Then, as he walked on towards Pont’s Green, he saw these fields as the eternal possession of the boys who had died—bought by their blood. The country of the Four Roads was theirs for ever—they had won it; and this was true not only of the honoured Tom but of the dishonoured Jerry. For the first time he felt at rest about his son. “Somewhere the love of God is holding him....” He could not picture him in heaven, and he would not picture him in hell; but now he could see him as part of the fields that he, in his indirect shameful way, had died for. Surely his gipsy soul could find rest in their dawns and twilights, in the infinite calm of their noons.... Jerry would be near him at the pond side, in the meadow, in the smoke of the forge, in the murmur and shade of the wood ... and the cool winds blowing from the sea would wipe off his dishonour. 16 The lanes were empty for it was supper-time on the farms. A pale green was washing the rim of the sky, and the starlight shook among the ash-trees that trembled beside the road. Faint scents of hidden primroses stole up from the banks with the vital sweetness of the new-sown ploughlands. It was growing cold, and Mr. Sumption walked briskly. When he came to Pont’s Green he thought he saw the back of old Hubble tottering on ahead, so he slackened his pace a little, for he hoped to get home without meeting any of his congregation. The feeling of shame was growing, he felt as if he had despised Christ’s little ones ... after all, who shall be found big enough to fit the times? What man is built to the stature of Doomsday? He heard himself called as he entered the village, and turning his head, saw Thyrza standing in the shop door, the last light gleaming on her apron. “Mus’ Sumption!—is that you?” He thought of going on, pretending not to hear; but there was a gentleness in Thyrza’s voice which touched him. He remembered the message she had sent him yesterday morning. “She’s a kind soul,” he thought, and stopped. “Oh, Mus’ Sumption—whur have you bin?” Her hand closed warmly on his, and her eyes travelled over him in eagerness and pity. “I’ve been over to Lion’s Green,” said Mr. Sumption. “I couldn’t lie quiet at the Horselunges last night. I reckon tongues are wagging a bit.” “Reckon they are—but we’ll all be justabout glad to see you back. I went up only this afternoon and asked Policeman if he cud do aught. Come in to the fire—you look middling tired.” “I’ve been working at the smith’s over at Lion’s Green all the afternoon,” said the minister proudly. “Surelye! Everyone knows wot a valiant smith you maake; but come in and have a bite of supper. The fire’s bright and the kettle’s boiling, and thur’s a bit of bacon in the pan.”