"Poor fellow! I don't think he had a hand in it. I recollect his sprinkling cold water on my face and fanning me with his cap. At any rate he has sent back all he got, and if he's guilty I forgive him, as G.o.d hath forgiven me."

Lucy, who knew of the sad fate which had befallen Black Morris, a knowledge not yet imparted either to Kasper Crabtree or my readers, knelt by his side, took his hand in hers, and said,--

"Mr. Crabtree, G.o.d bless you for that word!"

"Aye, little one! and G.o.d bless you for ever and ever, for I have been entertaining an angel unawares!"

CHAPTER XXI.

SQUIRE FULLER HEARS UNWELCOME NEWS.

"Behold the work of my unlawful hand, That by rude force the pa.s.sions would command, That ruthless sought to root them from the breast; They may be ruled, but will not be oppressed.

Taught hence, ye parents, who from nature stray, And the great ties of social life betray; Ne'er with your children act a tyrant's part, 'Tis yours to guide, not violate the heart."

_Thompson._

The new-found blessing which Philip Fuller had obtained on Nestleton Wold, laid abiding hold on his whole being and influenced all his life. He attended the services in Farmer Houston's kitchen, and having expressed his desire to meet in cla.s.s, Adam Olliver gave him a characteristic invitation to join the little band of true believers which gathered round his cottage hearth. It cropped out, however, that Lucy Blyth was a regular and exemplary attendant there, and that the only other cla.s.s was held in Nathan Blyth's own dwelling. So Philip, who was conscientiously bent on fulfilling his compact with his father, in spirit as well as letter, resolved to ride into Kesterton, and attend the cla.s.s conducted by the junior minister, so as to give no ground for discrediting remark or sinister suspicion. His next step was to tell his father of his conversion and announce his intention of casting in his lot with the despised people called Methodists. The old squire received the unwelcome information in a towering rage, and incontinently ordered the scion of the house of Fuller from his presence. On the following morning, after a constrained and silent meal, the squire re-opened the conversation. A cloud was on his brow; his face, usually cold and sphinx-like, gave evident token of the strong commotion which stirred his soul to its profoundest depths. One arm was laid upon the table, the other rested on his knee. His head was bent forward, and from beneath his thick grey brows his eyes looked out into the face of his only son in fixed inquiry, anger and alarm. Philip stood by the table, his handsome face full of strong resolve, every feature showing excitement, and his eyes met his father's with a steady gaze, betokening a soul which had no secrets to conceal.

"What new folly is this?" said the squire. "Do you mean to tell me that, not content with paying court to a blacksmith's daughter, you have lowered yourself by casting in your lot with the contemptible sectaries, the howling fanatics, the dairy-maids and plough-boys who rave like dancing dervishes, and groan and shriek like Tom o' Bedlam without sense or reason?"

"I've no knowledge, father, of any such people as you describe. The Methodists are as orderly and as reverent in their religious services, as they are who go to the parish church. Since I have found my Saviour, and have felt the love of G.o.d in my heart, attendance on their simple worship has been among the happiest hours of my life.

Through the Methodists I found the pardon of my sins, among them I find spiritual food and comfort more precious than I can describe, and with the Methodists I desire to live and die."

Baffled, but resolved, the squire, who had little idea of the strength of his son's character, hastily resolved upon risking all on the hazard of a throw.

"Philip Fuller, listen to me. These idiotic fools are hateful to me.

Their religion is a parody; their sickening cant is blasphemy; they are all composed of the poorest sc.u.m of the community. As the bearer of an ancient and historic name, I utterly decline in any way, however slight, to be brought into contact with them. Whatever I can do to drive them out of Waverdale, I will do; and as for you, if you refuse to obey me, and dare to cross the threshold of their disgusting orgies again, you are no longer a son of mine. Remember that the estate is not entailed, and I'll leave it to the hospitals before it shall fall into the hands of hypocritical rogues like these."

Philip's face had waxed as pale as death. The cruel words had fallen harder than the speaker intended, and even now he would gladly have recalled them. Tears of manly and filial grief stood in Philip's eyes, as he replied,--

"My father, I love you dearer than life, and if the sacrifice of life would minister to your real happiness, I would not grudge it. I have never disobeyed you. I have consented to put one light of my life out in deference to your desire, and were this anything short of a robbery to my soul and treason to my G.o.d, I would obey you in this as in the rest. But I cannot; my conscience speaks in a voice I dare not ignore.

I have given myself to my Saviour; I believe it to be His will that I should bear the despised and humble name of Methodist, and therefore, though I will go on my knees, and beseech you to withdraw your cruel words, happen what will, and come what may, this people shall be my people, and their G.o.d my G.o.d."

"Get out of my sight, sir!" thundered out the wrathful parent, "and don't see me again till I send for you."

Little thought the angry squire how sad and terrible would be his next interview with his distressed and suffering son. Bowing respectfully, Philip retired from his father's presence, and went out into the frosty morning air, distressed and grieved. He had engaged to spend the day in the covers of Sir Harry Elliott, and though little disposed for personal pleasure, he went to join the baronet and his party in a raid upon the partridges, hoping to obtain a little distraction from the troubles that oppressed him.

The quarterly meeting of the Kesterton Circuit was held as usual.

After the ordinary business had been transacted, Mr. Clayton referred to the steps which had been taken towards the erection of a new chapel in Nestleton; he described the interview with Squire Fuller, "And there," said he, "the matter stands at present."

"No," said Adam Olliver, "since then t' yung squire's gi'en 'is 'art te G.o.d, 'is neeame te t' Chotch, an' 'is hand's gotten hod o' t'

gospil ploo', he'll nivver leeak back, you may depend on't. There dizn't seeam te be ony change i' t' squire hisself, bud the Lord's managin' matters for uz. We hae neea need te stand an' wait as though we hae neea fayth i' G.o.d, bud just gan on an' raise t' munny, an' get riddy for t' tahme when the Lord says, 'Arise an' build.' Tahmes an'

seeasons the Lord keeps iv 'is aun poo'er. Bud we've prayed i' fayth, an' when He sees fit, t' topstooane 'll be browt on' wi' shootin'

'Grace, grace be tiv it.'"

There was always something so infectious about Adam Olliver's fixed and fervent faith in G.o.d, that in spite of prudential policy and worldly wisdom he managed to carry the day. Nor was Mr. Clayton at all unwilling to be urged into energetic measures. That G.o.d was with them he did not doubt. The gracious seasons of spiritual power and refreshment which he himself had felt and seen, were proof enough that the work was of G.o.d. Hence he encouraged and invited a free conversation on the subject. The senior "circuit steward," Mr.

Smallwood, was one of those wondrously cautious men who can only see an inch before their nose, and who wish to make that much progress by degrees.

"We must be very careful," said he, "it is as much as ever we can do now to pay our way, and this very quarter there is a deficiency of more than ten pounds. Then there's Bexton Chapel; they are trying to reduce the debt on it by a hundred pounds, and if we begin another scheme at the same time, we shall find ourselves in difficulties."

"I confess, Mr. Chairman," said Nathan Blyth, "that our good friend, Adam Olliver, has more faith than I have. It's true, the young squire has cast in his lot with us, but that very thing has made his father more bitter against us. He has even threatened to give Mr. Houston notice to quit, if he does not close his kitchen against the Methodist preachers."

"Never mind about that," said Farmer Houston, "threatened folks live long, and threatened tenants may have long leases. I opened my doors to the Methodist preachers, and G.o.d opened my heart to receive the truth, and as long as I live, G.o.d helping me, those doors shall never be closed again to those who brought me the news of a Saviour's love.

My temporal affairs are in the hands of a kind Providence; and as a token of grat.i.tude for personal and family mercies, I gladly promise for me and mine a hundred pounds towards Nestleton Chapel, to be paid as soon as the Lord opens the way to build it."

"Halleluia," said the old hedger, "when G.o.d works whea can 'inder.

Ivverybody knoas 'at ah can't deea mitch, eeaven if ah sell me slashin'-knife an' donkey, bud ah've seeaved a trifle oot o' me wayges, an' be t' tahme t' chapel's begun, ah sall hev five pund riddy, seea you may put it doon."

The old hedger's grand self-sacrifice was greeted with a round of hearty cheers.

"Brother Houston stopped me in what I was going to say," said Nathan Blyth, "but I'm not sorry, because of the capital finish he made. I just wish to say that I'm half ashamed of my want of faith, and that I'll give fifty pounds when the day comes that we can make any use of it."

"Ha'k ye there, noo! O ye ov lahtle fayth! Maister Smallwood, you'll gan wi' t' tide, weean't yo'? Bless the Lord! We'll put Bexton te rights, an' build this chapil, an' gi'e yo' ten pund te sattle up wi', an' then be riddy for summat else. Ah can hear t' rappin' o' t'

'ammers, an' t' rasp o' t' saw, an' t' clink o' t' troowel alriddy.

Seea you can gan on an' 'get inte yo'r chariot an' ride as fast as yo'

can, for there's t' sign ov abundance o' rain?' There's t' soond of a gannin', an' t' wind's bloaing ower'd t' tops o' t' mulberry trees, an' Nestleton's gannin' te hev a chapil as seeaf as taxes an'

quarter-day."

Inoculated with the old patriarch's faith and energy, the meeting took up the matter with warmth, and before they separated, more than three hundred pounds were promised to the new undertaking.

"Halleluia!" said Old Adam, when the result was announced, "whea is sae greeat a G.o.d as oor's? Mister Chairman! the Lord says, 'Oppen yo'r mooth wide, an' ah'll fill it!' an' mahne's sae full, 'at ah's nearly chooaked wi' luv an' gratt.i.tude te G.o.d!"

"Mr. Chairman," said Mr. Mitch.e.l.l, just before the meeting broke up, "I've been thinking that, as the matter has taken such a practical turn, and as Mr. Houston's kitchen won't hold the people who come, it will be well for us to try to get another place in which to hold a second service, somewhere in or near Nestleton, so as to be ready not only with the money, but the members necessary to keep the new chapel going. I should like to get a foothold in Midden Harbour, and if you, sir, and this meeting are agreeable, I'll try what can be done."

Here several members of the meeting shook their heads, and expressed a doubt as to the possibility of getting the ploughshare into such a very hard and flinty soil.

"There you are ageean," said Adam Olliver, "dootin' an' fearin', yo'

will hev it that the Lord is'nt a match for the devil. Let's hod up t'

'ands of oor yung minister, G.o.d bless 'im. If t' walls o' Jericho fell doon afoore t' soond o' t' ram's 'orns, it's queer if Midden Harbour can keep oot the hosts o' G.o.d's elect. If naebody else will, ah'll propooase it mysen; 'at a meetin' be hodden i' Midden Harbour, as seean as we can finnd a spot te hod it in. My opinion is 'at it's just t' right thing te deea. John Wesley said 'at we wer' nut only te gan te them 'at needed uz, but te gan te them 'at needs uz meeast. There isn't a wa.r.s.e spot i' all t' c.u.n.try side then Midden Harbour, bud if wa' can n.o.bbut get t' Gospil fairly in amang 'em, we sall tonn the devil clean oot ov his den, an' mak' t' ugly spot as breet as a patch o' Paradise."

The proposition of Father Olliver was seconded and carried, and the meeting dispersed, strong in the determination to "go forward in the name of the Lord."

CHAPTER XXII.

LUCY BLYTH MAKES A CONQUEST.

"What is tact? 'tis worth revealing-- Tis delicacy's finest feeling; It is to scan another's breast, To know the thought ere half expressed; If word or tone should waken pain, To drop the subject or the strain; To twine around, with winning art, And gently steal away the heart."

_Anon._