Great words came to his recollection: "He that loseth his life shall save it," was written for him in the soft and mellow earth-shadows of sunset.
"My life shall be lost in her life," he said; "and if she's saved, I'm blessed above all deserving."
CHAPTER V
STARS AND STRIPES
When Mr. Mordecai Cockey entered Fox Tor Farm the spirit of Grace Malherb sank within her. Had an executioneer appeared, she had felt no greater horror; for Mr. Cockey was a journeyman tailor, and, according to the custom of that time upon Dartmoor, when clothes were needed, the maker of them came to his customers and took up his abode in farm or hamlet until local requirement was satisfied. A month's work or more awaited Mr. Cockey, and first among the articles to be fashioned with his skilful needle were certain gowns—a part of Grace's wedding trousseau; for all men now knew that within the space of a few weeks Miss Malherb was to become Mrs. Peter Norcot.
Two trestles and a dozen boards completed Mr. Cockey's professional requirements in the servants' hall; and here, day by day, he sat and snipped and sewed, and sewed and snipped. He was a very full-bodied, pallid man, with flabby cheeks, mournful, watery eyes and a puzzled expression. He came from Totnes, and often mourned that his itinerant labours required him to be much away from his wife and family. This tailor descended in direct line from Mordecai Cockey, the famous seventeenth-century bell-founder; and when he heard any one of those seven great bells that the bygone Cockey had cast, he would lift his head where the musical monster thundered from some Devon belfry, and nod respectfully, as to the spirit of his ancestor.
Now Mordecai worked at the wardrobe of the farm, and, elevated upon his trestles, held a sort of conference, and told the things life taught him. Once during the dinner hour, several farm folk were at Mr. Cockey's feet, as he sat cross-legged amid his tools and ate his meal of bread and cheese. Meat he might have had in plenty, but he explained to Dinah Beer that his sedentary life had long since turned him vegetarian.
"By God's blessing I can stomach cheese," he said, "an' if so be as a body's humours will cope with vinnied cheese, he may hope for a long life."
"Be my breeches mended, Mister?" asked Tom Putt. "'Cause if so, I should like to don 'em afore afternoon. I've got a riding job as'll take me to Holne by-an'-by."
"They'm done. I've double-seated 'em for 'e."