“And every one that heareth these sayings of mine and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man which built his house upon the sand;
“And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell; and great was the fall of it.”
Taffy never followed his father’s sermons closely. 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 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 comfortable words our Lord spake to Peter. ... Our foundation must be faith, which is God’s continuing Presence on earth, and which we shall recognise 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 dinner that day; a sure sign that at heart she was disappointed. She had looked for a bigger congregation. 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 observing them. He at least pretended to observe nothing, but chatted away cheerfully.
“Taffy,” he said, after dinner, “I want you to run up to Tredinnis with a note from me. Maybe I will follow later, but I must go to the village first.”
CHAPTER 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 intertwined. 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 which 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 weather-cock. And then a turn of the road brought him under the gloomy northern face of the house, with its broad carriage sweep and sunless portico. Half the windows on this side had been blocked up and painted black, with white streaks down and across to represent framework.
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 doorstep but did not offer to call them off.