s you till the
mornin'."

Sometimes, when the paths were so foul that nothing but wading would
take a man over the moor, Tommy was greatly puzzled about finding his
way, and one night he and Musgrave walked unsuspectingly over a low
cliff, and fell softly upon a great ridge of sand. But these little
misadventures did not by any means daunt Tommy. His new religion was
that he must be at chapel twice every Sunday, and at prayer-meetings as
often through the week as Musgrave chose to take him. To this he held.
The Squire's pheasants suffered no longer, and Tommy's big lurcher
displayed a tendency towards virtue which earned him the admiration of
all the gamekeepers on the estate. Efforts were made to get the big man
to pray at the ordinary love-feasts that were held in connection with
the chapel, but he always said, "No; my Father and me has all our
conversations to ourselves. It is not as if God didn't know; but I don't
think a blackguard like me should address Him face to face after the
life I have led."

The years went by, and Tommy's shaggy beard showed signs of grizzling.
His huge limbs were more deliberate in their movement, and his low
forehead had somehow or other acquired a certain spiritual aspect. He
wrought at his trade, saved money, and spent some in decorating his
mother's grave. One night, when he was smoking his pipe with Musgrave,
he said--

"Christ died for all the lot of us, didn't He? That was a rare thing to
do. Now, suppose He says, when I meet Him, 'What are you doing here? You
have done nothing but go to chapel.' Now, Mr. Musgrave, will you tell me
this: what should I say in a case of that sort?"

Old Musgrave wrinkled his wise brows and replied, "Thomas, my man, He
knows your heart. I suppose you think you ought to save life, or
something of that kind, don't you?"

"Yes, sir, that's just what I do think," said Thomas.

"Well, believe me, your chance will come. Now let's light up our pipes,
and walk over the moor home, Thomas, and puzzle yourself no more about
these things."

A bad winter came, and the thundering seas broke so continually over the
rocks that it was impossible for the men to get bait on their own rocks.
All day long the loungers walked the cliff edge, and watched the columns
of spray hissing up from the black rocks. Day after day the clouds
seemed to mix themselves with the sea as they laid their grey shoulders
to the water. Money became scarce in the village, and the men wh