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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Hey?" "Get down, I tell you. Come off your horse and put up your fists!" "What 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."
Below her the morning sky waited, clean and virginal, letting her veil of mist slip lower and lower until it rested in folds upon Shotover. While it dropped a shaft of light tore through it and smote flashing on the vane high above Taffy's head, turning the dark side of the turrets to purple and casting lilac shadows on the surplices of the choir.
If he had been suffering tortures unknown to Attila, and unimagined by his successors, he would have answered just the same. But he lamented Taffy's death to Phineas, who listened sympathetically. Such a cheery comrade, such a smart soldier, such a kindly soul. "Not a black spot in him," said Doggie. "A year ago, laddie," said McPhail, "what would have been your opinion of a bookmaker's clerk?"
The De Imitatione Christi slipped from Taffy's fingers and fell upon the chancel step. So his childhood ended. These things happened on a Friday. After breakfast next morning Taffy went to fetch his books. He did so out of habit and without thinking; but his father stopped him. "Put them away," he said. "Some day we'll go back to them, but not yet."
The scene passed in a minute. The clown and pantaloon came on, and presently Sir Harry saw Taffy's shoulders shaking, and set it down to laughter at the harlequinade. He could not see the child's face.
But, so far as he could see, the dovetailed 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.
Blenkiron wore a white waistcoat and a tie of orange and blue, the colours 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. "And begging your pardon, sir, but will you be lunching in?"
As Taffy's fingers seemed every moment to become more skillful, the livelier the music increased, until the very dishes rattled on the cupboard, as if they wanted to join in. Even the chair looked as if about to dance. Just then, Morgan's wife and some neighbors entered the house. Immediately, the whole party, one and all, began dancing in the jolliest way. For hours, they kept up the mad whirl.
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 Taffy's footfall; then the click of a latch and Humility's voice saying, "There's a visitor inside; come to take tea with you." "A visitor?" He was standing in the doorway. "You?"
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: I mean," he added, feeling that this was intolerably lame, "it means something different; I cannot tell what." "It means the difference between godly fear and civil ease, between a house of prayer and one of no prayer.
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