For a moment the Parson let his eyes wander over the clustered faces, full of strong colour in the warm light, with bright, vacant looks and half-open mouths.  He knew everyone there, had christened and married many of them, he knew their individual count of kindness and coarseness and self-seeking; knew how hard-working they were, how thriftless, how generous and strangely tolerant, yet how harsh at times in condemnation.  It was to their charity of outlook he wished to appeal now, or rather wished Ishmael to make an unconscious appeal.

“There’s no need for me to make any speech to you, my friends,” he began.  “You all know me, and I know you.  We’ve trusted each other and worked together for a good many years now, and please God we shall for many more.  You are all to me as my children.  But there’s one amongst us—­” (and here his hand on Ishmael’s shoulder seemed to bring the shrinking little boy into greater prominence) “who is even more of a trust to me than any of you.  He is a trust to you too—­to me because I am his guardian, pledged to see that he grows up into a man who will make a good and just Squire to his tenants, to you because you are those tenants.  I think I can promise you that as your Squire grows up it will mean better and better times for all of you, that things won’t be so hard.  There was a time when the Squires of Cloom were noted for their generosity and just dealing, when, so they say, every man on the estate had his side of pork—­ay, and half a sheep too—­in his kitchen, and a good coat to his back the year round, and wages to put in his stocking.  Those times will come again when the glories of Cloom are restored, when it is once more a good gentleman’s estate....”

The Parson had spoken quietly but very deliberately.  He knew how public feeling had sided with Annie and the dispossessed Archelaus.  The people had grown so used to associating on a familiar level with the powers at the Manor that they had ceased to think of the advantages of a different mode of intercourse.  The idea that they would themselves benefit by the restoration of Cloom and its owner to the old position of gentry had never occurred to them.  It was true that it would mean the elevation of this intruding child, who was merely the son of their Annie, whom they all knew, but at the same time it meant certain obligations towards them.  It meant more money, help in times of stress, security.  That was a thing worth considering.  The old Squire had hoarded his income and let his fortune swell; if the all-powerful Parson were going to bring this child up in the way he suggested it meant that money would be spent, and on them....

The Parson gave his idea time enough to arrive, though not long enough to be turned over.  He pushed Ishmael gently forward again.

“Say what I told you,” he bade him, “and no more.”

At that moment something came to Ishmael which had failed him in that evening’s ordeal—­a poise, a confidence of touch which was his by inheritance, though so long unsummoned.  He straightened himself and thrust his hands into the pockets of his little breeches.