"Does not Thomas Johnson live here?"

"Yes; he does," was Johnson's reply.

"And I suppose, then, you're Thomas Johnson yourself?" said the stranger.

"I reckon you're not so far wrong," was the answer.

"Ah, well; so it is for sure," broke out Betty. "Why, you're the teetottal chap as came a-lecturing when me and our poor Sammul signed the pledge."

"Sit ye down, sit ye down," cried her father; "you're welcome to our house, though it is but a sorrowful one."

"I think, my friend," said the stranger, "that you are one of us now."

"You may well say _now_," replied the other, "for when you was here afore, you'd a gone out of the door a deal quicker nor you came in; but, I bless the Lord, things are changed now."

"Yes, indeed," said the other, "it is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes; though, indeed, he does work such wonderful things that we've daily cause to bless and praise him. Well, my friend--for we are friends, I see, in the best of bonds now--I have not long to stay now, but I just want to ask you one thing. I should like to have a total abstinence meeting next month in Langhurst. Will you say a word for us? We want some working man who has been rescued, through G.o.d's mercy, from the chains of the drink, to stand up and tell, in a simple, straightforward way, what he once was, and what G.o.d has done for him as a pledged abstainer; and I judge, from what I hear, that you're just the man we want."

Johnson paused for a while.

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head; "I don't know. I'm not so sure it'll do at all."

"Oh, fayther," cried Betty, "you must do what the gentleman axes you.

It may do good to some poor creatures, and lead 'em to sign. It's only a small candle-end as the Lord's given such as we are, but we must light it, and let it shine."

"Well," said her father, slowly, "maybe I oughtn't to say 'No;' and yet you may be sure, if it gets talked on in the village, it's little peace as I shall have."

"Well, my friend," said the stranger, "of course I don't wish to bring you into trouble. Still this is one of the ways in which you may take up a cross n.o.bly for your Saviour, and he'll give the strength to carry it."

"Say no more," replied Johnson; "if the Lord spares me, they shall hear a gradely tale from me."

It was soon noised abroad in Langhurst that Thomas Johnson was to give an account of himself as a reformed man and a total abstainer, at a meeting to be held in the village in the following month of November.

His old companions were half mad with rage and vexation. What could be done? They were determined that he should be served out in some way, and that he should be prevented from appearing at the meeting. Come what would, he should not stand up and triumph in his teetotalism on the platform--that they were quite resolved on. Some scheme or plan must be devised to hinder it. And fortune seemed to favour them.

A short time after it became generally known that Johnson was to speak, a young lad might be seen hurrying home in his coal-pit-clothes to a low, dirty-looking cottage that stood on the outskirts of the village.

"Mother," cried the boy, as soon as he reached the house and could recover his breath, "where's fayther?"

"He's not come home yet," said the mother; "but what ails you, John?"

"Why, mother," said the boy, with trembling voice, "fayther gave me a shilling to get change just as we was leaving the pit-bank, and I dropped it somewhere as I were coming down the lane. I'm almost sure Ben Taylor's lad found it, and picked it up; but when I axed him if he hadn't got it, he said 'No,' and told me he'd knock my head against the wall if I didn't hold my noise. I see'd fayther go by at the lane end, but he didn't see me. He'll thrash the life out of me if he finds I've lost the shilling.--I've run for my life, but he'll be here directly.

You must make it right, mother--you must."

"Ay, ay, lad; I'll speak to your fayther. He shan't beat you. Just keep out of the road till he's cooled down a bit. Eh! here he comes for sure, and a lot of his mates with him. There--just creep under the couch-chair, lad. They'll not tarry so long. Fayther'll be off to the 'George' as soon as he's had his tea."

So the poor boy crept under the couch, the hanging drapery effectually hiding him from the view of any who might come in. Another moment, and Will Jones the father entered the house with half-a-dozen companions.

"Well, and what's up now?" asked the wife, as the men seated themselves--some on chairs, and one or two on the couch.

"Never you heed, Martha," said her husband; "but just clap to the door, and take yourself off to Molly Grundy's, or anywhere else you've a mind."

"I can tell you I shall do nothing of the sort," was the reply. "A likely thing, indeed, as I'm to take myself off and leave my own hearth- stone while a parcel of chaps is turning the house out of the windows.

If you're up to that sort of game, or if you want to be talking anything as decent folk shouldn't hear, you'd better be off to the 'George.'

It's the fittest place for such work."

"Eh! don't vex Martha," said one of the men. "She'll promise not to split, I'll answer for it. Won't you, Martha?"

"Eh, for sure," said Martha, "if you're bound to have your talk here, you needn't be afraid of me; only I hope you're not going to do anything as'll bring us into trouble."

"Never fear," said her husband; "there, sit you down and mend your stockings, and the less you heed us the less you'll have to afterthink."

The men then began to talk together in a loudish whisper.

"Tommy Jacky'll be making a fine tale about you and me," said Jones.

"Eh, what a sighing and groaning there will be; and then we shall see in the papers, 'Mr Johnson finished his speech amidst loud applause.'"

"Eh, but we must put a stopper in his mouth," said another.

"But how must we do it?" asked a third. "Thomas is not the chap to be scared out of what he's made up his mind to."

"No," remarked another; "and there's many a one as'd stand by him if we were to try anything strong."

"Can't we shame him at the meeting?" asked another.

"Nay," said Jones, "he's gradely. You couldn't shame him by telling folks what he was; and all as knows him knows as he's kept his teetottal strict enough."

"I have it!" cried a man, the expression of whose face was a sad mixture of sensuality, shrewdness, and malice. "I'll just tell you what we'll do. You know how people keeps saying--'What a changed man Johnson is!

how respectable and clean he looks! how tidy he's dressed when he goes to church on a Sunday!--you've only to look in his face to see he's a changed man.' Now, I'll just tell you what we'll do, if you've a mind to stand by me and give me a help. It'll do him no harm in the end, and'll just take a little of the conceit out on him. And won't it just spoil their sport at the meeting!"

"Tell us what it is, man," cried all the others eagerly.

"Well, you know the water-b.u.t.t at the back of Thomas's house. Well, you can reach the windows of the chamber by standing on the b.u.t.t. The window's not hard to open, for I've often seen Alice throw it up; and I'm sure it's not fastened. Now, just suppose we waits till the night afore the meeting; that'll be the twenty-second--there'll be no moon then. Thomas won't be in the night-shift that week. I know he sleeps sound, for I've heard their Betty say as it were the only thing as kept 'em up, that they slept both on 'em so well. Suppose, then, as we gets a goodish-sized furze bush or two, and goes round to the back about two o'clock in the morning. We must have a rope or two; then we must take off our clogs, and climb up by the water-b.u.t.t. The one as goes up first must have a dark lantern. Well, then, we must creep quietly in, and just lap a rope loosely round the bed till we're all ready. Then we'll just tighten the rope so that he can't move, and I'll scratch his sweet face all over with the furze; and one of you chaps must have some gunpowder and lamp-black ready to rub it well into his face where it's been scratched. You must stuff a clout into his mouth if he offers to holler. We can do it all in two minutes by the help of the lantern.

The light'll dazzle him so as he'll not be able to make any on us out; and then we must slip out of the window and be off afore he's had time to wriggle himself out of the ropes. Eh, won't he be a lovely pictur next day!--his best friends, as they say, won't know him. Won't he just look purty at the meeting! There's a model teetottaller for you! Do you think he'll have the face to say then, 'You've heard, ladies and gentlemen, what I once was; you see what I am now?' Oh, what a rare game it'll be!"

This proposition was received by the rest of the company with roars of laughter and the fullest approbation.

"It'll be first-rate," said Jones, "if we can only manage it."

"Surely," said another, "he'll never dare show his face out of the door."

"Ah, but," suggested one, "what about Betty? She's sure to wake and spoil it all. It's too risky, with her sleeping close by."

"No," said another man, "it'll just be all right. Betty'll be off at Rochdale visiting her aunt. Our Mary heard f.a.n.n.y Higson and Betty talking it over at the mill a day or two since. 'So you'll not be at the meeting?' says f.a.n.n.y. 'Why not?' says Betty. ''Cos you'll be off at your aunt's at Rochdale,' says f.a.n.n.y. 'Ah, but I'm bound to be back for the meeting, and hear fayther tell his tale,' says Betty. 'I'll be back some time in the forenoon, to see as fayther has his Sunday shirt and shoes, and his clothes all right, and time enough to dress myself for the meeting. Old Jenny'll see to fayther while I'm off. It'll be all right if I'm at home some time in the forenoon.' So you see, mates, it couldn't be better; as the parson says, it's quite a providence."

"Well, what say you?" cried Will Jones. "Shall we strike hands on it?"

All at once shook hands, vowing to serve out poor Johnson.