This was not bad news, and they all entered the hut, where the fire
was made up, and one of Patience's rush candles placed on the table
with a kind of screen of plaited rushes to protect it from the worst
of the draught. Jeph had grown quite into a man in the eyes of his
brothers and sisters. He looked plump and well fed, and his clothes
were good and fresh, and his armour bright, a contrast to Steadfast's
smock, stained with weather and soil, and his rough leathern
leggings, although Patience did her best, and his shirt was
scrupulously clean every Sunday morning.

The soldier was evidently highly satisfied. "So, children, you have
done better than I could have hoped. This hovel is weather-tight and
quite fit to harbour you. You have done well to keep together, and
it is well said that he who leaves all in the hands of a good
Providence shall have his reward."

Jeph's words were even more sacred than these, and considerably
overawed Patience, who, as he sat before her there in his buff coat
and belt, laying down the law in pious language, was almost persuaded
to believe that their present comfort and prosperity (such as it was)
was owing to the faith which he said had led to his desertion of his
family, though she had always thought it mere impatience of home work
fired by revenge for his father's death.

No doubt he believed in this reward himself, in his relief at finding
his brothers and sisters all together and not starving, and
considered their condition a special blessing due to his own zeal,
instead of to Steadfast's patient exertion.