Mr. Raymond took his hands off the men’s shoulders, and walked straight up to him. “Not my church,” he said, aloud and distinctly. “God’s church!”
He stretched out an arm. Taffy, running up, supposed it stretched out to strike. “Father!”
But Mr. Raymond’s palm was open as he lifted it over the Squire’s head. “God’s church,” he repeated. “In whose service, sir, I defy you. Go! or if you will, and have the courage, come and stand while I kneel amid the ruin you have done and pray God to judge between us.”
He paused, with his eyes on the Squire’s.
“You dare not, I see. Go, poor coward, and plan what mischief you will. Only now leave me in peace a little.”
He took the boy’s hand and they passed into the church together. No one followed. Hand in hand they stood before the dismantled chancel. Taffy heard the sound of shuffling feet on the walk outside, and looked up into Mr. Raymond’s face.
“Father!”
“Kiss me, sonny.”
The De Imitatione Christi slipped from Taffy’s fingers and fell upon the chancel step.
So his childhood ended.