“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.