She looked questioningly at him, then took the board without a word, and carried it away with her, while Wat rubbed his hands and pushed back the lathes of the window to whistle to Spot, who, as usual, was basking lazily in the sun on the opposite side of the street.
Hugh worked with all his might. His chief difficulty consisted in the extreme anxiety of bishop and chapter, who were really terror-struck at the idea of so young a workman having so great a responsibility thrust upon him, particularly without the master being there to oversee. Constantly one or another was coming, desiring to speak with him, and urging him if he were in any doubt to seek counsel from the older men. When he answered modestly enough that he would do so if he felt he needed help, but that at present he found no difficulty, they looked the more anxious and uncomfortable, shook their heads, and said it was impossible that he could have the necessary experience. All this was sufficiently depressing, but Hugh found comfort in Gervase’s evident faith in him. He was so far recovered that his speech had come back, and a certain amount of power in the disabled arm; he could get about the house and even listen to Franklyn’s account of the work done; but his supreme pleasure lay in hearing Hugh’s report of his work at what Elyas ever called his corbel, and his chief longing was for the time when he should get down and see it with his own eyes, though that day they feared was far away.
He laughed over Hugh’s description of the fears of the canons, and managed to see the bishop and to assure him so confidently of his prentice’s power to carry through the task entrusted to him, that Bishop Bitton, who had hitherto doubted whether it had not been the fancy of a sick man, was completely reassured, and tried Hugh no more with advice to seek counsel. The chaunter or precentor, however, was not to be persuaded. He was a sour little man, who liked to be in opposition, and one day came bustling up to the foot of the ladder on which Hugh was at work, intimating that he wished to speak to him. Hugh accordingly came down, though not with the best grace in the world, for he knew very well what he was likely to hear.
“Young lad,” said the precentor, pursing his mouth and throwing out his chest, “it appears to me that this task is beyond thy years.”
Hugh was silent, standing gazing down at the precentor. His face was much the same as it had been when he was a child, fair and ruddy, with light hair and honest grey eyes, which looked full in the face of those who talked with him. He was tall and very powerfully made; with promise indeed, in a few years’ time, of unusual strength and size.
“As it has been rashly, over-rashly to my thinking, committed to thee, I say nothing,” the precentor continued; “we must bear the risk. But that should not prevent precaution. I desire, therefore, that thou wilt call upon the older men to counsel thee, and correct thy mistakes. From what I learn, thou hast done naught of this; thou art too self-satisfied, too presumptuous, and we, forsooth, must suffer for thine overweening confidence. See that thou act as I desire.”
Hugh did not immediately answer, perhaps finding some difficulty in keeping back hasty words. When he did speak it was to ask a question.
“Reverend sir,” he said, “who of all our guild would know best what I can or cannot do?”
The precentor hesitated.
“Thy master—in health,” he added, with emphasis on the last word.