The Squire grunted, raised his hat again and strode off, gripping Honoria by the hand. She had not glanced towards Taffy. Clearly she was not allowed to speak to him. The meaning of the Vicar’s sermon became plain next morning, when he walked down to the village and called on Joel Hugh, the carpenter. “I knows what thee’rt come after,” began Joel, “but ’tis no use, parson dear. Th’ old fellow owns the roofs over us, and if I do a day’s work for ’ee, out I goes, neck and crop.” Mr. Raymond had expected this. “It’s not for work I’m come,” said he; “but to hire a few tools, if you’re minded to spare them.” Joel scratched his head. “Might manage that, now. But, Lord bless ’ee! thee’ll never make no hand of it.” He chose out saw, hammer, plane and auger, and packed them up in a carpenter’s frail, with a few other tools. “Don’t ’ee talk about payment, now; naybors must be nayborly. Only, you see, a man must look after his own.” Mr. Raymond climbed the hill toward the towans with the carpenter’s frail slung over his shoulder. As luck would have it, near the top he met Squire Moyle descending on horseback. The Vicar nodded “Good-morning” in passing, but had not gone a dozen steps when the old man reined up and called after him. “Hi!” The Vicar halted. “Whose basket is that you’re carrying?” Then, getting no answer, “Wait till next Saturday night, when Joel Hugh comes to thank you. I suppose you know he rents his cottage by the week?” “No harm shall come to him through me,” said the Vicar, and retraced his steps down the hill. The Squire followed at a foot-pace, grinning as he went. That night Mr. Raymond went back to his beloved books, but not to read; and early next morning was ready at the cross-roads for the van which plied twice a week between Innis village and Truro. He had three boxes with him--heavy boxes, as Calvin the van-driver remarked when it came to lifting them on board. “Thee’rt not leaving us, surely?” said he. “No.” “But however didst get these lumping boxes up the hill?” “My son helped me.” He had modestly calculated on averaging a shilling a volume for his books; but discovered on leaving the shop at Truro that it worked out at one-and-threepence. He returned to Nannizabuloe that night with one box only--but it was packed full of tools--and a copy of Fuller’s “Holy State,” which at the last moment had proved too precious to be parted with--at least, just yet. The woodwork of the old pews--painted deal for the most part, but mixed with a few boards of good red pine and one or two of teak, relics of some forgotten shipwreck--lay stacked in the belfry and around the font under the west gallery. Mr. Raymond and Taffy spent an hour in overhauling it, chose out the boards for their first pew, and fell to work.