Ben Yolland's
that I thought must do him good.
I tried once, when, feeling how small my powers were beside his, to
get him to talk to this same Mr. Yolland, whose work among the
pottery people he tried to second, but he recoiled with a tone half
scorn, half reserve, which showed that he would bear no pressure in
that direction. Only he came to my sitting-room every morning, as if
kneeling with me a few moments, and reading a few short verses, were
to be his safeguard for the day, and sometimes he would ask me a
question. Much did I long for counsel in dealing with him, but I
durst seek none, except once, when something Mr. Ben Yolland said
about his having expressed strong affection for me, made me say, "If
only I were fitter to deal with him," the answer was, "Go on as you
are doing; that is better for him as yet than anything else."
CHAPTER IX. THE CHAMPION'S BELT.
After all, the fates sent us a chaperon. A letter came addressed to
my mother, and proved to be from the clergyman of a village in the
remotest corner of Devonshire, where a cousin of my father had once
been vicar. His widow, the daughter of his predecessor, had lived on
there, but, owing to the misdoings of her son and the failure of a
bank, she was in much distress. All intercourse with the family had
dropped since my father's death, but the present vicar, casting about
for means of helping her, had elicited that the Arghouse family were
the only relations she knew of, and had written to ask assistance for
her.
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