They found a saddler’s and chose the dog-collar which came to four shillings; and for eighteenpence the shopman agreed to have “Honoria from Taffy,” engraved on it within an hour.  Humility’s present was chosen with surprising ease—­a large, framed photograph of the Bishop of Exeter; price, six shillings.

“I don’t suppose,” objected George, “your mother cares much for the Bishop of Exeter.”

“Oh, yes, she does,” said Taffy; “he’s coming to confirm us next spring.  Besides,” he added, with one of those flashes of wisdom which surely he derived from her, “mother won’t care what it is, so long as she’s remembered.  And it costs more than the collar.”

This left him with eight-and-sixpence; and for three-and-sixpence he bought a work-box for his grandmother, with a view of Plymouth Hoe on the lid.  But now came the crux.  What should he get for his father?

“It must be a book,” George suggested.

“But what kind of a book?  He has so many.”

“Something in Latin.”

The bookseller’s window was filled with yellow-backed novels and toy-books, which obviously would not do.  So they marched in and demanded a book suitable for a clergyman who had a good many books already—­“a middle-aged clergyman,” George added.

“You can’t go far wrong with this,” suggested the bookseller, producing Crockford’s “Clerical Directory” for the current year.  But this was too expensive; “and,” said Taffy, “I think he would rather have something in Latin.”  The bookseller rubbed his chin, went to his shelves, and took down a small De Imitatione Christi, bound in limp calf.  “You can’t go far wrong with this, either,” he assured them.  So Taffy paid down his money.

Just as the boys reached the hotel, Sir Harry drove up in a cab; and five minutes later they were all rattling off to the railway station.  Taffy eyed the cab-horse curiously, never doubting it to be Sir Harry’s new purchase; and was extremely surprised when the cabman whipped it up and trotted off—­after receiving his money, too.  But in the bustle there was no time to ask questions.

It was about three in the afternoon, and the sun already low in the south-west, when they came in sight of the cross-roads and Sir Harry pulled up his bays.  And there, on the green by the sign-post, stood Mrs. Raymond.  She caught Taffy in her arms and hugged him till he felt ashamed, and glanced around to see if the others were looking; but the phaeton was bowling away down the road.

“But why are you here, mother?”

Mrs. Raymond gazed a while after the carriage before speaking.  “Your father had to be at the church,” she said.

“But there’s no service—­” He broke off “See what I’ve brought for you!” And he pulled out the portrait.  “Do you know who it is?”

Humility thanked him and kissed him passionately.  There was something odd with her this afternoon.