ly agreed with him, though Edwin had at least
once heard his father refer to the topic with the amused and
non-committal impartiality of a man who only went to chapel when he
specially felt like going.

"I've preached in the pulpits o' our Connexion," said Mr Shushions with
solemn, quavering emotion, "for over fifty year, as you know. But I'd
ne'er gi' out another text if Primitives had ought to do wi' such a
flouting o' th' Almighty. Nay, I'd go down to my grave dumb afore God!"

He had already been upset by news of a movement that was on foot for
deferring Anniversary Sermons from August to September, so that people
should be more free to go away for a holiday, and collections be more
fruitful. What! Put off God's ordinance, to enable chapel-members to
go `a-wakesing'! Monstrous! Yet September was tried, in spite of Mr
Shushions, and when even September would not work satisfactorily, God's
ordinance was shifted boldly to May, in order to catch people, and their
pockets well before the demoralisation incident to holidays.

Edwin thought that his father and the mysterious old man would talk for
ever, and timorously he exposed himself to obtain possession of his
satchel, hoping to escape unseen. But Mr Shushions saw him, and called
him, and took his hand again.

"Eh, my boy," he said, feebly shaking the hand, "I do pray as you'll
grow up to be worthy o' your father. That's all as I pray for."

Edwin had never considered his father as an exemplar. He was a just and
unmerciful judge of his father, against whom he had a thousand
grievances. And in his heart he resentfully despised Mr Shushions, and
decided again that he was a simpleton, and not a very tactful one. But
then he saw a round yellow tear slowly form in the red rim of the old
man's eye and run crookedly down that wrinkled cheek. And his impatient
scorn expired. The mere sight of him, Edwin, had brought the old man to
weeping! And the tear was so genuine, so convincing, so majestic that
it induced in Edwin a blank humility. He was astounded, mystified; but
he was also humbled. He himself was never told, and he never learnt,
the explanation of that epic tear.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER FOUR.

THE CHILD-MAN.

The origin of the tear on the aged cheek of Mr Shushions went back
about forty years, and was embedded in the infancy of Darius Clayhanger.

The earliest memory of Darius Clayhanger had to do with the capital
letters Q W and S. Even as