Chapter 4

"Stir the deep wells of life that flow within you,
Touched by God's genial hand;
And let the chastened sure ambition win you
To serve his high command.

"And mighty love embracing all things human
In one all-fathering name,
Stamping God's seal on trivial things and common,
With consecrated aim."



As the weeks went on the squire's confidence insensibly grew. He met
Lord Eltham one day when he was out riding, and they did not quarrel.
On the contrary, Eltham was so conciliating, so patient, and so
confidently hopeful, that it was almost impossible for Hallam not to
be in some measure influenced by him.

"I'm quite sure t' young fellows will succeed," he said, "and if
there's more 'an one son i' a family thou may take my word for it it's
a varry comfortable thing to hev more 'an one living for 'em."

"And if they spoil t' horn instead o' making t' spoon, what then,
Eltham?"

"They'll hev hed t' experience, and they'll be more ready to settle
down to what is made for 'em, and to be content wi' it."

"That's varry fine i' thy case, for t' experience'll cost thee
nothing. Thou is giving thy younger son a chance out o' t' Digby's
and Hallam's money."

Eltham only laughed. "Ivery experiment comes out o' somebody's pocket,
Hallam--it'll be my turn next happen. Will ta come t' hunt dinner at
Eltham on Thursday?"

"Nay, I wont. I'll not bite nor sup at thy table again till we see
what we shall see. If I want to say what I think about thee, I'm none
going to tie my tongue aforehand."

"We'll be fast friends yet. See, if we bean't! Good-bye to thee,
Hallam. Thou'lt be going through t' park, I expect?"

"Ay; I'll like enough find company there."

It was about three o'clock, gray and chill. There had been a good deal
of snow, and, except where it was brushed away from the foot-path,
it lay white and unbroken, the black trunks of the trees among it
looking like pillars of ebony in the ivory-paved courts of a temple.
Up in the sky winter was passing with all his somber train, the clouds
flying rapidly in great grotesque masses, and seeming to touch the tops
of the trees like a gloomy, floating veil.

Phyllis and Elizabeth, wrapped in woolens and furs, walked cheerily
on, Phyllis leaning upon the arm of Elizabeth. They were very happy,
and their low laughter and snatches of Christmas carols made a distinct
sound in the silent park, for the birds were all quiet and preoccupied,
and flitted about the hawthorns with anxious little ways that were
almost human in their care and melancholy. The girls had some crumbs
of bread and ears