"'Hallo! Adam Olliver!' said I. 'Is that you?'

"'The Lord hae ma.s.sy on us! Black Morris! are ye alive?' and again the old man started back in undisguised astonishment. 'Why, all Nestleton thinks 'at you'er layd at t' bottom o' Thurston Beck!'

"I felt half inclined to be thankful that this was so, because it put any search for me on Old Crabtree's account out of the question, and with that feeling came one of sorrow that he had found me out. The thought of my mother's bitter grief, however, soon dissipated that idea, and I felt how wrong it had been of me to go away. All this pa.s.sed through my mind in a moment. I said, 'How is my mother, Adam?'

"The old man smiled, as he answered,--

"'Just middlin'. Ah's glad 'at you've ax'd efther hor. Ye'r heart's somewhere's i' t' right spot; an' t' best thing yo can deea is te gan streyt away yam an' see 'er. Bud, bless my sowl, Black Morris! are yo'

alive?'

"He told me he had come to Hull, a greater journey than he had ever taken in his life, to see an aged and dying sister; that he had closed her eyes in peace, and was returning the next day.

"'An' you'll gan wi' ma', weean't yo'?' said he.

"I replied, 'I will. But tell me where you are staying, and I'll come and see you.'

"From him I learnt the pleasing news that Old Crabtree had survived his injuries; that he was in all respects an altered man; and that he had expressed his opinion that I was innocent of the outrage that nearly took his life.

"'Bud,' said Adam, 'there's a pratty peck o' trubble aboot you. They say 'at t' yung squire was fun' i' t' spot wheer yo' were kill'd, wi'

your gun iv his hand, an' your blood on his clooas; an' 'at he murder'd yo' iv a quarrel aboot Lucy Blyth. Ah nivver beleeaved it, though ah did think 'at somebody 'ad shutten yo'. Maister Philip's a good lad, an' wadn't ho't a worm. It's throan 'im intiv a brain feeaver, an' t' poor aud squire's varry near fit for Bedlam wi'

sorro'. Gan yer ways yam, Morris, as fast as ye'r legs'll carry yo', an' put t' poor aud man oot ov 'is misery.'

"I reached Waverdale Hall late at night, and told the squire all about it. He insisted, in his grat.i.tude, that I should stay all night, and so it happened that when Bill Buckley, the housebreaker, saw me, he fell on the stairs like a dead man, shrieking, 'Black Morris's ghost!'

And now, mother," said he, as he concluded his stirring recital, "I'm back again to be a comfort and a help to you; and never again, by G.o.d's help, to cause you a sigh or a tear."

The proud and happy mother, like the parent of the prodigal in the unmatched Gospel story, "fell upon his neck and kissed him."

"Father," said Black Morris, "I've been a bad and reckless son; forgive _me_, once for all."

Piggy Morris rose from his chair, took the two hands of his son in his, and said,--

"Son Jack, a greater brute of a feyther never made a lad go wrong.

Forgive _me_, once for all."

Mary was utterly overcome at this, and flinging her arms around her father's neck, kissed him on either cheek, which was in itself a deed unknown from childhood until now.

"Let us pray," said Mr. Clayton. That good man lifted up his voice in praise and prayer; and no happier, holier scene took place on that cold December day, and no more sweetly solemn spot was looked upon by angels than that which was sheltered by the roof-tree of Piggy Morris.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

MIDDEN HARBOUR HAS A NEW SENSATION.

"I saw one man, armed simply with G.o.d's Word, Enter the souls of many fellow men, And pierce them sharply as a two-edged sword, While conscience echoed back his words again; Till, even as showers of fertilising rain Sink through the bosom of the valley clod, So their hearts opened to the wholesome pain,-- One good man's prayers, the link 'twixt them and G.o.d."

_Caroline E. Norton._

The two burglars who had made their escape from Waverdale Hall on the eventful night before referred to, had managed to carry with them considerable booty in the shape of plate and other valuables, but none of these things, nor all of them put together, were so important as their theft of a certain tin box from the library, which contained several precious parchments concerning land about which the squire was engaged at that moment in troublesome litigation with a rival claimant. Squire Fuller was convinced that the abstraction of these deeds was the first and princ.i.p.al errand of the housebreakers, and that they had been induced to make their entry into Waverdale Hall by the promptings of unprincipled opponents who had held out to the burglars the hope of a liberal reward. Hence he caused a very close and constant watch to be placed, in the post-office, and around the doors of the opposing solicitors in London, and in every other way he could think of, strove to re-capture the deeds which were of the first importance to himself and son.

The removal of the last vestige of doubt, the last shadow of suspicion, from Philip Fuller as the author of the dark deed in Thurston Wood, materially hastened his recovery, and as Lucy Blyth now felt that her mission was accomplished, she made arrangements for her immediate return to the Forge. The squire was called away on county business, and on the evening of his departure she suddenly appeared before him, and announced that her father had come to see her home.

The squire was dumbfoundered at what seemed to him to be the suddenness of her resolve, and before he knew exactly what to say or do, she bade him "Good evening," and departed. Under the peculiar circ.u.mstances of the case, Lucy must again be complimented on the wit and wisdom that marked the "order of her going." For the present, therefore, now that Lucy is safely housed in her own pleasant and happy home; now that Philip is gaining strength every day; and now that the squire is absent at the a.s.sizes; we may turn away from Waverdale Hall awhile, and pay a little special attention to the "short and simple annals of the poor."

One evening, when the weather was unusually fine and open for the winter season of the year, the Rev. Matthew Mitch.e.l.l mounted the circuit gig, and drove the staid and sober Jack to Nestleton. Putting up his antique conveyance, and not much younger steed, at Farmer Houston's, he joined the family to an early tea, and then took his way to Midden Harbour. Piggy Morris, true to his promise to Lucy Blyth, had emptied the old malt-kiln, and had swept and garnished it into the bargain. Jabez Hepton, the carpenter, had made a number of rough benches for the prospective congregation; he and Nathan Blyth had rigged up a sort of pulpit platform; and all things were ready for opening a campaign among the heathen and semi-savage denizens of that queer locality. As an introduction to his mission there, our young evangelist made a house-to-house visitation, including every dwelling within its borders, and announced that he was going to preach in the open air, at the corner of the cottage of d.i.c.k Spink, the besom-maker.

At the appointed hour he took his stand on a heap of stones, with half-a-dozen Nestletonian Methodists by his side to keep him in countenance, and to help to sing. Mr. Mitch.e.l.l gave out a hymn, and during the singing, the small fry of the place, unwashen, unkempt, and almost unclad, gathered round in wonder. By-and-bye, a few slatternly women, with ragged print dresses, tattered stockings, shoes down at the heel, and heads like mops, approached with curious gaze. As the service advanced, two or three queer customers of the male gender came lounging out, each with a short black pipe in his mouth and his hands in his pockets; a motley group as ever you could find either in Whitechapel or the Seven Dials. During the prayer, no hat was removed, no pipe was extracted, no head was bent in prayer amongst all the natives of the Harbour there a.s.sembled.

"This is a rum go!" said one unshaven fellow to his neighbour.

"What a precious feeal he is," said another.

"Let's heeave hoaf-a-brick at him!" said a third.

Sal Sykes, a tall, raw-boned woman, with a baby in her arms, called out,--

"We're all gannin' te tonn Methody, noo!"

"Nut for the likes of 'im!" said an equally uncanny member of the Midden Harbour sisterhood. "Ah've a good mind te duck the lahtle beggar i' t' 'osspond."

Mr. Mitch.e.l.l calmly and quietly opened his commission. "Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest," was the text from which he preached a short and simple sermon. As one who felt the rest which he offered to his hearers, his heart was on his lips, and his tearful earnestness won them, at any rate, into quietude of behaviour. He thanked them for listening, and invited them to the malt-kiln, whither they were about to adjourn. The little home-missionary band was now strengthened by the arrival of Nathan Blyth, Farmer Houston, Adam Olliver, and some others, and the first service in the odd conventicle was fairly well attended, but almost solely by those who did not need the special efforts they were making.

The inhabitants of the locality held themselves almost entirely aloof, and seemed to ignore the matter altogether, except by an occasional stone flung into the place, or a loud shout at the door, by some young Harbourite, "just for fun." Nevertheless, the worshippers felt their Master's presence, and left the old malt-kiln confirmed in their determination to keep their torch alight in the midst of a moral darkness which might be felt.

Services were now held in quick succession, and first one and then another of the people of the place found their way within the sound of the Gospel message, and in cases not a few the preached Word became the power of G.o.d unto salvation to them that believed. Mary Morris found a congenial mission in beating up recruits for the malt-kiln meetings. Her quiet and gentle manners won upon the rough and rude inhabitants of the unattractive colony, and many, both men and women, were persuaded to "come and see." So matters went on for some time, until at length Mr. Mitch.e.l.l, hopeful and determined, arranged for a series of special services. Mr. Clayton himself and a few local preachers took turn about on the little platform pulpit, and on the third night of the series the power of G.o.d came mightily down upon the worshippers; many were constrained to utter the cry of the Philippian jailor and the prayer of the publican, and a revival of religion took place such as had not been seen or known in the Kesterton Circuit since the olden days, when the "early Methodist preachers," Boanerges by name and nature, every man of them, first awoke the echoes of the moral wilderness, crying, "Repent ye! for the kingdom of G.o.d is at hand!" Nor was the cry of penitence and the shout of joy heard only among the young and female portion of the population, neither were they confined to those who dwelt in Midden Harbour. Big men, bearded and burly, wept like children, and groaning aloud in distress of soul, were led by the eager toilers to the Lifted Cross, and rejoiced in conscious peace and pardon through the blood of Christ. The wife and sons of d.i.c.k Spink, an entire household of the name of Myers, itinerant pot-sellers, were all converted in most unmistakable fashion, and many others, until at last there was not a house in Midden Harbour in which there was not at least one happy witness of the Gospel grace. The fire spread to Farmer Houston's kitchen, to Kesterton, to Chessleby and Bexton, and eventually the whole circuit was thrilled and blest by the potent power of "the great revival," as it is called to this day, and which had its origin in the unlikely locality of Midden Harbour.

Amongst other willing and tireless labourers in this unpromising, but most productive field, was Old Kasper Crabtree, whose regeneration was to the full as wonderful as that of Zaccheus, when he exchanged the grasping rapacity of the publican for the ungrudging benevolence which halved its possessions with the poor and needy. He could not help seeing how much the wretched tenements, the open ditches, the disgraceful condition of his property had to do with the squalor, wretchedness, intemperance, and general b.e.s.t.i.a.lity which had long held sway in Midden Harbour, and he mentally resolved to introduce at any cost a new and better state of things. Two cla.s.ses were formed, which a.s.sembled weekly in the malt-kiln, the one conducted by Farmer Houston and the other by Old Adam Olliver, whose deep and fervent piety, whose plain and honest manner of speech and thought, won the sympathy and love of his rude and ignorant flock in the most surprising manner.

"Bless the Lord," Adam would say; "there's nowt ower hard for the Lord! He's tee'an us up oot of a doonghill, an' setten us amang t'

princes ov 'is people! Mrs. Spink! you've helped te mak' monny a beesom, bud t' beesom o' t' Lord's swept yer heart clean o' sin an'

misery; hezn't it? Keep on prayin', mah deear sister--'Porge mah wi'

hyssop an' ah sall be clean, wesh mah, an' ah sall be whiter then snoa!'"

Pa.s.sing on to another, he would say--"Tinker Joe! the Lord's meead a grand job o' you. There's neea tinkerin' when He begins. He clean mak's ower ageean, seea that wer' souls can hod t' watter o' life."

Nor was the experience, crudely and rudely expressed, of the new converts much less vigorous and quaint, and even those who looked askance at this sort of sensational religion, and even those who opposed religion altogether, were constrained to acknowledge that a marvellous change for the better had come over the denizens of Midden Harbour.

Amid all these startling experiences and developments, nothing was more noteworthy than the conduct and characteristic energy which distinguished Black Morris. He gathered together the poor little dirty and ragged children, and formed them into a cla.s.s, the nucleus of a Sunday-school, and Sunday after Sunday taught them the gracious lessons of Jesus and His love, with an apt.i.tude and a self-sacrificing zeal which were attended with results of the most pleasing kind. In this work he was a.s.sisted by Hannah Olliver.

Dismissed from Waverdale Hall for her gross imprudence anent Aubrey Bevan and the burglary, she had returned home, and under the wise influences of her worthy old parents, her eyes were opened to a clear conception of her foolishness and sin. She had commenced business for herself as a milliner and dressmaker, for in the mysteries of these arts she was a skilled adept. She had been brought to G.o.d in "the great revival," and found a congenial employment in teaching the little children their letters, and in pointing them to Jesus. In this fashion the good work continued, prospered, and extended, until the need of a chapel was simply vital, and it was felt that the all-essential sanctuary must be provided.

At a leaders' meeting, held at Farmer Houston's, that good man and true said,--

"Well; it seems to me that we cannot possibly get on any further without a chapel. We are so pressed with prosperity that we don't know which way to turn."

"Yes," said Nathan Blyth, "We are fairly driven into a corner. There's no mistake about it; the time is ripe for it, if we could only get a piece of ground."

"Don't you think," said Mr. Clayton, "that Mr. Crabtree would now give us a 'place to dwell in?' It's true his property is rather out of the way, but I think he would listen to us."