 the great things you are going to do, and the 
 
 237
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 great things you are doing. We shall say to 
 each other, ' It's all very well for the world to be 
 proud of him, but we have the best right; for 
 we grew up with him and know the stories he 
 used to tell us ; and when the time came for his 
 going, it was we who waved from the door' " 
 
 " Honoria " 
 
 " But there is one thing you haven't told; and 
 you shall now, if you care to — about your exam- 
 ination and what you did at Oxford." 
 
 So he sat down beside her on a sand-hill and 
 told her; about the long low-ceiled room in the 
 quadrangle of the Bodleian, the old marbles 
 which lined the walls, the examiner at the blue- 
 baize table, and the little deal tables (all scrib- 
 bled over with names and dates and verses and 
 ribald remarks) at which the candidates wrote; 
 also of the viva voce examination in the ante- 
 chamber of the Convocation House. He told it 
 all as if it were the great event which he honestly 
 felt it to be. 
 
 " And the others," said she: " those who were 
 writing around you, and the examiner — how did 
 you feel toward them? " 
 
 Taffy stared at her. " I don't know that I 
 thought much about them." 
 
 238
 
 TAFFY GIVES A PEOMISE 
 
 " Didn't you feel as if it was a battle, and you 
 wanted to beat them all? " 
 
 He broke out laughing. " "Why the examiner 
 was an old man, as dry as a stick ! And the 
 others — I hardly remember what they were like 
 — except one, a white-headed boy with a pimply 
 face. I couldn't help noticing him, because, 
 whenever I looked up, there he was at the next 
 table, staring at me and chewing a quill." 
 
 " I can't understand," she confessed. " Often 
 and often I have tried to think myself a man — a 
 man with ambition. And to me that has always 
 meant fighting. I see myself a man, and the 
 people between me and the prize have all to be 
 knocked down or pushed out of the way. But 
 you don't even see them — all you see is a pimply- 
 faced boy sucking a quill. Taffy " 
 
 "Whatisit, Honoria?" 
 
 " I wish you would write to me, when you get 
 to Oxford. Write regularly. Tell me all you 
 do." 
 
 "You will like to hear?" 
 
 " Of course I shall ; so will George. But it's 
 
 not only that. You have such an easy way of 
 
 going forward; you take it for granted you're 
 
 going to be a great man " 
 
 239
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " I don't." 
 
 " Yes, you do. You think it just lies with 
 yourself, and it is nobody's business to interfere 
 with you. You don't even notice those who are 
 on the same path. !N^ow a woman would no- 
 tice every one, and find out all about them." 
 
 " Who said I wanted to be a great man ?" 
 
 " Don't be silly, that's a good boy. There's 
 your father coming out of the church-porch, 
 and you haven't told him yet. Run to him, 
 but promise first." 
 
 " What?" 
 
 " That you will write." 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 240
 
 XXI 
 
 honokia's letters 
 
 1 
 
 Carwithiel, October 25, 18 — . 
 My dear Taffy: 
 
 Your letter was full of news, and I read it 
 over twice — once to myself, and again after din- 
 ner to George and Sir Harry. We pictured you 
 dining in the college hall. Thanks to your de- 
 scription, it was not very difficult: the long 
 tables, the silver tankards, the dark panels and 
 the dark pictures above, and the dons on the 
 dais, aloof and very sedate. It reminded me of 
 Ivanhoe — I don't know why; and no doubt if 
 ever I see Magdalen, it will not be like my 
 fancy in the least. But that's how I see it ; and 
 you at a table near the bottom of the hall, like 
 the youthful squire in the story-books — the one, 
 you know, who sits at the feast below the salt 
 until he is recognized and forced to step up and 
 
 take his seat with honor at the high table. I 
 
 241
 
 THE SHIP OF STAllS 
 
 began to explain all this to George, but found 
 that he had dropped asleep in his chair. He 
 was tired out after a long day with the pheas- 
 ants. 
 
 I shall stay here for a week or two yet, per- 
 haps. You know how I hate Tredinnis. On 
 my way over, I called at the Parsonage and 
 saw your mother. She was writing that very 
 day, she said, and promised to send my remem- 
 brances, which I hope duly reached you. The 
 Vicar was away at the church, of course. There 
 is gTeat talk of the Bishop coming in February, 
 when all will be ready. George sends his love; 
 I saw him for a few minutes at breakfast this 
 morning, before he started for another day with 
 the pheasants. 
 
 Your friend, • 
 
 HONORIA. 
 
 Carwithiel, November 19, 18—. 
 My dear Taffy: 
 
 Still here, you see! I am slipping this into 
 a parcel containing a fire-screen which I have 
 worked with my very own hands; and I trust 
 you will be able to recognize the shield upon it 
 and the Magdalen lilies. I send it, first, as a 
 
 242
 
 HONORIA'S LETTEES 
 
 birthday present; and I chose a shield — well, I 
 daresay that going in for a demy-ship is a mat- 
 ter-of-fact affair to you, who have grown so ex- 
 ceedingly matter-of-fact; but to me it seems a 
 tremendous adventure; and so I chose a shield 
 — for I suppose the dons would frown if you 
 wore a cockade in your college cap. I return 
 to Tredinnis to-morrow; so your news, what- 
 ever it is, must be addressed to me there. But 
 it is safe to be good news. 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 HONOEIA. 
 
 3 
 
 Tredinnis, November 27, 18 — . 
 Most Honored Scholar: 
 
 Behold me, an hour ago, a great lady, seated 
 in lonely grandeur at the head of my own an- 
 cestral table. This is the first time I have used 
 the dining-room; usually I take all my meals in 
 the morning-room, at a small table beside the 
 fire. But to-night I had the great table spread, 
 and the plate set out, and wore my best gown, 
 and solemnly took my grandfather's chair and 
 glowered at the ghost of a small girl shivering 
 at the far end of the long white cloth. When 
 I had enough of this (which was pretty soon) I 
 
 243
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 ordered up some champagne and drank to the 
 health of Theophilus John Raymond, Demy of 
 Magdalen College, Oxford, I graciously poured 
 out a second glass for the small ghost at the 
 other end of the table; and it gave her the cour- 
 age to confess that she, too, in a timid way, had 
 taken an interest in you for years, and hoped 
 you were going to be a great man. Having thus 
 discovered a bond between us, we grew very 
 friendly; and we talked a great deal about you 
 afterward, in the drawing-room, where I lost 
 her for a few minutes and found her hiding in 
 the great mirror over the fire-place — a habit of 
 hers. 
 
 It is time for me to practise ceremony, for it 
 seems that George and I are to be married some 
 time in the spring. For my part, I think my 
 lord would be content to wait longer; for so 
 long as he is happy and sees others cheerful, he 
 is not one to hurry or worry. But Sir Harry is 
 the impatient one, and has begun to talk of his 
 decease. He doesn't believe in it a bit, and at 
 times when he composes his features and at- 
 tempts to be lugubrious I have to take up a book 
 and hide my smiles. But he is clever enough to 
 
 see that it worries George. 
 
 2U
 
 HONOEIA'S LETTERS 
 
 I saw both your father and mother this morn- 
 ing. Mr. Raymond has been kept to the house 
 by a chill; nothing serious; but he is fretting to 
 be out again and at work in that draughty 
 church. He will accept no help; and the mis- 
 tress of Tredinnis has no right to press it on him. 
 I shall never understand men and how they 
 fight. I supposed that the war lay between 
 him and my grandfather. But it seems he was 
 fighting an idea all the while; for here is my 
 grandfather beaten and dead and gone; and still 
 the Vicar will give no quarter. If you had not 
 assured me that your demy-ship means eighty 
 pounds a year, I could believe that men fight for 
 shadows only. Your mother and grandmother 
 are both well. . . . 
 
 It was a raw December afternoon — within a 
 week of the end of the term — and Taffy had re- 
 turned from skating in Christ Church meadow, 
 when he found a telegram lying on his table. 
 There was just time to see the Dean, to pack, 
 and to snatch a meal in hall, before rattling off 
 to his train. At Didcot he had the best part of 
 an hour to wait for the night-mail west- 
 ward. 
 
 245
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 " Your father dangerously ill. Come at 
 
 once." 
 
 There was no signature. Yet Taffy knew 
 who had ridden to the office with that telegram. 
 The flying darkness held visions of her, and the 
 express throbbed westward to the beat of Aide- 
 de-camp's gallop. Nor was he surprised at all 
 to find her on the platform at Truro station. 
 The Tredinnis phaeton was waiting outside. 
 
 He seemed to her but a boy after all, as he 
 stepped out of the train in the chill dawn; a 
 wan-faced boy and sorely in need of comfort. 
 
 " You must be brave," said she, gathering 
 up the reins as he climbed to the seat beside 
 her. 
 
 Surely yes; he had been telling himself this 
 very thing all night. The groom hoisted in his 
 portmanteau, and with a slam of the door they 
 were off. The cold air sang past Taffy's 
 ears. It put vigor into him, and his cour- 
 age rose as he faced his shattered prospects, 
 shattered dreams. He must be strong now, for 
 his mother's sake; a man to work and be leant 
 upon. 
 
 Ai^d so it was that whereas Honoria had 
 
 246
 
 HONOEIA'S LETTEES 
 
 found him a boy, Humility found him a man. 
 As her arms went about him in her grief, she 
 felt his body, that it was taller, broader; and 
 knew, in the midst of her tears, that this was not 
 the child she had parted from seven short weeks 
 ago, but a man to act and give orders and be re- 
 lied upon. 
 
 " He called for you . . . many times," 
 was all she could say. 
 
 For Taffy had come too late. Mr. Eaymond 
 was dead. He had aggravated a slight chill by 
 going back to his work too soon, and the bitter 
 draughts of the church had cut him down with- 
 in sight of his goal. A year before, he might 
 have been less impatient. The chill struck into 
 his lungs. On December 1st he had taken to 
 his bed, and he never rallied. 
 
 " He called for me?" 
 
 " Many times." 
 
 They went up the stairs together and stood 
 beside the bed. The thought uppermost in 
 Taffy's mind was — " He called for me. He 
 wanted me. He was my father, and I never 
 knew him." 
 
 But Humility in her sorrow groped amid 
 such questions as these: "What has happened? 
 
 247
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 "Who am I? Am I she who yesterday had a hus- 
 band, and a child? To-day my husband is gone, 
 and my child is no longer the same child." 
 
 In her room old Mrs. Venning remembered 
 the first days of her own widowhood; and life 
 seemed to her a very short affair, after all. 
 
 Honoria saw Taffy beside the grave. It was 
 no season for out-of-door flowers and she had 
 rifled her hot-houses for a wreath. The exotics 
 shivered in the northwesterly wind; they looked 
 meaningless, impertinent, in the gusty church- 
 yard. Humility, before the coffin left the house, 
 had brought the dead man's old blue working- 
 blouse and spread it for a pall. No flowers 
 grew in the parsonage garden; but pressed in 
 her Bible lay a very little bunch gathered, years 
 ago, in the meadows by Honiton. This she 
 divided and, unseen by anyone, pinned the half 
 upon the breast of the patched garment. 
 
 On the evening after the funeral and for the 
 next day or two she was strangely quiet, and 
 seemed to be waiting for Taffy to make some 
 sign. Dearly as mother and son loved one an- 
 other, they had to find their new positions, each 
 toward each. Now Taffy had known nothing 
 
 of his parents' income. He assumed that it was 
 
 248
 
 HONOEIA'S LETTEllS 
 
 little enough, and that he must now leave Ox- 
 ford and work to support the household. He 
 knew some Latin and Greek; but without a de- 
 gree he had little chance of teaching what he 
 knew. He was a fair carpenter, and a more 
 than passable smith. . . . He revolved 
 many schemes, but chiefly found himself won- 
 dering what it would cost to enter an architect's 
 office. 
 
 " I suppose," said he, " father left no willf 
 
 " Oh, yes, he did," said Humility, and pro- 
 duced it — a single sheet of foolscap signed on 
 her wedding-day. It gave her all her hus- 
 band's property absolutely — whatever it might 
 be. 
 
 " Well," said Taffy, '' I'm glad. I suppose 
 there's enough for you to rent a small cottage, 
 while I look about for work?" 
 
 " Who talks about your finding work? You 
 will go back to Oxford, of course." 
 
 " Oh, shall I?" said Taffy, taken aback. 
 
 " Certainly; it was your father's wish." 
 
 "But the money?" 
 
 " With your scholarship there's enough to 
 keep you there for the four years. After that, 
 no doubt, you will be earning a good income." 
 
 24y
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 '^ But " He remembered what had been 
 
 said about the lace-money, and could not help 
 wondering. 
 
 " Taffy," said his mother, touching his hand, 
 " leave all this to me until your degree is taken. 
 You have a race to run and must not start un- 
 prepared. If you could have seen his joy when 
 the news came of the demy-ship!" 
 
 Taffy kissed her and went up to his room. He 
 found his books laid out on the little table there. 
 
 4 
 Tredinnis, February 13, 18—. 
 My dear Taffy: 
 
 I have a valentine for you, if you care to ac- 
 cept it; but I don't suppose you will, and indeed 
 I hope in my heart that you will not. But I 
 must offer it. Your father's living is vacant, 
 and my trustees (that is to say. Sir Harry; for 
 the other, a second cousin of mine, who lives in 
 London, never interferes) can put in someone as 
 a stop-gap, thus allowing me to present you to 
 it, when the time comes, if you have any 
 thought of Holy Orders. You will understand 
 exactly why I offer it; and also, I hope, you will 
 
 250
 
 HONORIA'S LETTERS 
 
 know that I think it wholly unworthy of you. 
 But turn it over in your mind and give me your 
 answer. 
 
 George and I are to be married at the end of 
 April. May is an unlucky month. It shall be 
 a week — even a fortnight — earlier, if that fits 
 in with your vacation, and you care to come. 
 See how obliging I am! I yield to you what I 
 have refused to Sir Harry. We shall try to 
 persuade the Bishop to come and open the 
 church on the same day. 
 
 Always your friend, 
 
 HONOEIA. 
 
 5 
 
 Tredinnis, February 21st. 
 
 My dear Taffy: 
 
 E'o, I am not offended in the least; but very 
 
 glad. I do not think you are fitted for the 
 
 priesthood; but my doubts have nothing to do 
 
 with your doubts, which I don't understand, 
 
 though you tried to explain them so carefully. 
 
 You will come through them, I expect. I don't 
 
 know that I have any reasons that could be put 
 
 on paper; only, somehow, I cannot see you in a 
 
 black coat and clerical hat. 
 
 251
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 You comi^lain that I never write about 
 George. You don't deserve to hear, since you 
 refuse to come to our wedding. But would you 
 talk, if you happened to be in love? There, I 
 have told you more than ever I've told George, 
 whose conceit has to be kept down. Let this 
 console you. 
 
 Our new Parson, when he comes, is to lodge 
 down in Innis village. Your mother — but no 
 doubt she has told you — stays in the Parsonage 
 while she pleases. She and your grandmother 
 are both well. I see her every day; I have so 
 much to learn and she is so wise. Her beauti- 
 ful eyes — but oh, Taffy, it must be terrible to 
 be a widow ! She smiles and is always cheerful ; 
 but the looh in them! How can I describe it? 
 When I find her alone, with her lace-work, or 
 sometimes (but it is not often) with her hands in 
 her lap, she seems to come out of her silence with 
 an effort, as others withdraw themselves from 
 talk. I wonder if she does talk, in those silences 
 of hers. Another thing — it is only a few weeks 
 now since she put on a widow's cap, and yet I 
 cannot remember her — can scarcely picture her 
 — without it. I am sure that if I happened to 
 call one day when she had laid it aside, I
 
 liONORIA'S LETTERS 
 
 should begin to talk quite as if we were 
 strangers. 
 
 Believe me, yours sincerely, 
 
 HONOKIA. 
 
 But the wedding, after all, did not take place 
 until the beginning of October, a week before 
 the close of the Long Vacation; and Taffy, after 
 all, was present. The postponement had been 
 enforced by many delays in building and fur- 
 nishing the new wing at Carwithiel; for Sir 
 Harry insisted that the young couple must live 
 under one roof with him, and Honoria (as we 
 know) hated the very stones of Tredinnis. 
 
 The Bishop came to spend a week in the 
 neighborhood, the first three days as Honoria's 
 guest. On the Saturday he consecrated the 
 work of restoration in the Church and, in the 
 afternoon, held a confirmation service. Taffy 
 and Honoria knelt together to receive his bless- 
 ing. It was the girl's wish. The shadow of 
 her responsibility to God and man lay heavy on 
 her during the few months before her marriage, 
 and Taffy, already weary and disspirited with 
 his early doubtings, suffered her mood of exalta- 
 tion to overcome him like a wave and sweep him 
 
 253
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 back to rest for a while on the still waters of 
 faith. Together they listened while the Bishop 
 discoursed on the dead Vicar's labors with 
 fluency and feeling; with so much feeling, in- 
 deed, that Taffy could not help wondering why 
 his father had been left to fight the battle 
 alone. 
 
 On the Sunday and Monday two near parishes 
 claimed the Bishop. On the Tuesday he sent 
 his luggage over to Carwithiel, whither he was 
 to follow after the wedding service, to spend a 
 day or two with Sir Harry. It had been Hon- 
 oria's wish that George should choose Taffy for 
 his best man; but George had already invited 
 one of his sporting friends, a young Squire Phil- 
 potts from the eastern side of the Duchy; and as 
 the date fell at the beginning of the hunting 
 season, he insisted on a " pink " wedding. Hon- 
 oria consulted the Bishop by letter. " Did he 
 approve of a ' pink ' wedding so soon after the 
 bride's confirmation?" The Bishop saw no harm 
 in it. 
 
 So a " pink " wedding it was, and the scarlet 
 
 coats made a lively patch of color in the gray 
 
 churchyard; but it gave Taffy a feeling that he 
 
 was left out in the cold. He escorted his 
 
 254
 
 HOXOrJA'S LETTERS 
 
 mother to the church, and left her for a few min- 
 utes in the Vicarage pew. The bridegroom and 
 his friends were gathered in a showy chister by 
 the chancel step, but the bride had not arrived, 
 and he stepped out to help in marshalling the 
 crowd of miners and mine-girls, fishermen, and 
 mothers with unruly children — a hundred or so 
 in all, lining the path or straggling among the 
 graves. 
 
 Close by the gate he came on a girl who stood 
 alone. 
 
 " Hullo, Lizzie — you here?" 
 
 "Why not?" she asked, looking at him sul- 
 lenly. 
 
 " Oh, no reason at all." 
 
 " There might ha' been a reason," said she, 
 speaking low and hurriedly. " You might ha' 
 saved me from this, Mr. Raymond; and her too; 
 one time, you might." 
 
 " Why, what on earth is the matter?" He 
 looked up. The Tredinnis carriage and pair of 
 grays came over the knoll at a smart trot and 
 drew up before the gate. 
 
 " Matter?" Lizzie echoed with a short laugh. 
 
 " Oh, nuthin'. I'm goin' to lay the curse on 
 
 her, that's all." 
 
 255
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 " You shall not!" There was no time to lose. 
 Honoria's trustee — the second cousin from Lon- 
 don — a tall, clean-shaven man with a shiny, bald 
 head, and a shiny hat in his hand — had stepped 
 out and was helping the bride to alight. What 
 Lizzie meant Taify could not tell; but there 
 must be no scene. He caught her hand. 
 " Mind — I say you shall not ! " he whispered. 
 
 " Lemme go — you're creamin' my fingers." 
 
 " Be quiet, then," 
 
 At that moment Honoria passed up the path. 
 Her wedding gown almost brushed him as he 
 stood wringing Lizzie's hand. She did not ap- 
 pear to see him ; but he saw her face beneath the 
 bridal veil, and it was hard and white. 
 
 "The proud toad!" said Lizzie, " I'm no 
 
 better'n dirt, I suppose, though from the start 
 
 she wasn' above robbin' me. Aw, she's sly. 
 
 Mr, Raymond, I'll curse her as she 
 
 comes out, see if I don't!" 
 
 " And I swear you shall not," said Taffy, 
 The scent of Honoria's oranae-blossom seemed 
 to cling about them as they stood. 
 
 Lizzie looked at him vindictively. " You 
 
 wanted her yourself, / know. You weren't 
 
 good enough, neither. Let go my fingers! " 
 
 256
 
 HOXOI^IA'S LETTERS 
 
 " Go home, now. See, the people have all 
 gone in." 
 
 " Go'st way in, too, then, and leave me here 
 to wait for her." 
 
 Taffy shut his teeth, let go her hand, and tak- 
 ing her by the shoulders swung her round, face 
 toward the gate. 
 
 " March!" he commanded, and she moved off 
 whimpering. Once she looked back. " March !" 
 he repeated, and followed her down the road as 
 one follows and threatens a mutinous dog. 
 
 The scene by the church gate had puzzled 
 Honoria, and in her first letter (written from 
 Italy) she came straight to the point, as her cus- 
 tom was. " I hope there is nothing between 
 you and that girl who used to be at Joll's. I say 
 nothing about our hopes for you, but you have 
 your own career to look to; and as I know you 
 are too honorable to flatter an ignorant girl 
 when you mean nothing, so I trust you are too 
 •wise to be caught by a foolish fancy. Forgive 
 a staid matron (of one week's standing) for 
 writing so plainly; but what I saw made me un- 
 easy; without cause, no doubt. Your future, 
 remember, is not yours only. And now I shall 
 
 257
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 trust you, and never come back to this sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " We are like children abroad/' she went on. 
 " George's French is wonderful, but not so won- 
 derful as his Italian. When he goes to take a 
 ticket, he first of all shouts the name of the sta- 
 tion he wishes to arrive at (for some reason he 
 believes all foreigners to be deaf); then he be- 
 gins counting down francs one by one, very 
 slowly, watching the clerk's face. When the 
 clerk's face tells him he has doled out enough, 
 he shouts ^ Hold hard!' and clutches the ticket. 
 It takes time; but all the people here are friends 
 with him at once — especially the children, 
 whom he punches in the ribs and tells to ' buck 
 up.' Their mothers nod and smile and openly 
 admire him; and I — well, I am happy, and want 
 everyone else to be happy!" 
 
 258
 
 XXII 
 
 MEN AS TOWEKS 
 
 It was May morning, and Taffy made one of 
 the group gathered on the roof of Magdalen 
 Tower. In the groves below and across the 
 river-meadows all the birds were singing to- 
 gether. Beyond the glimmering suburbs, St. 
 Clement's and Cowley St. John, over the dark 
 rise by Bullingdon Green, the waning moon 
 seemed to stand still and wait poised on her 
 nether horn. Below her the morning sky waited, 
 clean and virginal, letting her veil of mist slip 
 lower and lower until it rested in folds upon the 
 high woodlands and pastures. While it dropped, 
 a shaft of light tore through it and smote flash- 
 ing on the vane high above Taffy's head, turn- 
 ing the dark side of the turrets to purple and 
 casting lilac shadows on the surplices of the 
 choir. For a moment the whole dewy shadow 
 of the tower trembled on the western sky, and 
 
 melted and was gone as a flood of gold broke on 
 
 259
 
 THE SPIIP OF STARS 
 
 the eastward-turned faces. The clock below 
 struck five, and ceased. There was a sudden 
 baring of heads; a hush; and gently, borne aloft 
 on boys' voices, clear and strong, rose the first 
 notes of the hymn — 
 
 Te Deum Patrera colimus, 
 Te laudibus prosequimur, 
 Qui corpus cibo reficis, 
 Coelesti mentem gratia. 
 
 In the pauses Taffy heard, faint and far be- 
 low, the noise of cowhorns blown by the street 
 boys gathered at the foot of the tower and be- 
 yond the bridge. Close beside him a small ur- 
 chin of a chorister was singing away with the 
 face of an ecstatic seraph; whence that ecstasy 
 arose the urchin would have been puzzled to tell. 
 There flashed into Taffy's brain the vision of the 
 whole earth lauding and adoring — sun-wor- 
 shippers and Christians, priests and small chil- 
 dren; nation after nation prostrating itself and 
 arising to join the chant — " the differing world's 
 agreeing sacrifice." Yes; it was Praise that 
 made men brothers; praise, the creature's first 
 and last act of homage to his Creator; praise that 
 
 made him kin with the angels. Praise had 
 
 260
 
 MEN AS TOWERS 
 
 lifted this tower; had expressed itself in its soar- 
 ing pinnacles; and he for the moment was in- 
 corporate with the tower and part of its builder's 
 purpose. *' Lord, make men as towers!" — he 
 remembered his father's prayer in the field by 
 Tewkesbury; and at last he understood. "All 
 towers carry a lamp of some kind " — why, of 
 course they did. He looked about him. The 
 small chorister's face was glowing — 
 
 Triune Detis, hominum 
 Salutis auctor optime, 
 Imviensum hoc mysterium 
 Ovante lingua canimus ! 
 
 Silence — and then with a shout the tunable 
 bells broke forth, rocking the tower. Someone 
 seized Taffy's college-cap and sent it spinning 
 over the battlements. Caps? For a second or 
 two they darkened the sky like a flock of birds. 
 A few gowns followed, expanding as they 
 dropped, like clumsy parachutes. The com- 
 pany — all but a few severe dons and their 
 friends — tumbled laughing down the ladder, 
 down the winding stair, and out into sunshine. 
 The world was pagan after all. 
 
 2G1
 
 THE SHIP OF STAllS 
 
 At breakfast Taffy found a letter on his table, 
 addressed in his mother's hand. As a rule she 
 wrote twice a week, and this was not one of 
 the usual days for hearing from her. But noth- 
 ing was too good to happen that morning. 
 He snatched up the letter and broke the 
 seal. 
 
 " My dearest boy," it ran, " I want you home 
 at once to consult with me. Something has hap- 
 pened (forgive me, dear, for not preparing you; 
 but the blow fell on me yesterday so suddenly) 
 — something which makes it doubtful, and more 
 than doubtful, that you can continue at Oxford, 
 And something else they say has happened 
 which I never will believe in unless I hear it 
 from my boy's lips. I have this comfort, at any 
 rate, that he will never tell me a falsehood. This 
 is a matter which cannot be explained by letter, 
 and cannot wait until the end of term. Come 
 home quickly, dear; for until you are here I can 
 have no peace of mind." 
 
 So once again Taffy travelled homeward by 
 the night mail. 
 
 "Mother, it's a lie!" 
 
 Taffy's face was hot, but he looked straight 
 
 262
 
 MEN AS TOWERS 
 
 into his mother's eyes. She, too, was rosy-red, 
 being ever a shamefast woman. And to speak 
 of these things to her own boy 
 
 "Thank God!" she murmured, and her fin- 
 gers gripped the arms of her chair. 
 
 "It's a lie! Where is the girl?" 
 
 " She is in the workhouse. I don't know who 
 spread it, or how many have heard. But Hon- 
 oria believes it." 
 
 " Honoria ! She cannot — " He came to a 
 sudden halt. " But, mother, even supposing 
 Honoria believes it, I don't see " 
 
 He was looking straight at her. Her eyes 
 sank. Light began to break in on him. 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 Humility did not look up. 
 
 "Mother! Don't tell me that she — that 
 Honoria " 
 
 " She made us promise — your father and me. 
 God knows it did no more than repay 
 what your father had suffered. . . . Your 
 future was everything to us. . . ." 
 
 " And I have been maintained at Oxford by 
 her money," he said, pausing in his bitterness on 
 every word. 
 
 " Not by that only, Taffy ! There was your 
 
 263
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 scholarsliip . . . and it was true about my 
 savings on the lace-work. . . ." 
 
 But he brushed her feeble explanations away 
 with a little gesture of impatience. " Oh, why, 
 mother? Oh, why?" 
 
 She heard him groan and stretched out her 
 arms. 
 
 " Taffy, forgive me — forgive us! AVe did 
 wrongly, I see — I see it as plain now as . you. 
 But we did it for your sake." 
 
 " You should have told me. I was not a child. 
 Yes, yes, you should have told me." 
 
 Yes; there lay the truth. They had treated 
 him as a child when he was no longer a child. 
 They had swathed him round with love, forget- 
 ting that boys grow and demand to see with their 
 own eyes and walk on their own feet. To every 
 mother of sons there comes sooner or later the 
 sharp lesson which came to Humility that morn- 
 ing; and few can find any defence but that 
 which Humility stammered, sitting in her chair 
 and gazing piteously up at the tall youth con- 
 fronting her: "I did it for your sake." Be 
 pitiful, O accusing sons, in that hour! For, ter- 
 rible as your case may be against them, your 
 mothers are speaking the simple truth. 
 
 264
 
 MEN AS TOWERS 
 
 Taffy took her hand. " The money must be 
 paid back, every penny of it." 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " How much ?" 
 
 Humility kept a small account-book in the 
 work-box beside her. She opened the pages, 
 but, seeing his outstretched hand, gave it obedi- 
 ently to Taffy, who took it to the window. 
 
 " Almost two hundred pounds." He knit his 
 brows and began to drum with his fingers on the 
 window-pane. " And we must put the interest 
 at five per cent. . . . With my first in 
 moderations I might find some post as an usher 
 in a small school. . . . There's an agency 
 which puts you in the way of such things; I 
 must look up the address. . . . We will 
 leave this house, of course." 
 
 "Must we?" 
 
 " Why, of course, we must. We are living 
 
 here by her' favor. A cottage will do — only it 
 
 must have four rooms, because of grandmother. 
 
 . . . I will step over and talk with Men- 
 
 darva. He may be able to give me a job. It 
 
 will keep me going, at any rate, until I hear 
 
 from the agency." 
 
 " You forget that I have over forty pounds a 
 
 265
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 year — or, rather, mother has. The capital 
 came from the sale of her farm, years ago." 
 
 '' Did it?" said Taffy, grimly. " You forget 
 that I have never been told. Well, that's good, 
 so far as it goes. But now I'll step over and see 
 Mendarva. If only I could catch this cowardly 
 lie somewhere, on my way!" 
 
 He kissed his mother, caught up his cap, and 
 flung out of the house. The sea-breeze came 
 humming across the sand-hills. He opened his 
 lungs to it, and it was wine to his blood; he 
 felt strong enough to slay dragons. " But who 
 could the liar be? Not Lizzie herself, sure- 
 ly? :N"ot — " 
 
 He pulled up short, in a hollow of the towans. 
 
 "Not— George?" 
 
 Treachery is a hideous thing, and to youth so 
 incomprehensibly hideous that it darkens the 
 sun. Yet every trusting man must be betrayed. 
 That was one of the lessons of Christ's life on 
 earth. It is the last and severest test; it kills 
 many, morally, and no man who has once met 
 and looked it in the face departs the same man, 
 though he may be a stronger one. 
 
 "Not George?'' 
 ' Taffy stood there so still that the rabbits crept 
 
 266
 
 MEN AS TOWERS 
 
 out and, catching sight of him, paused in the 
 mouths of their burrows. When at length he 
 moved on, it was to take, not the path which 
 wound inland to Mendarva's, but the one which 
 led straight over the higher moors to Carwithiel. 
 
 It was between one and two o'clock when he 
 reached the house and asked to see Mr. or Mrs. 
 George Yyell. They were not at home, the foot- 
 man said; had left for Falmouth, the evening 
 before, to join some friends on a yachting cruise. 
 Sir Harry was at home; was, indeed, lunching at 
 that moment; but would no doubt be pleased to 
 see Mr. Raymond. 
 
 Sir Harry had finished his lunch and sat 
 sipping his claret and tossing scraps of biscuit to 
 the dogs. 
 
 "Hullo, Raymond! — thought you were in 
 Oxford. Sit down, my boy; delighted to see 
 you. Thomas, a knife and fork for Mr. Ray- 
 mond. The cutlets are cold, I'm afraid, but I 
 can recommend the cold saddle, and the ham — 
 it's a York ham. Go to the sideboard and 
 forage for yourself. I wanted company. My 
 boy and Honoria are at Falmouth, yachting, 
 and have left me alone. What, you won't eat? 
 A glass of claret then, at any rate." 
 
 267
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " To tell the truth, Sir Harry," Taffy began, 
 awkwardly, " I've come on a disagreeable busi- 
 ness." 
 
 Sir Harry's face fell. He hated disagreeable 
 business. He flipped a piece of biscuit at his 
 spaniel's nose and sat back, crossing his legs. 
 
 " Won't it keep?" 
 
 " To me it's important." 
 
 " Oh, fire away then ; only help yourself to 
 the claret first." 
 
 " A girl — Lizzie Pezzack, living over at Lan- 
 gona — has had a child born " 
 
 " Stop a moment. Do I know her? — Ah, to 
 be sure — daughter of old Pezzack, the light- 
 keeper — a brown-colored girl with her hair over 
 her eyes. Well, I'm not surprised. W^mts 
 money, I suppose? Who's the father?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "Well, but — damn it all! — somebody 
 knows," Sir Harry reached for the bottle and 
 refilled his glass. 
 
 " The one thing I know is that Honoria — 
 Mrs. George, I mean — has heard about it, and 
 suspects me." 
 
 Sir Harry lifted his glass and glanced at him 
 over the rim. " That's the devil. Does she, 
 
 268
 
 MEN AS TOWERS 
 
 now?" He sipped. " She hasn't been herself 
 for a day or two — this explains it. I thought it 
 was change of air she wanted. She's in the 
 deuce of a rage, you bet." 
 
 " She is," said Taffy, grimly. 
 
 " There's no prude like your young married 
 woman. But it'll blow over, my boy. My ad- 
 vice to you is to keep out of the way for a 
 while." 
 
 " But — but it's a lie!" broke in the indignant 
 Taffy. " As far as I am concerned, there's not 
 a grain of truth in it!" 
 
 " Oh — I beg your pardon, I'm sure." Here 
 Honoria's terrier (the one which George had 
 bought for her at Plymouth) interrupted by 
 begging for a biscuit, and Sir Harry balanced 
 one carefully on its nose. " On trust — good 
 dog! What does the girl say herself?" 
 
 " I don't know. I've not seen her." 
 
 " Then, my dear fellow — it's awkward, I ad- 
 mit — but I'm dashed if I see what you expect 
 me to do." The baronet pulled out a handker- 
 chief and began flicking the crumbs off his 
 knees. 
 
 Taffy watched him for a minute in silence. 
 
 He was asking himself why he had come. Well, 
 
 2G9
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 he had come in a hot fit of indignation, meaning 
 to face Honoria and force her to take back the 
 insult of her suspicion. But after all — suppose 
 George were at the bottom of it? Clearly Sir 
 Harry knew nothing, and in any case could not 
 be asked to expose his own son. And Honoria? 
 Let be that she would never believe — that he 
 had no proof, no evidence even — this were a 
 pretty way of beginning to discharge his debt to 
 her! The terrier thrust a cold muzzle against 
 his hand. The room was very still. Sir Harry 
 poured out another glassful and held out the de- 
 canter. " Come, you must drink; I insist!" 
 
 Taffy looked up. " Thank you, I will." 
 
 He could now, and with a clear conscience. 
 In those quiet moments he had taken the great 
 resolution. The debt should be paid back, and 
 with interest; not at five per cent., but at a rate 
 beyond the creditor's power of reckoning. For 
 the interest to be guarded for her should be her 
 continued belief in the man she loved. Yes, hut 
 if George were innocent? Why, then, the sac- 
 rifice would be idle; that was all. 
 
 He swallowed the wine, and stood up. 
 
 " Must you be going? I wanted a chat with 
 you about Oxford," grumbled Sir Harry; but 
 
 270
 
 MEN AS TOWERS 
 
 noting the lad's face, how white and drawn it 
 
 was, he relented and put a hand on his shoulder. 
 " Don't take it too seriously, my boy. It'll 
 blow over — it'll blow over. Honoria likes you, 
 I know. We'll see what the trollop says; and 
 if I get a chance of putting in a good word, you 
 may depend on me." 
 
 He walked with Taffy to the door — good, 
 easy man — and waved a hand from the porch. 
 On the whole, he was rather glad than not to see 
 his young friend's back. 
 
 From his smithy window Mendarva spied 
 Taffy coming along the road, and stepped out 
 on the green to shake hands with him. 
 
 " Pleased to see your face, my son ! You'll 
 excuse my not askin' 'ee inside; but the fact is " 
 — he jerked his thumb toward the smithy — 
 " we've a-got our troubles in there." 
 
 It came on our youth with something of a 
 shock, that the world had room for any trouble 
 besides his own. 
 
 " 'Tis the Dane. He went over to Truro yes- 
 terday to the wrastlin', an' got thrawed. I 
 tell'n there's no need to be shamed. 'Twas 
 Luke the Wendron fella did it — in the treble 
 
 271
 
 THE SHIP OF STAKS 
 
 plaj — inside lock backward, and as pretty a 
 chij) as ever I see." Mendarva began to illus- 
 trate it with foot and ankle, but checked himself 
 and glanced nervously over his shoulder. " Isn' 
 lookin', I hope? He's in a terrible pore about 
 it. Won't trust hissel' to spake, and don't want 
 to see nobody. But, as I tell'n, there's no need 
 to be shamed; the fella took the belt in the las' 
 round and turned his man over like a tab. He's 
 a proper angletwitch, that Wendron fella. Stank 
 'pon en both ends, and he'll rise up in the mid- 
 dle and look at 'ee. There was no one a patch 
 on en but the Dane; and I'll back the Dane 
 next time they clinch. 'Tis a nuisance, though, 
 to have'n like this — with a big job coming on, 
 too, over to the light-house." 
 
 Taffy looked steadily at the smith. " AVhat's 
 doing at the light-house?" 
 
 " Ha'n't 'ee heerd?" Mendarva began a long 
 tale, the sum of which was that the light-house 
 had begun of late to show signs of age, to rock 
 at times in an ominous manner. The Trinity 
 House surveyor had been down, and reported, 
 and Mendarva had the contract for some imme- 
 diate repairs. " But 'tis patching an old kettle, 
 
 my son. The foundations be clamped down to 
 
 272
 
 MEN x\S TOWERS 
 
 the rock, and tlie clamps have worked loose. 
 The whole thing'll have to come down in the 
 end; 3'ou mark mj words." 
 
 "But, these repairs?" Taffy interrupted. 
 " You'll be wanting hands." 
 
 " Why, o' course." 
 
 " And a foreman — a clerk of the works " 
 
 While Mendarva was telling his tale, over a 
 hill two miles to the westward a small donkey- 
 cart crawled for a minute against the skyline 
 and disappeared beyond the ridge which hid the 
 towans. An old man trudged at the donkey's 
 head ; and a young woman sat in the cart with a 
 bundle in her arms. 
 
 The old man trudged along so deep in thought 
 that when the donkey, without rhyme or reason, 
 came to a halt, half-way down the hill, he, too, 
 halted, and stood pulling a wisp of gray side- 
 whiskers. 
 
 " Look here," he said. " You ent goin' to 
 tell? That's your las' word, is it?" 
 
 The young woman looked down on the bun- 
 dle and nodded her head. 
 
 " There, that'll do. If you weant, you weant; 
 
 I've tek'n 'ee back, an' us must fit and make the 
 
 273
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 best o't. The clieeld'll never be good for much 
 — born lame like that. But 'twas to be, I 
 s'pose." 
 
 Lizzie sat dumb, but hugged the bundle 
 closer. 
 
 " 'Tis like a judgment. If your mother'd 
 been spared, 'twuldn' have happened. But 
 'twas to be, I s'pose. The Lord's ways be past 
 findin' out." 
 
 He woke up and struck the donkey across the 
 rump. 
 
 *' Gwan you! Gee up! What d'ee mean by 
 stoppin' like that?" 
 
 274
 
 XXIII 
 
 THE SERVICE OF THE LAMP 
 
 The Chief Engineer of the Trinity House 
 was a man of few words. He and Taffy had 
 spent the afternoon clambering about the rocks 
 below the light-house, peering into its founda- 
 tions. Here and there, where weed coated the 
 rocks and made foothold slippery, he took the 
 hand which Taffy held out. Now and then he 
 paused for a pinch of snuff. The round of in- 
 spection finished, he took an extraordinarily 
 long pinch. 
 
 "What's your opinion?" he asked, cocking 
 his head on one side and examining the young 
 man much as he had examined the light-house. 
 " You have one, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, sir; but of course it doesn't count for 
 much." 
 
 " I asked for it." 
 
 " Well, then, I think, sir, we have wasted a 
 
 275
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 year's work; and if we go on tinkering, we shall 
 waste more." 
 
 "Pull it down and rebuild, you say?" 
 
 " Yes, sir; but not on the same rock." 
 
 " Why?" 
 
 " This rock was ill-chosen. You see, sir, 
 just here a ridge of elvan crops up through the 
 slate; the rock, out yonder, is good elvan, and 
 that is why the sea has made an island of it, 
 wearing away the softer stuff inshore. The 
 mischief here lies in the rock, not in the light- 
 house." 
 
 " The sea has weakened our base?" 
 
 " Partly; but the light-house has done more. 
 In a strong gale the foundations begin to work, 
 and in the chafing, the bed of rock gets the 
 worst of it." 
 
 "What about concrete?" 
 
 " You might fill up the sockets with concrete ; 
 hut I doubt, sir, if the case would hold for any 
 time. The rock is a mere shell in places, espe- 
 cially on the northwestern side." 
 
 " H'm. You were at Oxford for a time, 
 were you not?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," Taffy answered, wondering. 
 
 " I've heard about you. Where do you live?" 
 
 276
 
 THE SERVICE OF THE LAMP 
 
 Taffy pointed to the last of a line of three 
 whitewashed cottages behind the light-house, 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "No, sir; with my mother and my grand- 
 mother. She is an invalid." 
 
 " I wonder if your mother would be kind 
 enough to offer me a cup of tea?" 
 
 In the small kitchen, on the walls of which, 
 and even on the dresser, Taffy's books fought 
 for room with Humility's plates and tinware, 
 the Chief Engineer proved to be a most courte- 
 ous old gentleman. Toward Humility he bore 
 himself with an antique politeness which flat- 
 tered her considerably. And when he praised 
 her tea, she almost forgave him for his detesta- 
 ble habit of snuff-taking. 
 
 He had heard (it appeared) from the Presi- 
 dent something of Taffy's college, and also from 
 
 (he named Taffy's old friend in the velvet 
 
 college-cap). In later days Taffy maintained 
 not only that every man must try to stand alone, 
 but that he ought to try the harder because of its 
 impossibility; for, in fact, it was impossible to 
 escape from men's helpful-ness. And though 
 his work lay in lonely places where in the end 
 
 fame came out to seek him, he remained the 
 
 277
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 year's work; and if we go on tinkering, we shall 
 waste more." 
 
 " Pull it down and rebuild, you say ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir; but not on the same rock." 
 
 " Why?" 
 
 " This rock was ill-chosen. You see, sir, 
 just here a ridge of elvan crops up through the 
 slate; the rock, out yonder, is good elvan, and 
 that is why the sea has made an island of it, 
 wearing away the softer stuff inshore. The 
 mischief here lies in the rock, not in the liglit- 
 house." 
 
 " The sea has weakened our base?" 
 
 " Partly; but the light-house has done more. 
 In a strong gale the foundations begin to work, 
 and in the chafing, the bed of rock gets the 
 worst of it." 
 
 "What about concrete?" 
 
 " You might fill up the sockets with concrete; 
 but I doubt, sir, if the case would hold for any 
 time. The rock is a mere shell in places, espe- 
 cially on the northwestern side." 
 
 " H'm. You were at Oxford for a time, 
 were you not?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," Taffy answered, wondering. 
 
 " I've heard about you. AVhere do you live?" 
 
 276
 
 THE SERVICE OF THE LAMP 
 
 Taffy pointed to the last of a line of three 
 ■whitewashed cottages behind the light-house. 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "]^o, sir; with my mother and my grand- 
 mother. She is an invalid." 
 
 " I wonder if your mother would be kind 
 enough to offer me a cup of tea?" 
 
 In the small kitchen, on the walls of which, 
 and even on the dresser, Taffy's books fought 
 for room with Humility's plates and tinware, 
 the Chief Engineer proved to be a most courte- 
 ous old gentleman. Toward Humility he bore 
 himself with an antique politeness which flat- 
 tered her considerably. And when he praised 
 her tea, she almost forgave him for his detesta- 
 ble habit of snuff-taking. 
 
 He had heard (it appeared) from the Presi- 
 dent something of Taffy's college, and also from 
 
 (he named Taffy's old friend in the velvet 
 
 college-cap). In later days Taffy maintained 
 not only that every man must try to stand alone, 
 but that he ought to try the harder because of its 
 impossibility; for, in fact, it was impossible to 
 escape from men's helpfuloiess. And though 
 his work lay in lonely places where in the end 
 
 fame came out to seek him, he remained the 
 
 277
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 wliich Humility scrubbed daily with soap and 
 water, and once a week with lemon-juice as well. 
 Never was cleaner linen to sight and smell than 
 that which she pegged out by the furze-brake on 
 the ridge. All the life of the small colony, 
 though lonely, grew wholesome as it was simple 
 of purpose in cottages thus sweetened and kept 
 sweet by lime-wash and the salt wind. 
 
 And through it moved the forlorn figure of 
 Lizzie Pezzack's child. Somehow Lizzie had 
 taught the boy to walk, with the help of a crutch, 
 as early as most children; but the wind made 
 cruel sport with his first efforts in the open, 
 knocking the crutch from under him at every 
 third step, and laying him flat. The child had 
 pluck, however, and when autumn came round 
 again, could face a fairly stiff breeze. 
 
 It was about this time that word came of the 
 Trinity Board's intention to replace the old light- 
 liouse with one upon the outer rock. For the 
 Chief Engineer had visited it and decided that 
 Taffy was right. To be sure no mention was 
 made of Taffy in his report; but the great man 
 took the first opportunity to offer him the post 
 of foreman of the works, so there was certainly 
 nothing to be grumbled at. The work did not 
 
 280
 
 THE SEEVICE OF THE LAMP 
 
 actually start until the following spring ; for tlie 
 rock, to receive the foundations, had to be bored 
 some feet below high-water level, and this could 
 only be attempted on calm days or when a south- 
 erly wind blew from the high land well over the 
 workmen's heads, leaving the inshore water 
 smooth. On such days Taffy, looking up from 
 his work, would catch sight of a small figure on 
 the cliff-top leaning aslant to the wind and watch- 
 ing. 
 
 Eor the child was adventurous and took no ac- 
 count of his lameness. Perhaps if he thought of 
 it at all, having no chance to compare himself 
 with other children, he accepted his lameness as 
 a condition of childhood — something he would 
 grow out of. His mother could not keep him in- 
 doors; he fidgeted continually. But he would 
 sit or stand quiet by the hour on the cliff-top, 
 watching the men as they drilled and fixed the 
 dynamite, and waiting for the bang of it. Best 
 of all, however, were the days when his grand- 
 father allowed him inside the lighthouse, to 
 clamber about the staircase and ladders, to watch 
 the oiling and trimming of the great lantern and 
 the ships moving slowly on the horizon. He 
 
 asked a thousand questions about them. 
 
 281
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 "I think," said he, one day before he was 
 three years old, " that my father is in one of 
 those ships." 
 
 "Bless the child!" exclaimed old Pezzack. 
 " Who says you have a father? " 
 
 ^'Everybody has a father. Dicky Tregenza 
 has one; they both work down at the rock. I 
 asked Dicky and he told me." 
 
 " Told 'ee what?" 
 
 " That everybody has a father. I asked him 
 if mine was out in one of those ships, and he said 
 very likely. I asked mother, too, but she was 
 washing-up and wouldn't listen." 
 
 Old Pezzack regarded the child grimly. 
 " 'Twas to be, I s'pose," he muttered. 
 
 Lizzie Pezzack had never set foot inside the 
 Raymonds' cottage. Humility, gentle soul as 
 she was, could on some points be as unchristian 
 as other women. At time went on, it seemed 
 that not a soul beside herself and Taffy knew of 
 Honoria's suspicion. She even doubted, and 
 Taffy doubted, too, if Lizzie herself knew such 
 an accusation had been made. Certainly never 
 by word or look had Lizzie hinted at it. Yet Hu- 
 mility could not find it in her heart to forgive 
 her. " She may be innocent," was the thought; 
 
 282
 
 THE SERVICE OF THE LAMP 
 
 " but through her came the injury to my son." 
 Taffy by this time had no doubt at all. It was 
 George who poisoned Honoria's ear; George's 
 shame and Honoria's pride would explain why 
 the whisper had never gone further; and noth- 
 ing else would explain. 
 
 Did his mother guess this? He believed so at 
 times; but they never spoke of it. 
 
 The lame child was often in the Raymonds' 
 kitchen. Lizzie did not forbid or resent this. 
 And he liked Humility and would talk to her at 
 length while he nibbled one of her dripping- 
 cakes. " People don't tell the truth," he ob- 
 served, sagely, on one of these occasions. (He 
 pronounced it " troof," by the way.) " I know 
 why we live here. It's because we're near the 
 sea. My father's on the sea somewhere, looking 
 for us; and grandfather lights the lamp every 
 night to tell him where we are. One night he'll 
 see it and bring his ship in and take us all off 
 together." 
 
 " Who told you all this? " 
 
 " Nobody. People won't tell me nothing 
 (nofing). I has to make it out in my head." 
 
 At times, when his small limbs grew weary 
 (though he never acknowledged this), he would 
 
 283
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 stretch himself on the short turf of the headland 
 and lie staring np at the white gulls. No one 
 ever came near enough to surprise the look 
 which then crept over the child's face. But 
 Taff J, passing him at a distance, remembered an- 
 other small boy, and shivered to remember and 
 compare — 
 
 A boy's will is the wind's will 
 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts, 
 
 — but how, when the boy is a cripple? 
 
 One afternoon he was stooping to inspect an 
 obstinate piece of boring when the man at his el- 
 bow said: 
 
 "Hullo! edn' that young Joey Pezzack in 
 difficulties up there? Blest if the cheeld won't 
 break his neck wan of these days ! " 
 
 Taffy caught up a coil of rope, sprang into a 
 boat, and pushed across to land. "Don't move! " 
 he shouted. 
 
 At the foot of the cliff he picked up Joey's 
 crutch, and ran at full speed up the path worn 
 by the workmen. This led him round to the 
 verge, ten feet above the ledge where the child 
 clung white and silent. He looped the rope in a 
 running noose and lowered it. 
 
 284
 
 THE SERVICE OF THE LAMP 
 
 " Slip this under your arms. Can you man- 
 age, or shall I come down? I'll come if you're 
 hurt." 
 
 " I've twisted my foot. It's all right, now 
 you're come," said the little man, bravely; and 
 slid the rope round himself in the most business- 
 like way. 
 
 " The grass was slipper " he began, as 
 
 soon as his feet touched firm earth ; and with that 
 he broke down and fell to sobbing in Taffy's 
 arms. 
 
 Taffy carried him — a featherweight — to the 
 cottage where Lizzie stood by her table washing 
 up. She saw them at the gate and came running 
 out. 
 
 " It's all right. He slipped — out on the cliff. 
 Nothing more than a scratch or two and perhaps 
 a sprained ankle." 
 
 He watched while she set Joey in a chair and 
 began to pull off his stockings. He had never 
 seen the child's foot naked. She turned sudden- 
 ly, caught him looking, and pulled the stocking 
 back over the deformity. 
 
 " Have you heard? " she asked. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " She has a boy ! Ah ! " she laughed, harshly, 
 
 285
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " I thought that would hurt you. Well, you 
 have been a silly ! " 
 
 " I don't think I understand." 
 
 " You don't think vou understand! " she 
 mimicked. "And you're not fond of her, eh? 
 Never were fond of her, eh? You silly — to let 
 him take her, and never tell! " 
 
 "Tell?" 
 
 She faced him, hardening her gaze. " Yes, 
 tell — " She nodded slowly; while Joey, unob- 
 served by either, looked up with wide, round 
 eyes. 
 
 " Men don't fight like that." The words were 
 out before it struck him that one man had, al- 
 most certainly, fought like that. Her face, how- 
 ever, told him nothing. She could not know. 
 " You have never told," he added. 
 
 " Because — " she began, but could not tell 
 him the whole truth. And yet what she said was 
 true. " Because you would not let me," she mut- 
 tered. 
 
 " In the churchyard, you mean — on her wed- 
 ding-day? " 
 
 " Before that." 
 
 " But before that I never guessed." 
 All the same, I knew what you were. You 
 
 286 
 
 «
 
 THE SERVICE OF THE LAMP 
 
 wouldn't have let me. It came to the same thing. 
 And if I had told — Oh, you make it hard for 
 me ! " she wailed. 
 
 He stared at her, understanding this only — 
 that somehow he could control her will. 
 
 " I will never let you tell," he said, gravely. 
 
 "I hate her!" 
 
 " You shall not tell." 
 
 " Listen " — she drew close and touched his 
 arm. " He never cared for her; it's not his way 
 to care. She cares for him now, I dessay — not 
 as she might have cared for you — but she's his 
 wife, and some women are like that. There's 
 her pride, anyway. Suppose — suppose he came 
 back to me? " 
 
 " If I caught him — " Taffy began ; but the 
 poor child, who for two minutes had been twist- 
 ing his face heroically, interrupted with a wail: 
 
 " Oh, mother ! my foot — it hurts so ! " 
 
 287
 
 XXIV 
 
 FACE TO FACE 
 
 The first winter had interrupted all work upon 
 the rock; but Taffy and his men had used the 
 calm days of the following spring and summer to 
 such purpose that before the end of July the 
 foundations began to show above high-water 
 neaps, and in September he was able to report 
 that the building could be pushed forward in any 
 ordinary weather. The workmen were carried 
 to and from the mainland by a wire hawser and 
 cradle, and the rising breastwork of masonry 
 protected them from the beat of the sea. Prog- 
 ress was slow, for each separate stone had to be 
 dovetailed above, below, and on all sides with 
 the blocks adjoining it, besides being cemented; 
 and care to be taken that no salt mingled with 
 the fresh water, or found its way into the joints 
 of the building. Taffy studied the barometer 
 hour by hour, and kept a constant lookout to 
 
 windward against sudden gales. 
 
 288
 
 FACE TO FACE 
 
 On November IGth the men had finished their 
 dinner and sat smoking under the lee of the wall 
 and were expecting the call of the whistle when 
 Taffy, with his pocket-aneroid in his hand, gave 
 the order to snug down and man the cradle for 
 shore. They stared. The morning had been a 
 halcyon one; and the northerly breeze, which 
 had sprung up with the turn of the tide and was 
 freshening, carried no cloud across the sky. Two 
 vessels, a brigantine and a three-masted schooner, 
 were merrily reaching down-channel before it, 
 the brigantine leading; at two miles' distance 
 they could see distinctly the white foam running 
 from her bluff bows, and her forward deck from 
 bulwark to bulwark as she heeled to it. 
 
 One or two grumbled. Half a day's work 
 meant half a day's pay to them. It was all very 
 well for the Cap'n, who drew his by the week. 
 
 "Come, look alive!" Taffy called sharply. 
 He pinned his faith to the barometer, and as he 
 shut it in its case he glanced at the brigantine and 
 saw that her crew were busy with the braces, flat- 
 tening the forward canvas. " See there, boys. 
 There'll be a gale from the west'ard before 
 night." 
 
 For a minute the brigantine seemed to have 
 
 289
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 run into a calm. The schooner, half a mile be- 
 hind her, came reaching along steadily. 
 
 " That there two-master's got a fool for skip- 
 per," grumbled a voice. But almost at the mo- 
 ment the wind took her right aback — or would 
 have done so had the crew not been preparing for 
 it. Her stern swung slowly around into view, 
 and within two minutes she was fetching away 
 from them on the port tack, her sails hauled 
 closer and closer as she went. Already the 
 schooner was preparing to follow suit. 
 
 " Snug down, boys! We must be out of this 
 in half an hour." 
 
 And sure enough, by the time Taffy gained 
 the cliff by the old light-house the sky had dark- 
 ened and a stiff breeze from the northwest, cross- 
 ing the tide, was beginning to work up a nasty 
 sea around the rock and lop it from time to time 
 over the masonry and the platforms where, half 
 an hour before, his men had been standing. The 
 two vessels had disappeared in the weather; and 
 as Taffy stared in the direction a spit of rain — 
 the first — took him viciously in the face. 
 
 He turned his back to it and hurried home- 
 Avard. As he passed the light-house door old Pez- 
 zack called out to him : 
 
 290
 
 FACE TO FACE 
 
 "Hi! wait a bit! Would 'ee mind seein' Joey 
 home? I dimna what his mother sent him over 
 here for, not I. He'll get hisself leakin'." 
 
 Joey came hobbling out and put his right hand 
 in Taffy's with the fist doubled. 
 
 " What's that in your hand? " 
 
 Joey looked up shyly. " You won't tell ? " 
 
 " Xot if it's a secret." 
 
 The child opened his palm and disclosed a 
 bright half-crown piece. 
 
 " Where on earth did you get that ? " 
 
 " The soldier gave it to me." 
 
 " The soldier? nonsense! What tale are you 
 making up? " 
 
 " Well, he had a red coat, so he must be a 
 soldier. He gave it to me and told me to be a 
 good boy and run off and play." 
 
 Taffy came to a halt, " Is he here — up at the 
 cottages? " 
 
 " How funnily you say that! No, he's just 
 rode away. I watched him from the light-house 
 windows. He can't be gone far yet." 
 
 " Look here, Joey — can you run? " 
 
 " Yes, if you hold my hand; only you mustn't 
 
 go too fast. Oh, you're hurting! " 
 
 Taffy took the child in his arms, and with the 
 
 291
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 wind at bis back, went up tbe bill with long 
 stride. " Tbere be is! " cried Joey as tbey gained 
 the ridge; and he pointed; and Taffy, looking 
 along the ridge, saw a speck of scarlet moving 
 against tbe lead-colored moors — half a mile away 
 perhaps, or a little more. He sat tbe child down, 
 for the cottages were close by. " Run home, son- 
 ny. I'm going to have a look at tbe soldier, too." 
 The first bad squall broke on the headland just 
 as Taffy started to run. It was as if a bag of 
 water bad burst right overhead, and within a 
 quarter of a minute he was drenched to the skin. 
 So fiercely it went howling inland along tbe ridge 
 that he half-expected to see the horse urged into 
 a gallop before it. But tbe rider, now standing 
 high for a moment against the sky-line, went 
 plodding on. For a while horse and man dis- 
 appeared over the rise ; but Taffy guessed that on 
 bitting the cross-path beyond, they would strike 
 away to the left and descend toward Langona 
 Creek; and he began to slant bis course to the 
 left in anticipation. The tide, be knew, would 
 be running in strong ; and with this wind behind 
 it he hoped — and caught himself praying — that 
 it would be high enough to cover tbe wooden foot- 
 bridge and make the ford impassable ; and if so, 
 
 292
 
 FACE TO FACE 
 
 the horseman would be delayed and forced to 
 head back and fetch a circuit farther up the val- 
 ley. 
 
 By this time the squalls were coming fast on 
 each other's heels, and the strength of them flung 
 him forward at each stride. He had lost his hat, 
 and the rain poured down his back and squished 
 in his boots. But all he felt was the hate in his 
 heart. It had gathered there little by little for 
 three years and a half, pent up, fed by his silent 
 thoughts as a reservoir by small mountain- 
 streams; and with so tranquil a surface that at 
 times — poor youth! — he had honestly believed 
 it reflected God's calm, had been proud of his 
 magnanimity, and said " forgive us our tres- 
 passes, as we forgive them that trespass against 
 us." Kow as he ran he prayed to the same God 
 to delay the traitor at the ford. 
 
 Dusk was falling when George, yet unaware 
 of pursuit, turned down the sunken lane which 
 ended beside the ford. And by the shore, when 
 the small waves lapped against his mare's fore- 
 feet, he heard Taffy's shout for the first time and 
 turned in his saddle. Even so it was a second or 
 two before he recognized the figure which came 
 plunging down the low cliff on his left, avoiding
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 a fall only by wild clutches at the swaying alder 
 boughs. 
 
 "Hello!" he shouted, cheerfully. "Looks 
 nasty, doesn't it? " 
 
 Taffy came down the beach, near enough to 
 see that the mare's legs were plastered with mud, 
 and to look up into his enemy's face. 
 
 " Get down," he panted. 
 
 "Hey?" 
 
 " Get down, I tell you. Come off your horse, 
 and put up your fists." 
 
 "AVhat the devil is the matter? Hello! 
 . . . Keep off, I tell you ! Are you mad ? " 
 
 " Come off and fight." 
 
 " By God, I'll break your head in if you 
 don't let go. . . . You idiot ! " — as the mare 
 plunged and tore the stirrup-leather from Taffy's 
 grip — " She'll brain you, if you fool round her 
 heels like that!" 
 
 " Come off, then." 
 
 " Very well." George backed a little, swung 
 himself out of the saddle and faced him on the 
 beach. " Now perhaps you'll explain." 
 
 " You've come from the headland? " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " From Lizzie Pezzack's." 
 
 294
 
 FACE TO FACE 
 
 " Well, and what then? " 
 
 " Only this, that so sure as you've a wife at 
 home, if you come to the headland again, I'll kill 
 you; and if you're a man, you'll put up your 
 fists now." 
 
 " Oh, that's it? May I ask what you have to 
 do with my wife, or with Lizzie Pezzack ? " 
 
 " Whose child is Lizzie's? " 
 
 " Xot yours, is it ? " 
 
 " You said so once; you told your wife so; 
 liar that you were." 
 
 " Very good, my gentleman. You shall have 
 what you want. Woa, mare! " He led her up 
 the beach and sought for a branch to tie his reins 
 to. The mare hung back, terrified by the swish- 
 ing of the whipped boughs and the roar of the 
 gale overhead; her hoofs, as George dragged 
 her forward, scuffled with the loose-lying stones 
 on the beach. After a minute he desisted and 
 turned on Taffy again. 
 
 " Look here; before we have this out there's 
 one thing I'd like to know. When you were at 
 Oxford, was Ilonoria maintaining you there ? " 
 
 " If you must know — yes." 
 
 " And when — when this happened, she 
 stopped the supplies." 
 
 295
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " AYell, then, I didn't know it. She never 
 told me." 
 
 " She never told me." 
 
 " You don't say " 
 
 " I do. I never knew it until too late." 
 
 " Well, now, I'm going to fight you. I don't 
 swallow being called a liar. But I tell you this 
 first, that I'm damned sorry. I never guessed 
 that it injured your prospects." 
 
 At another time, in another mood, Taffy 
 might have remembered that George was George, 
 and heir to Sir Harry's nature. As it was, the 
 apology threw oil on the flame. 
 
 " You cur! Do you think it was that? And 
 you are Honoria's husband! " He advanced 
 with an ugly laugh. " For the last time, put up 
 your fists." 
 
 They had been standing within two yards of 
 
 each other; and even so, shouted at the pitch of 
 
 their voices to make themselves heard above the 
 
 gale. As Taffy took a step forward George lifted 
 
 his whip. His left hand held the bridle on which 
 
 the reluctant mare was dragging, and the action 
 
 was merely instinctive, to guard against sudden 
 
 attack. 
 
 296
 
 FACE TO FACE 
 
 But as lie did so his face and uplifted arm were 
 suddenly painted clear against the darkness. The 
 mare plunged more wildly than ever. Taffy 
 dropped his hands and swung round. Behind 
 him, behind the black contour of the hill, the 
 whole sky welled up a pale blue light which 
 gathered brightness while he stared. 
 
 The very stones on the beach at his feet shone 
 separate and distinct. 
 
 *' What is it? " George gasped. 
 
 "A ship on the rocks! Quick, man! Will 
 the mare reach to Innis? " 
 
 " She'll have to." George wheeled her round. 
 She was fagged out with two long gallops after 
 hounds that day, but for the moment sheer terror 
 made her lively enough. 
 
 " Ride, then ! Call up the coast-guard. By 
 the flare she must be somewhere off the creek 
 here. Ride!" 
 
 A clatter of hoofs answered him as the mare 
 pounded up the lane. 
 
 297
 
 XXY 
 
 THE WEECK OF THE SAMARITAN 
 
 Taffy stood for a moment listening. He 
 judged the wreck to be somewhere on the near 
 side of the light-house, between it and the mouth 
 of the creek; that was, if she had already struck. 
 If not, the gale and the set of the tide together 
 would be sweeping her eastward, perhaps right 
 across the mouth of the creek. And if he could 
 discover this, his course would be to run back, 
 intercept the coast-guard and send them around 
 by the upper bridge. 
 
 He waited for a second signal to guide him — 
 a flare or a rocket; but none came. The beach 
 lay in the lew of the weather, deep in the hills' 
 hollow and trebly landlocked by the windings of 
 the creek; but above him the sky kept its scream- 
 ing as though the bare ridges of the headland 
 were being shelled by artillery. 
 
 He resolved to keep along the lower slopes and 
 
 search his way down to the creek's mouth, when 
 
 298
 
 THE WRECK OF THE SAMARITAN 
 
 he would have sight of any signal shown along 
 the coast for a mile or two to the east and north- 
 east. The night was now as black as a wolf's 
 throat; but he knew every path and fence. So 
 he scrambled up the low cliff and began to run, 
 following the line of stunted oaks and tamarisks 
 which fenced it; and on the ridges — where the 
 blown hail took him in the face — crouching and 
 scuttling like a crab, sideways, moving his legs 
 only from the knees down. 
 
 In this way he had covered half a mile and 
 more when his right foot plunged in a rabbit 
 hole and he was pitched headlong into the tam- 
 arisks below. Their boughs bent under his 
 weight; but they were tough, and he caught at 
 them and just saved himself from rolling over 
 into the black water. He picked himself up and 
 began to rub his twisted ankle. And at that in- 
 stant, in a lull between two gusts, his ear caught 
 the sound of splashing — yet a sound so unlike 
 the lapping of the driven tide that he peered over 
 and down between the tamarisk boughs. 
 
 "Hullo there!" 
 
 " Hullo! " a voice answered. " Is that some- 
 one alive? Here, mate — for Christ's sake! " 
 
 "Hold on! Whereabouts are you ? " 
 
 299
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 "' Down in this here cruel water." The words 
 ended in a shuddering cough. 
 
 " Right — hold on a moment! " Taffy's ankle 
 pained him, but the wrench was not serious. The 
 cliff shelved easily. He slid down, clutching at 
 the tamarisk boughs which whipped his face. 
 " Where are you? I can't see." 
 
 " Here ! " The voice was not a dozen yards 
 awav. 
 
 " Swimming? " 
 
 " No — I've got a water-breaker — can't hold 
 on much longer." 
 
 " I believe you can touch bottom there." 
 
 "Hey? I can't hear." 
 
 " Try to touch bottom. It's firm sand here- 
 abouts." 
 
 " So I can." The splashing and coughing 
 came nearer, came close. Taffy stretched out a 
 hand. A hand, icy-cold, fumbled and gripped it 
 in the darkness. 
 
 " Christ! Where's a place to lie down? " 
 
 " Here, on this rock." They peered at each 
 other, but could not see. The man's teeth chat- 
 tered close to Taffy's ear. 
 
 " Warm my hands, mate — there's a good 
 
 300
 
 THE WRECK OF THE SAMARITAN 
 
 chap." He lay on the rock and panted. Taffy- 
 took his hands and began to rub them briskly. 
 
 "^Vhere's the ship?" 
 
 " Where's the ship? " He seemed to turn over 
 the question in his mind, and then stretched him- 
 self with a sigh. " How the hell should I know ? " 
 
 " What's her name? " Taffy had to ask the 
 question twice. 
 
 '' The Samaritan of Newport, brigantine. 
 Coals she carried. Ha'n't you such a thing as a 
 match? It seems funny to me, talkin' here like 
 this, and me not knowin' you from Adam." 
 
 He panted between the words, and when he 
 had finished, lay back and panted again. 
 
 " Hurt? " asked Taffy, after a while. 
 
 The man sat up and began to feel his limbs, 
 quite as though they belonged to some other 
 body. " No, I reckon not." 
 
 " Then we'd best be starting. The tide's ris- 
 ing. My house is just above here." 
 
 He led the way along the slippery foreshore 
 until he found what he sought, a foot-track slant- 
 ing up the cliff. Here he gave the sailor a hand 
 and they mounted together. On the grass slope 
 above they met the gale and were forced to drop 
 
 on their hands and knees and crawl, Taffy lead- 
 
 301
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 ing and shouting instructions, the sailor answer- 
 ing each with " Ay, ay, mate! " to show that he 
 understood. 
 
 But about half way up, these answers ceased, 
 and Taffy, looking round and calling, found him- 
 self alone. He groped his way back for twenty 
 yards, and found the man stretched on his face 
 and moaning. 
 
 " I can't . . . I can't! My poor brother! 
 I can't!" 
 
 Taffy knelt beside him on the soaking turf. 
 " Your brother? Had you a brother on board? " 
 
 The man bowed his face again upon the turf. 
 Taffy, upright on both knees, heard him sobbing 
 like a child in the roaring darkness. 
 
 " Come," he coaxed; and putting out a hand 
 touched his wet hair. " Come — " They crept 
 forward again ; but still as he followed, the sailor 
 cried for his drowned brother; up the long slope 
 to the ridge of the headland where, with the 
 light-house and warm cottage windows in view, 
 all speech and hearing were drowned by sting- 
 ing hail and the blown grit of the causeway. 
 
 Humility opened the door to them. 
 
 "Taffy! Where have you been? " 
 
 " There has been a wreck." 
 
 302
 
 THE WRECK OF THE SAMARITAN 
 
 " Yes, yes — tlie coast-giiard is down by the 
 light-house. The men there saw her before she 
 struck. They kept signalling till it fell dark. 
 They had sent off before that." 
 
 She drew back, shrinking against the dresser 
 as the lamplight fell on the stranger. Taffy 
 turned and stared, too. The man's face was run- 
 ning with blood; and looking at his own hands 
 he saw that they also were scarlet. 
 
 He helped the poor wretch to a chair. 
 
 " Bandages — can you manage? " She nodded, 
 and stepped to a cupboard. The sailor began to 
 w' ail like an infant. 
 
 " See — above the temple here: the cut isn't 
 serious." Taffy took do\Am a lantern and lit it. 
 The candle shone red through the smears his 
 fingers left on the horn panes. " I must go and 
 help, if you can manage." ■ 
 
 " I can manage," she answered, quietly. 
 
 He strode out, and closing the door behind 
 him with an effort, faced the gale again. Down 
 in the lee of the light-house the lamps of the 
 coast-guard carriage gleamed foggily through 
 the rain. The men were there discussing, 
 and George among them. He had just gal- 
 loped up. 
 
 303
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 The Chief OjfRcer went off to question the sur- 
 vivor, while the rest began their search. They 
 searched all that night; they burned flares and 
 shouted; their torches dotted the cliffs. After 
 an hour the Chief Officer returned. He could 
 make nothing of the sailor, who had fallen silly 
 from exhaustion or the blow on his head; but 
 he divided his men into three parties, and they 
 began to hunt more systematically. Taffy was 
 told off to help the westernmost gang and search 
 the rocks below the light-house. Once or twice 
 he and his comrades paused in their work, hear- 
 ing, as they thought, a cry for help. But when 
 they listened, it was only one of the other parties 
 hailing. 
 
 The gale began to abate soon after midnight, 
 and before dawn had blown itself out. Day 
 came filtered slowly through the wrack of it to 
 the southeast; and soon they heard a whistle 
 blown, and there on the cliff above them was 
 George Vyell on horseback, in his red coat, with 
 an arm thrown out and pointing eastward. He 
 turned and galloped off in that direction. 
 
 They scrambled up and followed. To their 
 astonishment, after following the cliffs for a few 
 hundred yards, he headed inland, down and 
 
 a04
 
 THE WRECK OF THE SAMARITAN 
 
 across the very slope up which Taffy had crawled 
 with the sailor. 
 
 They lost sight of his red coat among the 
 ridges. Two or three — Taffy amongst them — 
 ran along the upper ground for a better view. 
 
 *' Well, this beats all ! " panted the foremost. 
 
 Below them George came into view again, 
 heading now at full gallop for a group of men 
 gathered by the shore of the creek, a good half- 
 mile from its mouth. And beyond — midway 
 across the sandy bed where the river wound — lay 
 the hull of a vessel, high and dry; her deck, 
 naked of wheel-house and hatches, canted toward 
 them as if to cover from the morning the long 
 wounds ripped by her uprooted masts. 
 
 The men beside him shouted and ran on, but 
 Taffy stood still. It was monstrous — a thing in- 
 conceivable — that the seas should have lifted a 
 vessel of three hundred tons and carried her half 
 a mile up that shallow creek. Yet there she lay. 
 A horrible thought seized him. Could she have 
 been there last night when he had drawn the 
 sailor ashore? And had he left four or five 
 others to drown close by, in the darkness? No, 
 the tide at that hour had scarcely passed half- 
 flood. He thanked God for that. 
 
 305
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 "Well, there she lay, high and dry, with plenty 
 to attend to her. It was time for him to discover 
 the damage done to the light-house plant and 
 machinery, perhaps to the building itself. In 
 half an hour the workmen would be arriving. 
 
 He walked slowly back to the house, and found 
 Humility preparing breakfast. 
 
 " Where is he ? " Taffy asked, meaning the 
 sailor. "In bed?" 
 
 " Didn't you meet him? He went out five 
 minutes ago — I couldn't keep him — to look for 
 his brother, he said." 
 
 Taffy drank a cupful of tea, took up a crust, 
 and made for the door. 
 
 " Go to bed, dear," his mother pleaded. " You 
 must be worn out." 
 
 " I must see how the works have stood it." 
 
 On the whole, they had stood it well. The 
 gale, indeed, had torn away the wire cable and 
 cage, and thus cut off for the time all access to 
 the outer rock; for while the sea ran at its pres- 
 ent height the scramble out along the ridge could 
 not be attempted even at low water. But from 
 the cliff he could see the worst. The waves had 
 washed over the building, tearing off the tem- 
 porary covers, and churning all within. Planks, 
 
 806
 
 THE WKECK OF THE SAMARITAN 
 
 scaffolding — everything floatable — had gone, 
 and strewed the rock with match-wood; and — a 
 marvel to see — one of his two heaviest winches 
 had been lifted from inside, hurled clean over 
 the wall, and lay collapsed in the wreckage of its 
 cast-iron frame. But, so far as he could see, the 
 dove-tailed masonry stood intact. A voice hailed 
 him. 
 
 " What a night! What a night! " 
 
 It was old Pezzack, aloft on the gallery of the 
 light-house in his yellow oilers, already polishing 
 the lantern-panes. 
 
 Taffy's workmen came straggling and gathered 
 about him. They discussed the damage together 
 but without addressing Taffy ; until a little pock- 
 marked fellow, the wag of the gang, nudged a 
 mate slyly and said aloud : 
 
 " By God, Bill, we can build a bit — you and 
 me and the boss ! " 
 
 All the men laughed ; and Taffy laughed, too, 
 blushing. Yes; this had been in his mind. He 
 had measured his work against the sea in its fury, 
 and the sea had not beaten him. 
 
 A cry broke in upon their laughter. It came 
 
 from the base of the cliff to the right — a cry so 
 
 insistent that they ran toward it in a body. 
 
 307
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Far below them, on the edge of a great bowlder 
 which rose from the broken water and seemed to 
 overhang it, stood the rescued sailor. He was 
 pointing. 
 
 Taffy was the first to reach him. 
 
 '' It's my brother! It's my brother Sam! " 
 
 Taffy flung himself full length on the rock and 
 peered over. A tangle of ore-weed awash rose 
 and fell about its base; and from under this, as 
 the frothy waves drew back, he saw a man's 
 ankle protruding, and a foot still wearing a shoe. 
 
 "It's my brother! " wailed the sailor again. 
 " I can swear to the shoe of en ! " 
 
 308
 
 XXYI 
 
 SALVAGE 
 
 One of the masons lowered himself into the 
 pool, and thrusting an arm beneath the ore-weed, 
 began to grope. 
 
 " He's pinned here. The rock's right on top 
 of him." 
 
 Taffy examined the rock. It weighed fifteen 
 tons if an ounce; but there were fresh and deep 
 scratches upon it. He pointed these out to the 
 men, who looked and felt them with their hands 
 and stared at the subsiding waves, trying to bring 
 their minds to the measure of the spent gale. 
 
 " Here, I must get out of this! " said the man 
 in the pool, as a small wave dashed in and sent 
 its spray over his bowed shoulders. 
 
 " You ban't going to leave en," wailed the 
 
 sailor. " You ban't going to leave my brother 
 
 Sam." 
 
 He was a small, fussy man, with red whiskers; 
 
 309
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 and even his sorrow gave him little dignity. The 
 men were tender with him. 
 
 " I*Tothing to be done till the tide goes back." 
 
 " But you won't leave en ? Say you won't 
 leave en ! He've a wife and three children. He 
 was a saved man, sir, a very religious man; not 
 like me, sir. He was highly respected in the 
 neighborhood of St. Austell. I shouldn't wonder 
 if the newspapers had a word about en. . . ." 
 The tears were running down his face. 
 
 " We must wait for the tide," said Taffy, gen- 
 tly, and tried to lead him away, but he would not 
 go. So they left him to watch and wait while 
 they returned to their work. 
 
 Before noon they recovered and fixed the 
 broken wire cable. The iron cradle had disap- 
 peared, but to rig up a sling and carry out an 
 endless line was no difficult job, and when this 
 was done Taffy crossed over to the island rock 
 and began to inspect damages. His working gear 
 had suffered heavily, two of his windlasses were 
 disabled, scaffolding, platforms, hods, and loose 
 planks had vanished; a few small tools only re- 
 mained mixed together in a mash of puddled 
 lime. But the masonry stood unhurt, all except 
 
 a few feet of the upper course on the seaward 
 
 310
 
 SALVAGE 
 
 side, where the gale, giving the cement no time 
 to set, had shaken the dove-tailed stones in their 
 sockets — a matter easily repaired. 
 
 Shortly before three a shout recalled them to 
 the mainland. The tide was drawing toward low 
 water, and three of the men set to work at once 
 to open a channel and drain off the pool about 
 the base of the big rock. While this was doing, 
 half a dozen splashed in with iron bars and pick- 
 axes ; the rest rigged two stout ropes with tackles, 
 and hauled. The stone did not budge. For 
 more than an hour they prized and levered and 
 strained. And all the while the sailor ran to and 
 fro, snatching up now a pick and now a crowbar, 
 now lending a hand to haul and again breaking 
 off to lament aloud. 
 
 The tide turned, the winter dark came down, 
 and at half-past four Taffy gave the word to de- 
 sist. They had to hold back the sailor, or he 
 would have jumped in and drowned beside his 
 brother. 
 
 Taffy slept little that night, though he needed 
 sleep. The salving of this body had become al- 
 most a personal dispute between the sea and him. 
 The gale had shattered two of his windlasses; but 
 two remained, and by one o'clock next day he 
 
 311
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 liad both slung over to the mainland and fixed 
 beside the rock. The news spreading inland 
 fetched two or three score onlookers before ebb 
 of tide — miners for the most part, whose help 
 could be counted on. The men of the coast- 
 guard had left the wreck, to bear a hand if need- 
 ed. George had come, too. And, happening to 
 glance upward while he directed his men, Taffy 
 saw a carriage with two horses drawn up on the 
 grassy edge of the cliff, a groom at the horses' 
 heads and in the carriage a figure seated, silhouet- 
 ted there high against the clear blue heaven. 
 Well he recognized, even at that distance, the 
 poise of her head, though for two whole years he 
 had never set eyes on her, nor had wished to. 
 
 He knew that her eyes were on him now. He 
 felt like a general on the eve of an engagement. 
 By the almanac the tide would not turn until 
 4.35. At four, perhaps, they could begin; but 
 even at four the winter twilight would be on 
 them, and he had taken care to provide torches 
 and distribute them among the crowd. His own 
 men were making the most of the daylight left, 
 drilling holes for dear life in the upper surface of 
 the bowlder, fixing the Lewis-wedges and rings. 
 They looked to him for every order, and he gave 
 
 312
 
 SALVAGE 
 
 it ill a clear, ringing voice which he knew must 
 carry to the cliff-top. He did not look at George. 
 
 He felt sure in his own mind that the wedges 
 and rings would hold; but to make doubly sure 
 he gave orders to loop an extra chain under the 
 jutting base of the bowlder. The mason who 
 fixed it, standing waist-high in water as the tide 
 ebbed, called for a rope and hitched it round the 
 ankle of the dead man. The dead man's brother 
 jumped down beside him and grasped the slack of 
 it. 
 
 At a signal from Taffy the crowd began to 
 light their torches. He looked at his watch, at 
 the tide, and gave the word to man the wind- 
 lasses. Then with a glance toward the cliff he 
 started the working-chant — '^ Ayee-ho! Ayee- 
 lio ! " The two gangs — twenty men to each 
 windlass — took it up with one voice, and to the 
 deep intoned chant the chains tautened, shud- 
 dered for a moment, and began to lift. 
 
 '' Ayee-lio!'' 
 
 Silently, irresistibly, the chain drew the rock 
 
 from its bed. To Taffy it seemed an endless 
 
 time, to the crowd but a few moments, before 
 
 the brute mass swung clear. A few thrust their 
 
 torches down toward the pit where the sailor 
 
 313
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 knelt. Taffy did not look, but gave the word to 
 pass down the coffin which had been brought in 
 readiness. A clergyman — his father's successor, 
 but a stranger to him — climbed down after it; 
 and he stood in the quiet crowd watching the 
 light-house above and the lamps which the groom 
 had lit in Honoria's carriage, and listening to the 
 bated voices of the few at their dreadful task 
 below. 
 
 It was five o'clock and past before the word 
 came up to lower the tackle and draw the coffin 
 up. The Vicar clambered out to wait it, and 
 when it came, borrowed a lantern and headed 
 the bearers. The crowd fell in behind. 
 
 " / am the resurrection and the life. . . ." 
 
 They began to shuffle forward and up the dif- 
 ficult track; but presently came to a halt with 
 one accord, the Vicar ceasing in the middle of a 
 sentence. 
 
 Out of the night, over the hidden sea, came 
 the sound of men's voices lifted, thrilling the 
 darkness thrice: the sound of three British 
 cheers. 
 
 Whose were the voices? They never knew. 
 
 A few had noticed as twilight fell a brig in the 
 
 offing, standing inshore as she tacked down chan- 
 
 314
 
 SALVAGE 
 
 nel. Slie, no doubt, as they worked in their cir- 
 cle of torchlight, had sailed in close before going 
 about, her crew gathered forward, her master 
 perhaps watching through his night-glass; had 
 guessed the act, saluted it, and passed on her way 
 unknown to her own destiny. 
 
 They strained their eyes. A man beside Taffy 
 declared he could see something — the faint glow 
 of a binnacle lamp as she stood away. Taffy 
 could see nothing. The voice ahead began to 
 speak again. The Vicar, pausing now and again 
 to make sure of his path, was reading from a page 
 which he held close to his lantern. 
 
 " Thine eyes shall see the King in his heauty : 
 they shall hehold the land that is very far off. 
 
 " Thou shalt not see a fierce peojjle, ajpeople 
 of deeper speech than thou canst jperceive j of a 
 stammering tongue that thou canst not under- 
 stand. 
 
 " But there the glorious Lord will he unto us a 
 jplace of hroad rivers and streams / wherein shall 
 go no galley with oars, neither shall gallant ship 
 pass therehy. 
 
 " For the Lord is our judge, the Lord is our 
 lawgiver, the Lord is our king / he will save us. 
 
 " Thy tacTdings are loosed / they could not well 
 
 315
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 strengthen their mast, they could not spi^ead the 
 sail ; there is the jprey of a great spoil divided ,' 
 the lame take the j)rey.^'' 
 
 Here the Vicar turned back a page and his 
 voice rang higher : 
 
 " Behold, a king shall 7'eign in righteousness, 
 a?id_princes shall rule in judgment. 
 
 ^^ And a man shall he as an hiding place from 
 the wind, and a covert from the temiyest ; as 
 7'ivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of 
 a great roch in a weary land. 
 
 '■'■And the eyes of them that see sliaJl not he 
 dim., and the ears of them that hear shall 
 hearken.'^ 
 
 I^ow Taffy walked behind, thinking his own 
 thoughts ; for the cheers of those invisible sailors 
 had done more than thrill his heart. A finger, 
 as it were, had come out of the night and touched 
 his brain, unsealing the wells and letting in light 
 upon things undreamt of. Through the bright 
 confusion of this sudden vision the Vicar's sen- 
 tences sounded and fell on his ears unheeded. 
 And yet while they faded that happened which 
 froze and bit each separate word into his memory, 
 to lose distinctness only when death should inter- 
 fere, stop the active brain and wipe the slate. 
 
 3J6
 
 SALVAGE 
 
 For while the procession halted and broke up 
 its formation for a moment on the brow of the 
 cliff, a woman came running into the torchlight. 
 
 " Is my Joey there? Where's he to, anybody? 
 Hev anyone seen my Joey? " 
 
 It was Lizzie Pezzack, panting and bareheaded, 
 with a scared face. 
 
 " He's lame — you'd know en. Have 'ee got 
 en there? He's wandered off! " 
 
 " Hush up, woman," said a bearer. " Don't 
 keep such a pore." 
 
 " The cheeld's right enough somewheres," 
 said another. " 'Tis a man's body we've got. 
 Stand out of the way, for shame ! " 
 
 But Lizzie, who, as a rule, shrank away from 
 men and kept herself hidden, pressed nearer, 
 turning her tragical face upon each in turn. Her 
 eyes met George's; but she appealed to him as 
 to the others. 
 
 " He's wandered off. Oh, say you've seen en, 
 somebody! " 
 
 Catching sight of Taffy she ran and gripped 
 him by the arm. 
 
 " You'll help ! It's my Joey. Help me find 
 en!" 
 
 He turned half about; and almost before he 
 
 317
 
 (( 
 
 ii 
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 knew what he sought, his eyes met George's. 
 George stepped quietly to his side. 
 
 " Let me get my mare," said George, and 
 walked away toward the light-house railing 
 where he had tethered her. 
 
 " We'll find the child. Our work's done here. 
 Mr. Saul! " Taffy turned to the Chief Officer- 
 Spare us a man or two and some flares." 
 " I'll come myself," said the Chief Officer. 
 Go you back, my dear, and we'll fetch home 
 your cheeld as right as nine-pence. Hi, Raw- 
 lings, take a couple of men and scatter along the 
 cliffs there to the right. Lame, you say? He 
 can't have gone far." 
 
 Taffy, with the Chief Officer and a couple of 
 volunteers, moved off to the left, and in less 
 than a minute George caught them up, on horse- 
 back. 
 
 " I say," he asked, walking his mare close 
 alongside of Taffy, " you don't think this serious, 
 eh?" 
 
 *^ I don't know. Joey wasn't in the crowd, or 
 I should have noticed him. He's daring beyond 
 his strength." He pulled a whistle from his 
 pocket, blew it twice and listened. This had 
 
 been his signal when firing a charge; he had 
 
 318
 
 SALVAGE 
 
 often blown it to warn the child to creep away 
 into shelter. 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 " Mr. Vyell had best trot along the upper 
 slope," the Chief Officer suggested, " while we 
 search down by the creek." 
 
 " Wait a moment," Taffy answered. " Let's 
 try the wreck first." 
 
 " But the tide's running. He'd never go 
 there." 
 
 " He's a queer child. I know him better than 
 you." 
 
 They ran downhill toward the creek, calling 
 as they went, but getting no answer. 
 
 " But the wreck! " exclaimed the Chief Of- 
 ficer. " It's out of reason ! " 
 
 "Hi! What was that?" 
 
 " Oh, my good Lord," groaned one of the vol- 
 unteers, "it's the crake, master! It's Langona 
 crake, calling the drowned! " 
 
 "Hush, you fool! Listen — I thought as 
 much! Light a flare, Mr. Saul — he's out there 
 calling! " 
 
 The first match sputtered and went out. They 
 
 drew close around the Chief Officer while he 
 
 struck the second, to keep off the wind, and in 
 
 319
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 those few moments the child's wail reached them 
 distinctly across the darkness. 
 
 The flame leapt up and shone, and they drew 
 back a pace, shading their eyes from it and peer- 
 ing into the steel-blue landscape which sprang on 
 them out of the night. They had halted a few 
 yards only from the cliff, and the flare cast the 
 shadow of its breast-high fence of tamarisks for- 
 ward and almost half-way across the creek; and 
 there on the sands, a little beyond the edge of 
 this shadow, stood the child. 
 
 They could even see his white face. He stood 
 on an island of sand, around which the tide 
 swirled in silence, cutting him off from shore, 
 cutting him off from the wreck behind. He did 
 not cry any more, but stood with his crutch 
 planted by the edge of the widening stream, and 
 looked toward them. 
 
 And Taffy looked at George. 
 
 " I know," said George, and gathered up his 
 reins. " Stand aside, please." 
 
 As they drew aside, not understanding, he 
 called to his mare. One living creature, at any 
 rate, could still trust all to George Vyell. She 
 hurtled past them and rose at the tamarisk hedge 
 blindly. Silence followed — a long silence; then 
 
 320
 
 SALVAGE 
 
 a tlmd on the beach below and a scuffle of stones ; 
 silence again, and then the cracking of twigs as 
 Taffy plunged after, through the tamarisks, and 
 slithered down the cliff. 
 
 The light died down as his feet touched the 
 flat slippery stones; died down, and was re- 
 newed again and showed up horse and rider, 
 scarce twenty yards ahead, laboring forward, the 
 mare sinking fetlock deep at every plunge. 
 
 At his fourth stride Taffy's feet, too, began to 
 sink; but at every stride he gained something. 
 The riding may be superb, but thirteen stone is 
 thirteen stone. Taffy weighed less than eleven. 
 
 He caught up with George on the very edge 
 of the water. '' Make her swim it! " he panted; 
 " her feet mustn't touch here." George grunted. 
 A moment later all three were in the water, the 
 tide swirling them sideways, sweeping Taffy 
 against the mare. His right hand touched her 
 flank at every stroke. 
 
 The tide swept them upward — upward for fif- 
 teen yards at least; though the channel meas- 
 ured less than eight feet. The child, who had 
 been standing opposite the point where they took 
 the water, hobbled wildly along shore. The light 
 
 on the cliff behind sank and rose again. 
 
 321
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 "The crutch," Taffy gasped. The child 
 obeyed, laying it flat on the brink and pushing 
 it toward them. Taffy gripped it with his left 
 hand, and with his right found the mare's bridle. 
 George was bending forward. 
 
 " No — not that way! You can't go back! 
 The wreck, man! — it's firmer " 
 
 But George reached out his hand and dragged 
 the child toward him and onto his saddle-bow. 
 " Mine," he said, quietly, and twitched the rein. 
 The brave mare snorted, jerked the bridle from 
 Taffy's hand, and headed back for the shore she 
 had left. 
 
 Rider, horse, and child seemed to fall away 
 from him into the night. He scrambled out, and 
 snatching the crutch, ran along the brink, star- 
 ing at their black shadows. By and by the shad- 
 ows came to a standstill. He heard the mare 
 panting, the creaking of saddle-leather came 
 across the nine or ten feet of dark water. 
 
 " It's no go," said George's voice; then to the 
 mare, " Sally, my dear, it's no go." A moment 
 later he asked more sharply, 
 
 " How far can you reach? " 
 
 Taffy stepped in until the waves ran by his 
 knees. The sand held his feet, but beyond this 
 
 322
 
 SALVAGE 
 
 he could not stand against the current. He 
 reached forward, holding the crutch at arm's 
 length. 
 
 " Can you catch hold? " 
 
 " All right." Both knew that swimming 
 would be useless now ; they were too near the up- 
 per apex of the sand-bank. 
 
 " The child first. Here, Joey, my son, reach 
 out and catch hold for your life ! " 
 
 Taffy felt the child's grip on the crutch-head, 
 and drawing it steadily toward him, hauled the 
 poor child through. The light from the cliff sank 
 and rose behind his scared face. 
 
 "Got him?" 
 
 " Yes." The sand was closing around Taffy's 
 legs, but he managed to shift his footing a little. 
 
 " Quick, then; the bank's breaking up." 
 
 George was sinking, knee-deep and deeper. 
 But his outstretched fingers managed to reach 
 and hook themselves around the crutch-head. 
 
 " Steady, now . . . must work you loose 
 first. Get hold of the shaft if you can ; the head 
 isn't firm. Work your legs . . . that's it." 
 
 George wrenched his left foot loose and plant- 
 ed it against the mare's flank. Hitherto the brute 
 
 had trusted her master. The thrust of his heel 
 
 323
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 drove home her sentence, and with scream after 
 scream — the sand holding her past hope — she 
 plunged and fought for her life. Still as she 
 screamed, George, silent and panting, thrust 
 against her, thrust savagely against the quivering 
 body, once his pride for beauty and fleetness. 
 
 " Pull ! " he gasped, freeing his other foot with 
 a wrench which left its heavy riding-boot deep 
 in the sucking mud; and catching a new grip on 
 the crutch-head, flung himself forward. 
 
 Taffy felt the sudden weight and pulled — and 
 while he pulled felt in a moment no grip, no 
 weight at all. Between two hateful screams a 
 face slid by him, out of reach, silent, with parted 
 lips; and as it slipped away he fell back stagger- 
 ing, grasping the useless, headless crutch. 
 
 The mare went on screaming. He turned his 
 back on her, and catching Joey by the hand, 
 dragged him away across the melting island. At 
 the sixth step the child, hauled off his crippled 
 foot, swung blundering across his legs. He 
 paused, lifted him in his arms, and plunged for- 
 ward again. 
 
 The flares on the cliff were growing in num- 
 ber. They cast long shadows before him. On 
 the far side of the island the tide flowed swift and 
 
 321
 
 SALVAGE 
 
 steady — a stream about fourteen yards wide — 
 cutting him from the farther sand-bank on which, 
 not fifty yards above, lay the wreck. He whis- 
 pered to Joey, and phmged into it straight, turn- 
 ing as the water swept him off his legs, and giving 
 his back to it, his hands slipped under the child's 
 armpits, his feet thrusting against the tide in 
 slow rhythmical strokes. 
 
 The child after the first gasp lay still, his head 
 obediently thrown back on Taffy's breast. The 
 mare had ceased to scream. The water rippled in 
 the ears as each leg-thrust drove them little by 
 little across the current. 
 
 If George had but listened! It was so easy, 
 after all. The sand-bank still slid past them, but 
 less rapidly. They were close to it now and had 
 only to lie still and be drifted against the leaning 
 stanchions of the wreck. Taffy flung an arm 
 about one and checked his way quietly, as a man 
 brings a boat alongside a quay. He hoisted Joey 
 first upon the stanchion, then up the tilted deck 
 to the gap of the main hatchway. Within this, 
 with their feet on the steps and their chests lean- 
 ing on the side panel of the companion, they 
 rested and took breath. 
 
 "Cold, sonny?" 
 
 825
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 The child burst into tears. 
 
 Taffy dragged off his own coat and wrapped 
 him in it. The small body crept close, sobbing 
 against his side. 
 
 Across, on the shore, voices were calling, blue 
 eyes moving. A pair of yellow lights came tow- 
 ard these, travelling swiftly upon the hill-side. 
 Taffy guessed what they were. 
 
 The yellow lights moved more slowly. They 
 joined the blue ones, and halted. Taffy listened. 
 But the voices were still now; he heard nothing 
 but the hiss of the black water across which those 
 two lamps sought and questioned him like eyes. 
 
 "God help her!" 
 
 He bowed his face on his arms. A little while, 
 and the sands would be covered, the boats would 
 put off; a little while . . . Crouching from 
 those eyes he prayed God to lengthen it. 
 
 326
 
 XXYII 
 
 HO N O R I A 
 
 She was sitting there rigid, cold as a statue, 
 when the rescuers brought them ashore and 
 helped them up the slope. A small crowd sur- 
 rounded the carriage. In the rays of their mov- 
 ing lanterns her face altered nothing, to all their 
 furtive glances of sympathy opposing the same 
 white mask. Someone said, " There's only two, 
 then ! " Another with a nudge and a nod at the 
 carriage, told him to hold his peace. She heard. 
 Her lips hardened. 
 
 Lizzie Pezzack had rushed down to the shore 
 to meet the boat. She was bringing her child 
 along with a fond wild babble of tender names 
 and sobs and cries of thankfulness. In pauses, 
 choked and overcome, she caught him to her, felt 
 his limbs, pressed his wet face against her neck 
 and bosom. Taffy, supported by strong arms and 
 hurried in her wake, had a hideous sense of being
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 paraded in her triumpli. The men around him 
 who had raised a faint cheer, sank their voices 
 as they neared the carriage ; but the woman went 
 forward, jubilant and ruthless, flaunting her joj 
 as it were a flag blown in her eyes and blindfold- 
 ing them to the grief she insulted. 
 
 ''Stay!" 
 
 It was Honoria's voice, cold, incisive, not to 
 be disobeyed. He had prayed in vain. The pro- 
 cession halted; Lizzie checked her babble and 
 stood staring, with an arm about Joey's neck. 
 
 " Let me see the child." 
 
 Lizzie stared, broke into a silly triumphant 
 laugh, and thrust the child forward against the 
 cai'riage-step. The poor waif, drenched, dazed, 
 tottering without his crutch, caught at the plated 
 handle for support. Honoria gazed down on him 
 with eyes which took slow and pitiless account 
 of the deformed little body, the shrunken, puny 
 limbs. 
 
 " Thank you. So — this — is what my husband 
 died for. Drive on, please." 
 
 Her eyes, as she lifted them to give the order, 
 rested for a moment on Taffy — with how much 
 scorn he cared not, could he have leapt and inter- 
 cepted Lizzie's retort. 
 
 328
 
 HONORIA 
 
 " And why not? A son's a son — curse you! — 
 though he was your man! " 
 
 It seemed she did not hear; or hearing, did 
 not understand. Her eyes hardened; their fire 
 on Taffy and he, lapped in their scorn, thanked 
 God she had not understood. 
 
 " Drive on, please." 
 
 The coachman lowered his whip. The horses 
 moved forward at a slow walk; the carriage 
 rolled silently away into the darkness. She had 
 not understood. Taffy glanced at the faces about 
 him. 
 
 " Ah, poor lady! " said someone. But no one 
 had understood. 
 
 They found George's body next morning on 
 the sands a little below the foot-bridge. He lay 
 there in the morning sunshine as though asleep, 
 with an arm flung above his head and on his face 
 the easy smile for which men and women had 
 liked him throughout his careless life. 
 
 The inquest was held next day, in the library 
 at Carwithiel. Sir Harry insisted on being pres- 
 ent and sat beside the coroner. During Taffy's 
 examination his lips were pursed up as though
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 whistling a silent tune. Once or twice he nod- 
 ded his head. 
 
 Taffy gave his evidence discreetly. The child 
 had been lost; had been found in a perilous posi- 
 tion. He and deceased had gone together to the 
 rescue. On reaching the child, deceased — 
 against advice — had attempted to return across 
 the sands and had fallen into difficulties. In 
 these his first thought had been for the child, 
 whom he had passed to witness to drag out of 
 danger. When it came to deceased's turn, 
 the crutch, on which all depended, had parted 
 in two and he had been swept away by the 
 tide. 
 
 At the conclusion of the story Sir Harry took 
 snuff and nodded twice. Taffy wondered how 
 much he knew. The jury, under the coroner's 
 direction, brought in a verdict of " death by mis- 
 adventure," and added a word or two in praise of 
 the dead man's gallantry. The coroner compli- 
 mented Taffy warmly and promised to refer the 
 case to the Royal Humane Society for public rec- 
 ognition. The jury nodded and one or two said, 
 " Hear, hear! " Taffy hoped fervently he would 
 do nothing of the sort. 
 
 The funeral took place on the fourth day, at 
 
 330
 
 HONORIA 
 
 nine o'clock in the morning. Such — in the days 
 I write of — was the custom of the country. 
 Friends who lived at a distance rose and shaved 
 by candle-light, and daybreak found them horsed 
 and well on their way toward the house of 
 mourning, their errand announced by the long 
 black streamers tied about their hats. The sad 
 business over and done with, these guests re- 
 turned to the house, where, until noon, a mighty 
 breakfast lasted and all were welcome. Their 
 black habiliments and lowered voices alone 
 marked the difference between it and a hunting- 
 breakfast. 
 
 And indeed this morning Squire Willyams, 
 who had taken over the hounds after Squire 
 Moyle's death, had given secret orders to his 
 huntsman; and the pack was waiting at Three- 
 barrow Turnpike, a couple of miles inland from 
 Cai-withiel. At half-past ten the mourners 
 drained their glasses, shook the crumbs off their 
 riding-breeches, and took leave; and after halt- 
 ing outside Carwithiel gates to unpin and pocket 
 their hatbands, headed for the meet with one 
 accord. 
 
 A few minutes before noon Squire Willyams, 
 seated on his gray by the edge of Three-barrow 
 Brake and listening to every sound within the
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 covert, happened to glance an eye across the val- 
 ley, and let out a low whistle. 
 
 " Well! " said one of a near group of horse- 
 men catching sight of the rider pricking toward 
 them down the farther slope, " I knew en for an 
 unbeliever; but this beats all." 
 
 " And his awnly son not three hours under the 
 mould ! Brought up in France as a youngster he 
 was, and this I s'pose is what comes of reading 
 Voltaire. My lord for manners and no more 
 heart than a wormed nut — that's Sir Harry and 
 always was." 
 
 Squire Willyams slewed himself round in his 
 saddle. He spoke quietly at fifteen yards' dis- 
 tance, but each word reached the group of horse- 
 men as clear as a bell. 
 
 " Eablin," he said, " as a damned fool oblige 
 me during the next few minutes by keeping your 
 mouth shut." 
 
 With this he resumed his old attitude and his 
 business of watching the covert side; removing 
 his eyes for a moment to nod as Sir Harry rode up 
 and passed on to join the group behind him. 
 
 He had scarcely done so when deep in the 
 
 undergrowth of blackthorn a hound challenged. 
 
 " Spendigo for a fiver! — and well found, by 
 
 332
 
 IIO^^ORIA 
 
 tlie tune of it. See that patch of gray wall, Kab- 
 lin — there in a line beyond the Master's elbow? 
 I lay you an even guinea that's where my gentle- 
 man comes over, and inside of sixty seconds." 
 
 But honest reprobation mottled the face of Mr. 
 Eablin, squireen ; and as an honest man he must 
 speak out. Let it go to his credit, because as a 
 rule he was a snob and inclined to cringe. 
 
 " I did not expect " — he cleared his throat — 
 " to see you out to-day, Sir Harry." 
 
 Sir Harry winced, and turned on them all a 
 gray, woful face. 
 
 " That's it," he said. " I can't bide home. I 
 can't bide home." 
 
 Honoria bided home with her child and 
 mourned for the dead. As a clever woman — far 
 cleverer than her husband — she had seen his 
 faults while he lived; yet had liked him enough 
 to forgive without difficulty. But now these 
 faults faded, and by degrees memory reared an 
 altar to him as a man little short of divine. At 
 the worst he had been amiable. A kinder hus- 
 band never lived. She reproached herself bit- 
 terly with the half-heartedness of her response to 
 
 333
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 his love ; to his love while it dwelt beside her, un- 
 varying in cheerful kindness. For (it was the 
 truth alas ! and a worm that gnawed continually) 
 passionate love she had never rendered him. She 
 had been content ; but how poor a thing was con- 
 tentment ! She had never divined his worth, had 
 never given her worship. And all the while he 
 had been a hero, and in the end had died as a 
 hero. Ah, for one chance to redeem the wrong ! 
 for one moment to bow herself at his feet and 
 acknowledge her blindness! Her prayer was 
 ancient as widowhood, and Heaven, folding away 
 the irreparable time, returned its first and last 
 and only solace — a dream for the groping arms; 
 waking and darkness, and an empty pillow for 
 her tears. 
 
 From the first her child had been dear to her; 
 dearer (so her memory accused her now) than his 
 father; more demonstratively beloved, at any 
 rate. But in those miserable months she grew to 
 love him with a double strength. He bore 
 George's name, and was (as Sir Harry pro- 
 claimed) a very miniature of George; repeated 
 his shapeliness of limb, his firm shoulders, his 
 long lean thighs — the thighs of a born horseman ; 
 
 learned to walk, and lo! within a week walked 
 
 334
 
 nONORIA 
 
 with his father's gait; had smiles for the whole 
 of his small world, and for his mother a memory 
 in each. 
 
 And yet — this was the strange part of it, a 
 mystery she could not explain, because she dared 
 not even acknowledge it — though she loved him 
 for being like his father, she regarded the like- 
 ness with a growing dread; nay, caught herself 
 correcting him stealthily when he developed 
 some trivial trait which she, and she alone, rec- 
 ognized as part of his father's legacy. It was 
 what in the old days she would have called " con- 
 tradictious ; " but there it was, and she could not 
 help it; the nearer George in her memory ap- 
 proached to faultlessness, the more obstinately 
 her instinct fought against her child's imitation 
 of him; and yet, because the child was obstinate- 
 ly George'S; she loved him with a double love. 
 
 There came a day when he told her a childish 
 falsehood. She did not whip him, but stood him 
 in front of her and began to reason with him and 
 explain the wickedness of an untruth. By and 
 by she broke off in the midst of a sentence, ap- 
 palled by the shrillness of her own voice. From 
 argument she had passed to furious scolding. 
 And the little fellow quailed before her, his con- 
 
 335
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 trition beaten down nnder the storm of words 
 that whistled about his ears without meaning, his 
 small faculties disabled before this spectacle of 
 wrath. Her fingers were closing and unclosing. 
 They wanted a riding-switch; they wanted to 
 grip this small body they had served and fondled, 
 and to cut out — What? The lie? Honoria hated 
 a lie. But while she paused and shook, a light 
 flashed, and her eyes were open, and saw — that 
 it was not the lie. 
 
 She turned and ran, ran upstairs to her own 
 room, flung herself on her knees beside the bed, 
 dragged a locket from her bosom and fell to kiss- 
 ing George's portrait, passionately crying it for 
 pardon. She was wicked, base; while he lived 
 she had misprized him; and this wasiier abiding 
 punishment, that even repentance could purge 
 her heart of dishonoring thoughts, that her love 
 for him now could never be stainless though 
 washed with daily tears. " ' He that is unjust 
 let him he unjust still ' — Must that be true, 
 Father of all mercies? I misjudged him, and it 
 is too late for atonement. But I repent and am 
 afliicted. Though the dead know nothing — 
 though it can never reach or avail him — give me 
 
 back the power to be just ! " 
 
 336
 
 HONORIA 
 
 Late that afternoon Honoria passed an hour 
 piously in turning over the dead man's wardrobe, 
 shaking out and brushing the treasured garments 
 and folding them, against moth and dust, in fresh 
 tissue-paper. It was a morbid task, perhaps, but 
 it kept George's image constantly before her, and 
 this was what her remorseful mood demanded. 
 Her nerves were unstrung and her limbs languid 
 after the recent tempest. By and by she locked 
 the doors of the wardrobe, and passing into her 
 own bedroom, flung herself on a couch with a 
 bundle of papers — old bills, soiled and folded 
 memoranda, sporting paragraphs cut from the 
 newspapers — scraps found in his pockets months 
 ago and religiously tied by her with a silken rib- 
 bon. They were mementoes of a sort, and 
 George had written few letters while wooing — 
 not half a dozen, first and last. 
 
 Two or three receipted bills lay together in the 
 
 middle of the packet — one a saddler's, a second 
 
 a nurseryman's for pot-plants (kept for the sake 
 
 of its queer spelling), a third the reckoning for a 
 
 hotel luncheon. She was running over them 
 
 carelessly when the date at the head of this last 
 
 one caught her eye. " August 3d " — it fixed 
 
 337
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 her attention because it happened to be the day 
 before her birthday. 
 
 August 3d — such and such a year — the Au- 
 gust before his death; and the hotel a well- 
 known one in Plymouth — the hotel, in fact, at 
 which he had usually put up. . . . Without 
 a prompting of suspicion she turned back and ran 
 her eye over the bill. A steak, a pint of claret, 
 vegetables, cheese, and attendance — never was 
 a more innocent bill. 
 
 Suddenly her attention stifFened on the date. 
 George was in Plymouth the day before her 
 birthday. But no; as it happened, George had 
 been in Truro on that day. She remembered, be- 
 cause he had brought her a diamond pendant, 
 having written beforehand to the Truro jeweller 
 to get a dozen down from London to choose from. 
 Yes, she remembered it clearly, and how he had 
 described his day in Truro. And the next morn- 
 ing — her birthday morning — he had produced 
 the pendant, wrapped in silver paper. " He had 
 thrown away the case ; it was ugly, and he would 
 get her another. . . ." 
 
 But the bill? She had stayed once or twice 
 at this hotel with George, and recognized the 
 handwriting. The bookkeeper, in compliment 
 
 338
 
 HONORIA 
 
 perhaps to a customer of standing, had written 
 " George Vyell, Esq.," in full on the bill-head; 
 a formality omitted as a rule in luncheon-reckon- 
 ings. And if this scrap of paper told the truth — 
 why then George had lied! 
 
 But why? Ah, if he had done this thing, 
 nothing else mattered; neither the how nor the 
 why ! If George had lied. . . . And the pen- 
 dant, had that been bought in Plymouth and not 
 (as he had asserted) in Truro? He had thrown 
 away the case. Jewellers print their names in- 
 side such cases. The pendant was a handsome 
 one. Perhaps his check-book would tell. 
 
 She arose; stepped half-way to the door; but 
 came back and flung herself again upon the 
 couch. No; she could not . . . this was the 
 second time to-day . . . she could not face 
 the torture again. 
 
 Yet ... if George had lied ! 
 
 She sat up ; sat up with both hands pressed to 
 her ears, to shut out a sudden voice clamoring 
 through them — 
 
 ^^And v}hy not f A son's a son — curse you — 
 though he was your man ! " 
 
 339
 
 XXVIII 
 
 A OUTRANGE 
 
 Lizzie Pezzack had put Joey to bed and was 
 smoothing his coverlet, when she heard someone 
 knocking. She passed out into the front room, 
 and opened to the visitor. 
 
 On the doorstep stood a lady in deep black — 
 Honoria. Beyond the garden-wall the lamps of 
 her carriage blazed in the late twilight. The 
 turf had muffled the sound of wheels; but now 
 the jingle of shaken bits came loud through the 
 open door. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Lizzie, drawing her breath back 
 through her teeth. 
 
 " I must speak to you, please. May I come in? 
 I have a question. . . ." 
 
 Lizzie turned her back, struck a match, and lit 
 a candle. "What question?" she asked, with 
 her back turned, her eyes on the flame as it sank, 
 warming the tallow, and grew bright again. 
 
 " It's . . . it's a question," Honoria be- 
 
 340
 
 A OUTEANCE 
 
 gan, weakly; then shut the door behind her and 
 advanced into the room. " Turn round and look 
 at me. Ah, you hate me, I know ! " 
 
 " Yes," Lizzie assented, slowly, " I hate you." 
 
 " But you must answer me. You see, it isn't 
 for me alone . . . it's not a question of 
 our hating, in a way ... it concerns 
 others. . . ." 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " But it's cow^ardly of me to put it so ; because 
 it concerns me, too — you don't know " 
 
 '' Maybe I do." 
 
 " But if you did — " Honoria broke off, and 
 then plunged forward desperately. " That child 
 of yours — his father — alone here — by ourselves. 
 . . . Think before you refuse ! " 
 
 Lizzie set down the candle and eyed her. 
 
 " And you," she answered at length, dragging 
 out each word, " — you can come here and ask 
 me that question? " 
 
 For a moment silence fell between them and 
 each could hear the other's breathing. Then 
 Honoria drew herself up and faced her honestly, 
 casting out both hands. 
 
 " Yes, I had to." 
 
 ''You! a lady "
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " Ah, but be honest with me ! Lady or not, 
 what has that to do with it ? We are two women 
 — that's where it all started, and we're kept to 
 that." 
 
 Lizzie bent her brows. " Yes, you are right," 
 she admitted. 
 
 " And," Honoria pursued, eagerly, " if I 
 come here to sue you for the truth — it is you 
 who force me." 
 
 " By what you said that night, when George 
 — when my husband — was drowned; when you 
 cursed me. ' A son's a son,' you said, ' though 
 he was my man.' " 
 
 " Did I say that? " Lizzie seemed to muse 
 over the words. "You have suffered?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, I have suffered." 
 
 " Ah! if I thought so! . . . But you have 
 
 not. You are a hypocrite, Mrs. Vyell, and you 
 
 are trying to cheat me now. You come here, not 
 
 to end that suffering, but to force a word from 
 
 me that'll put joy and hope into you; that you'll 
 
 go home hugging in your heart. Oh, I know 
 
 you!" 
 
 "You do not!" 
 
 342
 
 A OUTRANGE 
 
 " I do — because I know myself. From a 
 child I've been dirt to your pride, an item to your 
 money. For years I've lived a shamed woman. 
 But one thing I bought with it — one little thing. 
 Think the price high for it — I dessay it is; but I 
 bought and paid for it — and often when I turn it 
 over in mind I don't count the price too dear." 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 " You may, if you try. What I bought was 
 the power over you, my proud lady. While I 
 keep tight lips I have you at the end of a chain. 
 You come here to-night to break it; one little 
 word and you'll be free and glad. But no, and 
 no, and no! You may guess till you're tired — 
 you may be sure in your heart; but it's all no 
 good without that little word you'll never get 
 from me." 
 
 *' You sJiall speak! " 
 
 Lizzie shrugged her shoulders and picked up 
 the candle. 
 
 " Simme," she said, " you'd best go back to 
 your carriage and horses. My li'l boy's in the 
 next room, tryin' to sleep; and 'tisn' fit he heard 
 much of this." 
 
 She passed resolutely into the bedroom, leav- 
 ing her visitor to darkness. But Ilonoria, des- 
 
 343
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 perate now, pushed after her, scarcely knowing 
 what she did or meant to do. 
 
 " You shall speak ! " 
 
 The house-door opened and light foot-steps 
 came running through the outer room. It was 
 little George, and he pulled at her skirts. 
 
 " Mummy, the horses are taking cold! " 
 
 But Honoria still advanced. " You shall 
 speak! " 
 
 Joey, catching sight of her from the bed, 
 screamed and hid his face. To him she was a 
 thing of horror. From the night when, thrust 
 beneath her eyes, he had cowered by her car- 
 riage-step, she had haunted his worst dreams. 
 And now, black-robed and terrible of face, she 
 had come to lay hands on him and carry him 
 straight to hell. 
 
 "Mother! Take her away! take her away ! " 
 
 His screams rang through the room. " Hush, 
 dear! " cried Lizzie, running to him; and laid a 
 hand on his shoulder. 
 
 But the child, far too ten-ified to know whose 
 hand it was, flung himself from her with a wilder 
 scream than any; flung himself all but free of 
 the bed-clothes. As Lizzie caught and tried to 
 hold him the thin nightshirt ripped in her fin- 
 
 344
 
 A OUTEANCE 
 
 gers, laying bare the small back from shoulder to 
 buttock. 
 
 They were woman to woman now; cast back 
 into savagery and blindly groping for its primi- 
 tive weapons. Honoria crossed the floor, not 
 knowing what she meant to do, or might do. 
 Lizzie sprang to defence against she knew not 
 what. But when her enemy advanced, tower- 
 ing, with a healthy boy dragging at her skirts, 
 she did the one thing she could — turned with a 
 swift cry back upon her own crippled child and 
 caught at the bed-clothes to cover and hide his 
 naked deformity. 
 
 While she crouched and shielded him, silence 
 fell on the room. She had half expected Ho- 
 noria to strike her; but no blow came, nor any 
 sound. By and by she looked up. Honoria 
 had come to a standstill, with rigid eyes. They 
 were fastened on the bed. Then Lizzie under- 
 stood. 
 
 She had covered the child's legs from sight; 
 but not his back — nor the brown mole on it — the 
 large brown mole, ringed like Saturn, set 
 obliquely between the shoulder-blades. 
 
 She rose from the bed slowly. Honoria turned 
 
 on little George with a gesture as if to fling 
 
 345
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 off his velvet jacket. But Lizzie stamped her 
 foot. 
 
 "No," she commanded, hoarsely; "let be! 
 Mine is a cripple." 
 
 " So it is true ..." Honoria desisted; 
 but her eyes were wide and still fixed on the bed. 
 
 " Yes, it is true. You have all the luck. 
 Mine is a cripple." 
 
 Still Honoria stared. Lizzie gulped down 
 something in her throat, but her voice, when she 
 found it again, was still hoarse and strained. 
 
 " And now — go ! You have learnt what you 
 came for. You have won, because you stop at 
 nothing. But go, before I try to kill you for the 
 joy in your heart! " 
 
 " Joy? " Honoria put out a hand toward the 
 bed's foot, to steady herself. It was her turn to 
 be weak. 
 
 " Yes — joy." Lizzie stepped between her and 
 the door, pointed a finger at her and held it 
 pointing, " In your heart you are glad already. 
 Wait, and in a moment I shall see it in your 
 eyes — glad, glad ! Yes, your man was worthless, 
 and you are glad. But oh! you bitter fool! " 
 
 " Let me go, please." 
 
 "Listen a bit; no hurry now. Plenty of time 
 
 346
 
 A OUTRANGE 
 
 to be glad 'twas only your husband, not the 
 man of your heart. Look at me, and answer — I 
 don't count for much now, do I? !Not much to 
 hate in me, now you know the name of my 
 child's father, and that 'tisn' Taffy Raymond ! " 
 
 " Let me go." But seeing that Lizzie would 
 not, she stopped and kissed her boy. " Run out 
 to the carriage, dear, and say I'll be coming in a 
 mmute or two." Little George clung to her wist- 
 fully, but her tone meant obedience. Lizzie 
 stepped aside to let him pass out. 
 
 " Now," said Honoria, " the next room is best, 
 I think. Lead me there, and I will listen." 
 
 " You may go if you like." 
 
 " No ; I will listen. Between us two there is 
 — there is " 
 
 " That.'' Lizzie nodded toward the child 
 huddling low in the bed. 
 
 " That, and much more. We cannot stop at 
 the point you've reached. Besides, I have a 
 question to ask." 
 
 Lizzie passed before her into the front room, 
 lit two candles, and drew down the blind. 
 
 " Ask it," she said. 
 
 " How did you know that I believed the other 
 
 • — Mr. Raymond — to be — " She came to a halt 
 
 347
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " I guessed." 
 
 " What? From the beginning? " 
 
 " No; it was after a long while. And then, 
 all of a sudden, something seemed to make me 
 clever." 
 
 " Did you know that, believing it, I had done 
 Mm a great wrong — injured his life beyond re- 
 pair? " 
 
 " I knew something had happened: that he'd 
 given up being a gentleman and taken to build- 
 er's work. I thought maybe you were at the 
 bottom of it. Who was it told you lies about 
 en?" 
 
 " Must I answer that? " 
 
 " Ko ; no need. George Vyell was a nice fel- 
 low; but he was a liar. Couldn' help it, I b'- 
 lieve. But a dirty trick like that — well, well ! " 
 
 Honoria started at her, confounded. " You 
 never loved my husband ? " 
 
 And Lizzie laughed — actually laughed; she 
 was so weary. " No more than you did, my dear. 
 Perhaps a little less. Eh, what two fools we are 
 here, fending off the truth! Fools from the 
 start — and now, simme, playing foolish to the 
 end; ay, when all's said and naked atween us. 
 Lev' us quit talkin' of George Vyell. We 
 
 348
 
 A OUTRANGE 
 
 knawed George Vjell, you and me, too; and 
 here we be, left to rear children by en. But tlie 
 man we hated over wasn' George Vyell." 
 
 " Yet if — as you say — you loved him — the 
 other one — why, when you saw his life ruined 
 and guessed the lie that ruined it — when a 
 word could have righted him — if you loved 
 him " 
 
 " Why didn' I speak? Ladies are most dull, 
 somehow; or else you don't try to see. Or else 
 — wasn't he near me, passing my door ivery day? 
 Oh, I'm ignorant and selfish. But hadn't I got 
 him near? And wouldn't that word have lost 
 him, sent him God knows where — to you per- 
 haps ? You — you'd had your chance, and squan- 
 dered it like a fool. I never had no chance. I 
 courted en, but he wouldn't look at me. He'd 
 have come to your whistle — once. Nothing to 
 hinder but your money. And from what I can 
 see and guess, you piled up that money in his 
 face like a hedge. Oh, I could pity you, now! 
 for now you'll never have 'n." 
 
 " God pity us, both," said Honoria, going; 
 
 but she turned at the door. " And after our 
 
 marriage you took no more thought of my — of 
 
 George ? " The question was an afterthought ; 
 
 349
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 she never thought to see it stab as it did. But 
 Lizzie caught at the table-edge, held to it sway- 
 ing over a gulf of hysterics, and answered be- 
 tween a sob and a passing bitter laugh. 
 
 " At the last — just to try en. No harm done, 
 as it happened. You needn' mind. He was 
 worthless, anyway." 
 
 Honoria stepped back, took her by the elbow 
 as she swayed, and seated her in a chair; and so 
 stood regarding her as a doctor might a patient. 
 After a while she said : 
 
 " I think you will do me injustice, but you 
 must believe as you like. I am not glad. I am 
 very far from glad or happy. I doubt if I shall 
 ever be happy again. But I do not hate you as I 
 did." 
 
 She went out, closing the door softly. 
 
 350
 
 XXIX 
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Taffy guessed nothing of these passions in con- 
 flict, these weak agonies. He went about his 
 daily work, a man grown, thinking his own 
 thoughts; and these thoughts were of many 
 things; but they held no room for the problem 
 which meant everything in life to Honoria and 
 Lizzie — yes, and to Humility, though it haunted 
 her in less disturbing shape. Humility pondered 
 it quietly with a mind withdrawn while her 
 hands moved before her on the lace-pillow ; and 
 pondering it, she resigned the solution to time. 
 But it filled her thoughts constantly, none the 
 less. 
 
 One noon Taffy returned from the light- 
 house for his dinner, to find a registered postal 
 packet lying on the table. He glanced up and 
 met his mother's gaze, but let the thing lie while 
 he ate his meal, and having done, picked it up 
 
 and carried it away with him unopened. 
 
 351
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 On the clifF-side, in a solitary place, he broke 
 the seal. He guessed well enough what the 
 packet contained; the silver medal procured for 
 him by the too officious coroner. And the coro- 
 ner, finding him obstinate against a public pres- 
 entation, had forwarded the medal with an effu- 
 sive letter. Taffy frowned over its opening sen- 
 tences, and without reading further crumpled 
 the paper into a tight ball. He turned to exam- 
 ine the medal, holding it between finger and 
 thumb; or rather, his eyes examined it while his 
 brain ran back along the tangled procession of 
 hopes and blunders, wrongs and trials and lessons 
 hardly learnt, of which this mocking piece of 
 silver symbolized the end and the reward. In 
 that minute he saw Honoria and George, himself 
 and Lizzie Pezzack as figures travelling on a road 
 that stretched back to childhood; saw behind 
 them the anxious eyes of his parents. Sir Harry's 
 debonair smile, the sinister face of old Squire 
 Moyle, malevolent yet terribly afraid; saw that 
 the moving figures could not control their steps, 
 that the watching faces were impotent to warn; 
 saw finally beside the road other ways branching 
 to left and right, and down these undestined and 
 neglected avenues the ghosts of ambitious unat- 
 
 352
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 tempted, lives not lived, all that miglit have 
 been. 
 
 Well, here was the end of it, this ironical 
 piece of silver. With sudden anger he flung it 
 from him; sent it spinning far out over the 
 waters. And the sea, his old sworn enemy, took 
 the votive offering. He watched it drop — drop; 
 saw the tiny splash as it disappeared. 
 
 And with that he shut a door and turned a 
 key. He had other thoughts to occupy him — 
 great thoughts. The light-house was all but 
 built. The Chief Engineer had paid a sui-prise 
 visit, praised his work, and talked about another 
 sea-light soon to be raised on the North Welsh 
 Coast; used words that indeed hinted, not ob- 
 scurely, at promotion. And Taffy's blood tin- 
 gled at the prospect. But, out of working hours, 
 his thoughts were not of light-houses. He 
 bought maps and charts. On Sundays he took 
 far walks along the coast, starting at daybreak, 
 retm'ning as a rule long after dark, mired and 
 footsore and at supper too weary to talk with his 
 mother, whose eyes watched him always. 
 
 It was a still autumn evening when Honoria 
 
 came riding to visit Humility; the close of a 
 
 353
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 golden day. Its gold lingered yet along tlie west 
 and fell on the wliite-washed doorway where Hu- 
 mility sat with her lace-work. Behind, in the 
 east, purple and dewy, climbed the domed shad- 
 ow of the world. And over all lay that hush 
 which the earth only knows when it rests in the 
 few weeks after harvest. Out here, on barren 
 cliffs above the sea, folks troubled little about 
 harvest. But even out here they felt and knew 
 the hush. 
 
 In sight of the whitewashed cottages Honoria 
 slipped down from her saddle, removed Aide- 
 de-camp's bridle and turned him loose to browse. 
 With the bridle on her arm she walked forward 
 alone. She came noiselessly on the turf and with 
 the click of the gate her shadow fell at Humil- 
 ity's feet. Humility looked up and saw her 
 standing against the sunset, in her dark habit. 
 Even in that instant she saw also that Honoria's 
 face, though shaded, was more beautiful than of 
 old. " More dangerous," she told herself; and 
 rose, knowing that the problem was to be solved 
 at last. 
 
 " Good-evening! " she said, rising. " Oh yes 
 — you must come inside, please; but you will 
 have to forgive our untidiness."
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Honoria followed, wondering as of old at the 
 beautiful manners which dignified Humility's 
 simplest words. 
 
 " I heard that you were to go." 
 
 " Yes ; we have been packing for a week past. 
 To ISTorth Wales it is — a forsaken spot no better 
 than this. But I suppose that's the sort of spot 
 where lighthouses are useful." 
 
 The sun slanted in upon the packed trunks 
 and dismantled walls; but it blazed also upon 
 brass window-catches, fender-knobs, door-han- 
 dles — all polished and flashing like mirrors. 
 
 " I am come," said Honoria, " now at the last 
 — to ask your pardon." 
 
 " At the last? " Humility seemed to muse, 
 staring down at one of the trunks ; then went on 
 as if speaking to herself. " Yes, yes, it has been 
 a long time." 
 
 "A long injury — a long mistake; you must 
 believe it was an honest mistake." 
 
 " Yes," said Humility, gravely. " I never 
 doubted you had been misled. God forbid I 
 should ask or seek to know how." 
 
 Honoria bowed her head. 
 
 " And," Humility pursued, " we had put our- 
 selves in the wrong by accepting help. One sees 
 
 355
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 now it is always best to be independent; tbongb 
 at the time it seemed a fine prospect for him. 
 The worst was our not telling him. That was 
 terribly unfair. As for the rest — well, after all, 
 to know yourself guiltless is the great thing, is it 
 not? What others think doesn't matter in com- 
 parison with that. And then of course he knew 
 that I, his mother, never believed the falsehood, 
 no, not for a moment." 
 
 "But it spoiled his life?" 
 
 l^ow Humility had spoken, and still stood, 
 with her eyes resting on the trunk. Beneath its 
 lid, she knew, and on top of Taffy's books and 
 other treasures, lay a parcel wrapped in tissue- 
 paper — a dog collar with the inscription " Hon- 
 oria from Taffy.'' So, by lifting the lid of her 
 thoughts a little — a very little — more, she 
 might have given Honoria a glimpse of some- 
 thing which her actual answer, truthful as it was, 
 concealed. 
 
 " 'No. I wouldn't say that. If it had spoilt 
 his life — well, you have a child of your own and 
 can understand. As it is, it has strengthened 
 him, I think. He will make his mark — in a dif- 
 ferent way. Just now he is only a foreman 
 
 356
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 among masons; but he has a career opening. 
 Yes, I can forgive you at last." 
 
 And, being Humility, she had spoken the 
 truth. But being a woman, even in the act of 
 pardon she could not forego a small thrust, and 
 in giving must withhold something. 
 
 And Honoria, being a woman, divined that 
 something was withheld. 
 
 '' And Taffy — your son — do you think that 
 he f " 
 
 " He never speaks, if he thinks of it. He will 
 be here presently. You know — do you not? — 
 they are to light the great lantern on the new 
 light-house to-night for the first time. The men 
 have moved in, and he is down with them mak- 
 ing preparations. You have seen the notices of 
 the Trinity Board? They have been posted for 
 months. Taify is as eager over it as a boy; but 
 he promised to be back before sunset to drink tea 
 with me in honor of the event; and afterward I 
 was to walk down to the cliff with him to see." 
 
 " Would you mind if I stayed? " 
 
 Humility considered before answering. " I 
 
 had rather you stayed. He's like a boy over this 
 
 business; but he's a man, after all." 
 
 357
 
 THE SHIP or STAES 
 
 After this they fell into quite trivial talk while 
 Humility prepared the tea-things. 
 
 " Your mother — Mrs. Venning — how does 
 she face the journey? " 
 
 " You must see her," said Humility, smiling, 
 and led her into the room where the old lady re- 
 clined in bed, with a flush on each waxen cheek. 
 She had heard their voices. 
 
 " Bless you " — she was quite cheerful — " I'm 
 ready to go as far as they'll carry me ! All I ask 
 is that in the next place they'll give me a window 
 where I can see the boy's lamp when he's built 
 it." 
 
 Humility brought in the table and tea-things 
 and set them out by the invalid's bed. She went 
 out into the kitchen to look to the kettle. In 
 that pause Honoria found it difiicult to meet Mrs. 
 Venning's eyes ; but the old lady was wise enough 
 to leave grudges to others. It was enough, in the 
 time left to her, to accept what happened and 
 leave the responsibility to Providence. 
 
 Honoria, replying but scarcely listening to her 
 
 talk, heard a footfall at the outer door — Tafi^y's 
 
 footfall; then a click of a latch and Humility's 
 
 voice saying, " There's a visitor inside; come to 
 
 take tea with you." 
 
 358
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 " A visitor? " He was standing in the door- 
 way. " You ? " He blushed in his surprise. 
 
 Honoria rose. " If I may," she said, and 
 wondered if she might hold out a hand. 
 
 But he held out his, quite frankly, and 
 laughed. " Why, of course. They will be 
 lighting up in half an hour. We must make 
 haste." 
 
 Once or twice during tea he stole a glance 
 from Honoria to his mother; and each time 
 fondly believed that it passed undetected. His 
 talk was all about the light-house and the prep- 
 arations there, and he rattled on in the highest 
 spirits. Two of the women knew, and the third 
 guessed, that this chatter was with him un- 
 wonted. 
 
 At length he, too, seemed to be struck by this. 
 " But what nonsense I'm talking! " he protested, 
 breaking off midway in a sentence and blushing 
 again. " I can't help it, though. I'm feeling 
 just as big as the light-house to-night, with my 
 head wound up and turning round like the lan- 
 tern! " 
 
 " And your wit occulting," suggested Hon- 
 oria, in her old light manner. " What is it? — 
 
 three flashes to the minute? " 
 
 359
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 He laughed and hurried them from the tea- 
 table. Mrs. Venning bade them a merry good- 
 by as they took leave of her. 
 
 " Come along, mother." 
 
 But Humility had changed her mind. " ISTo," 
 said she. " I'll wait in the doorway. I can just 
 see the lantern from the garden gate, you know. 
 You two can wait by the old light-house, and call 
 to me when the time comes." 
 
 She watched them from the doorway as they 
 took the path toward the cliff, toward the last 
 ray of sunset fading across the dusk of the sea. 
 The evening was warm and she sat bareheaded 
 with her lace-work on her knee; but presently 
 she put it down. 
 
 " I must be taking to spectacles soon," she said 
 to herself. " My eyes are not what they used to 
 be." 
 
 Taffy and Honoria reached the old light-house 
 and halted by its white-painted railing. Below 
 them the new pillar stood up in full view, young 
 and defiant. A full tide lapped its base, feeling 
 this comely and untried adversary as a wrestler 
 shakes hands before engaging. And from its 
 base the column, after a gentle inward curve — 
 
 360
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 enough to give it a look of lissomeness and elastic 
 strength — sprang upright straight and firm to 
 the lantern, ringed with a gallery and capped 
 with a cupola of copper not yet greened by the 
 weather; in outline as simple as a flower, in 
 structure to the understanding eye almost as sub- 
 tly organized, adapted, and pieced into growth. 
 
 "So that is your ambition now?" said Ho- 
 noria, after gazing long. She added, " I do not 
 wonder." 
 
 " It does not stop there, I'm afraid." There 
 was a pause, as though her words had thrown 
 him into a brown study. 
 
 "Look!" she cried. "There is someone in 
 the lantern — with a light in his hand. He is 
 lighting up ! " 
 
 Taffy ran back a pace or two toward the cot- 
 tage and shouted, waving his hand. In a mo- 
 ment Humility appeared at the gate and waved 
 in answer, while tlie strong light flashed seaward. 
 They listened; but if she called, the waves at 
 their feet drowned her voice. 
 
 They turned and gazed at the light, counting, 
 timing the flashes; two short flashes with but five 
 seconds between, then darkness for twenty sec- 
 onds, and after it a long, steady stare. 
 
 361
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 Abruptly he asked, " Would you care to cross 
 over and see the lantern? " 
 
 "What, in the cradle?" 
 
 " I can work it easily. It's not dangerous in 
 the least; a bit daunting perhaps." 
 
 " But I'm not easily frightened, you know. 
 Yes, I should like it greatly." 
 
 They descended the cliff to the cable. The 
 iron cradle stood ready as Taffy had left it when 
 he came ashore. She stepped in lightly, scarcely 
 touching for a second the hand he put out to 
 guide her. 
 
 " Better sit low," he advised ; and she obeyed, 
 disposing her skirts on the floor, caked with dry 
 mud from the workmen's boots. He followed 
 her and launched the cradle over the deep twi- 
 light. 
 
 A faint breeze — there had been none percep- 
 tible on the ridge — played off the face of the 
 cliffs. The forward swing of the cradle, too, 
 raised a slight draught of air. Honoria plucked 
 off her hat and veil and let it fan her temples. 
 
 Half-way across she said, " Isn't it like this — 
 in mid-air over running water — that the witches 
 take their oaths? " 
 
 Taffy ceased pulling on the rope. " The
 
 THE SUIV OF STAES 
 
 witches? Yes, I remember something of the 
 sort. 
 
 " And a word spoken so is an oath and hists 
 forever. \'erv well; answer me what I came 
 to ask vou tcMiiirht." 
 
 " What is that?" But he knew. 
 
 '' That when vou know — when I tell vou I 
 was deceived . . . you will forgive." Her 
 voice was scarcely audible. 
 
 '• 1 torglvc/' 
 
 '* Ah. but freelv? It is onlv a word I want; 
 but it has to last me like au oath." 
 
 " 1 forgive you freely. It. was all a mis- 
 take." 
 
 *' And vou have found other ambitions ? And 
 thev satisf V vou ( " 
 
 He laughed and pulled at the rope again. 
 ** They ought to." he answered, gayly, '* they're 
 bio- enouiih. Come and see." 
 
 The seaward end of the cable was attached to 
 a doorwav thirtv feet above the base of the liirht- 
 house. One of the undei'-keepei's met them 
 here with a lantern. lie staivd when he caught 
 sight of the second tigure in the cradle, but 
 touched Ins cap to the mistrcs^s of Oiinvithiel. 
 
 363
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 " Here's Mrs. Vyell, Trevartlien, come to do 
 honor to our opening night." 
 
 " Proudly welcome, ma'am," said Trevar- 
 then. " You'll excuse the litter we're in. This 
 here's our cellar, but you'll find things more 
 ship-shape upstairs. Mind your head, ma'am, 
 with the archway — better let me lead the way 
 perhaps." 
 
 The archway was indeed low, and they were 
 forced to crouch and almost crawl up the first 
 short flight of steps. But after this, Honoria 
 following Trevarthen's lantern round and up 
 the spiral way found the roof heightening above 
 her, and soon emerged into a gloomy chamber 
 fitted with cupboards and water-tanks — the pro- 
 vision-room. From this a ladder led straight up 
 through a man-hole in the ceiling to the light- 
 room store, set round with shining oil-tanks and 
 stocked with paint-pots, brushes, buckets, cans, 
 signalling flags, coils of rope, bags of cotton- 
 waste, tool-chests. ... A second ladder 
 brought them to the kitchen, and a third to the 
 sleeping-room; and here the light of the lantern 
 streamed down on their heads through the open 
 man-hole above them. They heard, too, the roar 
 of the ventilator, and the ting-ting, regular and 
 
 3G4
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 sharp, of the small bell reporting that the ma- 
 chinery revolved. 
 
 Above, in the blaze of the great lenses, old 
 Pezzack and the second under-keeper welcomed 
 them. The pair had been watching and dis- 
 cussing the light with true professional pride; 
 and Taffy drew up at the head of the ladder and 
 stared at it and nodded his slow approbation. 
 The glare forced Honoria back against the glass 
 wall, and she caught at its lattice for support. 
 
 But she pulled herself together, ashamed of 
 her weakness and glad that Taffy had not per- 
 ceived it. 
 
 " This satisfies you ? " she whispered. 
 
 He faced round on her with a slow smile. 
 " No," he said, " this light-house is useless." 
 
 "Useless?" 
 
 " You remember the wreck — that wreck — • 
 the Samaritan? She came ashore beneath the 
 light-house here; right beneath our feet; by no 
 fault or carelessness. A light-house on a coast 
 like this — a coast without a harbor — is a joke set 
 in a death-trap, to make game of dying men." 
 
 " But since the coast has no harbor " 
 
 " I would build one. Look at this." He 
 
 pulled a pencil and paper from his pocket and 
 
 365
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 rapidly sketched the outlines of the Bristol 
 Channel. " What is that? A bag. Suppose 
 a vessel taken in the mouth of it; a bag with 
 death along the narrowing sides and death wait- 
 ing at the end — no deep-water harbor — no 
 chance anywhere. And the tides! You know 
 the rhyme — 
 
 • From Padstow Point to Lundy Light 
 Is a watery grave by day or night. ' 
 
 Yes, there's Lundy " — he jotted down the posi- 
 tion of the island — " hit off the lee of Lundy, 
 if you can, and drop hook, and pray God it 
 holds! " 
 
 " But this harbor? What would it cost? " 
 
 " I dare say a million of money ; perhaps more. 
 But I work it out at less — at Porthquin, for in- 
 stance, or Lundy itself, or even at St. Ives." 
 
 " A million!" she laughed. " Now I see the 
 boy I used to know — the boy of dreams." 
 
 He turned on her gravely. She was exceed- 
 ingly beautiful, standing there, in her black 
 habit, bareheaded in the glare of the lenses, 
 standing with head thrown back, with eyes chal- 
 lenging the past, and a faint glow on either 
 
 cheek. But he had no eyes for her beauty. 
 
 366
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 He opened liis lips to speak. Yes, he could 
 overwhelm her with statistics and figures, all 
 worked out, of shipping and disasters to ship- 
 ping; of wealth and senseless waste of wealth. 
 He could bury her beneath evidence taken by 
 Royal Commission and Parliamentary Commit- 
 tee, commissioners' reports, testimony of ship- 
 owners and captains; calculated tables of tides, 
 set of currents, prevailing winds; results of sur- 
 veys hydrographical, geological, geographical; 
 all the mass of facts he had been accumulating 
 and brooding over for eighteen long months. 
 But the weight of it closed his lips, and when he 
 opened them again it was to say, " Yes, that is 
 my dream." 
 
 At once he turned his talk upon the light re- 
 volving in their faces; began to explain the 
 lenses and their working in short, direct sen- 
 tences. She heard his voice but without follow- 
 ing. 
 
 Pezzack and the under-keeper had drawn 
 apart to the opposite side of the cage and were 
 talking together. The lantern hid them, but 
 she caught the murmur of their voices now and 
 again. She was conscious of having let some- 
 thing slip — slip away from her — forever. If she 
 
 367
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 could but recall him, and hold him to his dream ! 
 But this man, talking in short sentences, each 
 one so sharp and clear, was not the Taffy she had 
 known or could ever know. 
 
 In the blaze of the lenses suddenly she saw 
 the truth. He and she had changed places. 
 She who had used to be so practical — she was 
 the dreamer now; had come thither following a 
 dream, walking in a dream. He, the dreaming 
 boy, had become the practical man, firm, clear- 
 sighted, direct of purpose; with a dream yet in 
 his heart, but a dream of great action, a dream 
 he hid from her, certainly a dream in which she 
 had neither part nor lot. And yet she had made 
 him what he was; not willingly, not by kindness, 
 but by injustice. What she had given he had 
 taken; and was a stranger to her. 
 
 IMuifled wings and white breads began to beat 
 against the glass. A low-lying haze — a passing 
 stratum of sea-fog — had wrapped the light-house 
 for a while, and these were the wings and breasts 
 of sea-birds attracted by the light. To her they 
 were the ghosts of dead thoughts — stifled 
 thoughts — thoughts which had never come to 
 birth — trying to force their way into the ring of 
 light encompassing and enwrapping her; try- 
 
 368
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 ing desperately, but foiled by tbe transparent 
 screen. 
 
 Still sbe beard bis voice, level and masterful, 
 sure of bis subject. In tbe middle of one of bis 
 sentences a sliarp tbud sounded on tbe pane be- 
 bind ber, as sudden as tbe crack of a pebble and 
 only a little duller. 
 
 " Ab, wbat is tbat?" sbe cried, and toucbed 
 bis arm. 
 
 He tbrust open one of tbe windows, stepped 
 out upon tbe gallery, and returned in less tban a 
 minute witb a small dead bird in bis band. 
 
 " A swallow," be said. " Tbey bave been 
 preparing to fly for days. Summer is done, 
 witb our vvork bere." 
 
 Sbe sbivered. " Let us go back," sbe said. 
 
 Tbey descended tbe ladders. Trevartben 
 met tbem in tbe kitcben and went before tbem 
 witb bis lantern. In a minute tbey were in tbe 
 cradle again and swinging toward tbe cliff. Tbe 
 wisp of sea-fog bad drifted past tbe light-bouse to 
 leeward, and all was clear again. Higb over tbe 
 cupola Cassiopeia leaned toward tbe pole, ber 
 breast flashing its eternal badge — tbe star- 
 pointed W. Low in tbe nortb, tied — as tbe 
 country tale went — to follow ber motions, eter- 
 
 369
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 nally separate, eternally true to the fixed star of 
 her gaze, the Wagoner tilted his wheels and 
 drove them close along and above the misty sea. 
 
 Taffy, pulling on the rope, looked down upon 
 Honoria's upturned face and saw the glimmer of 
 starlight in her eyes; but neither guessed her 
 thoughts nor tried to. 
 
 It was only when they stood together on the 
 cliff-side that she broke the silence. " Look," 
 she said, and pointed upward. " Does that re- 
 mind you of anything? " 
 
 He searched his memory. " No," he con- 
 fessed; " that is, if you mean Cassiopeia up yon- 
 der." 
 
 " Think!— the Ship of Stars." 
 
 " The Ship of Stars ? — Yes, I remember now. 
 There was a young sailor — with a ship of stars 
 tattooed on his chest. He was drowned on this 
 very coast." 
 
 " Was that a part of the story you were to tell 
 me?" 
 
 " What story? I don't understand," 
 
 " Don't you remember that day — the morn- 
 ing when we began lessons together? You ex- 
 plained the alphabet to me, and when we came 
 to W you said it was a ship — a ship of stars.
 
 THE SHIP OF STxVRS 
 
 There was a story about it, you said, and prom- 
 ised to tell me some day." 
 
 He laughed. " What queer things you re- 
 member! " 
 
 " But what was the story? " 
 
 " I wonder? If I ever knew, I've forgotten. 
 I dare say I had something in my head. oSTow I 
 think of it, I was always making up some foolish 
 tale or other in those days." 
 
 Yes; he had forgotten. " I have often tried 
 to make up a story about that ship," she said, 
 gravely ; " out of odds and ends of the stories you 
 used to tell. I don't think I ever had the gift 
 to invent anything on my own account. But at 
 last, after a long while " 
 
 " The story took shape? Tell it to me, 
 please." 
 
 She hesitated and broke into a bitter little 
 
 laugh, " No," said she, " you never told me 
 
 yours." Again it came to her with a pang that 
 
 he and she had changed places. He had taken 
 
 her forthrightness and left her, in exchange, his 
 
 dreams. They were hers now, the gayly colored 
 
 childish fancies, and she must take her way 
 
 among them alone. Dreams only! but just as a 
 
 while back he had started to confess his dream 
 
 371
 
 THE SHIP OF STARS 
 
 and had broken down before her, so now in turn 
 she knew that her tongue was held. 
 
 Humility rose as they entered the kitchen to- 
 gether. A glance as Honoria held out her hand 
 for good-by, told her all she needed to know. 
 
 " And you are leaving in a day or two? " Hon- 
 oria asked. 
 
 " Thursday next is the day fixed." 
 
 " You are very brave." 
 
 Again the two women's eyes met, and this 
 time the younger understood. Whither thou 
 goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest I will 
 lodge; thy people shall he my people, and thy God 
 my God — that which the Moabitess said for a 
 woman's sake, women are saying for men's sake 
 by thousands every day. 
 
 Still holding her hand. Humility drew Hon- 
 oria close. " God deal kindly with you, my 
 dear," she whispered, and kissed her. 
 
 At the gate Honoria blew a whistle, and after 
 a few seconds Aide-de-camp came obediently out 
 of the darkness to be bridled. This done, Taffy 
 lent his hand and swung her into the saddle. 
 " Good-night and good-by ! " 
 
 372
 
 THE SHIP OF STAES 
 
 Taffy was the first to turn back from the gate. 
 The beat of Aide-de-camp's hoofs reminded him 
 of something — some music he had once heard; 
 he could not remember where. 
 
 Humility lingered a moment longer, and fol- 
 lowed to prepare her son's supper. 
 
 But Honoria, fleeing along the ridge, hugged 
 one fierce thought in her defeat. The warm 
 wind sang by her ears, the rhythm of Aide-de- 
 camp's canter thudded upon her brain; but her 
 heart cried back on them and louder than either : 
 
 " He is mine — mine — mine ! He is mine, 
 and always will be. He is lost to me, but I pos- 
 sess him. For what he is, I have made him, and 
 at my cost he is strong." 
 
 373
 
 A New Novel by "Q" 
 
 The Ship of Stars 
 
 By ARTHUR T. QUILLER-COUCH 
 With Frontispiece. i2mo, ^1.50 
 
 A LOVE story of the Cornwall 
 coast, full of beautiful and 
 tender color — the sea, old houses, 
 old families, quaint characters, and 
 strange, stirring happenings — with 
 a bit of Oxford life. Beginning 
 with the hero's odd boy-life, with 
 its dreams and adventures and 
 its whimsical sweetness, the later 
 chapters rise to a high key of ad- 
 venture and action. 
 
 " Mr. Qiiiller-Co7tch excels in the simple telling of 
 'plain tales ' — not from the hills but from the plains them- 
 selves. His dramatic power ts such that he scarcely 
 requires the artificial aid of the lime-light and the trap- 
 door. He has a touch of George Eliot's great power." 
 
 — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers 
 New York
 
 Uniform Series of Novels and 
 Stories by '' QJ' 
 
 Nitie Volumes 
 Each, i2mo, $i.2j 
 
 The Splendid Spur The Blue Pavilions 
 
 The Delectable Duchy Troy Town 
 
 Wandering Heath Dead Man's Rock 
 
 I Saw Three Ships Noughts and Crosses 
 
 Adventures in Criticism 
 
 A RTHUR T. QUILLER-COUCH was 
 '^^ chosen from among all the writers of the 
 day as best fitted to conclude ♦* St. Ives," the 
 late Robert Louis Stevenson's unfinished romance. 
 That fact gives some idea of how he is regarded by 
 the foremost literary men of his time. But not- 
 withstanding this, and notwithstanding his great 
 reputation in England, where he is as widely read 
 by the public as he is highly praised by critics and 
 fellow-craftsmen — especially by his early and dis- 
 cerning admirer, J. M. Barrie — there are many 
 lovers of good books in this country who have yet 
 to realize the full literary importance of this vigor- 
 ous Cornishman. He has done for the rugged 
 west coast of England and its quaint characters and 
 romantic history what Thomas Nelson Page has 
 done for Virginia and Miss Mary E. Wilkins for 
 New England. He has made for himself an en- 
 viable reputation as the writer of "crisp, strong
 
 stories in which no fog, moral or physical, finds 
 any shelter"; and the uniform excellence and 
 interest of his tales, the compression and the care 
 for the story as the first consideration, have made 
 any book with his now familiar iiom de plume 
 on the title page "sure of a hearty welcome." 
 These nine volumes, therefore, comprise the first 
 definitive and uniform edition of the works of a 
 writer who has won his place " among the most 
 imaginative and poetic of the later English novelists," 
 and whose romances invariably have a quality and 
 a flavor impossible to duplicate. 
 
 "He is highly esteemed as among the most 
 imaginative and poetic of the later English nov- 
 elists." — Philadelphia Public Ledger. 
 
 la : A Love Story 
 
 PUBLISHED ONLY IN THE IVORY SERIES 
 
 i6mo, 75 cents 
 
 " At first acquaintance * la ' suggests, bv her 
 splendid animal freedom, one of Hardy's heroines ; 
 but the development of her character exalts her 
 into a noble type of womanly sacrifice and devo- 
 tion. ' ' — Philadelphia Times. 
 
 " A very strong story of very strong womanly 
 love. A wholesome, vigorous, and altogether de- 
 lightful love story." — Boston Journal. 
 
 *' No story was ever more fearlessly and more 
 thoughtfully aimed at the very heart of life." 
 
 — The Bookman.
 
 Some Critical Opinions of "Q's" Books 
 
 " No one else writes of Cornwall and its 
 people with the knowledge and skill of Mr. Quiller- 
 Couch. ' ' — Philadelphia Times. 
 
 " Mr. Quiller-Couch has qualities that render 
 him incapable of producing a dull, trivial or un- 
 wholesome book." — Boston Beacon. 
 
 "Of all the short-story writers we are inclined, 
 in many respects, to give Mr. A. T. Quiller-Couch 
 the first position." — IVew Yo?-k Times. 
 
 "The various tales suggest Mr. Kipling's 
 stories, but are free from any imitation ot them ; in 
 pathos, strength, and simplicity of style they are far 
 superior." — Literary World. 
 
 " He has a clear, rapid, manly style, an inex- 
 haustible fund of incident, and the capital and 
 indispensable knack of making his people interest- 
 ing. " — The Critic. 
 
 " He is a realist, in the sense of being a close 
 observer of the human document. He has none o^ 
 the pessimistic or cynical tendencies of the age ; 
 rather, he seems to find that * somehow the light of 
 every soul burns upwards,' even in such an abject 
 specimen of humanity as * These-and-That,' the 
 subject of one of his * Noughts and Crosses. ' It is 
 well that this kind of realism should not go without 
 its artistic expression in literature, and in recent 
 years it has found no such powerful exponent as in 
 the author of 'The Delectable Duchy.' " 
 
 — The Bookman. 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers 
 
 153-157 Fifth Avenue, New York 
 
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