Her son, after casting on her a withering glance, indicative of supreme scorn at this despicable attempt to shirk responsibility, began slowly and resolutely to repeat his impious incantation. By the time he had finished, the miniature yeoman had considerably diminished in size, the broad-brimmed hat had toppled to one side, and several of the pins had dropped out. Jim straightened himself; his face was quite pale and his brow was wet. “Get along to bed, Mother,” he remarked, “I reckon he’ll do now. I d’ ’low Trooper Willcocks ’ull not feel so very comfortable in the morning.” But lo and behold! though on the following day nothing was left of the effigy but a sticky indistinguishable mass of wax and pins, the very first person whom Jim encountered on his way to work was Trooper Willcocks, apparently in the best of health and spirits. Jim was downcast, but not yet doubtful. He would give him a week, he thought; but at the end of the week Trooper Willcocks looked better than ever, and what was worse, was more frequently in Chrissy’s company. The despairing lover next resolved to try a more orthodox method of removing his obnoxious rival, and called upon the Rector, to whom he unfolded his case with some difficulty, and who listened in evident amusement, but not very great surprise. “To tell you the truth, Hardy,” he remarked, throwing himself back in his chair, “you are not the only sufferer. I think about six men have already come to me on the very same errand.” “Six chaps come to ye about Chrissy Baverstock?” stammered Jim, purple in the face with anguish. “Not about Chrissy Baverstock—if I remember aright each had a complaint to make about a different young woman, but it was always the same man. He must be a redoubtable fellow, this yeoman of yours.” “He bain’t none o’ mine,” retorted Jim, “an’ I can’t think whatever the maids do see in him. I didn’t know there was more nor one,” he added reflectively, while a ray of hope seemed to illuminate his visage. “I am very sorry for you, but I’m afraid I can’t help you. You see Willcocks is no parishioner of mine. And though I have spoken to some of the girls in question, my words seem to have no effect. Their heads are turned, I think, by his tales of battles and dangers and hairbreadth escapes. They make a hero of him. But console yourself. After all there is safety in numbers.” “’Ees,” agreed Jim meditatively. “If there’s six of us, we ought to be able to do summat.” It was late when he left the rectory, and he bent his steps immediately to a small hostelry in the town, which he occasionally patronised, but which the condition of his spirits had not permitted him to frequent of late, dreading as he did the facetious remarks of his cronies.