It appeared in the newspapers, of course. "Deplorable story: A
clergyman fined for drunkenness." This was more than even Sir Harry
could stand.
"I'm sorry for you, Flood," said he, when, three days later, Parson Jack
appeared at Carwithiel to resign his living. "But you've taken the only
proper course. Otherwise, you'd have driven us to an inquiry,
sequestration, no end of a scandal. I've had to keep my eyes shut once
or twice in the past, as you probably guess."
"You have shown me all the kindness you could," answered Parson Jack.
"I won't disgust you with thanks, and there are no excuses." He picked
up his hat and turned to go.
"Well, but look here; don't be in a hurry. What about your prospects?
They're none too healthy, I'm afraid. Still, if a few pounds could give
you a fresh start somewhere--"
"I have no prospects, but for the moment I wasn't thinking of myself.
I was thinking of Langona and the old church."
"Oh, the church is all right! Clem--my nephew--has a fad in his head.
He asked me yesterday for the living--in case you resigned. I tell him
it's folly; a youngster oughtn't to play with his chances. But he
insists that it will do him good to fling up Oxford and play
parish-priest for a year or two. He has taken a fancy to your church,
and wants to restore it. He can pay for his whims: the money's all in
his branch of the family."
"Restore it! The church--restored!"
Sir Harry looked up sharply, for the words came in a whisper of awe,
almost of terror; and looking up, he saw Parson Jack's eyes dilated as a
man's who stares on a vision; but while they stared there grew in them a
slow, beatific surmise.
"The Lord taketh away," said Parson Jack. "Blessed be the name of the
Lord!"
Six weeks later the Rev. Clement Vyell was inducted into the living of
Langona, vacant by the resignation of the Rev. John Flood. His first
sermon announced that the church was to be restored without delay; that
plans were even now being prepared by an eminent architect, and that, as
soon as they arrived and were approved, tenders would be invited.
Mr. Vyell was in no hurry to take possession of the Parsonage; indeed,
bachelor though he was, and professed ascetic, he decided that, to be
habitable, it needed a wing and a new kitchen at the back. For the
present he accepted his uncle's invitation to use the hospitality, and
the library, of Carwithiel. Parson Jack might give up possession at his
own convenience. Nevertheless he gave it up at once, packed his few
belongings, and hired a bedroom at the Widow Copping's. It appeared
that he, too, needed time to look about him.
And so he loitered about Langona until the architect's plans were
received, discussed, approved, and submitted to tender. A Bristol
builder secured the contract.
The day after it was signed Parson Jack walked over to Carwithiel again,
and asked leave to speak with Mr. Vyell. He wore his old working suit.
"I have come to ask a favour, sir," said he, speaking humbly. "I hear
that the contract for the church has been given to Miles & Co., of
Bristol; and I would take it kindly if you recommended me to them as a
workman."
The new Vicar was taken by surprise, and showed it.
"I have picked up some knowledge of the work in these years," Parson
Jack explained timidly. "And I know the weak points in the old fabric
better than most men. As for steadiness," he wound up, "I only ask to
be given a trial. You must discharge me the first time I give cause of
complaint."
"What on earth could I say to the man?" Mr. Vyell demanded that evening,
when he discussed the application with his uncle.
"I hope you accepted?" said Sir Harry sharply.
"Ye-es, though I fear it was imprudent."
"Fiddlestick! Speak a word for him to Miles; he won't find a better
workman."
So Parson Jack stayed at Langona, and beheld his best dream take shape,
though not at his command, and yet in part by his fashioning. Nay, even
some measure of that personal pride for which he had once bargained was
restored to him during the second year, on the day when the contractor--
who shared the common knowledge of his past, but respected his
unequalled knowledge of the old fabric and its weakness, his gentle
ardour in learning, and his mild authority among the men--appointed him
clerk of the works. In those days Parson Jack needed no man's pity, for
all day long he redeemed a debt and wrought into substance an ambition
that yet grew purer--as few ambitions do--in taking substance. And with
it he wove another dream which, in the intervals of labour, would draw
him out of the churchyard and hold him at gaze there, with his eyes on
the wedge of blue sea beyond the coombe.
From the hour of his fall no strong drink passed his lips. His was an
almost desperate case, but he fought with two strong allies. It was as
though the old church, rallying under his eyes for a new lease of life,
put new blood into him, repaying his love. Also he had Dick's letters.
"Upon my word," said Sir Harry to his nephew, "I've a mind to put Flood
into the living again when this business is over and you tire of your
whim. I suppose there's nothing to prevent it?"
There was nothing to prevent it; but as a reward it lay outside Parson
Jack's speculation, perhaps beyond his desire. His reward came to him
on the afternoon when, having mounted a ladder beside the new east
window, he looked over his shoulder and saw Parson Kendall entering the
churchyard by the lych-gate, and ushering in a youngster--a mere boy
still, but splendid in the uniform of a freshly blown naval cadet.
Parson Jack can scarcely be said to have risen to the occasion.
"Hullo, Dick!" he said, descending the ladder and holding out his hand.
But the Rector, standing aside, made a better speech; though this, too,
was short enough.
"God fulfils Himself in many ways," said the Rector to himself.