"Your father is too good a man to mimic the Scriptures in any such
way. There is a church, I believe, though it's a tumble-down one.
Nobody has preached in it for years. But Squire Moyle may do
something now. He's a rich man."

"Is that the old gentleman who came to ask father about his soul?"

"Yes; he says no preaching ever did him so much good as your
father's. That's why he came and offered the living."

"But he can't go to heaven if he's rich."

"I don't know, Taffy, wherever you pick up such wicked thoughts."

"Why, it's in the Bible!"

Humility would not argue about it; but she told her husband that
night what the child had said. "My dear," he answered, "the boy must
think of these things."

"But he ought not to be talking disrespectfully," contended she.


One Tuesday, towards the end of September, Taffy saw his father off
by Joby's van; and the Friday after, walked down with his mother to
meet him on his return. Almost at once the household began to pack.
The packing went on for a week, in the midst of which his father
departed again, a waggon-load of books and furniture having been sent
forward on the road that same morning. Then followed a day or two