He had come to Epworth a poor man: and now, after fifteen years, he
stood as poor as then; poorer, perhaps. He had served his
parishioners only to earn their detestation. But he stood unbeaten:
and as he stared out of his window there gripped him--not for the
first time--a fierce ironical affection for the hard landscape, the
fields of his striving, even the folk who had proved such good
haters. _Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee; and
thou shalt eat the herb of the field_--ay, and learn to relish it as
no other food. _In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till
thou return unto the ground_. Ah, but to go and surrender that
ground to others--there lay the sting! With him, as with many
another true man disappointed in his fate, his hopes passed from
himself to fasten the more eagerly on his sons. He wanted them to be
great and eminent soldiers of Christ, and he divined already that, if
for one above the others, this eminence was reserved for John.
But he wanted also a son of his loins to succeed him at Epworth, to
hold and improve what painful inches he had gained; and again he
could only think of John. Could a man devote his life to this
forsaken parish and yet be a light set on a hill for the world?
Had not his own life taught the folly of that hope?

He sighed and turned from the window. He had quite forgotten Hetty.

He stepped to the door to summon Johnny Whitelamb: but the sound of
voices drew him across the passage to the best parlour, and there at
the threshold his eyes fell on Sukey's headdress.

"Susannah!"

"Yes, father." Sukey stepped forward to be kissed.