“The very thing to send him.  He’s like that.  He’d smell a rat very quick if he was ordered not to see Baggs.  And then he’d haunt Baggs.  I shan’t trust the boy a yard, you understand.  You mustn’t ask me to do that after the past.  But I’m hopeful that his feeling for the craft will lift him up and make him straight.  To a craftsman, his work is often more powerful for salvation than his faith.  In fact, his work is his faith; and from the way things run in the blood, I reckon that Sabina’s son might rise into a spinner.”

“I don’t want anything of that sort to happen, and I’m sure she doesn’t.”

“There’s a hang-dog look in his eyes I’d like to see away,” confessed John.  “He’s been mismanaged, I reckon, and hasn’t any sense of righteousness yet.  All for justice he is, so I hear he tells Mister Churchouse.  Many are who don’t know the meaning of the word.  I’ll do what I can when he comes here.”

“He’s old for his age in some ways and young in others,” explained Raymond.  “I feel nothing much can be done till he gets friendly with me.”

“You’re doing all any man could do.”

“At some cost too, John.  You, at any rate, can understand what a ghastly situation this is.  There seems no end to it.”

“Consequences often bulk much bigger than causes,” said Best.  “In fact, to our eyes, consequences do generally look a most unfair result of causes; as a very small seed will often grow up into a very big tree.  You’ll never find any man, or woman, satisfied with the price they’re called to pay for the privilege of being alive.  And in this lad’s case, him being built contrary and not turned true—­warped no doubt by the accident of his career—­you’ve got to pay a far heavier price than you would have been called to pay if you’d been his lawful begetter.  But seeing the difficulty lies in the boy’s nature alone, we’ll hope that time will cure it, when he’s old enough to look ahead and see which side his bread’s buttered, if for no higher reason.”

Ironsyde left the Mill depressed; indeed, Abel’s recurring holidays always did depress him.  As yet no hoped-for sign of reconciliation could be chronicled.

To-day, however, a gleam appeared to dawn, for on calling at ’The Magnolias’ to see Ernest Churchouse, Raymond was cheered by a promised event which might contain possibilities.  Estelle had scored a point and got Abel to promise to come for a picnic.

“He made a hard bargain though,” she said.  “He’s to light a fire and boil the kettle.  And we are to stop at the old store in West Haven for one good hour on the road home.  I’ve agreed to the terms and shall give him the happiest time I know how.”

“Is his mother going?”

“Yes—­he insists on that.  And Sabina will come.”

“But don’t hope too much of it,” said Ernest.  “I regard this as the thin end of the wedge—­no more than that.  If Estelle can win his confidence, then she may do great things; but she won’t win it at one picnic.  I know him too well.  He’s a mass of contradictions.  Some days most communicative, other days not a syllable.  Some days he seems to trust you with his secrets, other days he is suspicious if you ask him the simplest question.  He’s still a wild animal, who occasionally, for his own convenience, pretends to be tame.”