half-open mouths. He knew everyone there, had christened and married
many of them, he knew their individual count of kindness and coarseness
and self-seeking; knew how hard-working they were, how thriftless, how
generous and strangely tolerant, yet how harsh at times in condemnation.
It was to their charity of outlook he wished to appeal now, or rather
wished Ishmael to make an unconscious appeal.

"There's no need for me to make any speech to you, my friends," he
began. "You all know me, and I know you. We've trusted each other and
worked together for a good many years now, and please God we shall for
many more. You are all to me as my children. But there's one amongst
us--" (and here his hand on Ishmael's shoulder seemed to bring the
shrinking little boy into greater prominence) "who is even more of a
trust to me than any of you. He is a trust to you too--to me because I
am his guardian, pledged to see that he grows up into a man who will
make a good and just Squire to his tenants, to you because you are those
tenants. I think I can promise you that as your Squire grows up it will
mean better and better times for all of you, that things won't be so
hard. There was a time when the Squires of Cloom were noted for their
generosity and just dealing, when, so they say, every man on the estate
had his side of pork--ay, and half a sheep too--in his kitchen, and a
good coat to his back the year round, and wages to put in his stocking.
Those times will come again when the glories of Cloom are restored, when
it is once more a good gentleman's estate...."

The Parson had spoken quietly but very deliberately. He knew how public
feeling had sided with Annie and the dispossessed Archelaus. The people
had grown so used to associating on a familiar level with the powers at
the Manor that they had ceased to think of the advantages of a different
mode of intercourse. The idea that they would themselves benefit by the