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TWO:Robert Backfield was a member of Peasmarsh choir. He had a good, ringing bass voice, which had attracted the clerk's notice, and though Reuben disapproved of his son's having any interests outside Odiam, he realised that as a good Tory he ought to support the Church��especially as the hours of the practices did not clash with Robert's more important engagements.Robert loved these choir practices and church singings. Though he never complained of his hard work, he was unconsciously glad of a change from the materialism of Odiam. The psalms with their outbreathings of a clearer life did much to purge even his uncultured soul of its muddlings, the hymns with their sentimental farawayness opened views into which he would gaze enchanted as into a promised land. He would come in tired and throbbing from the fields, scrape as much mud as possible off his boots, put on his Sunday coat, and tramp through the dusk to the clerk's house ... the little golden window gleaming to him across Peasmarsh street and pond was the foretaste of the evening's sweetness.

TWO:"I reckon that must have come hard on f?ather��he always was unaccountable set on Pete. Heard anything of Tilly lately?"

TWO:

TWO:One day Albert sent his father a message through Pete.

TWO:The domestics at the lower table had withdrawn, and Oakley, who was continued in his functions as steward, was ordered to see that Holgrave attended.He sat down at the table which the children had left, and mechanically began to eat. His healthy young body claimed its dues, and almost without knowing it he cleared the plate before him. Harry sat in the chimney corner, murmuring, "Why d?an't you kip bees, Reuben? Why d?an't you kip bees?"��showing that he had uttered his thoughts aloud, just as the[Pg 117] empty platters showed him he had made a very good dinner.

TWO:Every now and then the crowd would start singing inanely:

TWO:"Where there is a will there is a way, steward, and I should have found means of getting revenge even if you had kept safe at Sudley.""Oh Stephen, my son, my first-born��thy mother kneels to thee. Lay aside that lance and hearken to the words of her who bore thee, and nourished thee. Oh, bring not sorrow and ruin on thyself and her! What would be the bitterness of my dying moments if my son lived not to lay me beside his father?��if thy Margaret was left to mourn in lowly widowhood��and, perhaps, to fall beneath the base arts of Calverley! Oh, my son, my son, by the soul of thy dead father, and by the blessing of thy mother, resist not!��Hark! they come��they come! Haste, Stephen��Give me the weapon."

TWO: