True to his ColoursThe Life that Wears Best

By Reverend Theodore P Wilson________________________________________________________________________I cannot truthfully say that I enjoyed transcribing this book. Thatmight be to say that Reverend Wilson would not approve of me, for Ienjoy a beer or a glass of wine occasionally, but never to excess. ButWilson was, as ever, fulminating against the Demon Drink, that is tosay, against the Demon that can take over people's lives, and bringmisery to their wives and children, for this does happen, even to thisday. 

There is a story behind all this, but the long sermons pervade, and doreally make the book difficult to read. Perhaps you should read thebook during some fasting and penitential period of the year, such asAdvent or Lent, but then again it might bring on some other kind ofsin, such as Sloth. NH________________________________________________________________________

TRUE TO HIS COLOURSTHE LIFE THAT WEARS BEST

BY REVEREND THEODORE P WILSON

CHAPTER ONE. 

A SCEPTIC'S HOME. 

Look back some forty years--there was not a quieter place then than thelittle village of Crossbourne. It was a snug spot, situated amonghills, and looked as though it were hiding away out of the sight andnotice of the bustling, roaring traffic that was going ceaselessly onall around it. 

A little fussy stream or brook flowed on restlessly day and nightthrough the centre of the village, and seemed to be the only thing therethat was ever in a hurry. Carts and carriages, but seldom many of thelatter, had to drive through the stream when they wished to cross it;for there was no bridge except a very rude one for foot-passengers justbefore you came to the old mill, where the villagers had had their cornground for generations. 

Then to the north of the stream the houses straggled up on either sideof a long winding street, sometimes two or three together under one longthatched roof, and in other places singly, with a small bit of meagregarden round them; a wooden latch lifted by a string which dangledoutside being the prevailing fastening to the outer doors. 

Right up at the top of the street, and a little to the left, was the oldSaxon church, which had retained a considerable share of its originalmassive beauty, spite of the combined attacks of plaster, mildew, and asuccession of destructive restorations which had lowered the roof, bricked up more than one fine old window, and thrust out a great ironchimney, which looked not unlike the mailed hand of some giant shakingits clenched fist at the solid tower which it was unable to destroy. 

Just under the shadow of the old church, and separated from it by thelow wall of the churchyard, was the vicarage, a grey-looking structurein the midst of a small but well-stocked garden; while beyond it werefields in long succession, with a ponderous-looking farm-house crouchingdown here and there amongst them. 

Of course there was an inn in the village. It was marked out totravellers by a sign-board dependent from a beam projecting over thefootpath. Something had once been painted on the board, but it hadbecome so blurred and indistinct under the corroding action of sun andrain, that it would be quite impossible now to decide whether thefeatures delineated on it were those of a landscape, a lion, or a humancountenance. 

Such was Crossbourne some forty years back. But now, what a marvellouschange! Coal has been found close by, and the little village has leapt, as if by magic, into a thriving town. Huge factories and foundries risefrom the banks of the stream; the ford is spanned by a substantialbridge; the corn-mill has disappeared, and so have the rheumatic-lookingold mossy cottages. A street of prim, substantial houses, uniform, andduly numbered, with brass handles, latches, and knockers to the doors, now leads up to the church. And that venerable building has certainlygained by the change; for the plaster and the iron chimney havevanished, full daylight pours in through all the windows, while two newaisles have been added in harmony with the original design of theunknown architect. The vicarage, too, has expanded, and been smartenedup to suit more modern tastes and requirements. And then all around theprincipal street are swarms of workmen's dwellings, --and, alas! public-houses and beer-shops at every corner ready to entrap the wretchedvictims of intemperance. Besides all these there are a Town Hall and aMechanics' Institute; and the streets and shops and dwelling-houses arelighted with gas. 

Crossbourne has, in fact, become a very hive of industry; but, unhappily, too many of the cells of the hive are fuller of gall than ofhoney, for money is made fast and squandered faster: and what wonder, seeing that King Alcohol holds his court amongst the people day andnight! And, to make all complete, Crossbourne now boasts of a railwayrunning through it, and of a station of its own, from which issues manya train of _goods_; and near the station a distillery, from which thereissues continually a long and lengthening train of _evils_. 

Turning out of the principal street to the right, just opposite to wherethe old dingy sign-board used to swing, a passer-by could not fail tonotice a detached house more lofty and imposing in its appearance thanthe plain working-men's cottages on either side of it. 

At the time our story opens this house was occupied by William Foster, askilled ironworker, who was earning his fifty shillings a week, when hechose to do so; which was by no means his regular habit, as frequentsprees and drinking-bouts with congenial companions made his serviceslittle to be depended on. However, he was a first-rate hand, and hisemployers, who could not do without him, were fain to put up with hisirregularities. 

Foster was now in the prime of life, and had a young wife and one littlebaby. He was professedly a sceptic, and gloried in his creed--if _he_can be said to have any creed who believes in nothing but himself. Ofcourse the Bible to him was simply a whetstone on which to "sharpen histongue like a serpent, that he might shoot out his arrows, even bitterwords. " As for conscience, he ridiculed the very idea of such an old-fashioned guide and monitor. "No, " he would say, "as a true musicianabhors discordant sounds, and as a skilled mechanic abhors bad work, andtherefore cannot turn it out without doing violence to his finer andmore cultivated sensibilities, so the best guide in morals to anenlightened man is his own sense of moral fitness and propriety. "

Nevertheless, he was by no means over-scrupulous as to the perfection ofhis own handiwork when he could slur over a job without fear ofdetection; while the standard of morality which he set up for himself, certainly, to judge by his own daily life, did not speak much for theacuteness of his moral perceptions. 

But he was shrewd and ready, and had a memory well stored with suchparts of Scripture as were useful pegs on which to hang cleverobjections and profane sneers. Not that he had read the Bible itself, for all his knowledge of it was got second-hand from the works ofsceptics, and in detached fragments. However, he had learned andretained a smattering of a good many scientific and other works, and socould astonish and confound timid and ill-informed opponents. 

No wonder, therefore, that he was the admired chairman of the"Crossbourne Free-thought Club, " which met two or three times a week inone of the public-houses, and consumed, for the benefit of the house, but certainly not of the members themselves or their homes, a largequantity of beer and spirits, while it was setting the misguided worldright on science, politics, and religion. The marvel, indeed, to Fosterand his friends was how ignorance, bigotry, priestcraft, and tyrannycould venture to hold up their heads in Crossbourne after his club hadcontinued its meeting regularly for the last two years. 

Perhaps they might have been a little less surprised could one of themhave taken down an old volume of Dr South's sermons from the vicar'slibrary shelves, and have read these words to his fellows: "Men areinfidels, not because they have sharper wits, but because they havecorrupter wills; not because they reason better, but because they liveworse. " Assuredly this was true of the infidelity in Crossbourne. 

And what sort of a home was William Foster's? The house itself lookedwell enough as you approached it. Those houses of a humbler stamp oneither side of it had doors which opened at once from the street intothe parlour or living-room; but to Foster's dwelling there was a smallentrance-hall, terminating in an archway, beyond which were a largeparlour, a kitchen, and a staircase leading to the upper rooms. 

There was an air of ambition about everything, as though the premises, like their occupiers, were aiming to be something above their station, while at the same time a manifest absence of cleanliness and neatnessonly presented a sort of satirical contrast to the surrounding grandeur. 

On either side of the entrance-hall, and just under the archway, was aplaster-of-Paris figure, nearly as large as life--that on the right-handbeing a representation of Bacchus, and that on the left of a nymphdancing. But the female image had long since lost its head, and alsoone of its arms--the latter being still in existence, but being hung forconvenience' sake through the raised arm of Bacchus, making him looklike one of those Hindu idols which are preposterously figured with anumber of superfluous limbs. If the effect of this transference of thenymph's arm to its companion statue was rather burlesque thanornamental, the disconnected limb itself was certainly not without itsuse, small fragments of it being broken off from time to time for thepurpose of whitening the door-steps and the hall-flags when thehearthstone could not readily be found. 

Within the archway, over the parlour door, was a plaster bust ofSocrates; but this had met with no better treatment than the statues, having accidentally got its face turned to the wall as though indisgrace, or as if in despair of any really practical wisdom beingallowed to have sway in the sceptic's household. 

Things were no better in the sitting-room: there was plenty of finery, but no real comfort--scarcely a single article of furniture was entire;while a huge chimney-glass, surmounted by a gilded eagle, being too tallfor its position, had been made to fit into its place by the sacrificeof the eagle's head and body, the legs and claws alone being visibleagainst the ceiling. The glass itself was starred at one corner, andthe frame covered with scars where the gilding had fallen off. Therewere coloured prints on the walls, and a large photograph of the membersof the "Free-thought Club;" the different individuals of the group beingtaken in various attitudes, all indicative of a more than average amountof self-esteem. There were book-shelves also, containing volumesamusing, scientific, and sceptical, but no place was found for the Bookof books; it was not admitted into that cheerless household. 

It was a December evening; a dull fire burned within the dingy bars ofWilliam Foster's parlour grate. William himself was at his club, buthis wife and baby were at home: that poor mother, who knew nothing of aheavenly Father to whose loving wisdom she could intrust her child; thebaby, a poor little sinful yet immortal being, to be brought up withoutone whisper from a mother's tongue of a Saviour's love. 

Kate Evans (such was Mrs Foster's maiden name) had had the bestbringing up the neighbourhood could afford; at least, such was the viewof her relatives and friends. 

Her parents were plain working-people, who had been obliged to scrambleup into manhood and womanhood with the scantiest amount possible ofbook-learning. When married they could neither of them write their namein the register; and a verse or two of the New Testament laboriouslyspelt out was their farthest accomplishment in the way of reading. 

Kate was their only child, and they wisely determined that things shouldbe different with her. The girl was intelligent, and soon snapped upwhat many other children of her own age were a long time in acquiring. She was bright and attractive-looking, with keen eyes and dark flowinghair, and won the affection of her teachers and companions by her open-heartedness and generosity of disposition. 

Naturally enough, the master and mistress of the large school which sheattended were proud of her as being one of their best scholars, and weredetermined to make the most of her abilities for their own sake as muchas hers. And Kate herself and her parents were nothing loath. So bookswere her constant companions and occupation in all her waking hours. The needle was very seldom in her fingers at the school, and the house-broom and the scrubbing-brush still less often at home. 

The poor mother sighed a weary sigh sometimes when, worn out withtoiling, she looked towards her child, who was deep in some scientificbook by the fireside; and now and then she just hinted to her husbandthat she could not quite see the use of so much book-learning for a girlin their daughter's position; but she was soon silenced by the remarkthat "Our Kate had a head-piece such as didn't fall to the lot of many, and it were a sin and a shame not to give her all the knowledge possiblewhile she were young and able to get it. "

So the head was cultivated, and the hands that should have been busywere neglected; and thus it was that, at the age of sixteen, Kate Evanscould not sweep a room decently, nor darn a stocking, nor mend her ownclothes, nor make nor bake a loaf of bread creditably. But then, wasshe not the very rejoicing of her master and mistress's hearts, and thehead girl of the school? And did not the government inspector alwaysgive her a specially pleasant smile and word or two of approbation atthe annual examination?

Poor Kate! It was a marvel that she was not more spoiled by all this;but she was naturally modest and unpresuming, and would have made a fineand valuable character had she been brought up to _shine_, and notmerely to _glitter_. As it was, she had learned to read and write well, and to calculate sums which were of little practical use to her. Indeed, her head was not unlike the lumber-room of some good lady whohas indulged a mania for accumulating purchases simply because of theircheapness, without consideration of their usefulness, whether present orfuture; so that while she could give you the names and positions andapproximate distances of all the principal stars without mistake orhesitation, she would have been utterly at a loss if set to make alittle arrow-root or beef--tea for a sick relation or friend. 

She wound up her education at school by covering her teachers andherself with honour by her answers, first to the elementary, and then tothe advanced questions in the papers sent down from the London Scienceand Art Department. And when she left school, at the age of seventeen, to take the place at home of her mother, who was now laid by through anattack of paralysis, she received the public congratulations of theschool managers, and was afterwards habitually quoted as an example ofwhat might be acquired in the humbler ranks of life by diligence, patience, and perseverance. 

As for her religious education, it was what might have been expectedunder the circumstances. Her parents, ignorant of the truth themselves, though well-disposed, as it is called, to religion, had sent her whenquite a little one to the Sunday-school, where she picked up a score ortwo of texts and as many hymns. She also had gone to church regularlyonce every Sunday, but certainly had acquired little other knowledge inthe house of God than an acquaintance with the most ingenious methods ofstudying picture-books and story-books on the sly, and of trying thepatience of the teachers whose misfortune it was for the time to be incommand of the children's benches during divine service. 

As she grew up, however, Sunday-school and church were both forsaken. Tired with constant study and the few household duties which she couldnot avoid performing, she was glad to lie in bed till the Sunday-schoolbell summoned earlier risers; and with the school, the attendance atchurch also was soon abandoned. 

In summer-time, dressed in clothes which were gay rather than neat orbecoming, she would stroll out across the hills during afternoon servicewith some like-minded female companion, and return by tea-time listlessand out of spirits, conscious of a great want, but unconscious of theonly way to satisfy it. For Kate Evans had a mind and heart which kepther from descending into the paths of open sin. Many young women therewere around her, neglecters, like herself, of God, his house, and hisday, who had plunged into the depths of open profligacy; but with suchshe had neither intercourse nor sympathy, for she shrunk instinctivelyfrom everything that was low and coarse. Yet she walked in darkness; anabiding shadow rested on her spirit. She had gained admiration and wonesteem, but she wanted peace. Her heart was hungry, and must needsremain so till it should find its only true satisfying food in "Jesus, the bread of life. "

Such was Kate Evans when she had reached the age of twenty--restless, unsatisfied, fretting under the restraints and privations of a poorworking-man's home, shrinking from earning her bread by the labour ofher hands, yet unable--for her heart would not allow her--to apply forany school work which might remove her from the home where her serviceswere greatly needed by her now bed-ridden mother. 

It was, then, with no small gratification, though not without somemisgivings, that she found herself the object of special attentions onthe part of William Foster. She was well aware that he was no friend toreligion, but then he was supposed to be highly moral; and she felt nota little flattered by the devoted service of a man who was the oracle ofthe working-classes on all matters of science and higher literature;while he on his part was equally pleased with the prospect of having forhis wife one who, both in personal attractions and education, wasuniversally allowed to be in her rank the flower of Crossbourne. 

Kate's parents, however, were very unwilling that the intimacy betweenFoster and their child should lead to a regular engagement. They hadthe good sense to see that he who "feared not God" was not very likelyto "regard man, " nor woman either; and they were also well aware thatthe public-house and the club would be pretty sure to retain a largeshare of Foster's affections after marriage. 

But remonstrance and advice were in vain; love was to take the place ofreligion, and was to gather into the new home all the cords which wouldhave a tendency to draw the young man in a different direction. Andneighbours and friends said, "Young people would be young people;" thatKate would turn any man into a good husband; and that she would be nearat hand to look in upon her old father and mother. So the attachmentduly ripened without further check; and before she was one and twenty, Kate Evans was married to William Foster at the registrar's office. 

And now, on this December evening, rather more than a year had gone bysince the wedding-day. And what of the _love_ which was to haveeffected such great things? Alas! the gilding had got sadly rubbed off. Not many weeks after the marriage a cloud began to gather on the faceof both husband and wife. 

Coming home some day at dinner-time he would find no table laid out, themeat half raw, and the potatoes the same; while an open book of poetryor science, turned face downwards on the sloppy dresser, showed how hiswife had been spending the time which ought to have been occupied inpreparing her husband's meal. Then, again, when work was over, he wouldfind, on his return home, his wife, with uncombed hair and flushedcheeks, on her knees, puffing away at a few sparks in the cheerlessgrate, while the kettle rested sulkily on a cliff of black coal, andlooked as if boiling was on its part a very remote possibility indeed. 

Not that Kate was a gadder about or a gossip, but she was sleeveless, dawdling, and dreamy, and always behindhand. Everything was out of itsplace. Thus Foster would take up a spill-case, expecting to findmaterial wherewith to light his evening pipe; but instead of spills, itwas full of greasy hair-pins. And when, annoyed and disgusted, he torea fly-leaf out of one of his wife's school prizes, declaring that, ifshe did not provide him with spills, he would take them where he couldget them, a storm of passionate reproaches was followed by a volley ofcurses on his part, and a hasty and indignant retreat to the public-house parlour. 

And then, again, his late hours at the club, or the unwelcome presenceof his sceptical companions, whom he would sometimes bring home todiscuss their opinions over pipes and spirits, would be the ground ofstrong and angry remonstrance. And the breach began soon to widen. 

Washing-day would come round with all its discomforts, which she had notlearned the art of mitigating or removing. Coming in, in better spiritsperhaps than usual, intending to have a cheerful tea and a cozy chatafter it, he would find everything in a state of disturbance, especiallyhis young wife's temper, with plenty of steam everywhere except from thespout of the tea-pot. Indeed, poor Kate was one of those domesticparadoxes in her own person and house which are specially trying to onewho cares for home comfort: and who is there who does not care for it?She would be always cleaning, yet never clean; always smartening thingsup, and yet never keeping them tidy. And so when William, on cominghome, would find pale, ghost-like linen garments hanging reeking fromthe embossed arm of the gas chandelier a large piece of dissolving soapon the centre of the table-cover, a great wooden tub in the place wherehis arm-chair should be, a lump of sodden rags in one of his slippers, and his wife toiling and fuming in the midst of all, with her hair inpapers and her elbows in suds, with scarce the faintest hope for him ofgetting his evening meal served for more than an hour to come, --whatwonder if harsh words escaped him, repaid with words equally harsh fromhis excited partner, and followed by his flinging himself in a rage outof such a home, and returning near midnight with a plunging, stumblingstep on the stairs, which sent all the blood chilly back to the heart ofthe unhappy woman, and quenched in sobs and tears the bitter words thatwere ready to burst forth!

But at last there came the little babe, and with it a rush of returningfondness and tenderness into the heart of both the parents; yet only fora time. The tide of home misery had set in full again; and now on thiswinter evening, a little more than a twelve-month after her marriage, poor, unhappy Kate Foster knelt by the side of the little cradle, hertears falling fast and thick on the small white arm of her sick baby;for very sick it was, and she feared that death (ay, not death, butGod--her heart, her conscience said, "God, ") was about to snatch fromher the object she loved best on earth, even with a passionate love. 

Though it was winter and cold, yet the casement was ajar, for thechimney of the room had smoked for weeks; but nothing had been donetowards remedying the trouble, except grumbling at it, and letting indraughts of keen air through half-open doors and windows, to themanifest detriment of the health of both mother and child. And what wasshe to do, poor thing, in her hour of special trial and need?

Looking earnestly at her baby through her tears, she leaned eagerly andbreathlessly forward into the cradle. Was it gone? Was it really takenfrom her? No; she could hear its disturbed breathing still. And thenas she knelt on, with clasped hands and throbbing heart, somethingbrought to her lips words of prayer: "O Lord! O Lord, have pity on me!Oh, baby, baby!--don't take baby from me!"

Even that poor prayer gave her some relief, followed as it was by anagony of weeping. Never had she uttered a word of prayer before sincethe day she was married, and her own words startled her. Yet again andagain she felt constrained to make her simple supplication, pleadingearnestly for her baby's life with the God the reality of whose beingand power she now _felt_, spite of herself. 

But what was that sound that made her spring up from her knees, andlisten with colourless cheeks and panting breath? She thought she heardfootsteps pass under the half-open window. There was no regular road atthe back of the house, but the premises could be approached in thatdirection by a narrow path along the side of the hill which shut in thebuildings in the rear. Between the hill and the house was a back-yardinto which the parlour looked, and through this yard William wouldsometimes come from his work; but ordinary visitors came to the front, and trades-people to a side door on the left. 

Could the footsteps have been those of her husband? And had he pausedto listen to her words of earnest and passionate prayer? If so, shewell knew what a torrent of ridicule and sarcastic reproach she mustprepare herself for. And yet the step did not sound like his. Alas!she had learned to know it now too well! She dreaded it. There was nomusic in it now for her. Perhaps she was mistaken. She listenedeagerly; all was still, and once more her eyes and heart turned towardsthe little cradle, as the restless babe woke up with a start and a cry. So again she knelt beside it, and, rocking it, gave free vent to hertears, and to words of prayer, though uttered now more softly. 

But there--there was that footstep again! There could be no mistakeabout it now; and as certainly it was not her husband's tread. Annoyednow that some intruder should be lurking about and listening to herwords, she was just going to ask angrily who was there, when thecasement was pushed cautiously a little more open, and a hand holding asmall book was thrust into the room. 

Amazed, terrified, Kate stood up erect, and stared with parted lips atthe strange intrusion. What could it mean? The hand was that of awoman, and there were rings on the fingers. It was but a moment thatshe had time to mark these things; for before she could recover from hersurprise, the mysterious hand had dropped the book into the room, andwith it one of its rings, which rolled towards the hearth, sparkling asit went. Then there was a rapid retreat of quiet footsteps outside, andall was still again. 

Taking up the ring, which had a red stone in the centre like a ruby, andwas seemingly of considerable value, after examining it for a moment, she put it into her pocket, and then picked up the little book, whichlay on the floor where it had fallen, just underneath the window. Sheknew what it was in a moment, --a small Bible. It was very old, and verymuch worn, and had clearly done good service to its owner, or owners, for many a long year. Sitting by the cradle, and rocking it with onehand, she held the little volume in the other, and closely examined it. The paper of which it was made was coarse, and the printing old-fashioned. On the inside of the stiff cover was written in faded ink:--

 _Steal not this book for fear of shame_, _For here you see the owner's name_. _June 10, 1798_. _Mary Williams_. 

Kate's perplexities only increased. But now her attention was drawn tothe words themselves of the book. As she turned over page after page, she noticed that all the most striking texts were underlined with red-ink, especially those which spoke of help in trouble, and of the mercyand love of God. Her attention was now thoroughly aroused. Verse afterverse was read by her, with tearful eyes and a heart opening itself tothe sunshine of divine love; while every fresh text, as she turned fromleaf to leaf, seemed more and more appropriate to her own troubles andsorrows. 

Could this be the same Bible which she used to read in the Sunday-school, and hear read at church? She could scarcely believe it. Itseemed now as if this were altogether another book, just written andprinted expressly for her, to meet her case. All the once familiarpassages and verses had new life and light in them now. The babystirred; she hushed it back to sleep. The fire burned low, but she readon, --she was living out of herself. 

At last she laid down the little volume, and resting her forehead on herhand, thought long and deeply, her lips moving in silent prayer. Thenshe started up hastily, stirred and brightened up the fire, and put theroom and herself into the best order that she could. Then she took upthe Bible again, and gazing at it earnestly, said slowly and half-outloud to herself, "Wherever can this have come from?" And then a voiceseemed to speak within her; and lifting up her eyes reverently to thatheaven which she had never dared to think about for years past, sheexclaimed softly and fervently, as she clasped her hands together: "O myGod, thou didst send it! It came to me from heaven!"

But her thoughts were soon recalled to earth again. Her husband's stepwas heard now. It was past ten o'clock, and he was returning from hisclub. 

It was often now that she had to watch and wait in weariness to as latean hour. "He mustn't see this, " she cried shudderingly to herself, asshe heard his hand upon the latch; "not yet, not yet!" So, snatching upthe little Bible, she placed it deep down under the clothes of thebaby's cradle. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

THE RAILWAY BRIDGE. 

The Crossbourne station was not in the town itself, but on theoutskirts, about a quarter of a mile distant from the Town Hall. Nevertheless, the town was creeping up to it in the form of a suburb, which would ere long reach the station gates. Crossbourne, the presentflourishing manufacturing town, occupied the hills on either side of thelittle stream, the greater part of it being to the north, in thedirection of the parish church. The station itself was on high ground, and looked across over open country, the line in the London directionpassing from it through the centre of the town over a noble viaduct ofsome twenty arches. In the opposite direction the line made a gradualdescent from the station, and at a mile's distance passed through acutting, towards the farther end of which it inclined northwards in asharp curve. 

Just about the middle of this curve, and where the cutting was prettydeep, a massive wooden foot-bridge was thrown across the line. This wasat a place not much frequented, as the bridge formed only part of ashort cut into a by-road which led to one or two farms on the hill-sides. Along the rails round this ascending curve the ordinary trainslaboured with bated breath; and even the dashing express was compelledto slacken here a little in its speed. 

It was on the 23rd of December, the same night in which Kate Fosterreceived so mysteriously the little Bible which was dropped with thering into her parlour, that four men were plodding along in the darknessover a field-way which led to the wooden bridge just mentioned. Theywere dressed in their ordinary mill or foundry working-clothes, andseemed, from their stealthy walk and crouching manner, to be out on nogood or honest errand. Three of them slouched along with their handsdeep in their pockets; the fourth carried a bag of some kind, whichapparently was no burden to him, for it swung lightly backwards andforwards on two of his fingers. The men's faces were all muffled inscarves, and their caps pulled down over their eyes. As they walkedalong the field-path in single file they preserved a profound silence. At last they reached a stile which brought them out close to the end ofthe bridge which was nearest to the up-line, along which the trains toLondon passed. 

It was now nearly half-past ten. Everything around was profoundlystill, except the faint wailing of the wind among the telegraph wires. A drizzling rain had been falling at intervals, for the season wasremarkably mild for the time of year, though the little air that blewwas raw and chilly. It was very dark, nevertheless the great woodenparapet of the bridge could be distinctly seen on either side, as thefour men stood on the roadway of the bridge itself midway over the line. 

"Ned, " said one of the men in a hoarse whisper, "just cross right over, and see if there's any one about. "

The man addressed crept cautiously over to the farther side of the line, and along the road either way for a hundred yards or more, and thenreturned to his companions. 

"It's all right, " he whispered; "there's not a soul stirring, as I canhear or see. "

"Well, wait a bit, " said the man whom he addressed; "just let's listen. "

All was perfectly quiet. 

"Now, then, " said the first speaker again, "the express won't be longafore it's here; who'll do it?"

"Why, Joe Wright, to be sure; he's got the most spirit in him. I knowhe'll do it, " said another voice. 

"He's got most beer in him, at any rate, " said the first speaker. 

There was a gruff chuckle all round. 

"Well, I'm your man, " said Wright; "I've carried the bag, and I may aswell finish the job. "

"Look alive, then, " cried Ned, "or the train'll pass afore you'reready. "

"You just shut up, " growled Joe; "I knows what I'm about. "

So saying, he began to climb over the parapet of the bridge, grasping inhis left hand the bag, which was apparently an ordinary travelling orcarpet-bag, rather below the average size. Having clambered over thetop rail, he let himself down among the huge beams which sprung out fromthe great upright posts, and served to strengthen and consolidate thewhole structure. 

"Mind how you get down, Joe; take care you don't slip, " said more thanone voice anxiously from above. 

"All right, " was the reply; "I'm just ready. "

"Stick fast, and mind where you drop it; she's coming!" cried Ned half-out loud, in a voice of intense excitement. 

Joe Wright was now half standing, half hanging over the up-rails, a fewfeet only above where the roofs of the carriages would pass. The low, labouring sound of the coming train had been heard for some momentspast; then it swelled into a dull roar as the light wind carried itforward, then became fainter again as the wind lulled; and then burstinto a rushing, panting whirlwind as the engine turned the bend of thecurve. Forward dashed the train, as though it were coming with a willto batter down the bridge at a blow; light flashing from its lamps, fiery smoke throbbing out from the funnel in giant puffs, and a red-hotglare glowing from beneath the furnace. 

"Now then!" shouted the men from above. "All right!" Joe shouted backin answer. "Shra-a-a-auk!" roared the train, as with diminished speedit passed beneath them. At that moment Wright, leaning down, droppedthe bag. It fell plump on a hollow place into a tarpaulin which coveredsome luggage on the roof of one of the first-class carriages, and waswhisked far away in another second, not to be disturbed from its snugretreat till it reached the great metropolis. 

"I've done it, " cried Wright from below. 

"Now then, " cried Ned in return, "get back as fast as you can, and becareful. "

No reply. Joe was making his way back as best he could; but it was noeasy task, for his hands had become very cold, and the great oakensupports of the bridge were slippery with the moisture which hadgathered thickly on them. 

"Well done, " said one of his companions, stooping over to watch hisprogress; "a little more to the left, Joe. "

The climber struggled upward. And now his right-hand was nearly on alevel with the floor of the bridge, and he was stretching out his lefthand to grasp one of the rails, when his foot suddenly slipping on asloping rafter, he lost his hold altogether, and, to the horror of hiscompanions, fell with a heavy thud on to the rails beneath him!

"Joe, Joe--speak, man! Are you hurt?" cried Ned. 

No answer. 

"Lord help us, " he continued, "the drunken train'll be up directly. Getup, man, get up; you'll be killed if you lie there. "

Not a word from the unfortunate man. 

They all leant over the parapet, straining their eyes to see if Joereally lay there or had crawled away. They could just make out a darkheap lying apparently right across the rails: it did not stir; not amoment was to be lost. 

"Here, Ned, " cried the man who had seemed to act as a sort of leader ofthe party, "just get down the bank somehow, and drag him off the rails. I'll see if I can drop down from the bridge. "

Alas! This was easier said than done. The whistle of the last stoppingtrain--sarcastically but too appropriately known among the men as "thedrunken train, " from the ordinary condition of a considerable number ofits occupants--was already being sounded; but conveyed no warning to thepoor stunned wretch who lay helpless in the engine's path. Franticallyhad Ned rushed down the bank of the cutting, while his companion, at therisk of his own life, sliding, slipping, tumbling among the rafters ofthe bridge, had dropped close to the prostrate body, and then sprung tohis feet. It was too late; the instrument of death was upon them. Amoment more, and the train had passed over their miserable companion. 

In a few minutes the horror-stricken group were gathered round the poor, bleeding, mangled mass of humanity. The sight was too terrible todescribe. One thing there could be no doubt about--their unhappycomrade was entirely past their help; the work of destruction had beencomplete; and what was _now_ to be done? Silently all crept back againto the little stile. A hasty consultation was held. 

"Mates, " said the chief speaker, "it's a bad job, but it's plain enough_we_ can't do him no good; it's past that. It's no fault of ours. PoorJoe!"

"Shall we go down and drag him off the rails on to the bank?" asked Ned. 

"Where's the use, man?" replied the other; "we shall only be gettingourselves into trouble: it'll seem then as if some one else had beenhaving a hand in it, and we shall be getting his blood on our clothes. It's all over with him--that's certain; and now we must take care ofourselves: what's done can't be undone. Pity we ever meddled with thatbag. But that's all past now. Not a word about this to living soul, mates. I'm sure we all see as that's our line; and a blessed thingit'll be if we manage to keep clear of another scrape. This one's beenbad enough, I'm sure. "

So all slunk quietly back to their own homes. And next day allCrossbourne was horrified to hear that Joe Wright had been found on theline cut to pieces by some train that had run over him. 

An inquest, of course, was held; but as it was well-known that poor Joewas sadly addicted to drink, and was often away from his home for nightstogether on drunken sprees, it was thought, in the absence of anyevidence to the contrary, that he had wandered on to the line in a stateof intoxication, and had been overtaken and killed by the express orstopping train. A verdict of "accidental death" was given accordingly. 

But poor Wright's sad end made no difference in the drunkenness ofCrossbourne; indeed, Ned and his two companions in that awful night'sadventure dared not leave their old haunts and ways, even had theywished to do so, lest any change in their habits should arouse suspicionagainst them. So Alcohol still maintained his sway over a vast body ofloyal subjects in the busy town, and gathered in the spoils of desolatehomes, broken hearts, and shattered constitutions. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

DOCTOR JOHN PROSSER. 

The express train which passed through Crossbourne station between tenand eleven o'clock on the night when Joe Wright met with his sad end, arrived in London about three a. M. The following morning. It washeavily laden, for it conveyed a large number of persons from the north, who were coming up to the metropolis to spend Christmas with theirfriends. 

From a first-class carriage about the middle of the train there emergeda heap of coats and wraps, surmounted by a fur cap, the whole enclosinga gentleman of middle age and middle height, with black beard andmoustache, and gold-rimmed spectacles. 

"Cab, sir?" asked the porter who opened the door. 

"If you please. "

"Any luggage, sir?"

"Yes; it was put on the roof of my carriage. "

"All right, sir; I'll see to it if you'll get into the cab. "

So the gentleman, who was John Prosser, PhD, got into the cab which waswaiting for him; and having seen that his luggage was all brought to theconveyance, threw himself into a corner and closed his eyes, havinggiven his direction to the driver as he was stepping into the vehicle. 

"Stop a moment, Jim, " said the porter to the cabman, as the latter wasjust jerking his reins for a start. "Here, catch hold of this bag; itwas on the top of this gent's carriage: no one else owns to it, so itmust be his'n. The gent's forgotten it, I dessay. "

So saying, he threw a light, shabby-looking carpet-bag up to the driver, who deposited it by his side, and drove off. 

After sleeping for a few hours at a hotel where he was well-known, andhaving urgent business in the city next morning, the doctor depositedhis luggage, which he had left with sundry rugs and shawls in charge ofthe hotel night porter, at his own door on his way to keep his businessappointment, leaving word that he should be at home in the afternoon. With the other luggage there was handed in the shabby-looking carpet-bagwhich had come with it. 

"What's this?" asked the boy-in-buttons, in a tone of disgust, of thehousemaid, as he touched the bag with his outstretched foot. 

"I don't know, I'm sure, " was the reply. "It ain't anything as mastertook with him, and I'm quite sure it don't belong to mistress. "

"I'll tell you what it is, " said the boy abruptly, and in a solemnvoice, "it's something as has to do with science. There's somethingsoft inside it, I can feel. P'raps there's something alive in it--Ishouldn't wonder. Oh! P'raps there's gun-cotton in it. I'd take carehow I carried it if I was you, Mary, or p'raps it'll go off and blow youto bits!"

"Oh goodness!" exclaimed the housemaid, "I won't touch it. Just youtake it yourself and put it into master's study; it'll be safest there. "

So the boy, with a grin of extreme satisfaction at the success of hisassault on the housemaid's nerves, helped her to carry the rest of theluggage upstairs, and then deposited the mysterious bag in a corner ofthe doctor's own special sanctum. Now this study was a room worthdescribing, and yet not very easy to describe. 

The doctor's house itself was one of those not very attractive-lookingdwellings which are to be found by streetfuls running from square tosquare in the west end of London. It had stood patiently there for manya long year, as was evident from the antiquated moulding over thedoorway, and from a great iron extinguisher, in which the link-bearersof old used to quench their torches, which formed part of the sombre-coloured ironwork that skirted the area. The gloomy monotony of thestreet was slightly relieved by a baker's shop at one corner and achemist's at the other. But for these, the general aspect would havebeen one of unbroken dinginess. 

Nor did the interior of the doctor's house present a much livelierappearance. 

The entrance-hall, which was dark and narrow, had rather a sepulchralsmell about it, which was not otherwise than in keeping with someshelves of books at the farther end--the overflow apparently of thedoctor's library; the tall, dark volumes therein looking like so manytombs of the _dead_ languages. 

To the left, as you entered the hall, was a dining-room massivelyfurnished, adorned with a few family portraits, and as many vigorousengravings. But there lacked that indescribable air of comfort whichoften characterises those rooms devoted to the innocent and socialrefreshment of the body at meal-times. The chairs, though in themselvesall that dining-room chairs ought to be, did not look as if on ahabitual good understanding with one another; some were against thewall, and others stood near the table, and at irregular distances, asthough they never enjoyed that cozy fraternity so desirable in well-conditioned seats. Books, too, lay about in little zigzag heaps; whilea bunch of keys, a pair of lady's gloves, and a skein of coloured woollay huddled together on the centre of the sideboard. The wholearrangement, or rather disarrangement, of the room bespoke, on the partof the presiding female management, an indifference to those minordetails of order and comfort a due attention to which makes home (agenuine English home) the happiest spot in the world. 

Opposite to this room, on the other side of the hall, was another ofsimilar size, used apparently as a sort of reception-room. Huge book-shelves occupied two of the walls, an orrery stood against a third, while dusty curiosities filled up the corners. There was somethingpeculiarly depressing about the general appearance and tone of thisapartment, --nothing bright, nothing to suggest cheerful and happythoughts, --plenty of food for the mind, but presented in such anindigestible form as was calculated to inflict on the consumerintellectual nightmare. This room was known as the library. 

But we pass on to the doctor's own special room--the study. This wasbeyond and behind the dining-room. Book-shelves towered on all sides, filled with volumes of all sizes, and in nearly all languages, some inexquisitely neat white vellum binding, with Tome One, Tome Two, etcetera, in shining gold on their backs--the products of an age when aconscientiousness could be traced in the perfect finish of all thedetails of a work external or internal; some in the form of statelyfolios, suggestive at once both of the solidity and depth of learningpossessed by the writers and expected in the readers; while a multitudeof lesser volumes were crowded together, some erect, others lying flat, or leaning against one another for support. Greek and Latin classicauthors, and in all languages poets, historians, and specially writerson science were largely represented--even French and German octavoesstanding at ease in long regiments side by side, suggestive of noFranco-Prussian war, but only of an intellectual contest, arising out ofamicable differences of opinion. On one side of the principal bookcasewas an electrical machine, and on the other an air-pump; while a rustysword and a pair of ancient gauntlets served as links to connect thewarlike past with the pacific present. In the centre of the room was alarge leather-covered writing-table, on which lay a perfect chaos ofprinted matter and manuscript; while bottles of ink, red, black, andblue, might be seen emerging from the confusion like diminutive fortsset there to guard the papers from unlearned and intrusive fingers. Order was clearly not the doctor's "first law;" and certainly it musthave required no common powers of memory to enable him, when seated infront of the confusion he himself had made, to lay his hand upon anyparticular book or manuscript which might claim his immediate attention. On either side of a small fire-place at the rear of the table, andabove it, hung charts, historical, geological, and meteorological; whilea very dim portrait of some friend of the doctor, or perhaps of someliterary celebrity, looked down from over the doorway through a haze ofvenerable dust on the scientific labours which it could neither sharenor lighten. 

In the corner of the room farthest from the door was a little closet, seldom opened, secured by a patent lock, whose contents no one wasacquainted with save the doctor himself. The housemaid, whose duties inthis room were confined to an occasional wary sweeping and dusting, andfire-lighting in the winter season, would keep at a respectful distancefrom this closet, or pass it with a creeping dread; for the boy-in-buttons had thrown out dark suggestions that it probably contained theskulls of murderers, or, at the least, snakes and scorpions preserved inspirits, or even possibly alive, and ready to attack any daring intruderon their privacy. 

Such were Dr John Prosser's home and study. 

It was just four o'clock in the afternoon of the 24th of December whenthe doctor returned to his house from the city. 

"Is your mistress at home?" he asked of the boy. 

"No, sir; she told me to tell you that she was gone to a meeting of theschool board. "

The doctor's countenance fell. He was evidently disappointed; and nowonder, for he had been away from his home for the last ten days, andfelt keenly the absence of his wife, and of a loving greeting on hisreturn. 

"Any letters for me, William?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir, they're on your table; and, please, sir, I've put the littlecarpet-bag into your study. "

"Carpet-bag! What carpet-bag?" asked his master. 

"Why, sir, the little bag as came with your luggage. We didn't take itupstairs, because it's nothing as you took with you when you left home, and Mary says it don't belong to mistress; so I thought it would bebetter to put it into your study till you came home, as it might besomething particular. It's in the corner by the fire-place, sir. "

"Well, well, never mind, " was the reply; "let me know when your mistresscomes in, " and the doctor retired to his sanctum. 

Drawing up his chair to the table, he was soon deep in his letters; butturning round to poke the fire, his eye fell on the little bag. "Howcan I have come by this, I wonder? And what can it be?" he said tohimself, as he took it up and turned it round and round. It wasfastened by an ordinary padlock, which easily opened on the applicationof one of the doctor's keys. "Nothing but waste paper, " he said, as heturned out a portion of the contents, which appeared to consist merelyof pieces of newspaper and brown paper crumpled up. "Pshaw! Somefoolish hoax or practical joke intended for me, or somebody else, perhaps!" he exclaimed. "Well, it seems scarcely worth making anytrouble about; but if it has come here by mistake, and is of sufficientvalue, there will be inquiries or an advertisement about it. " Sosaying, he replaced the crumpled papers, locked the bag again, andopening his closet, placed it on one of the upper shelves, where it mustrest for a while and gather dust. 

When Dr Prosser had finished reading his letters, and had answered suchas needed an immediate reply, he betook himself to the drawing-room. This was a large apartment, occupying upstairs the same area as thelibrary, hall, and dining-room. It was handsomely furnished, bearingmarks in every direction of a highly cultivated taste and of woman'shandiwork. Yet there was wanting that peculiar air of comfort whichgives a heart--cheering glow alike to the humblest cottage parlour andthe elegant saloon of the man of wealth and refinement. Indeed, itmight truly be said that the room abounded in everything that could bedevised, _but_ comfort. Like a picture full of brilliant colouring, thevarious hues of which need blending and toning down, so the articles ofluxury and beauty lavishly scattered about Dr Prosser's drawing-room, though tastefully selected, seemed calculated rather to call forth thepassing admiration of friends and strangers than to give abidingpleasure to their possessors. 

At present there was certainly something very discouraging about thewhole appearance of things in the eyes of the doctor, as he entered thecostly furnished apartment. A fire, it is true, twinkled between thebars of the grate; but its few feeble sparks, in contrast with theprevailing surroundings of black coal and cinders, were suggestive tothe feelings rather of the chilliness they were meant to counteract thanof the warmth which they were designed to impart. Near the fire was adwarf, round, three-legged table, on which lay a manuscript in a femalehand. The doctor took it up, and laid it down with a sigh. It was aportion of a long-since-begun and never-likely-to-be-finished essay oncomparative anatomy. A heap of unanswered letters lay on a taller tableclose by, having displaced a work-basket, whose appearance ofsuperlative neatness showed how seldom the fingers of its gentle ownerexplored or made use of its homely stores. A grand piano stood near therichly curtained windows. It was open. A vocal duet occupied themusic-rest, and various other pieces for voice and instrument werestrewed along the highly polished top. Near the piano was a harp, whilea manuscript book of German and Italian songs was placed upon an elegantstand near it, and other pieces filled a gaping portfolio at the foot. On a beautifully inlaid table in the centre of the room was anunfinished water-colour drawing, propped up by a pile of richly gildedand ornamented books. The drawing, with its support, had been pushedback towards the middle of the table, to make way for a sheet or two ofnote-paper containing portions of a projected poem. And the presidingand inspiring genius of all this beautiful confusion was Agnes Prosser. 

And did she make her husband happy? Well, it was taken for granted byfriends and acquaintance that she did--or, at any rate, that it must be_his_ fault if she did not; and so the poor doctor thought himself. Hewas proud of his wife, and considered that he ought to be thoroughlyhappy with her; but somehow or other, he was not so. She was, in thecommon acceptation of the words, highly accomplished, of an amiable andloving disposition, graceful and winning in person and manner, able totake the head of his table to the entire satisfaction of himself and hisfriends, and capable of conversing well on every subject with all whowere invited to her house, or whom she met in society elsewhere. 

What could her husband want more? He _did_ want something more--hisheart asked and yearned for something more. What was it? He couldhardly distinctly tell. Nevertheless he felt himself on thisafternoon--he had been gradually approaching the feeling for some timepast--a disappointed man. Perhaps it was his own fault, he thought; yetso it was. 

He was now just forty years of age, and had been married three years. His wife was some ten years younger than himself. He had looked wellround him before making choice of one with whom he was to share the joysand sorrows of a domestic life. He was a man who thoroughly respectedreligion, and could well discriminate between the genuine servant ofChrist and the mere sounding professor, while at the same timescientific studies had rather tended to make him undervalue cleardogmatic teaching as set forth in the revealed Word of God. Yet he wastoo profound a thinker to adopt that popular scepticism which is eitherthe refuge of those who, consciously or unconsciously, use it as ascreen, though it proves but a semi-transparent one at the best, to shutout the light of a coming judgment, or the halting-place of thinkers whostop short of the only source of true and infallible wisdom--therevealed mind of God. His wife, too, had been taught religiously, andcordially assented to the truths of the gospel, though the constraininglove of Christ was yet wanting; and both she and her husband wereintimate friends of one whose path had ever been since they had knownit, "the path of the just, like the shining light, that shineth more andmore unto the perfect day:" and that one was Ernest Maltby, now vicar ofCrossbourne. 

So Dr Prosser had chosen his wife well. And yet he was disappointed inher; and why? Just because he had made the mistake--and how common amistake it is in these days--of supposing that accomplishments acquiredand a highly cultivated mind make the model woman, wife, and mother. Surely the mistake is a sad and fatal one--fatal to woman's highesthappiness and truest usefulness; fatal to her due fulfilment of the partwhich her loving Creator designed her to fulfil in this world!

There are two concentric circles in which we all move, an inner ordomestic circle, an outer or social circle. We are too often educatingour women merely for the outer circle. We crowd the mind and memorywith knowledge of all sorts, that they may shine in society: we forgetto teach them first and foremost how to make home happy. It was so withMrs Prosser. She had overstrained her mind with the burden of amultitude of acquirements and accomplishments, which had not, after all, made her truly accomplished. One or two things for which she had realtaste and ability thoroughly mastered would have been a far greatersource of delight to her husband, and of satisfaction to herself, thanthe mere handful of unripe fruit which she had gathered from a dozendifferent branches of the tree of knowledge, and in the collecting ofwhich she had, in a measure, impaired the elasticity of her mind and herbodily strength, and found no time for making herself mistress of athousand little undemonstrative acquirements which tend to keep a steadylight of joy and peace burning daily and hourly in the home. 

What wonder, then, that, when a little one came to gladden the hearts ofthose who were already fondly attached to each other, the poor motherwas unable to do justice to her child. Partly nourished by a stranger, and partly brought up by hand, and missing those numberless littleattentions which either ignorance or a mind otherwise occupied preventedMrs Prosser from giving to the frail being who had brought into theworld with it a delicacy of constitution due, in a considerable degree, to its mother's overstrain of mind and body, the baby pined and drooped, and, spite of medicine, prayers, and tears, soon closed its weary eyeson a world which had used it but roughly, to wing its way into a landunclouded by sin or sorrow. 

How keenly he felt the loss of his child the doctor dared not say, especially to his wife, entertaining as he did a painful misgiving thatshe had hardly done her duty by it; while on the mother's heart thererested an abiding burden, made doubly heavy by a dreadful consciousnessof neglect on her part--a burden which no lapse of time could everwholly remove. Thus a stationary shadow brooded over that home whereall might have been unclouded sunshine. 

Dr Prosser was disappointed; for he had hoped to find in his wife, notmerely or chiefly an intellectual and highly educated companion, but onein whose society he could entirely unbend--one who would make his homebright by causing him to forget for a while science and the busy whirlof the world in the beautiful womanly tendernesses which rejoice ahusband's heart, and smooth out the wrinkles from his brow. 

It was, then, as a disappointed man that Dr Prosser sat with his feeton the drawing-room polished fender with his chair tilted back. Moodilygazing at the cheerless fire, he had become sunk deep in absorbingmeditation, when a rushing step on the stairs roused him from hisreverie, and scattered for the time all painful thoughts. 

"My dear, dear John, how delighted I am to see you back; I hardlyexpected you so soon!" exclaimed Agnes Prosser, after exchanging a mostloving salutation with her husband. 

"Why, I thought, " was the answer, with somewhat of reproach in its tone, "that you knew I should be here this afternoon. "

"Oh yes; but hardly so soon. Well, I am so sorry; it was too bad not tobe at home to welcome you. And, I declare, they've nearly let the fireout. What can that stupid boy have been about? And the room in suchconfusion too! Well, dearest, you shan't find it so again. Just ringthe bell, please, and we'll make ourselves comfortable. --William, " tothe boy who answered the summons, "bring up a cup of tea, and a glass ofsherry, and the biscuit box. --You'll like a cup of tea, John. --And, by-the-by, William, tell Mrs Lloyd I should like dinner half an hourearlier. --You won't mind dinner at half-past five to-day, dearest?"

"No, my dear Agnes, not if it is more convenient to yourself. "

"Why, the fact is, I've promised to meet a select committee of ladiesthis evening at seven o'clock, at Lady Strong's. "

"What!--this evening!" exclaimed her husband. "Why, it's Christmas-eve!Whatever can these good ladies want with one another to-night away fromtheir own firesides?"

"Ah now, John, that's a little hit at your poor wife. But a man withyour high sense of duty ought not to say so. You know it must be `dutyfirst, and pleasure afterwards. '"

"True, Agnes, where the duty is one plainly laid upon us, but not whereit is of one's own imposing. I can't help thinking that a wife's firstand chief duties lie at home. "

"Oh, now, you mustn't look grave like that, and scold me. I ordered afly to call for me at a quarter to seven, and I shan't be gone much morethan an hour, I daresay. And you can have a good long snooze by thedining-room fire while I'm away. I know how you enjoy a snooze. "

William now appearing with the tray, she passed the tea to her husband, and took the glass of sherry herself. A cloud settled for a moment onthe doctor's brow. He wished that the constant drain on his wife'senergies, physical and mental, could be restored by something lessperilous than these stimulants, resorted to, he could see, withincreasing frequency. But she always assured him that nothing soreinvigorated her as just one glass of sherry. 

"And what are these good ladies going to meet about?" he asked, when thetray had been removed. 

"Oh, you'll laugh, I daresay, when I tell you, " she replied; "but Iassure you that they are all good and earnest workers. We are going todiscuss the best way of improving the homes of the working-classes. "

"Well, " said the doctor, laughing, but with a touch of mingled sarcasmand bitterness in his voice, "I think your committee can't do betterthan advise the working-women of England generally to make their homesmore attractive to their husbands, and to lead the way yourselves. "

"My dearest John, " exclaimed his wife, a little taken aback, "you arecruelly hard upon us poor ladies. I declare you're getting positivelyspiteful. I think we'd better change the subject. --How did you leaveour dear friends the Johnsons? And what are they doing in the northabout the `strikes' and `trades-unions'?"

"Really, " he replied wearily, "I must leave the `strikes' and suchthings to take care of themselves just now. The Johnsons send theirlove. They were all well, and most kind and hospitable. But, mydearest wife, I feel concerned about yourself; you look fagged and pale. Come, sit down for a few minutes, and tell me all about it. There, thefire's burning up a bit; and now that I have got you for a while, I mustnot let you slip through my fingers. Just lay your bonnet down; you'llhave plenty of time to dress for dinner. I don't like these eveningmeetings. I am sure they are good for neither mind nor body. You'llwear yourself out. "

"Oh, nonsense, dear John; I never was better than I am now--only alittle tired now and then. But surely we are put into this world to dogood; and it is better to wear out than to rust out. "

"Not a doubt of it, my dearest Agnes; but it is quite possible to keepthe rust away without wearing yourself out at all; and, still more, without wearing yourself out prematurely. At the rate you are going onnow, you will finish up your usefulness in a few years at the farthest, instead of extending it, please God, over a long and peaceful life. "

Mrs Prosser was silent for a few moments, and then she said: "Are younot a little unreasonable, dear John? What would you have me give up?If all were of your mind, what would become of society?"

"Why, in that case, I believe that society would find itself on a muchsafer foundation, and surrounded by a much healthier atmosphere. Butcome, now, tell me, what are your engagements for next week?"

"Why, not so many. To-morrow is Christmas-day, you know, and the nextday is Sunday, so that I shall have quite a holiday, and a fine time forrecruiting. "

"Good! And what on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etcetera?"

"Let me see, John. On Monday and Thursday mornings Clara Thompson andher sister come here, and we read French, German, and Italian together;and on Monday evening we meet at Clara's mother's to practise for theamateur concert. On Tuesday morning I have promised to help poor MissDanvers. "

"Miss Danvers! Why, what help can she need from you?"

"Come, dearest John, don't be unfeeling; she is over head and ears indebt, and--"

"And do you mean that you are going to take her liabilities uponyourself?"

"Nonsense, John; you are laughing at me; it isn't kind. I had notfinished my sentence. She is overwhelmed with letter-debts, poor thing;and I promised to go and help her with her correspondence. You know weare told in the Bible to `bear one another's burdens. '"

"True, my dearest wife; but the same high authority, if I rememberrightly, bids us do our own business first. But what has entailed suchan enormous amount of correspondence on Miss Danvers?"

"Only her anxiety to do good. She is secretary to some half-dozenladies' societies for meeting all sorts of wants and troubles. --Ah! Isee that cruel smile again on your face; but positively you must notlaugh at me nor her. I am sure she is one of the noblest women I know. "

"I won't question it for a moment, but I wish she could contrive to keepher benevolence within such reasonable limits as would allow her totransact her own business without taxing her friends. Anything more onTuesday?"

"Nothing more, dearest, on Tuesday, away from home; but of course youknow that I have to work hard at my essay, my music, my drawing, and mylittle poem. I see you shrug your shoulders, but you must not be hardupon me. Why was I taught all these things if I am to make no use ofthem?"

"Why, indeed?" were the words which rose to the doctor's lips, but hedid not utter them. He only smiled sadly, and asked, "What ofWednesday?"

"There, John, perhaps you had better look for yourself, " she said, rather piqued at his manner, and taking a little card from her pocket-book, she handed it to him. 

Pressing her left hand lovingly in his own, he took the card from her, and read:--

"`Engagements. Wednesday, 11 a. M. Meet the professor at MrsMaskelyne's. '--Mrs Maskelyne! That's your strong-minded friend whogoes in for muscular Christianity and vivisection! I'm very glad wedon't keep a pet terrier or spaniel!"--"Ah, John, you may laugh, butshe's a wonderful woman!"--"`Wonderful!' perhaps so, dear Agnes, --an`awful' woman, _I_ should say; that's only a term expressive of adifferent kind of admiration. --`Concert in the evening. '

"Now for Thursday. `At 12 o'clock, visit the hospital. Jews' meetingin the evening. '

"`Friday, 10 a. M. Club. Afternoon, district visiting. '

"`Saturday, 3 p. M. Mothers' meeting. '--Why, this mothers' meeting issomething quite new. I thought the vicar's wife took that. "--"So shedoes, John; but, poor thing, she is so overworked, that I could notrefuse when she asked me to take it for her during the next threemonths. "

"And is this sort of thing to go on perpetually?" asked the doctor in adespairing voice. 

"Why should it not, dearest husband? You would not have your wife adrone in these days, when the world all round us is full of workers?"

"Certainly not; but I very much question if we have not gone mad on thissubject of work--at any rate as regards female workers. "

"And would you, then, John, shut up people's hearts and hands? Ithought none knew better than yourself what a vast field there is openfor noble effort and service of every kind. Surely you ought to be thelast person to discourage us. "

"Nay, my beloved wife, you are not doing me justice, " said the doctorwarmly. "What I am convinced of is this--and the conviction gainsstrength with me every day--that good and loving women like yourself arein grievous peril of marring and curtailing their real usefulness byattempting too much. If agencies for good are to be multiplied, letthose who set new ones on foot seek for their workers amongst those whoare not already overburdened or fully occupied. I cannot help thinkingthat there is often much selfishness, or, to use a less harsh word, wantof consideration, in those who apply to ladies whose time is alreadyfully and properly occupied, to join them as workers in their petschemes; for it is easier to try and enlist those who are known to bezealous workers already, than to be at the pains of hunting out newones. I am sure no one rejoices more than I do in the wonderful andcomplicated machinery for doing good which exists on all sides in ourland and day--I think it one of the most cheering signs and evidences ofreal progress amongst us; but, for all that, if a person wants to launcha new ship, he should have reasonable grounds for trusting that he shallbe able to find hands to man her without borrowing those from aneighbouring vessel, who have kept their watch through stormy winds andwaves, and ought, instead of doing extra duty, to be now resting intheir hammocks. "

Mrs Prosser was again silent for a while, and sat looking thoughtfullyinto the fire. Then, in rather a sorrowful voice, she said, "And what, then, dear John, do you think to be my duty? I can't help feeling thatthere is a great deal in what you say. I have not been really satisfiedwith my own way of going on for some time past. But what would you haveme do? What must I give up?"

"I think, " was his reply, "that the thing will settle itself, if youwill only begin at the right end. "

"And which is that, dearest?"

"The home end. Let your first and best energies be spent on the home;it will surely be happier for us both. And let the care of your ownhealth, in the way of taking proper exercise, be reckoned as a mostimportant part of home duties. Life is given us to use, and not toshorten. Therefore, don't undertake anything which will unfit you forthe due performance of these home duties. You have no just call to anysuch undertaking. Do that which is the manifest work lying at yourhand, and I feel sure you will be guided aright as to what other workyou can find time and strength for. "

"Well, John, I will think it well over; I am glad we have had thisconversation. "

"So am I, my precious wife; I am sure good will come of it. And youknow we have an invitation to visit the Maltbys in the spring: we shallbe sure to get some words of valuable counsel there. I don't want tohinder you from doing good out of your own home; I don't want selfishlyto claim all your energies for home work, and my own convenience andcomfort: but I do feel strongly, and more and more strongly every day, that there is a tendency at the present day to make an idol of woman'swork; to keep, too, the bow perpetually on the stretch; to drag wives, mothers, and daughters from their home duties into public, and to givethem no rest, but bid them strain every nerve, and gallop, gallop tillthey die. "

"Perhaps so, John; but it is time for me to go up and dress for dinner. "

CHAPTER FOUR. 

TOMMY TRACKS. 

No one was more universally respected or more vigorously abused inCrossbourne than "Tommy Tracks, " as he was sneeringly called. His realname was Thomas Bradly. He was not a native of Crossbourne, but hadresided in that town for some five years past at the time when our storyopens. As he was a capital workman, and had two sons growing up intoyoung men who were also very skilful hands, it was thought quite naturalthat he should have come to settle down in Crossbourne, where skilledlabour was well remunerated. As to where he came from, some said onething, some another. He was very reserved on the matter himself, and sopeople soon ceased to ask him about it. 

Thomas was undoubtedly an oddity, but his eccentricities were of a kindwhich did no one any harm, and only served to add force to his words andexample. He was an earnest Christian, and as earnest an abstainer fromall intoxicating drinks; and his family walked with him on the narrowgospel way, and in their adherence to temperance principles andpractice. He was also superintendent of the church Sunday-school, andthe very life of the Temperance Society and Band of Hope, of both whichassociations the vicar, who was himself an abstainer, was the president. Indeed, he was the clergyman's right-hand in the carrying out of everygood work in the place. He was something of a reader of such sterlingand profitable works as came in his way, but his Bible was his chiefstudy. 

His special characteristics were a clear head, a large stock of shrewdcommon sense, and an invincible love of truth and straightforwardness, so that he could hold his ground against any man in the place, WilliamFoster the styptic not excepted. Not that Bradly was at all fond of anargument; he avoided one when he could do so consistently, preferring todo good by just sowing seeds of truth in his own humble way, leaving itto God to deal with the tares and weeds. 

One of his favourite modes of sowing was to carry along with him at alltimes a little bundle of religious and temperance tracts, and to offerthese whenever he had an opportunity, commonly accompanying the offerwith some quaint remark which would often overcome the reluctance toaccept them, even in those who were opposed to his principles andpractice. From this habit of his he was generally known among theworking-classes of Crossbourne by the nickname of "Tommy Tracts, " or"Tracks, " as it was usually pronounced--an epithet first given in scorn, but afterwards generally used without any unkindly feeling. Indeed, hewas rather proud of it than otherwise; nor could the taunts and gibeswhich not unfrequently accompanied it ever ruffle in the least his good-humoured self-possession. 

His family, which consisted of himself, his wife, their two sons, and adaughter, all grown up, and an invalid sister of his own, lived in acomfortable house on the outskirts of the town. 

This house he had built for himself out of the profits of his ownindustry. Like its owner, it was rather of an eccentric character, having been constructed on an original plan of his own, and, inconsequence, differed from any other dwelling-house in the town. Ofcourse, he was not left without abundance of comments on hisarchitectural taste, many of them being anything but complimentary, andall of them outspoken. This moved him nothing. "Well, if the housepleases me, " he said to his critics, "I suppose it don't matter muchwhat fashion it's of, so long as the chimney-pots is outside, and thefire-places in. " Not that there was anything grand or ambitious in itsoutward appearance, nor sufficiently peculiar to draw any specialattention to it. It was rather wider in front than the ordinaryworking-men's cottages, and had a stone parapet above the upper windows, running the whole length of the building, on which were painted, inlarge black letters, the words, "Bradly's Temperance Hospital. "

As might have been expected, this inscription brought on him a storm ofridicule and reproach, which he took very quietly; but if any one askedhim in a civil way what he meant by the words, his reply used to be, "Any confirmed drunkard's welcome to come to my house for advice gratis, and I'll warrant to make a perfect cure of him, if he'll only follow myprescription. " And when further asked what that prescription might be, he would reply, "Just this: let the patient sign the pledge, and keepit. " And many a poor drunkard, whom he had lured up to his house, andthen pleaded and prayed with earnestly, had already proved the efficacyof this remedy. 

When blamed by foes or friends for misleading people by putting suchwords on his house, he would say--"Where's the harm? Haven't I as muchright to call my house `Temperance Hospital' as Ben Roberts has to callhis public `The Staff of Life'? What has _his_ `Staff of Life' done?Why, to my certain knowledge, it has just proved a broken staff, and letdown scores of working-men into the gutter. But my `TemperanceHospital' has helped back many a poor fellow _out_ of the gutter, andset him on his feet again. It's a free hospital, too, and we're neverfull; we takes all patients as comes. "

The inside of the house was as suggestive of Thomas's principles andeccentricities of character as the outside. 

The front door opened into a long and narrow hall, lighted by a fan-light. As you entered, your eyes would naturally fall on the words, "Picture Gallery, " facing you, on the farther wall, just over theentrance to the kitchen. This "picture gallery" was simply the hallitself, which had something of the appearance of a photographer'sstudio, the walls being partly covered with portraits large and small, interspersed with texts of Scripture, pledge-cards bearing the names ofhimself and family, and large engravings from the _British Workman_, coloured by one of his sons to give them greater effect. Thephotographs were chiefly likenesses of those who had been his ownconverts to total abstinence, with here and there the portrait of somewell-known temperance advocate. 

To the left of the hall was the parlour or company sitting-room, whichwas adorned with portraits, or what were designed to be such, of theQueen and other members of the royal family. Over the fire-place was ahandsome mirror, on either side of which were photographs of the vicarand his wife; and on the opposite side of the room stood a bookcase withglass doors, containing a small but judicious selection of volumes, religious, historical, biographical, and scientific: for Thomas Bradlywas a reader in a humble way, and had a memory tenacious of anythingthat struck him. But the pride of this choice apartment was an enormousillustrated Bible, sumptuously bound, which lay on the middle of a roundtable that occupied the centre of the room. 

The kitchen, however, was the real daily living-place of the family. Ithad been built of unusually large dimensions, in order to accommodate agoodly number of temperance friends, or of the members of the Band ofHope, who occasionally met there. Over the doors and windows were largetexts in blue, and over the ample fire-place, in specially large lettersof the same colour, the words, "Do the next thing. "

Many who called on Thomas Bradly, and saw this maxim for the first time, were rather puzzled to know what it meant. "What _is_ `the nextthing'?" they would ask. "Why, it's just this, " he would reply: "thenext thing is the thing nearest to your hand. Just do the thing ascomes nearest to hand, and be content to do _that_ afore you concernyourself about anything else. These words has saved me a vast oftrouble and worry. I've read somewhere as `worry' is one of thespecially prominent troubles of our day. I think that's true enough. Well, now, I've found my motto there--`Do the next thing'--a capitalremedy for worry. Sometimes I've come down of a morning knowing as I'da whole lot of things to get done, and I've been strongly tempted tomake a bundle of them, and do them all at once, or try, at any rate, todo three or four of 'em at the same time. But then I've just cast myeyes on them words, and I've said to myself, `All right, Thomas Bradly;you just go and do the next thing;' and I've gone and done it, and afterthat I've done the next thing, and so on till I've got through the wholebundle. "

Opposite the broad kitchen-range was a plate-rack well filled withserviceable chinaware, and which formed the upper part of a dresser orplain deal sideboard. Above the rack, and near the ceiling, were thewords, "One step at a time. "

This and the maxim over the fire-place he used to call his "two walking-sticks. " Thus, meeting a fellow-workman one day who had lately come toCrossbourne, about whose character for steadiness he had strongsuspicions, and who seemed always in a hurry, and yet as if he couldnever fairly overtake his work--

"James, " he said to him, "you should borrow my two walking-sticks. "

"Walking-sticks!--what for?" asked the other. 

"Why, you'll be falling one of these days if you hurry so; and my twowalking-sticks would be a great help to you. " The other stared at him, quite unable to make out his meaning. 

"Walking-sticks, Tommy Tracks! You don't seem to stand in need of them. I never see you with a stick in your hand. "

"For all that I make use of them every day, James; and if you'll stepinto my house any night I'll show them to you: for I can't spare themout of the kitchen, though I never go to my work without them. "

"Some foolery or other!" exclaimed the man he addressed, roughly. Nevertheless his curiosity was excited, and he stopped Bradly at hisdoor one evening, saying "he was come to see his two walking-sticks. "

"Good--very good, " said the other. "Come in. There, sit you down bythe table--and, missus, give us each a cup of tea. Now, you just lookover the chimney-piece. There's one of my walking-sticks: `Do the nextthing. ' And, now, look over the dresser. There's the other walking-stick: `One step at a time'. And I'll just tell you how to use them. It don't require any practice. When you've half-a-dozen things as wantsdoing, and can't all be done at once, just you consider which of 'em allought to be done first. That's `the next thing. ' Go straight ahead atthat, and don't trouble a bit about the rest till that's done. That'sone stick as'll help you to walk through a deal of work with very littlebustle and worry. And, James, just be content in all you do to beguided by the great Master as owns us all, the Lord Jesus Christ, whobought us for himself with his own blood. Just be willing to followhim, and let him lead you `one step at a time, ' and don't want to seethe place for the next step till you've put your foot where he tellsyou. You'll find that a rare stout walking-stick. You may lean yourwhole weight on it, and it won't give way; and it'll help you in peacethrough the trials of this life, and on the road to a better. "

Such was Thomas Bradly's kitchen. Many a happy gathering was heldthere, and many a useful lesson learned in it. 

But, besides the rooms already mentioned, there was one adjoining thekitchen which was specially Thomas Bradly's own. It was of considerablesize, and was entered from the inside by a little door out of thekitchen. This door was commonly locked, and the key kept by Bradlyhimself. The more usual approach to it was from the outside. Itsexternal appearance did not exactly contribute to the symmetry of thewhole premises; but that was a matter of very small moment to itsproprietor, who had added it on for a special purpose. The house itselfwas on the hill-side, on the outskirts of the town, as has been said. There was a little bit of garden in front and on either side, so that itcould not be built close up to. At present it had no very nearneighbours. A little gate in the low wall which skirted the garden, onthe left hand as you faced the house, allowed any visitor to have accessto the outer door of Bradly's special room without going through thegarden up the front way. On this outer door was painted in whiteletters, "Surgery. "

"Do you mend broken bones, Tommy Tracks?" asked a working-man of notvery temperate or moral habits soon after this word had been painted onthe door. "If you do, I think we may perhaps give you a job beforelong, as it'll be Crossbourne Wakes next Sunday week. "

"No, " was Bradly's reply; "I mend broken hearts, and put drunkards'homes into their proper places when they've got out of joint. "

"Indeed! You'll be clever to do that, Tommy. "

"Ah! You don't know, Bill. P'raps you'll come and try my skillyourself afore long. "

The other turned away with a scornful laugh and a gibe; but the arrowhad hit its mark. But, indeed, what Thomas Bradly said was true. Broken hearts and dislocated families had been set to rights in thatroom. There would appointments be kept by wretched used-up sots, whowould never have been persuaded to ask for Bradly at the ordinary doorof entrance; and there on his knees, with the poor conscience-strickenpenitent bowed beside him, would Thomas pour out his simple but ferventsupplications to Him who never "broke a bruised reed, nor quenched thesmoking flax. " And mothers, too, the slaves of the drink-fiend, hadfound in that room liberty from their chains. Here, too, would thevicar preside over meetings of the Temperance and Band of HopeCommittees. 

The room was snugly fitted up with a long deal table, as clean asconstant scrubbing could make it, and boasted of a dozen windsor-chairsand two long benches. There were two cupboards also, one on each sideof a small but brightly burnished grate. In one of these, pledge-books, cards for members, and temperance tracts and books were kept; in theother was a stock of Bibles, New Testaments, prayer-books, hymn-books, and general tracts. A few well-chosen coloured Scripture prints andilluminated texts adorned the walls; and everything in Bradly's housewas in the most perfect order. You would not find a chair awry, norbooks lying loose about, nor so much as a crumpled bit of paper thrownon the floor of his "Surgery, " nor indeed anywhere about the premises. 

When a neighbour once said to him, "I see, Tommy Tracks, you hold withthe saying, `Cleanliness is next to godliness, '"--"Nay, I don't, " washis reply. "I read it another way: `Cleanliness is a part ofgodliness. ' I can't understand a dirty or disorderly Christian--leastways, it's very dishonouring to the Master; for dirt and untidinessand confusion are types and pictures of sin. A true Christian ought tobe clean and tidy outside as well as in. Christ's servants should lookalways cleaner and neater than any one else; for aren't we told to adornthe doctrine of God our Saviour in _all_ things? And don't dirtinessand untidiness in Christians bring a reproach on religion? And then, ifthings are out of their place--all sixes and sevens--why, it's justsetting a trap for your feet. You'll stumble, and lose your temper andyour time, and fuss the life out of other people too, if things aren'tin their proper places, and you can't lay hold of a thing just when youwant it. It's waste of precious time and precious peace, and them'swhat Christians can't afford to lose. Why, Jenny Bates, poor soul, usedto lose her temper, and she'd scarce find it afore she lost it again, and just because she never had anything in decent order. And yet shewere a godly woman; but her light kept dancing about, instead of shiningsteadily, as it ought to have done, just because she never knew where toput her hand on anything she wanted, and everything was in her way andin her husband's way, except what they was looking for at the time. It's a fine thing when you can stick by the rule, `A place foreverything, and everything in its place. '"

But now it is not to be supposed for a moment that a man like ThomasBradly could escape without a great deal of persecution in such a placeas Crossbourne. All sorts of hard names were heaped upon him by thosewho were most rebuked by a life so manifestly in contrast to their own. Many gnashed upon him with their teeth, and would have laid violenthands on him had they dared. Sundry little spiteful tricks also wereplayed off upon him. Thus, one morning he found that the word "Surgery"had been obliterated from his private door, and the word "Tomfoolery"painted under it. He let this pass for a while unnoticed andunremedied, and then restored the original word; and as his friends andthe police were on the watch, the outrage was not repeated. All openscoffs and insults he took very quietly, sometimes just remarking, whenany one called him "canting hypocrite, " or the like, that "he was verythankful to say that it wasn't true. "

But besides this, he had an excellent way of his own in dealing withannoyances and persecutions, which turned them to the best account. Atthe back of a shelf, in one of the cupboards in his "Surgery, " he kept asmall box, on the lid of which he had written the word "Pills. " Whensome word or act of special unkindness or bitterness had been his lot, he would scrupulously avoid all mention of it to his wife or children onhis return home, but would retire into his "Surgery, " write on a smallpiece of paper the particulars of the act or insult, with the name ofthe doer or utterer, and put it into the box. Then, at the end of eachmonth, he would lock himself into his room, take out the box, read overthe papers, which were occasionally pretty numerous, and spread them outin prayer, like Hezekiah, before the Lord, asking him that these hardwords and deeds might prove as medicine to his soul to keep him humbleand watchful, and begging, at the same time, for the conversion andhappiness of his persecutors. After this he would throw the papers intothe fire, and come out to his family all smiles and cheerfulness, asthough something specially pleasant and gratifying had just beenhappening to him--as indeed it had; for having cast his care on hisSaviour, he had been getting a full measure of "the peace of God, whichpasseth understanding, to keep his heart and mind through Christ Jesus. "

Nor would his nearest and dearest have ever known of this original wayof dealing with his troubles, had not his wife accidentally come uponthe "pill-box" one day, when he had sent her to replace a book in thecupboard for him. Well acquainted as she was with most of his oddities, she was utterly at a loss to comprehend the box and its contents. Onopening the lid, she thought at first that the box contained veritablemedicine; but seeing, on closer inspection, that there was nothinginside but little pieces of paper neatly rolled up, her curiosity was, not unnaturally, excited, and she unfolded half-a-dozen of them. Whatcould they mean? There was writing on each strip, and it was in herhusband's hand. She read as follows: "Sneaking scoundrel. JohnThompson"--"Jim Taylor set his dog at me"--"Hypocritical humbug; youtake your glass on the sly. George Walters!"--and so on. 

She returned the papers to the box, and in the evening asked herhusband, when they were alone, what it all meant. "Oh! So you've foundme out, Mary, " he said, laughing. "Well, it means just this: I neverbring any of these troubles indoors to you and the children; you've gotquite enough of your own. So I keep them for the Lord to deal with; andwhen I've got a month's stock, I just read them over. It's as good as amedicine to see what people say of me. And then I throw 'em all intothe fire, and they're gone from me for ever; and when I've added a wordof prayer for them as has done me the wrong, I come away with my heartas light as a feather. "

It need hardly be said that Mrs Bradly was more than satisfied withthis solution of the puzzle. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

A DISCUSSION. 

If there was one man more than another whom William Foster the scepticboth disliked and feared, it was "Tommy Tracks. " Not that he would haveowned to such a fear for a moment. He tried to persuade himself that hedespised him; but there was that about Bradly's life and character whichhe was forced to respect, and before which his spirit within him bowedand quailed spite of himself. 

Thomas Bradly, though possessed of but a very moderate share of book-learning, was pretty well aware that it required no very deep line toreach the bottom of Foster's acquirements; and so, while he preferred, as a rule, to avoid any open controversy with William, or any of hisparty, he never shrunk from a fair stand-up contest when he believedthat his Master's honour and the truth required it. 

One evening, a few days after the mysterious appearance of the littleBible in his own house, Foster, as he was coming home from his work, encountered Bradly at the open door of the blacksmith's forge with abundle of tracts in his hand. 

"Still trying to do us poor sinners good, I see, " sneered Foster. 

"Yes, if you'll let me, " said the other, offering a tract. 

"None of your nonsensical rubbish for me, " was the angry reply, as thespeaker turned away. 

"I never carries either nonsense or rubbish, " rejoined Thomas. "Mytracts are all of 'em good solid sense; they are taken out of God's holyWord, or are agreeable to the same. "

"What! The Bible? What sensible man now believes in that Bible ofyours? It's a failure; it has been demonstrated to be a failure. Allenlightened men, even many among your own Christians, are giving it upas a failure now, "--saying which in a tone of triumph, as he lookedround on a little knot of working-men who were gathering about thesmithy door, he seated himself on an upturned cart which was waiting tobe repaired, and looked at his opponent for a reply. 

Thomas Bradly, nothing daunted, sat him down very deliberately on alarge smooth stone on the opposite side of the doorway, and remarkedquietly, "As to the Bible's being a failure, I suppose that depends verymuch on experience. I've got an eight-day clock in our house. I boughtit for a very good one, and gave a very good price for it, just before Iset up housekeeping. A young fellow calls the other day, when Ihappened to be in, and he wants me to buy a new-fashioned sort of clockof him. `Well, if I do, ' says I, `what'll you allow me for my oldclock, then, as part payment?' So he goes over and looks at it, andturns up his nose at it, and says, `'Tain't worth the trouble of takingaway: you shall have one of the right sort cheap; that clumsy, old-fashioned thing'll never do you no good. '--`Well, ' says I, `that's justas people find. That old clock has served me well, and kept the best oftime these five and twenty years, and it don't show any signs of beingworse for wear yet. So I'll stick to the old clock still, if youplease, and take my time by it as I've been used to do. ' And the old-fashioned Bible's just like my old clock. You tell me as it's proved tobe a failure. I tell _you_ it isn't a failure, for I've tried it, andproved it for more years than I've tried my clock, and it never yetfailed _me_. "

"Perhaps not, Tommy, " said Foster; "that's what you call yourexperience; but for all that, it has proved a failure generally. "

"How do you make out that, William? I can find you a score of familiesin Crossbourne as the Bible hasn't failed, and their neighbours know ittoo. "

"Ah! Very likely; but what I mean is this: it has proved a failure whenits power and truth have come to be tested in other parts of the world--that's the general and almost universal experience, in fact. "

"Well, now, that's strange, " replied Bradly, "to hear a man talk in thatway in our days, when there's scarce a language in the known world thatthe Bible hasn't been turned into, so that all the wide world own it hasbeen bringing light and peace into thousands of hearts and homes--there's no contradicting that; and that's a strange sort of failure--summat like old John Wrigley's failure that folks were talking about; hefailed by dying worth just half a million. "

"Well, but when we men of science and observation say that the Bible isa failure, we mean that it hasn't accomplished what it should have donesupposing it to be a revelation from the Supreme Being. "

"Ah, you are right there, William! I quite agree with you. "

"Do you hear him, mates?" cried Foster triumphantly. "He owns he'sbeaten. "

"Not a bit of it, " cried Bradly. "What I grant you is this, and nomore: the Bible hasn't done all it should have done, and would havedone. But why? Just because men wouldn't let it: as our Saviour saidwhen he was upon earth, `Ye will not come unto me that ye might havelife. ' That's man's fault, not the Bible's. "

"Ah, but if the Bible had really been a revelation from heaven, it oughtto have converted all the world by this time, Tommy Tracks. "

"What! Whether men would or no? Nay; that's making men mere machines, without any will of their own. If men hear the Bible, and still chooseto walk in wicked ways, who's to blame? Certainly not the Bible. "

"That won't do, Tommy. What I mean is this: men of real science andknowledge declare that your Bible has proved to be a failure justbecause Christianity has not accomplished what the Bible professed thatit would accomplish. "

"Indeed!" said the other quietly; "how so? I think, William, you'reshifting your ground a bit. But what has the Bible claimed for theChristian religion which Christianity has not accomplished?"

"Why, just look here, Tommy. There's what you call the angels' song, `Glory to God in the highest! And on earth peace, good-will towardsmen. ' That's how it goes, I think. Now, Professor Tyndall, one of thegreatest scientific men of the day, says that you've only to look at thewars that still go on between civilised nations to see that the angels'song has not been fulfilled--that the gospel has failed to bring aboutuniversal peace. And so you see the Christian Bible has notaccomplished what it professed to accomplish. "

"Stop a bit--softly!" said the other; "let's take one thing at a time. Professor Tyndall may understand a great deal about science, but itdon't follow that he knows much about the Bible. But now I'll make boldto take the very wars that have been going on in your time and mine, andcall them up to give evidence just the other way. Mind you, I'm notsaying a word in favour of wars. I only wish people would be content tofight with my weapons, and no others; and that's just simply with theBible itself--`the sword of the Spirit, ' as the Scripture calls it. Butnow, you just listen to this letter from a newspaper correspondent inthe war between the Prussians and the French. I cut it out, and here itis:--

"`This afternoon I witnessed a very touching scene. A French soldier ofthe Thirty-third Line Regiment, belonging to the corps of GeneralFrossard, had been made prisoner at the outposts. He is a native ofJouy-aux-Arches, where his wife and children now reside. On his way toCorny, where the head-quarters of the prince are now situated, he askedpermission to be allowed to see his wife and children. Need I say thatthe request was immediately granted? The poor woman, half deliriouswith joy, asked to be allowed to accompany her husband at least toCorny. This was also acceded to. But then came the difficulty aboutthe bairns. The woman was weak, and could not carry her baby, and athome there was no one to mind it. As for the little chap of five, hecould toddle along by his father's side. The difficulty was, however, overcome by a great big Pomeranian soldier, who volunteered to act asnurse. This man had been quartered close to the poor woman's house; andthe little ones knew him, for he had often played with them. Whentherefore, bidding the poor wife be of good cheer, he held out his bigstrong arms to the little infant, it came to him immediately, andnestling its tiny head upon his shoulders, seemed perfectly content. Sodid the Prussian soldier carry the Frenchman's child. When I first sawthe group, the wife was clasped in her husband's embrace; the little boyclung to his father's hand; while the Prussian soldier, with the baby inhis arms, stalked along by their sides. Then the Frenchwoman told herhusband how, when she had been ill and in want of food, the Prussiansoldiers had shared their rations with her, had fetched wood and water, had lit the fire, and helped her in their own rough, kindly way; untilat last those two men, who belonged to countries now arrayed againsteach other in bitterest hate--who perhaps a few days since fought theone against the other--embraced like brothers, while I, like a great bigfool, stood by and cried like a baby. But I was not alone in my folly, if folly it be: several Prussian officers and soldiers followed myexample, for we all had wives and children in far-off homes. '

"Now, I ask you all, friends, to give me an honest answer: could such athing have happened if those countries, France and Prussia, hadn't bothof 'em been enjoying the light that comes from the Bible--as Christiannations by profession, at any rate--for long years past? You've only tolook at wars between nations that know nothing of the Bible to get ananswer to that. "

"You had him there, Tommy, " cried one of the auditory, considerablydelighted at Foster's evident discomfiture. 

But the latter returned to the charge, saying, "All very fine, TommyTracks; but you haven't fully answered my objection. "

"I know it, " was Bradly's reply. "I understand that you deny that theBible is a revelation from God because it has failed, (so you say) to dowhat it professes to do. "

"Just so. "

"Well, what does it profess to do?"

"Doesn't it profess to convert all the world?"

"How soon?"

"Before the Second Advent, as you call it. "

"Show me, William, where it says so. "

So saying, Bradly handed a little Bible to his opponent, who took itvery reluctantly; while those around, being much interested, and at thesame time amused, exclaimed, --

"Ay, to be sure! Show it him, William; show it him!"

"Not I, " said Foster, endeavouring to hide his annoyance and confusionby an assumption of scorn; "it's not in my line to hunt for texts. "

"True, " said Thomas quietly; "if it had been, you wouldn't have madesuch a blunder. --He can't find it, friends, for it ain't written so inthe Bible. Before the Lord comes again he'll gather out his own peoplefrom all nations. But that's not at all the same as converting all theworld; that's not to be till _after_ his coming again, according to theBible. And this is just what's happening now in different countries allover the world; exactly according to the teaching of the Bible, neithermore nor less. So he hasn't proved his point, friends; has he?"

"No, no!" was the universal cry. 

But William Foster, though sorely angry, and conscious that his arrowshad utterly failed of hitting their mark, was determined not to bedriven ingloriously out of the field; his pride could not endure that. So, smothering his wrath, he turned again to Bradly and said, --

"Here, give us one of your precious tracts, man. " The other immediatelyhanded him one. 

"Now see, mates, " continued Foster, "what I've got here--`The Power ofPrayer. ' See how it begins `Prayer moves the arm that moves the world. 'And you believe that, Tommy Tracks?"

"Yes, " was the reply; "I believe it; and more than that, I _know_ it--Iknow that it's true. "

"And how do you know it?"

"First and foremost, because the Bible says so; not those very words, indeed, but what means just the same: as, for instance, `The Lord's handis not shortened, that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy, that itcannot hear. ' And, better still, I have it in our Saviour's own words:`If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things tothem that ask him?'"

"Well, now, let me tell you, friend Bradly, that it's all a delusion. "

"You're at liberty, William, to tell me what you like; but I can tellyou that it's no such thing as a delusion, for I've proved it myself tobe a blessed truth. "

"What! You mean to say that your own prayers have been answered?"

"I do mean to say so, William. There's nothing like experience. I cantell you what I know myself. I've put the Lord to the proof over andover again, and he has never failed me. I've always had what I needed. "

"Hear him!" cried Foster, derisively. "Why, it isn't a week ago that Iheard him myself tell John Rowe that he'd like to build another cottageon the bit of land he bought last year, only he couldn't afford it justat present. And now he says he has only to pray for a thing, and he canget whatever he likes. --Why didn't you pray for the money to build thenew cottage, Tommy?"

"Not so fast, William; a reasoning and scientific man like yourselfought to stick close to the truth. Now, I never said as I could getwhatever I liked--though I might have said that too without being wrong;for when I've found out clearly what's the Lord's will, I can say withthe old shepherd, `I can have what I please, because what pleases Godpleases me. ' What I said was this: that I always got what I _needed_when I prayed for a thing. "

"Well, and where's the difference?"

"A vast deal of difference, William. I never pray for any of thisworld's good things without putting in, `if God sees it best for me tohave it. ' And then I know that, if it is really good for me, I shallget it, and that'll be what I need; and if he sees as I'm better withoutit, he'll give me contentment and peace, and often something much betterthan what I asked for, and which I never expected, and that'll be givingme in answer to prayer what I need. "

"Then it seems to me, " said the other, sneeringly, "that you may just aswell let the prayer alone altogether, for you don't really get what youwould like, and you can't be sure what it is you really want. "

"Nay, not so, William Foster; my Bible says, `Be careful for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let yourrequests be made known unto God. ' I just go and do this, and over andover again I've got the thing I naturally liked; and it's only been nowand then, when God knew I should be better without the thing I fancied, that he kept it back. But then I always got something better for meinstead, and the peace of God with it. "

"And you call that getting answers to prayer from a heavenly Father?"said Foster derisively. 

"I do, " was Bradly's reply. "My heavenly Father deals with me in thesame way as I used to deal with my children when they was little, andfor the same reason--because he loves me, and knows better than I dowhat's good for me. When our Dick were a little thing, only just ableto walk, he comes one evening close up to the table while I was shaving, and makes a snatch at my razor. I caught his little hand afore he couldget hold; and says I, `No, Dick, you mustn't have that; you'll hurtyourself with it. ' Not that there was any harm in the razor itself, butit would have been harm to him, though he didn't know it then. Well, Dick was just ready to cry; but he looks at me, and sees a smile on myface, and toddles off into the garden; and an hour after I went and tookhim a great blunt knife as he couldn't hurt himself with, and he wassoon as happy as a king, rooting about in the cabbage-bed with it. Idid it because I loved him; and he came to understand that, after a bit. And that's the way our heavenly Father deals with all his loving andobedient children. "

There was a little murmur of approval when Bradly ceased, which was verydistasteful to Foster, who began to move off, growling out that, "it wasno use arguing with a man who was quite behind the age, and couldn'tappreciate nor understand the difficulties and conclusions of deeperthinkers. "

"Just one word more, friends, on this subject, " said Bradly, notnoticing his opponent's last disparaging remarks. "William said, alittle while ago, as it's all fancy on my part when I gave him my ownexperience about answers to prayer. Well, if it's fancy, it's a verypleasant fancy, and a very profitable fancy too; and I should like himto tell me what his learned scientific authors, that he brags so muchabout, has to give me instead of it, if I take their word for it as it'sall fancy, and give over praying. Now, suppose I'm told as there's aman living over at Sunnyside as is able and willing to give meeverything I want, if I only ask him. I go to his door, and knock; buthe don't let me see him. I say through the keyhole, `I want a loaf ofbread. ' He opens the door just so far as to make room for his hand, andthere's a loaf of bread in it for me. I go to him again, and tell himthrough the door as I wants some medicine to cure one of my children asis sick. The hand is put out with medicine in it, and the medicinemakes a cure. I go again, and say I want a letter of recommendation formy son to get a place as porter on the railway. There's no hand put outthis time; but I hear a voice say, `Come every day for a week. ' So I goevery day, and knock; and the last day the hand's put out, and it givesme a letter to a gentleman, who puts my son into a situation twice asgood as the one I asked for him. Now, suppose I'd gone on in this wayfor years, always getting what I asked for, or something better instead, do you think any one would ever persuade me as it were only fancy afterall; that the friend I called on so often wasn't my friend at all, thathe'd never heard or listened to a word I said, and had never given meanything in all my life? Now, that's just how the matter stands. It'sno use talking to a man as knows what effectual prayer is, about theconstancy of the laws of nature, and such like. He knows better; he hasput the Lord of nature and all its laws to the proof, and so may youtoo. I'll just leave with you one text out of the Scripture as'll weighdown a warehouseful of your sceptical and philosophical books; and it'sthis: `Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. '"

Not a word more was spoken on either side, and the party broke up. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

THE VICAR OF CROSSBOURNE. 

Of all the true friends of "Tommy Tracks" none valued and loved him morethan the Reverend Ernest Maltby, vicar of Crossbourne. There is apeculiar attraction in such men to one another, which cements theirfriendship all the more strongly from the very dissimilarity of theirsocial positions. For each feels dependent on the other, and that theother possesses gifts or powers of which he himself is destitute. Therefined Christian scholar, while in perfect spiritual accord with theman of rougher mould and scanty learning, feels that his humbler brotheris able to _get at_ his fellow-workmen for good, as being on the samelevel with them, in a way denied to himself. While, on the other hand, the man of inferior education and position is conscious that all realincrease in knowledge is increase in power, and that his brother ofhigher-station and more extensive reading can grasp and deal effectuallywith topics of interest and importance, which could not be done justiceto by his own less skilful and less intelligent handling. And thus, aseach leans in a measure on the other, being in entire sympathy as theyare on highest things, the force of their united action on the heartsand lives of others is powerful indeed. Such was the case inCrossbourne. The combined work of the vicar and Thomas Bradly, both forthe salvation of souls and the rescue and reformation of theintemperate, was being felt by the enemies of the truth to be a work ofpower: they were therefore on the watch to hinder and mar that work byevery means within their reach; for Satan will not lose any of hiscaptives without setting his own agents on a most determined andvigorous resistance. 

The vicar himself was just the fitting man for his position. Gently yetnot luxuriously nurtured, and early trained in habits of self-denial andconsideration for the feelings of others, he had entered the ministry, not only with a due sense of the solemnity of his responsibilities, andunder a conviction that he was truly called to his profession by theinward voice of the Holy Spirit, but also with a loving self-forgetfulness, while he sought earnestly the truest welfare of allcommitted to his charge. And when he passed, after some years'experience in the ministerial Work, to the important post of vicar ofCrossbourne, he had come to take a peculiar interest in the study ofindividual character, and to delight in gathering around him workers ofvarious temperaments and habits of thought. Rugged enough were some ofthese in their general bearing and their way of expressing themselves;but he knew well, when he had broken through the outer surface, what afirm-grained material he had to work upon in the hearts of such, and howhe would be sure to win from them, in due time, by force and consistencyof character, respect and affection as abiding as they were sincere. 

It was his happiness also to be united to a wife like-minded withhimself in views and work. On one point alone they had differed, andthat was as to the mental training of their only child, a daughter. 

Clara Maltby was now eighteen. She had been brought up by the unitedteaching and example of both parents "in the nurture and admonition ofthe Lord. " Naturally thoughtful and retiring, and fond of learning, shehad mastered the lessons taught her in her earliest years with an easewhich awoke in her mother's heart an ambition that her child, when shegrew old enough, should gain some intellectual distinction. And asClara herself was never happier than when she had a book in her hand, all that her parents had to do was to choose for her such branches ofstudy as she was best calculated to shine in. Nor did she disappointher teachers, but threw herself into her lessons with an energy andinterest which made it certain that she would rise to eminence amongcompetitors for the prizes of learning proposed to her own sex. Andthus it was that what might have been a rational thirst after knowledge, and have led to the acquirement of stores of information which wouldhave made their possessor an ornament to her home and to the society inwhich she moved, grew into an absorbing passion. 

She came at length to live in and for her studies. All her otherpursuits and occupations were made to be subordinate to these, and wereby degrees completely swallowed up by them. Not that she was unawarethat there were duties which she ought to fulfil in her home and in herfather's parish, which could not be done justice to without shorteningher hours of study. She saw this plainly enough, and deplored herneglect; but she had come to persuade herself that success in herintellectual pursuits was the special end at which she was to aim forthe present; and she believed that her mother, at any rate, held thesame view. 

And yet her conscience was not at ease on the matter. Home and parishwork which used to fall to her was either left undone or transferred toothers. "Mother, " she would say, "I am so sorry not to be of more use;I ought to help you, and to take my share of work in the parish; butthen you know how it is--you see that I have no time. " Once her classin the Sunday-school had been her delight, and the object of many ananxious thought and earnest prayer, while each individual scholar had aplace in her heart and her supplications. But by degrees thepreparation for the Sunday lessons became irksome and too much for heralready overworked brain. She must make the Sabbath a day of absoluterest from all mental exertion, except such as was involved in a dueattendance on the services in the house of God, which her consciencewould not allow her to absent from. 

As for week-day work in the parish, such as taking her turn in visitingthe girls' day-school, undertaking a district as visitor, looking up andtending the sick and the sorrowful in conjunction with her father andmother, the excuse of "no time" was pleaded here also; so that she whowas once welcomed in every home in the parish, and carried peace by herloving words and looks to many a troubled and weary heart, was nowbecoming daily more and more a stranger to those who used to love andvalue her. Indeed, she seldom now stirred from home, except whensnatching for health's sake a hasty walk, in which she would hurry fromthe vicarage and back again along roads where she was least likely tomeet with interruption from the greetings of friends or neighbours. 

Light, purer light, the light of God's truth, had indeed shone into herheart, but that light was suffering a gradual and deepening eclipsethrough the shadow cast by the idol of intellectual ambition, which hadusurped for a while the place where once her Saviour reigned supreme. And the poor body was suffering, for the overstrained mind was sappingthe vigour of all its powers. And then there came a resort to thatremedy, the stimulant which spurs up the flagging energies toextraordinary and spasmodic exertion, only to leave the poor deludedvictim more prostrate and exhausted than ever. 

The vicar had never been satisfied with his daughter's course. Life, inhis view, was too short and eternity too near to justify any one inpursuing even the most innocent and laudable object in such a manner asto unfit the soul for keeping steadily in view its highest interests, and to engross the mind and life so entirely as to shut all the doors ofloving and Christian usefulness. While acknowledging the value ofstoring, cultivating, and enlarging the mind, he became daily more andmore convinced that such mental improvement was becoming a special snareto the young and enthusiastic; beguiling them into the neglect ofmanifest duty, and into a refined and subtle self-worship, which, in thecase of those who had set out on the narrow way, was changing thesubstance for a shadow, and destroying that peace which none can trulyfeel who rob their Saviour of the consecration of all that they have andare to his glory. 

But deeply as he deplored the change in his daughter's habits, and herwithdrawal from first one good work and then another, he had not fullyrealised how it had come about, and the mischief it was doing to thebody, mind, and soul of the child he loved so dearly. It was onlygradually that she had relinquished first one useful occupation, andthen another; and circumstances seemed at the time to make suchwithdrawal necessary. 

Then, too, his wife's reluctance to see that, after all, she hadmistaken the path on which she should have encouraged her daughter totravel, had led her to make as light as possible of the evil effects, which were only too plain to others not so nearly interested in herchild's well-being. She could not bear to think that, after all, Clara's pursuit of intellectual distinction was physically, morally, andspiritually a huge mistake, and that she was purchasing success at thecost of health and peace. "There was nothing seriously amiss with her, "she would tell her husband, when he expressed his misgivings and fears;"she only wanted a little change; that would set her up: there was noreal cause for anxiety. It would never do for Clara to be behind therest of the girls of her age in intellectual attainments: it would bedoing her injustice, for she was so manifestly calculated to shine; andif God had given her the abilities and the tastes, surely they ought tobe cultivated. She could return by-and-by to her work in the Sunday-school and the parish. And then, how much better it was that she shouldbe acquiring really solid and useful knowledge, which would be alwaysvaluable to her, than be spending her energies on any of the worldly orfrivolous pursuits which were entangling and spoiling so many well-disposed girls in our day. "

Alas! The poor mother, whose own heart and conscience were not reallysatisfied with these reasonings, had forgotten, or failed to see, thatthe same devotion to study which kept her daughter out of the ensnaringways of worldliness and frivolity, equally kept her from treading thatpath of shining usefulness along which all must walk who would fulfilthe great purpose for which God has put us into this land of probationand preparation for our eternal home. 

Thomas Bradly saw plainly how matters were, and when the vicar hinted athis difficulties connected with his daughter's pursuits, as they weretalking together over Sunday-school and parochial work, spoke out hismind plainly and faithfully. 

"Well, Thomas, " said Mr Maltby, "you see a little how I am situated. My dear child is, I trust and believe, a true Christian; but I am freeto confess that I am sadly disappointed at the turn which things havetaken about her studies. "

"I can well believe it, sir, " was Bradly's reply, "and I feel for youwith all my heart. And I'm disappointed myself about Miss Clara, andso's scores more in the parish. The Sunday-school ain't the same as itwas--no, nor the parish neither, now that she don't come among us as sheused to do. But there's a twist somewheres in people's views about theeducation of young ladies in our day. 'Tain't so much in my way, sir, it's true, as it is in yours, to notice these things; but sometimes themas is standing a little way off gets a better view of how things reallyare than them as is quite close by. "

"Quite so, Thomas, " said the other. "Tell me, then, candidly what youthink about this matter. "

"I'll do so, sir, as I know you'll not misunderstand me; and you knowthat I love you and yours with all my heart. Well, sir, it seems to meas they're beginning at the wrong place altogether, in filling youngladies' heads, as they do, with all sorts and sizes of knowledge. "

"How do you mean, Thomas?"

"Just this way, sir. I were in Sheffield for a day or two last June, and as I were a-staring in at one of the cutlers' shops, I caught sightof a strange-looking article stuck upon a stand right in the middle ofthe window. It were all blades and points, like the porcupine as I usedto read about at the national school when I were a boy. It wasevidently meant for a knife; but who would ever think of buying such athing as that, except merely as a curiosity? There must have been somefifty or sixty blades, and these were all sorts of shapes and sizes, just, I suppose, to show the skill of the workman as contrived to fastensuch a lot of them together; but they would have been no earthly use toa man as wanted a real working article. Now, as far as I can see andhear, the young ladies in these days is being got up something like oneof 'em fancy knives. It seems to be the great wish of these youngladies' parents or friends to put into their heads a lot of learning ofall sorts--so many languages, so many sciences, so many accomplishments, as they calls 'em, as thick as they can stand together. And what's theend of it all? Why, folks wonder at 'em, no doubt, and say a great manyfine things to 'em and about 'em; but they're not turned out a realserviceable article, either for their homes or for the great Master'swork as he'd have them to do it. "

"It is too true, dear friend, " said the vicar with a sigh. 

"Ay! And if I'm not too bold in speaking my mind, " proceeded the other, "that ain't the worst of it. You'll excuse my homely way of talking, sir, but I can't help thinking of Timothy Pinches' donkey-cart when Ireads or hears of these young ladies with their science classes, andtheir Oxford and Cambridge local examinations, and their colleges, andwhat not. Timothy Pinches were an old neighbour of mine when I didn'tlive in these parts--that were several years ago as I'm talking of. NowTimothy had a donkey, a quiet and serviceable animal enough, and he'dgot a cart too, which would carry a tidy lot of things, yet at the sametime it weren't none of the strongest. He used to cart my coals for me, and do an odd job for me here and there. Well, one day I met Timothywith a strange load in his cart; there was a lot of iron nails and barsfor the blacksmith, two or three bags of potatoes, a sack of flour, abottle or two of vinegar, a great jar of treacle, a bale of calico forone of the shops, a cask of porter, and a sight of odds and endsbesides. And they was packed and jammed so tight together, I could seeas they were like to burst the sides of the cart through. `Timothy, 'says I, `you'll never get on with that load; it's too much for thedonkey, and it's too much for the cart. ' `All right, ' says he, `we'llmanage. ' `Nay, ' says I, `it's too much for the poor beast; make twojourneys of it, and you'll do it comfortably. ' `Can't afford the time, 'says he. But he _could_ afford the time to keep the poor donkey oftenstanding before the door of the public for an hour and more together. But just then he'd had an extra glass, and he wasn't in a mood to bespoken with. So he gives the poor beast a fierce kick, and a pull athis jaw, by way of freshening him up, and the cart goes creaking on up ahill by a winding road. I could hear it as I went on by a footpath astook me a short cut into the road again. Then the noise stopped all ofa sudden; and when I'd got to the end of the path, there was TimothyPinches looking anything but wise or pleasant, and cart and donkey hadboth come to grief. The side of the cart was burst right out; thedonkey had fallen down and cut his knees badly; the potatoes was rollingdown the hill; the flour had some of it come out of the sack in a greatheap, and the vinegar and treacle was running slowly through it. When Ilooked at poor Timothy's face, and then at the break-down, I couldn'thelp laughing at him; but I gave him a helping hand, and I hope helearnt a useful lesson. You see, sir, it don't do to overtask a willingbeast, nor to load a cart with more goods than it's meant to carry, specially if it ain't over strong. But they're making this very mistakewith many of the young ladies just now--I don't mean anythingdisrespectful to them in likening them to a donkey-cart, but it's true. These young ladies themselves are overtasking their constitutions whichGod gave them, and they're loading their brains with more than thembrains was designed to carry. The Lord hasn't given them, as a rule, heads fit to bear the strain as men's heads were made to stand. I'msure of it; it's the opinion, too, of Dr Richardson, who has the bestright of any man, perhaps, to speak on this subject, as he's studied it, I should think, as much or more than any man living. Now, sir, justlook at your own dear child, Miss Clara, --why, it makes my heart soreevery time I look at her; she ain't got the right healthy look in herface; her mind has got more to bear than ever her Maker meant it tohave; and there's no reason, surely, why she shouldn't be as cheerful asa lark and as bright as the flowers in May. "

"Most true! Most true!" said the vicar sorrowfully. "I only wish MrsMaltby and my daughter could see things in this light; but when Iexpress my fears and misgivings on this subject, they tell me that Imust not take a gloomy view of things, nor alarm myself needlessly. Butperhaps, dear friend, you may be able to put in a word, I know yourplain, homely good sense and observation will have weight with bothmother and daughter. "

"I'll make bold to say a word or two to them on the subject, " repliedThomas Bradly, "when next I get an opportunity. "

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

A SHADOW ON THE HEARTH. 

Thomas Bradly was pre-eminently a _bright_ Christian. A quaint oldauthor says that "a gloomy Christian does not do credit to Christ'shousekeeping. " There was no gloom about Bradly's religion: it shone inhis heart, in his life, on his face, and in his home; it attracted thetroubled and sin-burdened; it was the concealed envy of many who scoffedat and reviled him. And yet there was not unclouded sunshine even in_his_ happy home: a shadow, and a dark one, rested on his hearth. 

It has been said that he had an unmarried sister who lived with him, andthat she was an invalid. Jane Bradly was a year younger than herbrother Thomas, but sickness and sorrow made her look older than shereally was. She was sweet and gentle-looking, with that peculiar air ofrefinement which suffering often stamps on the features of those who arebeing spiritualised by fiery trial and are ripening for glory. Andthere was something, too, that was very strange about her case. She wasnot confined to her bed, and was able to leave the house in order toattend the services at the church, which she did most regularly. Yetshe very rarely left the house on any other occasion, and never visiteda neighbour; and if any of her brother's friends came in, she wouldleave her chair by the fire and retire into another room. 

When the family first came to Crossbourne, a good deal of curiosity wasfelt and expressed about her, and many attempts were made to draw herout; but as neither Bradly nor his wife nor children ever gave thesmallest encouragement to questioners, and as Jane herself quietlydeclined every invitation to take a meal or spend an hour away fromhome, curiosity was obliged to seek gratification elsewhere, and baffledinquirers to talk about her amongst themselves with ominous whispers andshrugging shoulders. 

Clearly, Jane's complaint was one which medicine could not reach, for nomedical man ever called on her at her brother's house; though well-meaning persons used at first to urge on Thomas the advisability ofconsulting the parish doctor for her. And when others recommended theirown favourite patent remedies which had never been known to fail--atleast, so said the printed wrapper--he would thank them, and say that"it wasn't physic as she wanted. " "Ah! Then she must have met with adisappointment where she had placed her affections; was it not so?" Towhich Thomas dryly replied that "he was not aware that it was so; but ifit had been, he should have kept it to himself. " This and similar broadhints at length closed the gossiping mouths of Crossbourne--at any rate, in the presence of any members of the Bradly family--and Jane and hertroubles ceased to occupy much attention out of her own home. 

Still, the deep shadow lay across the hearth and heart of her brother. Very touching it was to see the considerate tenderness with which healways dealt with her. Never a loud or hasty word did she hear fromhim, nor indeed from any member of the family. When he came in from hiswork his first words were for her: some cheery little speech, yetuttered in rather an undertone, lest his natural abruptness uncheckedshould startle her. The best massive arm-chair, and the snuggest nookby the kitchen fire, were hers; and by the Bible, which was her constantcompanion, and lay on a little table which stood beside her, a fewbright flowers, as their season came round, were placed as tokens of athoughtful and abiding love. 

Yet she pined, and grew gradually weaker; but no murmur was heard toescape her lips. The sorrow which lay on her heart like a mountain ofsnow could not deprive her of God's peace, while it was chilling andcrushing out her life. As far as they would allow her, and her strengthwould permit, she took her part in the household work; but she wasprincipally occupied with her needle, and as she was an excellentworkwoman, she was never without such orders as she was able toundertake. 

The vicar was deeply interested in her, and was a frequent visitor; butwhile she manifestly derived comfort from his instructions and prayers, any attempt on his part to draw her into confiding to him, (as a friendand spiritual adviser) her special sorrow at once reduced her tosilence. And yet it seemed to him that there were times when she was onthe very verge of breaking through her reserve. Not that he desiredthis, except for her own sake. How gladly would he have shared herburden with her, "and so fulfilled the law of Christ, " would she buthave in trusted him with it! It was so sad to see the deep shadow of anabiding care on that gentle face, the unnatural flush on the cheeks, andthe eyes at one time filled with tears, and at another with a look ofearnest beseeching, as though she longed to unburden her troubled heart, and yet dared not--as though she yearned for his advice and sympathy, and yet could not bring herself to open to him her grief. And thus itwas that the poor afflicted one was drooping lower and lower; and thecloud which rested on her quiet, patient features was to be seen attimes on her brother's also. 

It was a few days after the accident on the line by which the miserableJoe Wright was hurried into eternity, that the vicar, who was coming outof the cottage of poor Joe's widow, met Thomas Bradly as he was on hisway home from his work. Both looked very grave; and Mr Maltby said, --

"I see, Thomas, that you feel, as I do, what a shocking accident thishas been. The drink, I don't doubt, must have been at the bottom of it, for we know too well what the poor man's habits were. What can I say tocomfort his unhappy widow? Of course, it is not for us to judge herhusband; we do not know what passed in Joe's heart during his lastmoments. But that is very poor consolation, after all, when we knowthat, `as a man sows, so shall he reap. ' All I can do is to try andlead the poor woman herself to her Saviour. We know that the door topardon and peace is not yet closed to her. "

"That's too true, sir, " replied Bradly. "I fear we can't have anycomfortable thoughts about Joe; the least said about him the better. But, to tell you the truth, sir, I were just then turning my own troubleover in my mind, and that's what made me look so grave. "

"What--about your sister Jane?"

"Yes, sir. I know as it's all right; and yet somehow I can't helpfeeling a bit anxious about her. She must either mend afore long, orbreak down altogether. I should very much like her to open her heartand her trouble to yourself, sir; for I'm sure it would do her good. Iknow it all myself, of course; but then I've promised her to be as closeas wax, and never to talk about it to a soul without she gives me leave. And her Saviour knows it all, too. She goes with it regular to him;but still she brings back some of it with her each time. She don't meanit; but it's more nor flesh and blood is equal to, to leave it entirelyto him. Now, I do believe, if she would just tell you all, or let metell it you before her, it would help to lighten her heart and ease hermind. She knows, indeed--as of course every true Christian knows fromhis Bible--that no mortal man, be he who he may, can do for her what theblessed Saviour only can do; but I am sure that it will make your words, your counsels, and your prayers more precious and profitable to her whenshe feels that her pastor knows her great sorrow, and can join with herin taking it to the throne of grace, and pleading for light andguidance, and a way out of it too, if the Lord will. "

"I quite agree with you, Thomas, " said Mr Maltby. "At present I cangive her only general words of advice and comfort, and can only pray forher about her sorrow in a general way; but if she sees it to be right, and can bear to confide the story of her trial to me, I shall then beable to assist her in grasping with an increasing faith those `exceedinggreat and precious promises' which will be specially applicable to hercase, and may meet any peculiar circumstances connected with heraffliction. "

"Thank you, sir, most kindly, " said the other. "I think I have nearlypersuaded her to let me tell you all; and I believe it will be best donebefore herself, for then one telling will do for all, and she will beable to put in a word here and there to make all clear. "

"Just so, Thomas, " said the vicar. "I can easily understand that whenonce she has broken through her reserve with me, or suffered you tobreak through it for her, she will be able better to bear the fulldisclosure, from having part of the weight already removed from herheart. "

"That's just my view, " said Bradly, "and I've told her so more thanonce. I'm sure she'll feel lighter in her heart when once she has fullymade up her mind that you shall know all, even before you've heard aword of her story; and I'm sure she sees it so now herself. So, if itwon't be troubling you too much to ask you to step over to our house to-morrow night about seven o'clock, unless I send you back word, we'llhave the best parlour all to ourselves, and I believe the Lord will makeit a blessed night for poor Jane and for us all. "

"It shall be so then, Thomas, " replied the vicar. "I will, if spared, be at your house at seven o'clock, unless I hear anything meanwhile tothe contrary from yourself. "

It was with a feeling of deep interest, and a fervent prayer for ablessing, that Ernest Maltby knocked the next evening at the door ofThomas Bradly's quiet dwelling. Thomas welcomed him with a smile. "It'll be all right, I know, " he said; "I've told her you're coming, andshe has made no objection; and now that the time's come, the Lord hastaken away the worst of the fear. "

The vicar entered, and found the invalid seated by a bright fire, withher little table and the Bible on it by her side. Her poor wan cheekswere flushed with a deeper colour than usual as she rose to greet theclergyman; but there was not so much a look of suffering now in hereyes, as of hopeful, humble, patient trust. Her needlework lay near herBible, for her skilful fingers were never idle. 

Her brother set a chair for their visitor near the fire, and seatedhimself by him. For a moment no one spoke; then Jane handed the Bibleto Mr Maltby, who opened it and read the Hundred and Forty-SecondPsalm, giving special emphasis to the words of the third verse, "When myspirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path. " Heoffered a short prayer after the reading, and then waited for eitherbrother or sister to spread out the trouble before him. 

"You must know, sir, " began Thomas, with an emotion which checked hisusual outspoken utterance for a while, "as me and mine don't belong tothese parts; and I daresay you've heard some of the queer tales whichthem as pays more attention to their neighbour's business than their ownhas got up about us. However, that matters very little. Our nativeplace is about fifty miles from Crossbourne. Maybe you've heard ofSquire Morville (Sir Lionel Morville's his proper title). He lives in agreat mansion called Monksworthy Hall, just on the top of the hill afteryou've gone through the village. There's a splendid park round it. Most of the land about belongs to Sir Lionel; and he's lord of themanor. Well, I were born, and my father and grandfather before me, inMonksworthy, and so were Jane; and all things went on pretty smooth withus till a few years back. We'd our troubles, of course; but then _we_didn't expect to be without 'em--Wasn't to be looked for that our roadthrough life should be as level all the way as a bowling-green. SirLionel were very good to his tenants; but he were rather too fond ofhaving lots of company at the Hall--more, I'm sure, than his lady liked;for she was a truly godly woman, and I don't doubt is so to this day. 

"My father and mother had a very large family, so that there wasn't fullwork for us all as we growed up; and, as I was one of the younger ones, they was glad to get me bound apprentice, through the squire's help, tomy present trade in the north. But I liked my own native village betterthan any other spot as I'd ever seen, so I came back after I'd served mytime, and picked up work and a wife, as a good many of the young peoplehad been emigrating to Canada and Australia, and Sir Lionel wanted handsjust then. Well, then, God sent us our children, and they soon grew up, and it weren't such easy work to feed them and clothe them as it is in aplace like this. However, the Lord took care of us, and we always hadenough. 

"Jane went to the Hall to be housemaid soon after I married; and LadyMorville were so fond of her that, she would never hear of her leavingfor any other place. --Nay, Jane dear, you mustn't fret; it'll all turnout well in the end. There's One as loves us both, better than SirLionel and his lady, and he'll make all straight sooner or later. 

"Now, you must know, sir, as I'd come back from the north a teetotaler. I'd seen so much of the drunkenness and the drink-traps there that I'dmade up my mind as total abstinence were the wisest, safest, and bestcourse for both worlds; and Jane, who had never cared for either beer orwine, took the pledge with me when I came home, for the sake of doinggood to others. 

"Lady Morville didn't concern herself about this; but there was one atthe Hall who did, and that one were John Hollands, the butler. It wasmore nor he could put up with, that any one of the servants shouldpresume to go a different road from him, and refuse the ale when it wentround at meals in the kitchen. So, as all his chaffing, and thechaffing of the other servants, couldn't shake Jane, he was determinedhe'd make her smart for it. And there was something more than this too. I've said that Sir Lionel were a free sort of gentleman, fond of havinglots of company; and of course the company wasn't short of ale, andwine, and spirits; and so long as there was a plentiful stock in thecellar, the squire didn't trouble himself to count bottles or barrels. He was not a man himself as drank to excess; he thought drunkenness alow, vulgar habit, and never encouraged it; but he spent his moneyfreely, and those as lived in his family were never watched nor stinted. You may suppose, then, sir, as John Hollands had a fine time of it. Hewere cock of the walk in the servants' hall, and no mistake. Eh, to seehim at church on Sunday! What with his great red face, and his greatred waistcoat, and his great watch-chain with a big bunch of seals atthe end of it, I couldn't help thinking sometimes as he looked a pictureof `the devil and all his works, the pomps and vanity of this wickedworld, and all the sinful lusts of the flesh, ' which the Catechism tellsus to renounce. 

"You may be sure such a man had a deal in his power; and so he had. Andit wasn't only the wine, beer, and spirits as he used pretty much as heliked. Eh! The waste that went on downstairs was perfectly frightful;and a pretty penny he and the cook made between 'em out of theirmaster's property, which they sold on the sly. 

"Jane saw something of this, and longed to put a stop to it; but, poorthing, what could she really do? She _did_ once take an opportunity ofspeaking her mind gently to the butler, when they happened to be alone, and tried to show him how wrong and wickedly he was acting. But all shegot was, that he gave her back such a volley of oaths and curses as madeher feel that it would be no use talking to him any more on the subjectjust then. And he weren't content with merely abusing her; hethreatened her besides as he'd make her see afore long what sort ofpaying off `sneaking spies' usually got for their pains. And he kepthis word. 

"Lady Morville had got a favourite lady's-maid, who came to her whenJane had been some years at the Hall. This maid were a stylish, dashingyoung woman, and had a tongue as would turn any way it was wanted. Soshe soon made herself so useful to her mistress that she was more likean equal than a servant. But she were a thoroughly unprincipled woman, and hated Jane almost as soon as she had set eyes on her. Now she werefar too deep to do anything as would get herself into trouble. Shemight have robbed her ladyship in many ways; and so she did, but not bytaking her jewels or anything of that sort. She would wheedle thingsout of her mistress in the slyest way. And then, too, Lady Morvillewould trust her to pay some of her bills for her; and then she'd manageto pop things into the account which my lady had never ordered, or shewould alter the figures in such a way as to cheat her ladyship. And shehadn't been long at the Hall, as you may suppose, before she and thebutler became fast friends; and a pretty lot of robbery and mischief wascarried on by them two. Jane couldn't keep her eyes shut, so she sawmany things she longed to expose to her mistress; but it would have beenvery difficult to bring the wrong-doings to light, even if Lady Morvillehad given her the opportunity of doing so--which she never did. 

"Georgina--that were the name of the lady's-maid--was fully aware, however, that Jane had her eyes upon her, and she was resolved to gether out of the way. But how was that to be done? For Jane bore a highcharacter in the house, and her ladyship would not listen to anygossiping tales against her. Her mind was soon made up: a little talkwith John Hollands, and the train was laid. 

"Now, she could have taken a bit of jewellery from her mistress, andhidden it in Jane's box, or among her things; and this was JohnHollands' idea, as Jane afterwards found out from another fellow-servant, who was sorry for her, and had overheard the two making uptheir plans together. But Georgina said: `No; that were a stale trick, and her ladyship might believe Jane's positive assertion of innocence. She would manage it better than that. ' And so she did. 

"To Jane's surprise, both the butler and the lady's-maid changed theirmanner towards her after a while, and became quite friendly: indeed, Hollands even took an opportunity to thank Jane for her good advice, andto say that he was beginning to see things in a different light; andGeorgina made her a present of a neat silver pencil-case. Jane couldn'tquite understand it; but having no guile in herself, she weren't up tosuspecting guile in other folks, and she were only too thankful to seeanything that looked like a change for the better. 

"Things were in this fashion, when one morning, just before Sir Lionel'sbreakfast-time, as Jane was sweeping and dusting the back drawing-room, John Hollands looked in. There'd been a large dinner-party the nightbefore, and the family was rather late. Steps were heard overhead inher ladyship's bedroom, and then Georgina comes in. `Come in here, MrHollands, ' she says, `and look here, both of you; see what I've found onthe stairs!' The butler came in, and the lady's-maid holds out to him abeautiful bracelet all sparkling with jewels. He took it in his handand turned it over, and says, `It must have been dropped by one of theladies as dined here yesterday; you'd better give it to herladyship. '--`Of course I shall, ' says the other; `only there's no harmlooking at it. --Ain't it a love of a bracelet, Jane? Just take it inyour hand and look at it afore I take it up to mistress. ' Jane took thebracelet, and said that it was a beauty indeed, and was going to returnit to Georgina, but that wicked woman had turned her head away, pretending not to notice Jane's hand stretched out to her. Then stepswere heard close to the door, and Georgina cried out half aloud, `There's her ladyship coming; won't you catch it, Jane! Come along, MrHollands;' and they were gone out at another door in a moment, just asLady Morville came in at the other end of the room. And there stoodpoor Jane, her face all in a blaze, with her broom in one hand and thebracelet in the other. 

"Scarcely knowing what she did, but not wishing; of course, to be foundwith the bracelet in her fingers, Jane tried to slip it into her pocket;but it wouldn't do, her mistress had already seen it. So she says, quiet and calm-like, `Jane, don't attempt to hide it from me; I believethat's one of the bracelets Sir Lionel gave me on my last birthday. Icouldn't find either of them when I was dressing for dinner last night, nor Georgina either. Come, tell me, Jane, how did it come into yourpossession?'

"What could poor Jane say or do? She bursts out a-crying, poor thing, and then turns her round, when she'd thrown up a little prayer to theLord from her heart, and she says, `Please, my lady, I never saw thebracelet till a few minutes ago. Georgina brought it in while I wassweeping, and showed it to Mr Hollands and me; and I was just going togive it back to Georgina, for they said that some lady must have droppedit last night--and I never knew it was your ladyship's--and they ran outof the room and left it in my hand--and then your ladyship came in andfound me with it. '

"Now you may be sure, sir, as Jane had no easy work to get them wordsout, and, I suppose, Lady Morville thought as she was making up a lie;so she says very gravely, `I don't at all understand you, Jane: how canGeorgina have brought the bracelet to you? She was searching for thepair last night herself, and knows that they were missing from my jewel-case. And how can she have said that some lady must have dropped thisbracelet, when she must know it perfectly well to be my own? Besides, it is only a few minutes ago that she told me she believed I should findit in this room somewhere, only she didn't like to say why. '

"Jane saw it all now--they had laid a cruel trap for her, and she wascaught in it. At first she had no answer but tears, and then shedeclared that she had told the simple truth, and nothing but the truth. `It may be so, Jane, ' said her mistress; `of course what you say ispossible, but, I fear, not very probable. '

"She rung the bell, and Georgina answered it with a smirk on her face. `Just call Hollands, and come in here with him, ' said her ladyship. Thebutler soon came in; and Jane says, if ever the devil looked through anyman's eyes, she believes he did through his, as he glared at her with alook of triumph, his mistress's back being turned towards him. LadyMorville then asked them if Jane's story was true, and if Georgina hadshown her the bracelet. John Hollands lifts up his hands and eyes, andcries out, `Was there ever such hypocrisy and deceit!' As for Georgina, she pretends to get into a passion, and declares as it was all a make-upthing to rob her and the butler of their characters. And then she says, `Why, my lady, I've missed things myself, and I've had my suspicions;but I've not liked to say anything. There's a silver pencil-case, whichmy dear mother gave me, and it's got my initials on it: it's gone frommy room, and I can't hear anything about it. ' Jane at once pulls thepencil-case out of her pocket, and lays it on the table. `I see how itis, ' she says; `you two are determined to ruin me; but the Lord above, he knows I'm innocent. --Your ladyship, Georgina made me a present ofthat pencil-case a short time ago. I didn't want to take it; but shewouldn't be refused, and said I must keep it as a token of good-willfrom her. '--`Well, did I ever hear such assurance!' cried Georgina. `Iwonder what she'll say next? But one thing's clear, my lady: I can'tstay here, to be suspected of robbing your ladyship. I've not lost mycharacter yet, if Jane's lost hers. But, at any rate, she has got yourladyship's bracelet; you found her with it yourself. Now, as she hasgot the one, she'll know, of course, where the other is. You may besure, my lady, that the same person as took the one took the pair. Itain't likely there were two thieves in the case. If I might be so bold, I would, if I were in your ladyship's place, ask her to produce _both_the bracelets, and restore them to you; and when she's done that, itwill be for your ladyship to say whether you do or do not believe her tobe innocent, and that she's told the truth about my pencil-case. '

"Nobody said anything for a minute, for it were plain as Lady Morvillewere very much grieved and perplexed. At last she turns to Jane, andsays, `You hear what Georgina says, Jane; it is not unreasonable. Twobracelets have been taken, and one of the pair is found on you. Icannot say how you came by it, but it seems most likely that you mustknow where the other is. Produce it, and the matter shall go nofurther. I've always had the highest opinion of you up to this moment;and if sudden temptation in this case has led you into a sin, the bestand wisest thing for you to do is just to own it, and to give up theother bracelet, and then the matter shall drop there, and we will allagree that by-gones shall be by-gones, for the best among us may beovertaken in a fault. ' But by this time poor Jane had recovered herselfa bit. She dried her tears, and, looking her mistress steadily in theface, said, `I have told your ladyship the simple truth, and nothing butthe truth; and I appeal to your ladyship, have you ever found me out inany untruthfulness or deceit all these years as you've knowed me? I seeplainly enough why Mr Hollands and Georgina have been plotting thiscruelty against me; but it would, I know, be of no use if I was to tellyour ladyship what their carryings on has been--I should not bebelieved. But there's One whose eyes are in every place, beholding theevil and the good, and he will set it all right when he sees it to bebest, and he'll clear my character. '

"No more were said at that time; but in the afternoon Lady Morvillesends for Jane, and has her in her own room by herself, and she tellsher as appearances are very much against her; but as she'd never knowedanything to her discredit before, and she had borne a very highcharacter all the time as she'd been at the Hall, this matter should behushed up, but she felt it wouldn't be right for her to remain. And somy poor sister, as she couldn't say no otherwise than she did before, and as she couldn't bear to face the other servants any more, left theHall that very night by her own wish, and told me her story as I've toldit you; for we've talked it over together scores of times, and I've gotit quite by heart. And from that day to this she's never looked up;for, as it says in the psalm, `the iron has entered into her soul. '

"I couldn't stop long after that in Monksworthy, and so we all came overhere; and the Lord has prospered us--all but poor Jane; and yet I knowshe'll tell you he has never left her nor forsaken her, and he's madehis promises `yea and Amen' to her, spite of her sorrow. But it's avery sore trial, and the burden of it lies heavy on her heart still. 

"There, sir, you've had the whole of it now, as well as I could give ityou; and I'm sure you'll deal gently with the poor creature, like thegood Master who wouldn't break the bruised reed. "

For a little while no one spoke. Mr Maltby was deeply touched, andJane, whose face had been for some time past buried in her hands, couldnot for a while restrain her sobbing. At last she looked up and said:"Yes, dear Mr Maltby, Thomas has told you exactly how it all was, as hehas often heard it from me. They tell me not to fret. Ah! But it'sgood advice easier given than followed. I don't want to murmur; I knowit's the Lord's will; but the trouble's gnawing and gnawing my lifeaway. Disgraced, dismissed as a thief and a liar, without a character, a burden instead of a help to those who love me--oh, it _is_ hard, veryhard to bear! But those blessed words of the psalm you read, oh, howthey have comforted me! And in that Word of God I know I shall findpeace and strength. Ah, that reminds me Thomas has not mentioned to youanother thing that added weight to my burden. I had, when I was livingat the Hall, a little Bible of my dear mother's, which I used to readevery day. Only a very short time before the day when the bracelet wasshown me, that Bible was taken out of my box; and I've never seen itsince. I asked all the other servants about it, but every one declaredthey had neither touched nor seen it. It could not have been taken forits value, for it was very old, and worn-looking, and shabby, and thepaper and print were very poor; but I loved it because it was my dearmother's, and had been given to her as a reward when she was a verylittle girl. It had her maiden name and the year of our Lord init--`Mary Williams. June 10, 1793. ' Oh! It was such a precious bookto me, for I had drawn a line in red-ink under all my favourite texts, and I could find anything I wanted in it in a moment! I can't helpfearing that John Hollands or Georgina took it away just to spite me. "

"Poor Jane!" said the vicar gently and lovingly "your story is a sad oneindeed. Truly the chastening must for the present be not joyous, butgrievous; and yet it comes from the hand of a Father who loves you, whowill, I doubt not, cause it in due time to bring forth the peaceablefruit of righteousness. "

"And you do, then, dear sir, " cried Jane, with tearful earnestness, "believe, after what you have heard, that I am really innocent of thecharge which has been made against me?"

"Believe it, Jane!" exclaimed Mr Maltby; "yes, indeed! I could notdoubt your innocence for a moment; and remember, the Lord himself knowsit, and will make it before long as clear as the noonday. "

"Oh, thank you, dear sir, a thousand times for those cheering words! Iam so glad now that all has been told you; I feel my heart lighteralready. Yes, I _will_ trust that light will come in _his_ time. "

"It will, " replied the vicar, "and before long too. I feel firmlypersuaded, I can hardly tell you why, that it will not be so very longbefore this dark cloud shall pass away. "

"May the Lord grant it!" said Thomas Bradly; and added, "You understandnow, sir, exactly how matters lie; and we shall both feel the happierthat you know all, for we are sure that we shall always have yoursympathy and prayers, and if anything should turn up we shall know whereto go for advice; and in the meantime, we must wait and be patient. Ican't help feeling with you that, somehow or other, poor Jane's gettingnear the end of the wood, and will come out into the sunshine afore sovery long. "

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

TANTALISING. 

A few days after the disclosure of Jane Bradly's trouble to the vicar, he met her brother Thomas in the evening hurrying away from his house. 

"Nothing amiss at home, I hope, Thomas?" he inquired. 

"Nothing amiss, thank you, sir, in my home, but a great deal amiss insomebody else's. There's nearly been an accident this afternoon to agoods train, and it's been owing to Jim Barnes having had too muchdrink; so they've just paid him off, and sent him about his business. "

"I'm afraid, " said the vicar, "there has been too much cause for such astrong measure. Poor James has been a sad drunken fellow, and it is awonder they have kept him on so long. "

"So it is, indeed, sir; for it's risking other people's lives to havesuch as him about a station. I suppose they have not liked to turn himoff before partly because he's got such a lot of little 'uns to feed, and partly because it ain't often as he's plainly the worse for liquorwhen he's at his work. But when a man's as fond of the drink as JimBarnes is, it ain't possible for him to keep off it always just when itsuits his interests. And then there's another thing which makes chapslike him unfit to be trusted with having to do with the trains--who's tobe sure that he ain't so far the worse for drink as to be confused inhis head, even when he shows no signs of being regularly tipsy?"

"Who, indeed, Thomas? I am very sorry for poor James and his family;but I am sure he is not the man, while he keeps his present habits, tobe trusted with work on the line, which requires a steady hand and acool head. "

"Well, sir, I hope he'll begin to see that himself. Now's the time toget at him, and so I'm just going down to try what I can do with him. Jim's never been one of my sort, but he's not been one of the worst ofthe other sort neither. He's a good-natured fellow, and has got a softheart, and I've never had a spiteful word from him since I've knowedhim. "

"Yes, Thomas, I believe that's true of him, " said Mr Maltby; "he hasbeen always very civil and obliging to me. But, as you know, I havetried more than once to draw him out of the slough of intemperance on tofirm ground, but in vain. I trust, however, that God may bless yourloving endeavours to bring him now over to the right side. "

"I trust so too, sir. "

The house where Barnes lived was in one of the worst and dirtiest partsof Crossbourne; and as some of the inhabitants, whose temperamentinclined to the gloomy, declared Crossbourne to be the dirtiest town inEngland, the situation of Jim's dwelling was certainly not likely to befavourable to either health or comfort. There are streets in most townsof any considerable size which persons who are fortunate enough to livein more agreeable localities are quite content with just looking down, and then passing on, marvelling, it may be, to themselves how suchprocesses as washing and cooking can ever be carried on with theslightest prospect of success in the midst of such grimy and unsavourysurroundings. It was in such a street that James Barnes and his familyexisted, rather than lived; for life is too vigorous a term to beapplied to the time dragged on by those who were unfortunate enough tobreathe so polluted an atmosphere. There are some places which, intheir very decay, remind you of better times now past and gone. It wasnot so with the houses in these streets; they looked rather as iforiginally built of poverty-stricken and dilapidated materials. And yetnone of them were really old, but the blight of neglect was heavy uponthem. Nearly at the bottom of one of these streets was the houseinhabited by the dismissed railway porter, and to this Thomas Bradly nowmade his way. 

Outside the front door stood a knot of women with long pipes in theirmouths, bemoaning Jim's dismissal with his wife, and suggesting some ofthose original grounds of consolation which, to persons in a higher walkof life, would rather aggravate than lessen the trial. Two of theyoungest children of the family, divested of all superfluous clothing, were giving full play to their ill-fed limbs in the muddy gutter, dividing their time between personal assaults on each other, andsplashings on the by-standers from the liquid soil in which they wererevelling, being occasionally startled into a momentary silence by aviolent cuff from their mother when they became more than ordinarilyuproarious. 

The outer door stood half-open, and disclosed a miserable scene ofdomestic desolation. The absence of everything that could make homereally home was the conspicuous feature. There was a table, it is true;but then it was comparatively useless in its disabled state--one of theleaves hanging down, and just held on by one unbroken hinge, remindingyou of a man with his arm in a sling. There were chairs also, but noneof them perfect; rather suggesting by their appearance the need ofcaution in the use of them than the prospect of rest to those who mightconfide their weight to them. A shelf of crockery ware was the leastunattractive object; but then every article had suffered more or less inthe wars. Nothing was clean or bright, few things were whole, and fewerstill in their proper places. The two or three dingy prints on thewalls, originally misrepresentations in flaring colours of scriptural orother scenes, hung in various degrees of crookedness; while articles ofclothing, old and new, dirtier and less dirty, were scattered about inall directions, or suspended, just where necessity or whim had tossedthem. There was on the available portion of the table part of a loaf ofbread, a lump of butter still half-wrapped in the dirty piece ofnewspaper which had left some of its letters impressed on its exposedside, a couple of herrings, a mug half-full of beer, and two or threeonions. And in the midst of all this chaos, on one side of the grate, which was one-third full of expiring ashes, and two-thirds full of dust, sat James Barnes in his railway porter's dress and cap, lookingexceedingly crestfallen and unhappy. 

"Good evening, Jim, " said Thomas Bradly, making his way to the fire-place, and taking a seat opposite to Barnes; "I was sorry to hear badnews. "

"Yes, bad indeed, Thomas--you've heard it, I see. Yes, they've given methe sack; and what's to be done now, I'm sure I don't know. Somepeople's born to luck; 'tain't my case. "

"Nay, Jim, " cried the other, "you're out there: there's no such thing asluck, and no one's born to good luck. But there's an old proverb whichcomes pretty near the truth, and it's this, `Diligence is the mother ofgood luck. ' I don't believe in luck or chance myself, but I believe indiligence, with God's blessing. It says in the Bible, `The hand of thediligent maketh rich. '"

"Well, and I have been diligent, " exclaimed Jim: "I've never been awayfrom my work a day scarcely. But see what a lot of children I've got, and most of them little 'uns; and now they've gone and turned me off ata moment's notice. What do you say to that? Isn't that hard lines?"

"It ain't pleasant, certainly, Jim; but come, now, what's the use offencing about in this way? Jim Barnes, just you listen to me. There'snot a pleasanter chap in the town than yourself when you're sober--everybody says so, from the vicar down to Tommy Tracks. Now it's of nouse to lay the blame on the wrong shoulders. You know perfectly wellthat if you'd have let the drink alone things would never have come tothis, and you wouldn't have been living now in such a dirty hole. ButI'm not come down here, Jim, to twit you with what's done, and can't beundone now. If you've done wrong, well, there's time to turn over a newleaf and do better; and now's your time. You see what the drink'sbrought you to; and if you was to get another place to-morrow, youwouldn't keep it long. There's no business as ever I heard of where themasters advertise in the papers, `So many drunkards wanted for such awork. ' No, no, Jim; just you think the matter over, and pray to theLord to show you the right way. You know my `Surgery' at the back of myhouse: you come up there to-night and have a talk with me; it's no usetrying to have it here. I think I'll show you a door as'll lead tobetter ways, and better times; and you shan't want a good friend or two, Jim, to give you a helping hand, if you'll only try, by God's help, todeserve them. "

Poor Jim's head had become bowed down on to his hands during this plainspeech, and the tears began to make their way through his fingers. Thenhe stretched out one hand towards his visitor without lifting up hishead, and said, in a half-choked voice, "Thank you, Thomas; I'll come, that I will, --I'll come; and thank you kindly for coming to look afterme. "

And he kept his word. Just as it was getting dark a tap was heard atBradly's "Surgery" door, and James Barnes was admitted into a bright andcheery room--such a marvellous contrast, in its neatness, order, andcleanliness, to his own miserable dwelling. When the two men wereseated, one on either side of the fire-place--which was as brilliant asBrunswick black and polishing could make it--Bradly began:--

"James Barnes, this night may be the turning-point for good and forhappiness, for you and yours, both for this world and the next. I wantyou to sign the pledge and keep it. You've tried for a good long timehow you can do _with_ the drink--and a poor do it has been; now try howyou can do _without_ it. Never mind what old mates may say; never mindwhat such as Will Foster and his set may say; never mind what your wifemay say, --she'll come round and join you if you're only firm, --just yousign, and then we'll ask God to bless you, and to enable you to keepyour pledge. "

"Thomas, I will, " said James Barnes, much moved; "all as you've said'sperfectly true--I know it. The drink's been my curse and my ruin; it'sdone me and mine nothing but harm; and I can see what doing without ithas been to you and yours. Give me the pen; I'll sign. "

The signature was made, and then, while both men knelt, Thomas Bradlypoured out his heart in prayer to God for a blessing on his poor friend, and that he might truly give his heart and life to the Lord. "And now, James, " said Bradly, "I'll find you a job to go on with, and I'll speakto the vicar, and you and yours shan't starve till we can set you onyour feet again. "

James Barnes thanked his new friend most warmly, and was turning to thedoor, but still lingered. Then he came back to the fire and sat downagain, and said, "Thomas, I've summat to tell you which I've beenwanting to mention to you for more nor a week, and yet I ain't had thecourage to come and say it like a man. "

"Well, Jim, now's the time. "

"Thomas, " said the other sorrowfully, "I've done you a wrong, but Ididn't mean to do it; it's that drink as was at the bottom of it. "

"Well, Jim, " replied Bradly, smiling, "it can't have been much of awrong, I doubt, as I've never found it out. "

"I don't know how that may be, Thomas, but you shall hear. You rememberthe morning when poor Joe was found cut to pieces on the line just belowthe foot-bridge?"

"Yes, Jim, I remember it well; it was the day before Christmas-day. "

"Well, Thomas, it were the day before that. I was on the platform inthe evening, waiting for the half-past five o'clock train to come infrom the north. It were ten minutes or more late, as most of the trainswas that day. When it stopped at our station, a gent wrapped up in alot of things, with a fur cap on his head, a pair of blue spectaclesover his eyes, and a stout red scarf round his neck, jumps out of athird-class carriage like a shot, and lays hold of my arm, and takes meon one side, and says, `I want you to do a job for me, ' and he puts aflorin into my hand; then he says, `Do you know Thomas Bradly?' `Ay, 'says I; `I know him well. ' `Then take this bag, ' says he, `and thisletter to his house as soon as you're off duty. Be sure you don't fail. You knows the man I mean; he's got a sister Jane as lives with him. '`All right, ' says I. There weren't no more time, so he jumps back intothe carriage, and nods to me, and I nods back to him, and the train weregone. It were turned six o'clock when I left the station yard, and thehands was all turning, out from the mills, so I takes the bag--it were asmall carpet-bag, very shabby-looking--and the letter in my pocket. Now, I ought, by rights, to have gone with it at once to your house, andI shouldn't have had any more trouble about it. But as I was passingthe Railway Inn, I says to myself, `I'll just step in and have a pint;'but I wouldn't take the bag in with me, as perhaps some one or othermight be axing me questions about it, and it weren't no business oftheirs, so I just sets it down on the step outside, and goes in andchanges my florin and gets my pint of ale. Well, I got a-gossiping withthe landlady, and had another pint, and when I came out the bag weregone. I couldn't believe my eyes at first, for I've often left thingson benches and steps outside the publics, and never knowed 'em touchedafore this; for they're as honest a people in Crossbourne as you'll findanywhere. Howsomever, the bag were gone; there were no mistake aboutthat. I went round into the yard and axed the hostler, but he hadn'tseed nobody about. I looked up and down, but never a soul could I seeas had a bag in his hand, so what to do I couldn't tell. Then Ithought, `Maybe some one's carried it back to the station by mistake. 'So I went back, but it weren't there. I can tell you Thomas, I werenever more mad with myself in all my life; for though I haven't been oneof your sort, I've always respected you, and I'd rather have lost almostany one else's things than yours. I only hope it ain't of muchconsequence, as it were a very shabby bag, and didn't seem to have muchin it, for it were scarcely any weight at all. "

"Well, James, don't fret about it, " said the other; "you meant no harm. As to the value of the bag, I know nothing more than you've told me, forI haven't been expecting anything of the sort. I only trust it'll be awarning to you, and that you'll stick firm to your pledge, and keep onthe outside of the beer-shops and publics for the future. "

"I will, Thomas; I will. But you know I told you as that gent who putthe bag in my keeping gave me a letter besides. Well, I ain't lost theletter, but I've really been ashamed to bring it you, as I couldn'tbring the bag too. And the devil said to me, `You'd better throw theletter behind the fire, and there'll be an end of all bother;' but Icouldn't do that, though I've never had the courage yet to give it you. But here it is;" and he took from his pocket a discoloured envelope, andhanded it to Bradly. It was directed in a crabbed hand, with thewriting sloping down to the corner--"Miss Jane Bradly, Crossbourne. "

"Stop here a minute or two, Jim, " said his friend, "and I shall be ableperhaps to set your mind at ease about the bag;" and he left the room. 

"Jane, " he said, addressing his sister, who was seated in her usualplace by the kitchen fire, "I've a letter for you, and it has come inrather an odd way;" and he then repeated to her James Barnes's story. 

Much puzzled, but with no great amount of curiosity or interest, Janetook the letter from her brother's hand. From whom could it have come?There was of course no postmark, as it had been sent by messenger; andshe knew nothing of the handwriting. When she had opened it she foundonly one small leaf, and but very few words on that; but these words, few though they were, seemed to take her breath away, and to overwhelmher with overpowering emotion. She sat staring at the miserable scrawlas though the letters were potent with some mighty spell, and then, throwing the paper on the table by her, gave way to a passionateoutburst of weeping. 

"Jane, Jane dear, what's amiss?" cried her brother in great distress. "The Lord help us! What has happened?"

She did not look up, but pushed the letter towards him, and he read asfollows:--

 "Dear Jane, --I am sorry now for all as I've done at you. Pray forgive me. You will find a letter all about it in the bag; and I've put your little marked Bible, and the other br---t with it, into the bag. So no more at present from yours--JH. "

Slowly the facts of the case dawned on Thomas Bradly's mind. JohnHollands was trying to make amends for the cruel wrong he had done topoor Jane, and had sent her a written statement which would wipe off thestain he had himself cast on her character; and with this he had sentJane's dearly-prized Bible and the companion bracelet to the one seen byLady Morville in Jane's hand, and given up by her to her mistress onthat unhappy morning. And what of John Hollands himself? No doubt hewas making the best of his way, under fear of detection and punishment, to some foreign country; and had left the bag through a feeling ofremorse, that he might clear Jane's character. Both brother and sistersaw this clearly; and that the means of relief for poor Jane had beenjust within their grasp, but now, by the cruel carelessness of JamesBarnes, had slipped away from them, and perhaps for ever. Where was thebag which had in it what would set all things straight? Who could tell?

"I see it all, " said Bradly, sadly, to his sister. "It's very tryingand very tantalising; but the Lord knows best how to deal with his own. "

"O Thomas, " exclaimed his sister, "this seems almost more than I canbear!"

"I know it, I know it, Jane; and yet remember the promise, `He will notsuffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with thetemptation make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it. ' Nay, cheer up, darling! `the Lord does not afflict willingly, nor grieve thechildren of men. ' He'll never let his people be vexed a moment longerthan's good for them. I feel certain now as the bag'll be found sooneror later. Whether _we_ can find it or no, one thing's certain, --theLord knows where it is he's got his eye upon it; and it'll turn up justat the right time. Now, my dearest sister, just take this for yourcomfort. The Lord's sent you this letter just to show you thatdeliverance is on the road; it'll come, I'll be bound, afore so verylong. Just you help yourself along by the light of his promises, and bymy two walking-sticks, `Do the next thing'--`One step at a time. ' Thenext thing for you now is to wait his time in faith and patience. Remember those precious words of the psalm: `Commit thy way unto theLord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass. And he shallbring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as thenoonday. Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him!'" Jane driedher tears, and held out her arms to her brother, who drew her tenderlyto his heart, and again bade her take comfort. "And now, " he said, "Imust go to poor Jim. "

"Well, Thomas, " said Barnes, on the return of his friend, "I hopethere's nothing very bad come of my losing the bag?"

"James, " replied the other, gravely, "I can't say that; I wish I could. The loss of the bag is a serious business to us; but we must do our bestto try and find it, and you must help us. "

James looked very sad and crestfallen. "Thomas, " he said, "I wish I'donly knowed as that bag were of so much consequence. But then that'snothing to do with it; I ought to have brought it to you at once--I knowthat. I'll do my very best, however, to find it; and, come what will, I've had a lesson as I shan't easily forget. The inside of the publichas seen the last of me. "

"Stick to that, Jim, " said the other, "and put a prayer to it to theLord to keep you; and that'll do more to make up for the loss of the bagthan anything you can possibly do for us. Good-night, Jim. Keep firmto your pledge, and you'll not want friends here and above. "

"Good-night, Thomas; and the Lord bless you for your kindness!"

And now, what was to be done? It was quite clear that the bag containedthe means of a triumphant establishment of Jane's innocence with LadyMorville, and consequent freedom from all stain or slur on hercharacter. But was it possible to find the bag? The circumstancesconnected with the bag's loss were communicated to the vicar, who helpedBradly to institute every possible inquiry after it in a quiet way, forthey did not wish, especially on Jane's account, to make the matter anine days' wonder in Crossbourne by advertising. But all was in vain;not the faintest clue could be got by which to trace it. Of course, itmight have been possible for Jane to ascertain through her brotherwhether John Hollands had really left Monksworthy Hall, and whether orno any of his evil practices had come to light since his departure. And, supposing such discoveries to have been made, she might haveproduced the letter signed "JH, " and have shown its contents to LadyMorville. But then Jane would naturally be expected to produce the bagalluded to in the letter, or, at any rate, the companion bracelet whichwas said to be in it; and the having to tell what would look like aroundabout story concerning its loss would not be likely to leave athoroughly favourable impression on the mind of her late mistress. 

Poor Jane! She felt that without the bracelet she could not hope toclaim a full and frank acknowledgment from her ladyship that herinnocence was completely vindicated. She must therefore wait, trust, and be patient. 

"Light has begun to dawn on your trouble, Jane, " said the vicar; "and besure brighter light will follow. We must do our best, and leave it tothe Lord to carry out his own purposes in his own wise and gracious way. Sure I am of this, that you will find the fuller light come in duetime; and, more than that, that you will see that good has all the whilebeen working out, through this trial, to others as well as to yourself. "

"I'm sure you're right, sir, " said Bradly; "she'll have cause in the endeven to bless the Lord for this affliction. And, after all, I don't seewhy we shouldn't try and find out Hollands' whereabouts through some ofhis old companions, when he's been a little while in foreign parts; andif we write and tell him about the loss of the bag, I don't doubt, ifhe's truly sorry for what he's done to Jane, --and it seems likely as heis, --he'll write her back such a letter as will clear up all with LadyMorville. But the next step is just to leave all in the Lord's handsfor the present. "

And so it was left. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

CROSSBOURNE ANNUAL TEMPERANCE MEETING. 

Week after week rolled by, and James Barnes continued firm to the pledgewhich he had signed in Thomas Bradly's "Surgery. " And now the usualtime for holding the annual meeting of the "Crossbourne TemperanceSociety" had come round, and a meeting was accordingly advertised to beheld in the Town Hall. But mischief was apparently brewing; for all thebills announcing the meeting which were posted on the walls were eithertorn down or defaced the same night that they were put up, --a thingwhich had never happened before. So it would seem that the enemies ofthe temperance cause were prepared to offer more than ordinaryopposition, and that very possibly they might try to spoil or interruptthe meeting itself. 

And the friends of the temperance movement in Crossbourne had not tolook far to find the cause. There had been mutterings of a coming stormfor some time past. The lovers of strong drink, supported by those whomade capital out of their unnatural and ruinous thirst, had been layingplans and concocting schemes for thwarting the steady advance whichtemperance was making in the town. And now the sudden and shockingdeath of poor Joseph Wright, so far from teaching any of his oldassociates the lesson which God, who can bring good even out of man'sevil, would have had them learn from that frightful disaster, had onlymade them plunge more deeply into the slough of drunkenness; and sototal abstainers and their principles got more abuse and hatred fromthem than ever. Conscience _would_ be heard for a little while, rousedinto utterance as it was by the death of their miserable companion; butthey hated that inward voice--it exasperated them. Drink they wouldhave, and cordially would they hate more and more all who would try, however gently and lovingly, to draw them away from the intoxicatingcup. And now the desertion of James Barnes, as they considered it, tothe enemy, made the fire of their wrath and indignation burn with atenfold intensity. 

"We're like to have hot work to-night, sir, " said Bradly to the vicar, as he sat in the vicarage study on the morning of the meeting talkingover the arrangements for the evening. 

"I fear so, " said Mr Maltby; "so we must take proper precautions. Ihear that the friends of poor Joseph Wright intend to muster in fullforce and spoil the meeting if they can. However, I have spoken to thepolice sergeant, and he will be there with one or two of his men toprevent any serious disturbance. You must see that they don't turn offthe gas, and get us into trouble that way. "

"All right, sir, " replied Bradly, "we'll take care about that; but Iain't much afraid. There's a deal of bluster among those chaps, but itdon't take much to empty it out of 'em. Somehow or other I think we'regoing to have a good meeting after all. "

Nevertheless, it was not without some considerable feeling of anxietythat the vicar entered the committee room of the Town Hall about aquarter of an hour before the time of commencement. He was accompaniedby a brother clergyman from a distant county, who had brought a plainworking-man with him from his parish. These were to be the chiefspeakers of the evening. Thomas Bradly was to bring James Barnes withhim, and both were to take their places among the audience, but near theplatform, so as not to attract more observation than necessary, at thefirst. 

The hall, which was a spacious and well-lighted building, began to fillas soon as the doors were opened. There was manifestly an unusualinterest taken, not necessarily nor probably in the cause itself, but, at any rate, in the present meeting. The friends of Joseph Wright andtheir companions had made it publicly known, and a matter of openboasting, that they intended to be there; and this announcement was theinducement to a number of idle men and boys to attend the meeting in thehopes of having some diversion. But Thomas Bradly and his friends werequite equal to the occasion; they were fully alive to the intention oftheir adversaries, and acted accordingly. As the opponents oftemperance entered the hall, members of the Temperance Society contrivedto slip in with them, and so to distribute themselves over the seatsthat no large number of the other side could be gathered in a compactbody together. 

By the time the minute-hand of the clock over the chairman's seat hadreached twenty-five minutes past seven--the meeting being advertised tobegin at half-past seven--the hall was densely packed from one end tothe other, the only unoccupied places being one or two seats close underthe platform. Punctually at the half-hour the party from the committeeroom walked on to the platform, headed by the vicar; while at the samemoment Thomas Bradly, followed by James Barnes, emerged from a side doornear the platform, and the two friends placed themselves on two of thevacant foremost chairs. The entrance of these two parties was greetedby a roar of mingled cheers, laughter, and a few groans and hisses. 

Mr Maltby advanced to the front of the platform, and there wasinstantly silence. "Just one word, dear friends, before we commence ourmeeting, " he said. "I have such confidence in your manly Englishhonesty and common fairness, that I am persuaded that, whether you agreewith us or no, you will give myself and my friends a quiet anduninterrupted hearing. We are come here to try and do some good. Bearwith us, then, and listen to us. "

This short speech had the desired effect. There was indeed a grandeffort made to obstruct and disturb on the part of the drinking faction;but it became apparent at once that the great bulk of the working-menpresent--though most had come chiefly with a view to be amused--were notat all disposed to allow the vicar and his friends to be hissed orshouted down. The few straightforward words just spoken aroused theirbetter feelings, and the intended rioters felt that they must wait alittle before attempting any further demonstration. 

Thankful for the success of his brief speech, Mr Maltby proceeded toopen the meeting with Scripture and prayer as usual. All were verystill; but as he rose from his knees his eyes fell upon a man who sat atthe extreme end of the front bench to his right. That man was WilliamFoster. Never had the vicar seen him before at any meeting where hehimself was present; and as he took his seat in the chair, he whisperedto his clerical friend, "Do you see that man at the extreme end of thefront bench? I am afraid his being here to-night bodes us no good, forhe is the leading infidel and mischief-maker in the place. "--"Indeed!"replied his friend; "well, let us hope the best. Perhaps the Lord willgive us a word even for him to-night. At any rate, we have a noble andintelligent audience before us; and let us do our best for them, andleave the issue in higher hands. "--"Thank you, " whispered the vicar; "Ifeel ashamed of my want of faith. Doubtless all will be overruled forgood. "

He then proceeded to give a short address, in which, avoiding allharshness and bitterness of expression, he strove to leave on hishearers' hearts the impression that love and nothing else constrainedhim and his fellow-workers in the efforts they were using to promote thespread of temperance in the parish and neighbourhood. The otherspeakers followed in the same strain; the working-man being able, in hisrough-and-ready way, to carry with him the great majority of themeeting, so that a feeble attempt at disturbance from the opponentsproved a decided failure. 

But now a strange stir and excitement rustled through the vast assemblyas James Barnes, at the invitation of the vicar, mounted the platform, and stood unabashed before his fellow-townsmen. But scarcely had hebegun to open his lips when a torrent of yells and shouts burst from ascore or two of drunken throats; others cheered, many laughed, someshouted; then followed a thunder of clapping and stamping, whistling andshrieking, and it seemed for a few moments as though the triumph were tobe on the side of disorder and intemperance. But, as a second whirlwindof uproar was beginning, the vicar again stepped forward, and, raisinghis right-hand as begging silence, smiled pleasantly on the excitedcrowd, while he placed his left hand on the shoulder of James Barnes, who stood his ground manfully. Then followed shouts of "Shame, shame!"--"Sit down!"--"Hold your noise!"--"Hearken Jim!" and the stormgradually subsided into a calm. 

"I'm one of yourselves, " began Jim bluntly, as soon as order wasrestored, and not in the slightest degree discomposed by this roughreception; "you shouldn't make such a din. How's a fellow to makehimself heard? Why, it's worse than half a dozen engines all whistlingat once. " There was a buzz of amused satisfaction at this professionalillustration, and James Barnes had got the ear of the meeting. "I'lltell you what it is, friends, " he went on; "it's true I ain't much of aspeaker, but I can tell you a thing or two about myself as may beuseful. I've got my Sunday coat on to-night, and it's my own, and it'snever been to the popshop. I couldn't have said that a month ago, forI'd never a Sunday coat then. Another thing, I'm spending my own wages;that's more nor I've done for many years past, for the devil's been usedto spend the best part of them for me and put 'em into the landlord'still. Now I takes 'em to buy bread and clothes for the wife andchildren. Another thing, and better still, I've got one or two goodfriends as pulled me out of the mire, and won't let me go. Tommy Tracksthere, as you call him, he's one of them; and _your_ good friend thevicar, --for he _is_ your friend, think as you please, --he's another. And, best of all, I've got a clear head and a clear conscience, and ahope of a better home by-and-by, and a Saviour above all to look to; andI shouldn't have had none of these if I'd been going on in my old ways. So _you_ may laugh if you please when you say, `Jim Barnes has turnedteetotaler;' but I mean to sing when I says it, for it's true, and hemeans to stick to it, with God's help, all the days of his life. "

Having delivered himself of this brief address, James Barnes hurrieddown from the platform, followed by a roar of hearty applause, whichcompletely drowned the efforts of a few dissentient voices. 

The vicar was now just rising to call on another speaker to address themeeting, when his attention, as well as that of the whole audience, wasturned to William Foster as he got up deliberately from his seat. MrMaltby had watched him narrowly during the evening, and not withoutconsiderable anxiety and interest. Up to the close of Barnes's speechFoster had apparently taken little or no interest in the proceedings;certainly he had not joined either in the applause or in the dissent. What was he now about to do? Turning to the vicar, amidst a breathlesssilence throughout the hall, he said, in a firm and clear voice, "MrChairman, may I say a few words to this meeting?" The vicar hesitated. Was this man going to spoil all? His eye at that moment caught ThomasBradly's. Thomas nodded to him, and then turned to Foster and said, "Get you on to the platform, William; the vicar and all the rest of uswill give you a patient hearing, I'm sure. " Foster then mounted theplatform, and stood for a moment facing the audience without speaking. He was very pale, and his voice trembled at first, but soon recoveredits firmness as he spoke as follows:--

"Mr Chairman and fellow-townsmen, I have not come here to-night tooppose the temperance movement, but quite the contrary. I am quite surethat movement has been doing good in this town, and is doing good still. You have only to look at Jim Barnes to see that. Everybody knows whathe was, and everybody knows what he now is; there is no sham nor deceitin the matter. Now, whatever our creeds may be, whether we think alikein other things or not, there can be no two opinions about this matterwith honest and reasoning men. The temperance movement is doing good, and we have before us a plain proof of it. Now, I am not here to-nightmerely to talk. I should not have come if that were all. I have cometo act. I have professed to be a reasoning man, and to belong to aparty that prides itself upon being governed by reason, and yet I haveallowed myself to come more or less under the dominion of that strongdrink which just turns a reasoning man into something far lower than anirrational brute. `Well, then, ' some of you might say, `can't you exertyour own will and give it up without coming to a temperance meeting totalk about it?' Yes, I could; but that would be just merely doing goodto myself. Now, I can't help being aware that your chairman, the vicarof this parish, and his right-hand man, Thomas Bradly, are not contentwith being total abstainers for their own benefit, but are doing theirbest, spite of ridicule, opposition, and persecution, to get others tobecome abstainers also. They can have nothing to gain by this exceptthe happiness of making others happy. I see this plainly; and my reason(_they_ would call it conscience, I suppose) tells me that, if I am areally honest and unprejudiced man, I ought to follow their example. Iam here to-night to do it. I have other reasons besides for taking thiscourse, but I do not think it necessary to mention them on the presentoccasion. I know what it will cost me to take this step, but I havewell weighed the consequences and am prepared to accept them. MrChairman, I will sign the pledge to-night in your book, and join yoursociety, if you will allow me. " Having spoken thus, William Fosterquietly resumed his seat. 

The effect of this speech on the meeting was most overwhelming. Everyword had been heard all over the hall, for Foster had a clear andpowerful voice, and had spoken calmly and deliberately, as one whoweighed every word and sentence carefully; and the silence while headdressed his audience had been almost oppressive. Was it possible thatFoster could be in earnest? There was no mistake about it--every manwas at once convinced of this from the vicar down to the most sottish ofthe anti-temperance gathering. Such a man as Foster would never havecome forward in this way had he not had powerful and all-constrainingmotives to lead him to take such a step. When he sat down there wasneither shouting nor laughter: the great body of working-men, includingthe obstructionists, seemed stupified; they looked at one another withopen-eyed and open-mouthed wonder, and whispered their amazement andperplexity. Then the vicar, struck dumb for the moment by sheerastonishment, after exchanging with his brother clergyman on theplatform a glance of deep thankfulness, rose, and addressing WilliamFoster, said, "I cannot tell you, my friend, how truly glad I am to findthat you have been guided to take such a step as you now contemplate;most cordially shall I receive your signature in our pledge-book, andwelcome you to our society. " Then the crowd of hearers rose to theirfeet, and gave vent to their feelings in three hearty cheers; while theopponents of the cause made their way to the door as quickly as theycould. 

The next minute Thomas Bradly stood by the vicar's side, and all sathushed in attention as he addressed the meeting. Tears were in hiseyes, and half-choked was his voice as he began:--

"Friends, I've been at many a temperance meeting in my day, but never atone that I shall remember like this. Some of us abstainers came hereto-night with doubting hearts; it seemed as if the evil one was a-goingto put a big stone or two in the way of the temperance cause, butinstead of that he's been and trod upon his own tail, as he often does. O bless the Lord for his goodness! We've had a mighty large stone tookout of the way, instead of any new 'uns laid in our path. Ah! Whyshould we ever be fainthearted? The cause is a good cause, and it_will_ prosper, depend upon it. And now, friends, there's many of youhere to-night as came, I know, just for a bit of fun; you didn't mean noharm, but you wouldn't have minded a little bit of a laugh against us. But it's turned out just the other way: you've given us a help, andstopped the mouths of them as would have upset our meeting; so let themlaugh as wins. And now, friends, I want to say a word to you about ourfriend William here. We're all thinking about him; he has come forwardlike an honest man to-night, and a right brave man too. I know he can'thave done it without having to pay for it. I know, and you know too, asit'll not be all smooth work between him and his mates. Now, whetheryou like or don't like what he has done to-night, you can't helprespecting him for it; so just keep your tongues off him when you meethim, and do him a kind turn if you can. He and I ain't of one mind, youwell know--at least we haven't been; but he knows this, that in anythingthat's good I'll back him up through thick and thin if he'll let me. And now, here's a grand opportunity; just some of you chaps as have beencheering him like anything come up to the table and sign the pledge withhim, and keep it by God's help, and you'll bless this night every day ofyour lives, and so will the wives and children. "

There was a cheery response to this speech in many a hearty word ofassent; and then the vicar closed the meeting, inviting any who werewilling to come and sign. The crowded room was soon emptied of all buta very few, among whom were William Foster and about a dozen more of theworking-men, who expressed their intention to sign with him. Fosterhimself signed his name with an unflinching hand, but said nothing. Thevicar thought it wisest not to endeavour to draw him into conversationat this time, but with a kindly shake of the hand, and an expression ofthankfulness at his joining the Temperance Society, bade him good-night. 

As the committee and the speakers were leaving the hall, the vicar keptThomas Bradly back, and said to him: "This is wonderful indeed; it isthe Lord's doing, and is marvellous in our eyes. Now you must keep youreye, Thomas, on Foster; I think you will get at him at first better thanI should be likely to do. You will be able to see just how the landlies, and I shall be ready to come in at any time; only with such a manwe must use discretion, knowing what his antecedents have been. "

"Ay, surely, " replied the other; "I'll not let him go, sir, now thatwe've got hold of him--you may depend upon it. Oh! This is indeed whatI never could have dreamt of. Well, we've had a grand night; and it's asign, I believe, as we're going to have some rare bright sunshine on ourtemperance work. "

"I trust and believe so, indeed, " rejoined Mr Maltby, and they parted. 

That meeting was never forgotten in Crossbourne, but was always spokenof as emphatically _the_ great Crossbourne Temperance Meeting. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

LIGHT IN THE DARK DWELLING. 

The day that followed the great temperance meeting was one full ofexcitement to the operatives of Crossbourne. Every mill and workshopresounded with the eager hum of conversation and conjecture touching themarvellous occurrence of the previous evening--the speech and conduct ofWilliam Foster. Of course a variety of distorted versions of the matterflew abroad, and were caught and carried home into the country by somewho lived at a distance from the town. Among these versions was astrongly affirmed and as strongly believed account of the last night'soccurrences, which set forth how William Foster, with a picked party ofhis friends, had forced their way to the top of the hall, and were inthe act of mounting the platform for the purpose of turning the vicarout of the chair, when a voice of unearthly loudness was heard to shout, "Forbear!"--upon which the meeting broke up in wild confusion, leavingFoster prostrated on the ground by some invisible and mysterious power, where he lay till brought back to consciousness by the joint efforts ofMr Maltby and Thomas Bradly; after which, at their earnest suggestion, he there and then signed the pledge. 

Foster's own companions, however, had not been altogether taken bysurprise. For some weeks past he had been absent from his club, andfrom the public-house, and when questioned on the subject had givenshort and evasive answers. A change had been coming over him--that wasclear enough; but whence it originated even those who had been the mostintimate with him were at a loss to conjecture. And now on the morningafter the meeting, when he walked into the mill-yard, while some lookedon him with the sort of wonder with which a crowd would gape at somestrange animal, the like of which they had neither seen nor heard ofbefore, others began to assail him with gibes and taunts and coarsewould-be witticisms. But Foster bore it all unmoved, never uttering aword in reply, but going on steadily with his work. As the men, however, were about to leave for their homes, after the mill had loosed, a sneering, sour-looking fellow, one Enos Wilkinson, who had gathered alittle crowd about him, and was watching for Foster, whose work detainedhim a little later than the ordinary hands, stepped across his path, andraising his voice, cried, "Come now, Saint Foster, you'll be bringingout a nice little book about your conversion, to edify us poor sinnerswho are still in heathen darkness. When do you mean to favour us withthe first edition?"--"The day after you become sober and sensible, Enos, " was Foster's reply, and he walked on, leaving his persecutorsunprepared with an answer. 

Two hours later, and Thomas Bradly might be seen standing outsideFoster's house, with a happy smile on his face, and a short whisperedconversation going on between two parts of himself. "Now, then, Thomas, you're in for it. " "Ay, to be sure; and in for a good thing too. ""What'll Will Foster say? And what'll _you_ say, Thomas?" "Ah! Well, all that's best left in the Lord's hands. "

After this a loud, decided knock on Thomas's part, and then the cautioustread of a woman inside. 

"All right, missus; it's only me, Thomas Bradly. "

No answer for a minute, and then the heavier tread of a man. Fosterhimself opened the door, and holding out his hand, said, --

"Come in, Thomas. You're just the man I've been wanting to see. "

"And you're just the man I'm right glad to hear say so, " was the other'sreply. 

The two men walked into the inner room together. All was very neat, andthe whole place wore an air of comfort far different from what had beenits appearance in days past. But the greatest change was in Foster'swife. Bradly, who had met her often in the street or in the shops, could hardly believe her to be the same. "Ha, ha!" said he inwardly tohimself; "the Lord's been at work here, I can see. " Yes! There wasthat marked change on the features which can come only from a changedheart. There was peace on that face--a peace whose tranquil light hadnever shone there before. There was not joy yet, but there was peace. Not, indeed, peace unmixed, for there was a shade of earth's sadnessthere still; but God's peace was there, like a lunar rainbow, beautifulin its heavenly colouring cast upon the clouds of sorrow, but notintensely bright. As she held out her hand to Bradly to give him afriendly welcome, he could see that her eyes were full of tears. "Allright, " he said to himself; "the work's begun. "

As he was seating himself on one side of the fire, his eye fell on alittle, stout, shabbily-bound volume lying in a corner near someshowily-ornamented books. Could it really be a Bible? "Right again, "thought Thomas; "I ain't often mistaken about _that_ book. The secret'sout; I see what has worked the change. "

"I'm truly glad, but almost ashamed, to see you, Thomas, " began Foster, seating himself opposite his guest. "However, I'm glad now of thisopportunity of expressing my regret for the many hard and undeservedthings I've spoken against you, both to your face and behind your back. "

"Never give it another thought, William, " cried the other. "You'venever done me the least harm; but quite the other way. It's as good asphysic, and a deal better than some physic, to hear what other peoplethink of us, even if it ain't all of it quite true to the life. "

"Ah! But I did you injustice, Thomas. "

"Never mind if you did. You never said half as much evil of me as Iknew of myself. But let by-gones be by-gones. You've made me happierthan I can tell you; for I can see plainly enough as the Lord has beenlaying his loving hands on you and your missus. "

"You are right, Thomas; and I know it will give you real pleasure tohear how it has all come about. --So sit down, Kate, and help me out withmy story. "

Ah, what a different scene was this from that sorrowful time when thepoor, broken-hearted young mother leant hopelessly over the cradle ofher little one thirsting for that which she knew not where to find! Nowthe same wife and mother sat with a smile of sweet contentment, busilyplying her knitting, while her husband told the simple story of how theGod of the Bible had "brought the blind by a way that they knew not. "

"You know what I have been, Thomas, " began Foster. "Well, I am notashamed now to confess that I never was really happy, nor satisfied withmy own creed. Spite of my conviction of my own superior knowledge, Icould not help acknowledging to my inward self that you were right and Iwas wrong; at least, I saw that your creed did for you what my creedcould not do for me. It was very pleasant and flattering, of course, tobe looked up to as an oracle by the other members of my club, and to gettheir applause when I said sharp things against religion and men whoseviews differed from our own. But all the while I despised those verycompanions of mine, and their praises; and, what's more, I despisedmyself. 

"And another thing--I had no real happiness at home, nor poor Kateneither. I was disappointed in her--she won't mind my saying so now--and she was disappointed in me. We had nothing to bind our heartstogether but a love which wanted a stronger cement than mere similarityof tastes. Besides which--for I may as well speak out plainly now whileI'm about it--it was poor satisfaction to come home and find books lyingabout, and scarce a spark of fire in the grate; no tea getting ready, but, instead of it, twenty good reasons why things were not all straightand comfortable. And these reasons were but a poor substitute for thecomforts that were not forthcoming, and only made matters worse. And ifthere was neglect on her part, there was plenty of fault-finding onmine. I was sharp and unreasonable; and then we both of us lost ourtemper, and I was glad to seek other company, and began to care less andless for my home, and more for the public-house and for the drink whichgives the inspiration to the conversation you meet with in such places. 

"Sometimes things would go on a little better, but not for long. Andwhen we got to angry words with one another, we had no higher authoritythan ourselves to appeal to when we would set one another right. Thomas, I see this more plainly every day now. Freethinkers--would-beatheists, like my former self--are at an immense disadvantage comparedwith Christians in this respect. A Christian has a recognised, infallible authority to which he can appeal--the will of his God, as setforth in the Word of his God. When he differs from a fellow-Christian, both can go to that authority, and abide by its decision. Christianswill do this if they are honest men, and really love one another. Wefreethinkers have no such court of appeal. However, let that pass. 

"Things went on as I've been telling you, and were getting worse. Ourtwo hearts were getting further apart every day, and colder and coldertowards each other. This went on, and the breach kept widening, till afew weeks ago. You'll not have forgotten, I know, poor Joe Wright's sadend. Well, it was a few days after the accident that I came home muchthe worse for liquor, I'm ashamed to say, and in a particularly badtemper. Things had not been pleasant at the club. One of the membershad been breaking the rules; and when I pointed this out, I was met withopposition, and the determined display of an intention on the part ofseveral others to side with the offender. Words ran high, and I spokemy mind pretty freely, and received in return such a shower of abuse asfairly staggered me. So I betook myself to the public-house, and drankglass after glass to drown my uncomfortable reflections, and then wenthome. 

"The drink, instead of driving away my mortification, only made me moreirritable; and when I got into my own house, I was ready to find faultwith everything, and to vent the bitterness of my spirit on my poorlittle wife. But, to my surprise, she did not answer me back, far lessrepay my disparaging remarks with usury, which she might very well havedone, and would have done a few days before. I could not help seeing, too, that she had been taking pains to make the room look tidier thanusual. My supper was ready for me, my slippers set by the fender, andthe arm-chair drawn up near the fire. I did not choose to make anyremark on this at the time; indeed, I got all the more cross, because Iwas annoyed by the sense of my own injustice in being angry with her. So poor Kate had but a sad time of it that night. 

"However, I had made a note in my mind of what I had seen, and I wascurious to mark if this change in domestic matters would continue. Tomy surprise, and, I am ashamed to say, not altogether to mygratification, I found that it did continue. I was suspicious as to themotive and reason for this change, and therefore not satisfied. So Itook the improvement in my poor wife's temper and conduct very surlily;the real fact being, I now believe, that I was inwardly vexed by beingforced to feel that she was showing by her behaviour to me hersuperiority to myself. But the change still continued, and I coulddetect no unworthy motive for it; so at last Kate's loving ways andpatient forbearance got the victory, and then I began to look around forthe cause of this transformation. What could it have been that had mademy wife so different, and my home so different?

"While I now freely confessed to her my pleasure at the improvement, andendeavoured to repay her loving attentions by coming home regularly ingood time and sober, I forbore to question her as to what had made sucha difference in her, and she was evidently anxious to avoid the subject. But I was resolved to find out how this new state of things had comeabout, and an opportunity for doing so soon presented itself. Oneevening there was a break-down at the mill, and I returned home earlierthan usual. I was getting near the house, when I heard my wife singing, and the tune was clearly a hymn tune. The secret was discovered now. Itook off my boots, and crept slowly up to the door. The singing hadstopped, and all was quiet. Then I heard Kate's voice gently readingout loud to herself, and the words she read, though I could not catchthem distinctly, were manifestly not those of any book of science oramusement: I could tell that by the seriousness of the tone of hervoice. The conviction then came strongly upon me that she was readingthe Bible, and that this book was the cause of the great change in her. A thousand thoughts stirred in my heart. I durst not venture to look inat the window, lest she should see me, for I had not at all made up mymind what to do. So I went back a little distance, put on my bootsagain, and came into the house as if nothing had happened. 

"I was unusually silent that night, and I saw Kate looking aside at menow and then with a half-frightened glance, as if she was afraid that Iwas going to change back to my old unkind ways. I watched her verynarrowly, and she saw it, and was uneasy. The fact was, I wanted to getat her Bible, if she really had one, and I had not yet the courage tospeak to her about it. She knew how I had talked to her against it, andmade a mock at it, and I couldn't yet humble myself enough to ask for asight of it. I noticed, however, that she looked a little anxiously atme when I turned down the baby's bed-clothes in the cradle to have alook at him; and as I could see no Bible anywhere about the room, itdarted into my mind that she had hidden it under the clothes. So whenshe was gone up into the bedroom, to set things to rights upstairs, Ifound the book I was looking for stowed snugly away, and began to readit as eagerly as if it had been a rich man's will leaving me all hisproperty. "

"You weren't far wrong there, William, " broke in Thomas Bradly; "for thegospel _is_ our heavenly Father's will and testament, making us hisheirs; and it's written with his own hand, and sealed with the blood ofhis dear Son. But go on, William. "

"I don't doubt but you're right, " resumed Foster. "Well, as I read thelittle Bible, I was quite astonished, for I saw how utterly ignorant Ihad been of its contents and teaching. Ah, yes; it's one thing to knowa few texts, just enough to furnish matter for censure and ridicule, andquite a different thing to read the very same book with a sincere desireto learn and understand what it has to tell us. I found it so, I canassure you. So I learnt from that humble little Bible of Kate's whatall my philosophy and all the philosophy in the world could never teachme. 

"It isn't to the point now, but I'll tell you another time how thisBible came into Kate's hands; for of course we had not one of our own inthe house. A singular chance I should have called it a short time ago;but I'm coming more and more to your mind, Thomas, that chance is only awrong and misleading term for the guiding hand of One whom I now hope totrust in, love, and obey, however unworthily. "

"The Lord be praised, his blessed name be praised!" cried Thomas Bradly, while the tears ran fast down his cheeks. 

"Yes, " said Foster reverently, "he may well be praised, for I haveindeed good reason to praise him. --So you see I had got to the bottom ofthe mystery at last, and that little book has become to me now worth athousand times its own weight in gold. 

"Day after day I went on reading it by stealth, and every day I wonderedmore and more at its marvellous suitableness to my own case. And then Ibegan to do that which a few weeks back I should have looked upon assimply an evidence of insanity in a man of my views. I began to pray. I hardly dared make the attempt at first. It seemed to me that were Ito venture to address the great Being whose existence I had denied, andwhose name I had constantly blasphemed, a flash of lightning or someother sudden exertion of his power would strike me dumb. But I didventure at last to offer up an earnest cry for mercy and pardon in thename of that Saviour who invites us to offer our prayers in his name;and then it seemed as though a mountain were lifted from my heart, andblindness were removed from my eyes. 

"Next day, after tea, I quietly asked Kate for the Bible. I shall neverforget her look as long as I live. Fear, hope, joy followed one anotherlike sunshine breaking through the clouds. Could I be in earnest? Shedid not hesitate long, for she saw that in my face which told her thatshe might trust me with her treasure. Then she brought out the bookfrom its hiding-place, put it on the table by me, and throwing her armsround my neck, wept away the sorrows of years. And it may be that atthat time angels looked down upon us, and shed tears of joy to see twopoor penitent sinners thus `sitting at the feet of their Saviour, clothed, and in their right mind. '"

For a while no one spoke, for all were too deeply moved. At last Fostercontinued: "I knew I should have to come out on the right side openlysooner or later, but you may be sure it would be no easy matter. However, I had made up my mind: it would have to be done some time orother, so, as the Annual Temperance Meeting was soon to come off--I knewthat, for Joe Wright's party were boasting of what they meant to do--Idetermined to show my colours by joining your society, and you have seenthe result. "

"Yes, William, " said Bradly, cheerily, "I see it, and I bless the Lordfor it; and if he has made me in any way an unworthy instrument inhelping to bring about this change, I can truly say that he has paid meback interest a thousandfold for any little I've ever done or sufferedfor him. "

"Then, Thomas, " said the other earnestly, "you may be pleased to knowthat it was your hand that gave the first blows to the nail, though, itwas my dear wife that was the means of driving it home. I often thoughtI could easily knock down your arguments, and, though I knew you had thebest of it--for you had honesty and truth on your side--yet when I wenthome after one of our talks, I've vexed myself many a time by thinking, `Well, now, if I'd only thought of this or that thing, I might havefloored him. ' But there was one thing that always floored _me_, andthat was `the logic of the life;' I couldn't find an answer to _that_. And not only so, but, as I said a little while ago, I saw that thereligion of Jesus Christ made you truly happy, and I knew that my free-thinking never did that for me nor for any of my like-minded companions;so that deep down in my heart a voice was constantly saying, `TommyTracks is right. ' And now I'm _sure_ that he is so. Thomas, I now askyour friendship and your help, as I have already asked yourforgiveness. "

Bradly wrung the other's hand with a hearty grip, and then said, "Youshall have them, William. I know you'll be all the better for anearthly friend or two, for there'll want a deal of backing up just atfirst. But oh, I'm so truly thankful that you and your missus have gotthe best Friend of all on your side, who will never leave you norforsake you. Yes, come what will, you can go to One now who will keeppeace in your conscience, peace in your heart and peace and love in yourhome. "

By Foster's request, before they parted, Thomas Bradly knelt with themand offered a prayer. Ah, what a sight! Glorious even for angels tolook down upon! Those three uniting in prayer--the old disciple; theblasphemer, persecutor, and injurious; and the till late Christlesswife--all now one in Jesus, bowed at his footstool, while the humbleservant of the Lord poured out his heart in simple, fervent supplicationand praise, as all bent head and knee in the felt presence of the unseenGod. 

Next Sunday Foster was at church in the morning, and was there with hiswife in the evening, Mrs Bradly having undertaken to look after thebaby. As for Bradly himself, his face was a sight worth seeing on thatSunday. It was always brighter than usual on the Lord's-day; but onthis particular Sabbath every line of his features shone with a glow ofgladness, as though, like Moses, he had just come down from the mount. It need hardly be said that the vicar's heart also deeply rejoiced. Asfor the inhabitants of Crossbourne generally, some were glad, with aspice of caution in their gladness; some shook their heads and smiled, meaning thereby to let all men know that, in case Foster should notpersevere in his new career, _they_, at any rate, had never been over-sanguine as to the genuineness of his reformation; some simply lookedgrave; while the profligate and the profane gnashed their teeth withenvy hatred, and malice, and exchanged vehement asseverations of "howthey'd pay off the sneaking humbug of a deserter, and no mistake. "

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

A BLIGHTED LIFE. 

Spring had come, but the cloud still rested on poor Jane Bradly. True, her heart was lighter, for she now believed with her brother that therewas deliverance at hand for her, and that the mists were beginning tomelt away. She was firmly persuaded that her character would beentirely cleared. But when? How soon would the waiting-time come to anend? And what good could come out of such a trouble? Here was thetrial of her faith; but she bore it patiently, and the chastening wasproducing in her, even now, "the peaceable fruit of righteousness. " Shebegan to improve in health and strength, and had lost much of the lookof abiding care; for the habitual peace of a mind stayed on God, and theconsciousness of innocence as regarded the wrong-doing of which she hadbeen suspected, kept her calm in the blessedness of a childlike trust. 

But there was one who lived not far from her, a sister in affliction, about whose sad heart the clouds were gathering thicker and thicker. Spring, with its opening buds and rejoicing birds, brought no gladnessto the spirit of Clara Maltby. She was gradually wasting away. Changeof air and scene had been recommended, but she would not hear of leavinghome, and clung with a distressing tenacity to her round of dailystudies, shortening her brief time of exercise, and seeming anxious togoad herself into the attainment of the utmost amount of knowledge whichit was possible for her to acquire, grudging every minute as lost andwasted time that was not given to study. To shine had become with herthe one absorbing object; to shine, not, alas! for Christ, but for self, for the world, that she might gain the prize of human applause. So shewas using the gifts with which God had endowed her, not to his glory, bylaying them at the foot of the cross, and employing them as talents withwhich she was to occupy till the Master came, but as means whereby shemight win for herself distinction, and outstrip others in the race forearthly fame. But such a strain on mind and body could not last; theovertaxed faculties would assert their claim for the much-needed rest;and so, in the early spring-time, Clara Maltby was suddenly strickendown and lay for days in a state of half-unconsciousness. 

At last she rallied, in a measure; and when she was sufficientlyrecovered to bear conversation, she earnestly begged that she might beallowed to see Thomas Bradly, and have an opportunity of saying a fewwords to him in the presence of her parents, previously to her beingtaken from home by her mother to the seaside, to which she had beenordered by her medical man, as soon as she could bear the removal. Soone evening, after his work, Bradly, with a sorrowful heart, made hisway up to the vicarage, and was introduced by Mr Maltby into the innerroom, where his daughter had gathered together her own special library. 

The patient lay on a low couch near the fire, which burned cheerfully, and lighted up, though not with gladness, the care-smitten features ofthe vicar's daughter. Close to her was a little table, on which lay asmall Bible, a pile of photographs, and a few printed papers. Herwriting materials occupied part of a larger table, and were flanked oneither side by heaps of volumes--scientific, historical, and poetical;while beyond the books was a small but exquisitely-modelled group of waxflowers, most life-like in appearance, under a glass shade. Over thefire-place was a large water-colour drawing of Crossbourne Church, withminiatures of her father and mother, one on each side of it. On themantelpiece was an ivory statuette, beautifully carved, the gift of atravelled friend; and other articles of taste and refinement werescattered up and down the room. But now the gentle mistress of thisquiet retreat lay languid and weary, incapable of enjoying thesearticles of grace and beauty which surrounded her. There was a flushindeed on her cheek, but no light in the heavy eyes. She looked like agathered flower, --fair, but drooping, because it can strike no root andfind no moisture. Thomas Bradly was shocked at the change a few dayshad made in the poor girl since he last saw her, and could hardlyrestrain his tears. At the head of the couch sat Mrs Maltby, with aface sadly worn and troubled; and between her and the fire was herhusband, on whose features there rested a more chastened and peacefulsorrow. 

"Come, sit down, Thomas, " said Mr Maltby; "my dear child cannot resttill she has seen you, and told you something that lies on her mind. Ithink she will be happier when she has had this little talk; and it maybe that God will bless her visit to the sea, and send her back to us inimproved health. I know we shall have your prayers, and the prayers ofmany others, that it may be so. "

"You shall, you do have our prayers, " cried Bradly, earnestly; "theLord'll order it all for the best. He's been doing wonderful things forus lately, and he means to give you and dear Miss Clara a share of hisblessings. "

"Well, " replied the vicar, "we will hope and trust so, Thomas. Theclouds have not gathered without a cause; but still, I believe that, asthe hymn says, they will yet `break with blessings on our head. '--Clara, my child, it will not be wise to make this interview too long; so wewill leave the talking now to yourself and Thomas Bradly. "

"Dear, kind friend, " began Miss Maltby, raising herself from her couch, and leaning herself on her mother, who came and sat by her, "I could notbe satisfied to leave Crossbourne without seeing you first, as I wantyou to do something for me in the parish which I cannot ask my dearfather to do. And I want to make a confession also to you, as it may bethe means of doing some little good in the place where I have left somuch undone, and as perhaps it may not please God that I should comeback again to my earthly home. "

She was unable to proceed for a few moments, and Bradly dared not trusthimself to speak, while the vicar and his wife found it hard to controltheir feelings. 

"Thomas, " she at length continued, her voice gaining strength and hermind clearness under the excitement of the subject which now filled herheart and thoughts, "I want you to say something for me to my class--atleast to those girls who belonged to it when I used to teach it. Say itto them in your own plain and simple way, and I trust that it may dothem good. 

"I want you to tell them from me that I have tried what the world andits idols are, and I have found them `vanity of vanities. ' Not that Ihave been leading what is called a wicked life; not that I have lovedgay company or worldly amusements; not that I have lost sight of Christand heaven altogether, though they have been getting further off from mysight every day; but I have been fashioning for myself an idol with myown hands, which has been shutting out heavenly things from me more andmore. And now God has in mercy shattered my idol, and I trust that Ican see Jesus once more as I have not seen him, oh, for so long!

"I am startled when I look back and see how far I have gone astray, andhow I have let the devil cheat me with a thousand plausible falsehoods. Oh, what a useless life I have been leading! What a selfish life I havebeen leading! And yet I have been persuading myself that I was onlycultivating the powers which God gave me. But it has not been so; it isas though I had been set to draw a picture of our Saviour, and hadability and the best of materials given me for making a beautifullikeness, and I had all the while gone on just drawing an image ofmyself, and had then fallen down and worshipped it. 

"Tell my girls, then, --for I may never have the opportunity of tellingthem myself, --that there is no real happiness in such a life as mine haslately been. It is really purely for self is this struggle afterdistinction; God put us into this world for something far different. Iknow, of course, that my scholars are not any of them likely to besnared exactly in the same way that I have been. Still, they might betempted to think what a grand thing it would be to have the advantagesfor getting knowledge and distinction that I have had. Ah, but what hasbeen my life, after all? Why, like that group of wax flowers under theglass shade. Don't they look beautiful? But you see they are not real;they have no life and no sweetness in them, and they can never make thesick and the suffering happy as real flowers do. My life, with all itsadvantages, and what people call accomplishments, has been as unreal, aslifeless, as scentless as those wax flowers. It has not pleased God; ithas not made others happy; there has been nothing to envy in it, but oh, quite the other way: it should rather be a warning. Tell my girls so, for they have their temptations even in this direction; there is so muchattention paid now to head knowledge in all ranks and classes, and sucha danger of neglecting heart knowledge and Christ knowledge. Show themhow it has been with me. Tell them how I feel now on looking back. 

"What have I really gained by this eager pursuit after earthly fame?Nothing. I have strained body and mind in seeking it--strained them, probably, past recovery. And what have I lost in the pursuit? I havelost peace; I have lost a thousand opportunities of doing good which cannever be recalled; I have lost the happy sense of Jesus' love andpresence. --Dear father, would you give me that open book?--These wordsjust suit my life, Thomas:--

 "`Nothing but leaves! The Spirit grieves Over a wasted life; O'er sins indulged while conscience slept, O'er vows and promises unkept; And reaps from years of strife-- Nothing but leaves! Nothing but leaves!'"

She paused, and hiding her face in her mother's breast, wept long andbitterly. 

Thomas Bradly had listened with deep emotion to every word, but had notyet been able to command himself sufficiently to speak. But now hestretched his hand forward, and took up the little hymn-book from whichClara Maltby had been reading, and, as he turned over its pages, said--"I don't doubt, dear Miss Clara, but you've just said the plaintruth about yourself; I've grieved over it all, and prayed about it. But that's all past and gone now, and the Lord means to bring good outof the evil, I can see that, and you'll let me read you these lines outof your book, as I'm sure it ain't going to be `nothing but leaves'after all. Listen, miss, to these blessed words, for they belong toyou:--

 "There were ninety and nine that safely lay In the shelter of the fold; But one was out on the hills away, Far-off from the gates of gold, -- Away on the mountains wild and bare, Away from the tender Shepherd's care. 

 "`Lord, thou hast here thy ninety and nine: Are they not enough for thee?' But the Shepherd made answer: `This of mine Has wandered away from me; And although the road be rough and steep, I go to the desert to find my sheep. '

 "And all through the mountains, thunder-riven, And up from the rocky steep, There rose a cry to the gate of heaven, `Rejoice! I have found my sheep!' And the angels echoed around the throne, `Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own!'"

"Thank you, Thomas, thank you most sincerely, " cried the sick girl, raising herself again. "Yes, I trust that these beautiful words _do_apply to me. Jesus has gone after me, a poor wandering and rebellioussheep, and brought me back again. Do then, kind friend, tell my dearclass for me that I have found all out of Christ to be emptiness, andthat there can be no true happiness here unless we are working for him. 

"Of course, I might have pursued my studies innocently had I given tothem leisure hours when other duties had been done, and then they wouldhave been a delight to me, and a source of real improvement. Butinstead of that I made an idol of them, and they became a snare to me. I lived for them, and in them, and all else was as good as forgotten. Yes, even my Bible, that was once so precious, --it might as well havelain on the shelf, and indeed, latterly, it has seldom been anywhereelse. I had no time for reading it; earthly studies absorbed everymoment. But now it has become to me again truly my Bible; it has shownme, and shows me more and more plainly every day, my sin and my neglect. Ah! It is an awful thing when the struggle after this world's honoursand prizes makes us thrust aside thoughts of God and of the crown ofglory. It has been so with me. I have been chasing an illuminatedshadow until it has suddenly vanished, and left me in a darkness thatmight be felt. 

"Tell my girls, then, dear friend, to take warning from me. Tell themhow I mourn over my wasted life; but tell them also that I have a goodhope that God, for Christ's sake, has forgiven me, and ask them to prayfor me. The great lesson I want you to impress upon them from my caseis just this, that no knowledge can be worth having that interferes withour following our Saviour; that no pursuit, though it may not beoutwardly sinful or manifestly worldly, which unfits us in body or mindfor doing our duty in that state of life to which it has pleased God tocall us, can be innocent, for it robs Jesus of that service which we allowe to him. 

"And now I am going to ask you to give these photographs, one a piece, to my girls: they will value them, I know, as the likeness of one whowas once happy in being their teacher, and who hopes, should God spareher, to be their teacher again; a better instructed teacher far, I hope, because taught in the school of bitter but wholesome experience to knowherself. "

These last few words, uttered with deep feeling, made it necessary forClara to pause once more. So Thomas Bradly, seeing that her strengthwas well-nigh exhausted, simply expressed his hearty readiness to complywith her requests, and was rising to take his leave, when she signed himto remain. 

"Just one thing more, dear friend, " she added, as soon as she wassufficiently recovered. --"Nay, dearest mother, you must let me finishwhat I have to say. I shall be happier and calmer when I have toldall. --O Thomas! I have been on the very edge of a dreadful precipice;nay, I almost fear that I have scarcely avoided beginning the terriblefall. Finding myself unequal to the full strain which my studiesimposed upon me, I began to have recourse to intoxicating stimulants, first a little, and then a little more, till at last I got to cravethem, oh, how terribly! And, alas! alas! worse still. As I was ashamedto bring such things openly into my father's house, I have employed aservant once or twice to fetch them for me, but simply as a medicine, and I have found myself scheming how I might do this to a still greaterextent without detection. Oh, to what a depth have I fallen! But I seeit all now; the Lord has opened my eyes. What I wanted was rest, notstimulants. And surely nothing could justify me in putting such astrain upon my mind as to make it needful to fly to such a restorative. 

"I don't ask you to mention this to my girls, nor to any one else, forit might not do good, and might be a hindrance, in a measure, to my dearfather in his work; but I tell it you to ease my own heart, and that youmay pray for me, and that you may hear me now, in the presence of mybeloved father and mother, declare that from this time forward Irenounce all such study, if God spare me, as shall unfit me for a lovingservice of Jesus, in my home and out of it, and that I have done withall intoxicating stimulants, the Lord helping me, now and for ever. "

"Bless the Lord!" said Bradly to himself, as, after a silent pressure ofClara Maltby's hand, he stole out of the room. "All's working for good, I'm sure, " he added, as he walked homewards. "We shall do grandly now. One great stone has just been struck out of our good vicar's path. Satan's a queer, knowing customer, but he often outwits himself; andthere's One wiser and stronger than him. "

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY. 

A few days after Thomas Bradly's visit to the vicarage, Mrs Maltby andher daughter left home for the seaside. In the evening of the day oftheir departure, something different from the ordinary routine wasevidently going on at Thomas Bradly's. As it drew near to half-past sixo'clock, four young women, neatly dressed, might be seen making theirway towards his house. These were shortly joined by three others; andthen followed some more young women and elderly girls, till at lengththirteen were gathered together in the road, whispering and laughing toone another, and evidently somewhat in a state of perplexity. 

"What's it all about, Mary Anne?" asked a bright-looking girl of fifteenof one of the oldest of the group. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " was the reply; "all I know for certain is, thatI've been invited to tea at Thomas's, at half-past six this evening. "

"So have I"--"So have I, " said the rest. 

"There's no mistake or hoax about it, I hope?" asked one of the youngergirls anxiously. 

"Nay, " said the one addressed as Mary Anne, "Thomas asked us himself, and he's not the man to hoax anybody. "

Just at this moment the front door opened, and Bradly himself, full ofsmiling welcome, called upon his guests to come in. 

A comfortable meal had been prepared for them in the spacious kitchen, and all were soon busily engaged in partaking of the tea and itsaccompaniments, and in brisk and cheerful conversation; but not a wordwas said to explain why they had been invited at this particular time. Their host joined heartily in the various little discussions which werebeing carried on in a lively way by his guests, but never, during thetea, dropped a hint as to, why he had asked them. 

At last, when teapots and cups had disappeared, leaving a clear table, and the young women, after grace had been duly sung, sat opposite to oneanother with a look of amused expectation as to what might be comingnext, Thomas rose deliberately from his arm-chair, which he had drawn tothe head of the table, and looking round on the young people with ahalf-serious, half-humorous expression, said: "Well, I suppose, girls, it may be as well if I tell you what I've asked you here for thisevening. "

No answer, but a murmur of amused assent being given, he proceeded:--

"Now, my dear young friends, I'll just tell you all about it; and I'msure you'll listen to me seriously, for it's a serious matter after all. You know that poor Miss Clara Maltby is gone from home to-day very ill, so ill that it mayn't be the Lord's will she should ever come back to usagain. Now she has asked me to give you all and each a message fromher--perhaps it may be a dying message. She sends it to every one asbelonged to her class when she taught it. I'm going to tell you whatshe said, not quite in her own words, but just what I took to be hermeaning. 

"You know as she's not taken her class for a good long time. We was allvery sorry when she gave over, but it seemed as it couldn't be helped, for she was getting weak and worn, and felt that coming to church twiceon the Lord's-day was as much as her poor mind and body would bear. Butshe wants me to tell you how she feels now she's been letting earthlylearning get too much hold of her thoughts. Not as there's any harm ingetting any sort of good learning, so long as you don't get it in thewrong way. But it seems as this earthly learning had been getting toobig a share of Miss Clara's heart. I daresay you all know as she'swonderful clever at her books. Eh, what a sight of prizes she's got!Well, but she'd come to be too fond of her studies; they was becoming asnare to her; she'd made a regular idol of them, and could scarce thinkof anything else. She'd given them all the time she could spare, andmore. And so it kept creeping on. These studies of hers, they'd scarcelet her eat or drink, or take any exercise, or read her Bible and prayas she used to do. Ah, how crafty the evil one is in leading us astray!He don't make us jump down into the dark valley at one or two bigleaps, but it's just down an incline, like the path as leads from BillWestern's house to the smithy: when you've got to the bottom and lookback, you can hardly believe at first as you've come down so low. 

"Now, you're not to run away with the idea that Miss Clara has forsakenher Saviour, and given up her Bible and prayer. Nothing of the sort!She's a dear child of God, and always has been since I've knowed her;only this learning and these studies have so blocked up her heart, thatthey've scarce left room for her gracious Saviour. But yet he'd neverlet her go, and she hadn't altogether forsaken him; only she's been on awrong course of late, and she sees it now. 

"Friends have flattered her, and told her what grand things she might dowith such a head-piece as hers, and she's been willing to listen to themfor a bit. But now the Lord has brought her to see different, and shewants me to tell you what a snare she has found this learning to be. She wants me to tell you from her that she's found it out in her ownexperience as there's no happiness out of Christ; as head knowledge cannever make us happy without heart knowledge of Jesus. 

"It's all very well wishing to shine in the world and be thought clever, but that's just pleasing self, and can never give us real peace. She'stried it, and she says it's `vanity of vanities. ' It's led her awayfrom her duty, and made her neglect helping her dear father and motherin many ways where she might have been useful, just because her head andher heart were full of her books. 

"Now, perhaps some of you may be thinking, while I've been talking, `Well, this don't concern _us_ much; we ain't in danger of going astrayafter too much learning. ' Don't you be too sure of that. There's trapsof the same kind being laid before you by the old enemy, though theymayn't be got up so fine as them by which he catches clever youngladies. Ah, perhaps he'll be whispering to some of you as it'll be agrand thing to get up a peg or two higher by learning all sorts ofthings with queer and long names to 'em. Won't you just make folks opentheir eyes when you can rattle off a lot about this science and thatscience? But what good will it do you? How much will you remember ofit ten years hence? What'll be the use of it, when you've got homes ofyour own, if you've your heads cram full of hard names, but don't knowhow to mend your clothes or make a pudding? Depend upon it, there'sneed to listen to Miss Clara's message when she bids me tell you fromher as there's no real happiness to be got in making an idol of learningor anything else, and that there's no happiness out of Christ; and thatthe chief thing is just to do one's duty, by grace, in `the state oflife to which it has pleased God to call us;' and then, if he means usto do something out of the way, he'll chalk out a line for us so broadand plain that we shan't be able to mistake it. 

"So now I've given you the message; but there's something else for youbesides. --Here, missus, just hand me that little brown paper parcel. "--So saying, he opened the packet which his wife gave him, and taking outthe photographs, handed one to each of the girls, saying, "It's akeepsake to each of you from Miss Clara. "

As the little gifts were received, tears and sobs burst from the wholecompany; and when time had been given for the first vehemence of theirfeelings to subside, Thomas continued, --

"I've just one or two more things to say; and the first is this: willyou all promise me to pray for our dear young lady, that she may berestored to us in health and strength again, and take her place oncemore as your teacher?"

"Ay, that we will with all our hearts, " was the cry, which was utteredwith tearful earnestness by all. 

"And will you pray, for yourselves, for grace to remember and profit bythe lesson which she has sent you?"

"We will, Thomas, we will, " was again the cry. 

"Well, thank God for that, " said Bradly. "He's bringing good out ofevil already, as he always does, --bless his holy name for it! And now, I've just to tell you, girls, why I've asked you to tea, and given youthe messages and the photographs in this fashion--I daresay some of youcan guess. "

"I think we can, Thomas, " said one of the elder ones. 

"Well, it were just in this way, " he continued: "I'm jealous about ourdear vicar's character, and about dear Miss Clara's, and I'm sure we allought to be. Now, if I'd given you her message in the Sunday-school, even if I'd had your class by yourselves, ten to one some of the otherscholars would have got hold of things by the wrong end, and it wouldhave been made out as Miss Clara had been doing something very wicked, and her mother had been taking her away in consequence. Now, you seehow it is: Miss Clara's done nothing to disgrace herself or her family;she's been following a lawful thing, only she's been following it tooclosely; but she's found it to be only like chasing a shadow after all. And now that the Lord has humbled her, he'll raise her up again; she'llcome out of the furnace pure gold; she'll be such a teacher when shecomes back as she never was afore, if the Lord spares her. So now thatI've got you here in this quiet way, I want you all to promise me you'llnot go talking about what Miss Clara sent me to tell you, but you'llkeep it as snug as possible; it ain't meant for the public, it's meantonly for yourselves. The world wouldn't understand it; they'd think asthere was something behind. And the devil, he'd be only too glad tomake a bad use of it. So promise me to keep our dear young lady'slesson to yourselves in your own hearts and memories. You can show thephotographs to the other scholars, and tell them as they was MissClara's parting gifts to her class, and that's all as they need toknow. "

The promise was cheerfully given by all; and then, before they left, allknelt, and in their hearts joined in the fervent prayer which ThomasBradly offered for the vicar and his family, and specially for theinvalid, that she might be spared to return to them in renewed health, and be kept meanwhile in perfect peace. 

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The evening after this little happy tea-party, Thomas Bradly called inat William Foster's. He found the young man and his wife studying theBible together; but there was a look of trouble and anxiety on thehusband's face which made him fear that there was something amiss. Hewas well aware that his former foe but now firm friend was but a weakand ignorant disciple; and he expected, therefore, that he would find itanything but smooth sailing at first in his Christian course. Still, what a marvellous change, to see one so lately a sceptic and a scoffernow humbly studying the Word of Life!

"Anything amiss?" asked Bradly. "Can I be of any service to you, William?" he added, as he took his seat. 

"Well, Thomas, " replied the other, "I can only say this--I had no ideahow little I knew of the Bible till I began to study it in earnest. Isee it does indeed need to be approached in a teachable spirit. But Ihave my difficulties and perplexities about it still. Only there's thisdifference now, --I've seen in my own home, and I see daily more and morein my own heart, abundance to convince me that the Bible is God's truth. So now, when I meet with a difficulty, I see that the obscurity is notin the Bible but in myself; in fact, I want more light. "

"Yes; and you'll get it now, William; for the Bible itself says, `Theentrance of thy word giveth light; it giveth understanding unto thesimple. '"

"I heartily believe it, Thomas; still there is much that is very deep tome--out of my depth, in fact. But there is one thing just now which isa special trouble to me. They don't chaff me so often at the mill now, but this evening Ben Thompson came up to me, and said, `Do you thinkit's any good _your_ turning Christian?'--`Yes, Ben, I hope so, ' Isaid. --`Well, ' he went on, `just you look in the Bible, and you'll findthat there's what they call the unpardonable sin--there's no forgivenessfor those who've been guilty of it; and if there's truth in that Bible, there's no forgiveness for you, for you've been the biggest blasphemeragainst the Bible in Crossbourne. ' Thomas, I hadn't a word to answerhim with; his words cut me to the heart, and he saw it, and went offwith a grin full of malice. And now, since I came home, Kate and I havebeen looking through the Gospels, and we've come to this passage, in ourSaviour's own words, --`Verily, I say unto you, All sins shall beforgiven unto the sons of men, and blasphemies wherewith soever theyshall blaspheme: but he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hathnever forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation: because theysaid, He hath an unclean spirit. ' Now, I'm afraid I've committed thatsin many times; and what then? Is it true that there is no forgivenessfor me?"

He gazed earnestly into Bradly's face, as one would look on a man onwhose decision hung life or death. But the other's reply brought reliefat once to both Foster and his wife. 

"Ha! ha!" he exclaimed; "is that the old enemy's device? I'm notsurprised--he's a crafty old fox; but the Lord's wiser than him. I seewhat he's been up to: he couldn't keep the sword of the Spirit out ofyour hand any longer, so he's been trying to make you turn the pointaway from him, and commit suicide with it. Set your mind at rest, William, about these verses, and about the unpardonable sin; those whoare guilty of it never seek forgiveness, and so they never get it. These words ain't meant for such a case as yours. This is the sort oftext for you: `God so loved the world, that he gave his only begottenSon, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but haveeverlasting life. ' Jesus said it, and he'll never go back from it. `Whosoever' means you and me; he said, `Whosoever, ' and he'll neverunsay it. If you'd committed the unpardonable sin, you wouldn't becaring now about the Bible and about your soul. If you'd committed it, God would never have given you the light he has done, for it has comefrom him; it can't have come from nowhere else. He don't open to youthe door with one hand, and then shut it in your face with the other;that ain't his way at all He has let you in at the gate, and you may besure as he'll never turn you off the road with his own hand, now thatyou're on it. "

"Thank God for that!" said Foster, reverently. "What you say, Thomas, carries conviction with it, for I am sure that my present views, and thechange that has so far been made in me, must be the Lord's own work;and, if so, it is certainly only consistent that, as he has taken inhand such a wretched blasphemer as I have been, he should not undo hisown work by casting me off again. "

"Hold fast to that, William, " said Bradly, "and you can't go wrong. Just hand me your Bible; I'll show you where to find another text or twoas'll suit you well. --Eh! What's this?" he cried, as having taken thelittle book into his hand, he noticed the red-ink lines which were drawnunder many of the verses. Then he turned hastily to the inside of thecover, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment, then turned verypale, and then very red, and gazed at the book as if fascinated by it. There were the words on the cover, --

 _Steal not this book for fear of shame_, _For here you see the owner's name_. _June 10, 1793_. _Mary Williams_. 

"Where did you get this book?" he asked at length, in a hoarse, brokenvoice. "It's my mother's Bible; it's Jane's long-lost Bible. " Then herestrained himself, and turning quietly to Foster and his wife, who werestaring at him in bewilderment and distress, said, "Dear friends, don'tyou trouble yourselves about me; there's nothing really amiss; it's allright, and more than right, only I was taken by surprise, as you'lleasily understand when I explain matters to you. We are all friendsnow, so I know I may depend upon your keeping my secret when I've toldyou all about it. " He then proceeded to lay the story of Jane'stroubles before his deeply interested and sympathising hearers. When hehad brought his account to an end, he said, "Now, you can understand whyI was so taken aback at seeing my mother's name in this Bible, and whyI'm so anxious to know how you came by it. Why, this is the very Biblewhich was restored, or, at any rate, meant to be restored to Jane byJohn Hollands three or four months ago. But, then, how did it get here?And what's become of the bag and the bracelet?"

"I'm sure you will believe me when I tell you, " said Foster, "that I amas much surprised about the Bible as you are; and as for the bag and thebracelet, I have neither seen nor heard anything of either. Kate, however, can tell you best how we came by the Bible. "

Mrs Foster then related how the volume, now so precious to herself andher husband as having been the means of bringing light and peace intotheir hearts and home, had been dropped in at her window by a femalehand. Of the bag and bracelet she of course knew nothing. 

"There's something very strange and mysterious about it all, " saidThomas thoughtfully; "the bag and the bracelet are somewhere about, butwho can tell where? If we could only find them, all could be setstraight, and poor Jane's character completely cleared; but then itain't the Lord's will, so far, that it should be so. One thing's clear, however; the tangle's being undone for us bit by bit, and what we've todo is just to be patient and to keep our eyes and ears open; but, please, not a word to anybody. And now, William, I must ask you to letme have this Bible to take to poor Jane; it was her mother's, and isfull of her own marks under her favourite verses. You shall haveanother instead of it, with a better print. "

"Of course, " replied Foster; "this book is your sister's and not ours, and I would not keep it back from her for a moment. Still, I shall partwith it with great regret, as if I were parting with an old friend. Little did I think a few weeks ago that I should ever care so much abouta Bible; but I thank God that this little book has done Kate and myselfso much good already, and I shall be much pleased to have another copyas a gift from yourself. "

Thomas Bradly rose to go; but Mrs Foster said, "I ought to have toldyou that there was something else dropped into the room at the same timewith the Bible, but it wasn't the bracelet, I'm sorry to say. "

"Stay, dear friend, " cried Bradly; "let me run home to my dear sisterwith her Bible; I'll be back again in half an hour. "

So saying he hurried home, and seating himself by Jane, who was knittingas usual in her snug retreat by the fireside, said, "Jane dear, theLord's been bringing us just one little step nearer to the light--onlyone step, mind, only one little step, but it's a step in the rightdirection. "

"Thomas, what is it?" she exclaimed anxiously. 

"Your Bible's turned up. "

"My Bible, Thomas!"

"Yes, Jane. " He then placed it in her hand. Yes, she could see that itwas indeed her own dearly-prized Bible. 

"And the bracelet, Thomas?" she asked eagerly. --He shook his head sadly. A shadow came over the face and tears into the eyes of his poor sister. 

"The Lord's will be done, " she said patiently; "but tell me, dearThomas, all about it. "--He then related what he had heard from KateFoster. 

"And you feel sure, Thomas, that the Fosters know nothing about the bagor bracelet?"

"Quite sure, Jane. I'm certain that neither Foster nor his wife wouldor could deceive me about this matter. But take heart, my poor sister. See, the Lord's opening the way for you `one step at a time. ' _We_should like it to be a little faster, but _he_ says No. And see, too, how this blessed book of yours has been made of use to Foster and hiswife. Oh, there's been a mighty work done there! But mark, Jane, 'twouldn't have been so if this Bible had come straight to you. There'swonderful good, you see, coming out of this trial already. So waitpatiently on the Lord, the bag and the bracelet will turn up too aforeso long; they are on the road, only we don't see them yet; you may besure of that. "

Jane smiled at him through her tears, and pressed her recovered Bible toher lips. Then she opened it, and, as she turned over leaf after leaf, her eye fell on many a well-known underlined text, and the cloud hadgiven place to sunshine on her gentle features as her brother left thehouse and returned to William Foster's. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

WHO OWNS THE RING?

"You are satisfied that we know nothing about the bag or the bracelet, Ihope?" asked Foster anxiously on Bradly's return. 

"Perfectly, " was the reply; "I haven't a doubt about it; but there'ssomething behind as none of us has got at yet, but it'll come in theLord's own time. Wherever the bag and bracelet are, they'll turn upsome day, I'm certain of that; and it'll be just at the right moment. And so we must be patient and look about us. --But what was it, Kate, yousaid was dropped along with the Bible?"

"It was this ring, " replied Mrs Foster, at the same time placing asmall gold ring with a ruby in the centre on the table. The threeexamined it by turns. There were no letters or marks engraved anywhereon it. 

"And this was dropped by the same hand which dropped the Bible?" askedBradly. 

"Yes; it rolled along the floor, and may have fallen either off thefinger of the person who put her hand in at the window, or from betweenthe leaves of the Bible. "

"And have you mentioned about this ring to any one?"

"No, not even to my husband. I'm sure William will forgive me. It wasjust this way: I put it into my pocket at the time, and afterwards intoa secret drawer in my desk, fearing it might bring one or both of usinto trouble. When this happy change came, and both William and I beganto care about the Bible, I told him how I came by the book, but thoughtI would wait before I said anything about the ring; perhaps somethingwould come to clear up the mystery, and it would be time enough toproduce the ring when some one came forward to claim it; but no one hasdone so yet. "

"And you have no suspicion at all who it belongs to, or who dropped it?"

"No, none whatever. "

"Well, " continued Bradly, "I don't think it fell out of the leaves ofthe Bible, as not a word is said about it in John Hollands' letter. I'mof opinion as it slipped off accidentally from the hand of the woman asshe was dropping the Bible; and since it's clear she didn't want it tobe known who she was, if she knows where she lost her ring she won'twant to come and claim it. "

"And do you think, " asked Foster, "that she is some one living inCrossbourne or the neighbourhood?"

"Pretty certain, " replied Thomas. "There's been some roguery ortrickery about it altogether. The bag was in Crossbourne on the 23rd oflast December, and your wife got the Bible that same evening. I'mfirmly persuaded there's been some hoax about it all, and I believe bagand bracelet and all's in the town, if we only knew how to find 'emwithout making the matter public. If we could only get at the owner ofthe ring without making a noise, we might find a clue as would lead usto where the bag is. "

"I'm much of your mind, " said Foster. "I fancy that some one of poorJim Barnes's drunken mates has been playing a trick off on him bywatching him into the Railway Inn, and running off with the bag just tovex him; and then, when he found what was in the bag, he would hide allaway except the Bible, for fear of getting into a scrape. But cananything be done about the ring?"

"I'll tell you what we'll do if you'll let me have it for a while, " saidBradly, with a twinkle in his eye. "I'll get our Betsy to wear it inthe mill to-morrow. You'll see there'll something come out of it, assure as my name's Thomas Bradly. "

Accordingly, next morning Betsy Bradly appeared at the mill with thering on her little finger--a circumstance which soon drew attention, which was expressed first in looks and then in whispers, much to thequiet amusement and satisfaction of the wearer. No questions, however, were asked till the dinner hour, and then a small knot of the hands, principally of the females, gathered round her. These were some of herpersonal friends and acquaintances; for her character stood too high inthe place for any of the less respectable sort to venture to intrudethemselves upon her. 

"Well, Betsy, " cried one, "you've got a pretty keepsake there; let'shave a look at it. "

The other's only reply was to take off the ring and offer it forinspection. As it was passed from hand to hand, various exclamationswere uttered: "Eh, it's a bonny stone!"--"I never seed the like in allmy born days!"--"It's fit for the Queen's crown!"--"Where did you getit, Betsy?"--"Her young man gave it her, of course!"--"Nay, you're wrongthere, " said another; "he's got more sense than to spend his brass onsuch things as that, --he's saving it up for a new clock and adresser!"--"Come, Betsy, where did you get it?"

"You'll never guess, so it's no use axing, " said Betsy, laughing. "Itain't mine; but it'll be mine till its proper owner comes and claimsit. "

"Oh, you picked it up as you was coming to the mill!"

"Ah yes!" cried another; "like enough it's been dropped by the vicar'slady, or by some one as has been staying at the vicarage!"

"You're wrong there, " replied Betsy; "I didn't find it, and nobody'slost it exactly. "

"Well, I never!" cried several, and then there was a general movetowards their different homes. 

Betsy continued wearing the ring for the next day or two, and alwaysdexterously parried any attempt to find out how she came by it. Oddstories began to fly about on the subject, and work-people from othermills came to have a look at the ring, Betsy being always ready togratify any respectable person with a sight of it. But still shepersisted in refusing to tell how it had come into her possession. Atlast, one afternoon, just as the mills were loosing, one of the railwayclerks came up to her, and said, --

"Are you looking out for an owner to that ring you're wearing? I'vebeen told something of the sort. "

"I ain't been exactly looking out, " was the reply; "but I shall be quiteready to give it up when I'm sure it's the right owner as wants it. "

"Well, I've a shrewd guess I know whose it is, " said the young man. 

"Indeed! And who may that be?"

"Oh, never mind just now; but, please, let me look at the ring. "

She took it from her finger and handed it to him. He examined itcarefully, and then nodding his head, with a smile on his lips, said, "I'll be bound I've had this ring in my hands before. "

"It's yours, then?"

"Nay, it's not mine. But do you particularly want to know whose it is?"

"Yes, I do; or, rather, my father does, for the simple truth is, it'sfather as has got me to wear it; and if you can find out the properowner, he'll be obliged to you. "

"Just so. If you don't mind, then, lending me the ring, I'll soon findout if I'm right; and I'll bring it back to your father to-morrow night, and tell him all about it. "

To this Betsy immediately assented, and the clerk went away with thering in his charge. The following evening he and Thomas Bradly werecloseted together in the "Surgery. "

"So, " said Thomas, "you can tell me, I understand, who is the owner ofthis ring you've just returned to me. "

"I think I can, " replied the other; "indeed, I feel pretty sure that Ican, though, strangely enough, the owner won't own to it. "

"How's that?"

"I can't say, I'm sure, but so it is. "

"Well, be so good as to tell me what you know about it. "

"I will. You know the Green Dragon, --perhaps I ought to say, you knowwhere it is. I wish I knew as little of the inside of it as you do; itwould be better for me, though I'm no drunkard, as you are aware. But, however, I go now and then into the tap-room of the Green Dragon to geta glass of ale, as it's near my lodgings. Mrs Philips, she's thelandlady, you know. Well, she's a bit of a fine lady, and so is herdaughter. Her mother had her sent to a boarding-school, and she has gotrather high notions in consequence. But she and I are very goodfriends, and she often tells me about her school-days. Among otherthings, she has been very fond of talking about the way in which theother young ladies and herself used to be bosom friends; and oneafternoon, when I was with her and her mother alone in the parlour, shetook a ring off her finger, and asked me to look at it, and if I didn'tadmire it. And she said that one of her schoolfellows, whose parentswere very wealthy, had given it to her as a birthday present a shorttime before she left school. The ring was the very image of the oneyour daughter Betsy lent me. "--So saying, he took it up from the table, on which Thomas Bradly had placed it, and held it up to the light. --"Icould almost swear to the ring, " he continued, "for I've had MissPhilips's ring in my hands many a time. She's very proud of her rings, and likes to talk about them; and I had noticed that she used to wearthis ring with the ruby in it over one or two others, and that itslipped off and on very easily. And I used often to ask her to show itme, partly to please her, and partly for a bit of fun. Well, now, it'scurious enough, I've missed that ring off her finger for several weekspast. I couldn't help noticing that it was gone, for she always tookcare that I should see it when she had it on. I asked her some timeback what had become of it; but she looked confused, and made some sortof excuse which seemed odd to me at the time. But when I asked heragain, which was very soon after, she said she had put it by in herjewel-case, for it was rather loose, and she was afraid of its gettinglost. But somehow or other I didn't quite believe what she said, so Iasked her once more, and she snapped me up so sharply that I found itwas best to ask no more questions about it. However, when I heard aboutyour daughter wearing a ring with a red stone in it, and that it waslooking out for an owner, it occurred to me at once that it might beLydia Philips's ring--that she had dropped it by accident, and didn'tlike to own that she had lost it for some reason best known to herself, and that she'd be only too glad to get it back again. So when yourdaughter lent it me yesterday, I took it up in the evening; and gettingher by herself in the parlour, I pulled it out, and said, `See, MissLyddy, what will you give me for finding _this_ for you?' I expectedthanks at the least; but to my great surprise she turned first verypale, and then very red; and then, taking up the ring between her fingerand thumb as cautiously as if she was afraid it would bite or burn her, she said--but I didn't believe her--`It ain't mine, and I don't want tohave anything to do with it. ' I tried to make her change her opinion, and told her I knew her ring as well as she knew it herself, that shemust have lost it, and that I was certain this was the very ring she hadshowed me so often; but she only got angry, and flung the ring at me, and told me to mind my own business. So I picked up the ring off thefloor, and slunk off like a dog with his tail between his legs, and I'vebrought you back the ring. But it's the most mysterious thing to me. Ican't make it out a bit. I'm as sure now as I can be sure of anythingthat it's the same ring I've often handled, and that it belongs to her. Her own ring is gone from her finger, and that and this are as like astwo peas; but, for some reason or other, she won't have it to be hers, so I must just leave matters as I found them. "

"Thank you for your trouble, " said Bradly, "and I'll keep the ring tillthe real owner turns up; and meanwhile, my friend, just take my advice, and keep as clear of the inside of the Green Dragon as you possiblycan. "

When the railway clerk had left him, Thomas Bradly sat for some minutesin deep thought, and then sought his sister. "Dear Jane, " he said, "there's just another step we're being guided; 'tain't a very broad one, but I believe it's in the right direction. " He then gave her an accountof what he had just heard from his visitor. 

"And what do you make of his story, Thomas?" she asked. "Do you thinkthat the ring really belongs to Lydia Philips, and that she knowsanything about the bag?"

"Yes, Jane, I do; and I'll tell you why. I believe that she was theperson who dropped the Bible in at William Foster's window. Why she didso, of course I can't say. But I believe the ring slipped off while shewas dropping the book, and now she's afraid to acknowledge the ring forher own. You know the Bible and the bracelet were in the same bag; so, as she knew about the Bible, it seems pretty certain she must have knownabout the bracelet too. If she owns to the ring, of course it's as goodas owning as she was the person who dropped the Bible. She knows quitewell, you may be sure, that the ring fell into Foster's room, and thatit can only be Foster or his wife that's produced the ring, and she'safraid of inquiries being set on foot which may trace the missing bagand bracelet to her. So she's content to lose her ring, and persists insaying it ain't hers; because if she owned to it, it would raisesuspicions that she or some of her people was concerned with making awaywith or hiding away the bag and bracelet, and that might get the GreenDragon a bad name, and spoil their custom, or even get her and herfamily into worse trouble. That's just my opinion; there's foul play, somewhere, and she knows something about it. The bag's in the place, hid away somewhere, and she knows where, or she knows them as has had todo with getting hold of it, and keeping it for their own purposes. Sowe must watch and be patient. I feel convinced we're getting nearer andnearer to the light. So let us leave it now in the Lord's hands, and besatisfied for him to guide us step by step, one at a time. I haven't adoubt we've traced the ring to its right owner, so we'll put it by forthe present, and it can come out and give its evidence when it'swanted. "

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

WILD WORK AT CROSSBOURNE. 

It was now the beginning of April; a month had passed since thetemperance meeting, and James Barnes and William Foster were keepingclear of the drink and of their old ungodly companions. But it was notto be supposed that the enemies were asleep, or willing to acquiescepatiently in such a desertion from their ranks. Nevertheless, littlestir was made, and open opposition seemed nearly to have died out. 

"How quietly and peaceably matters are going on, " said the vicar toThomas Bradly one morning; "I suppose the intemperate party feel theycan do our cause no real harm, and so are constrained to let Foster andBarnes alone. "

"I'm not so sure about that, sir, " was Bradly's reply. "I'm ratherlooking out for a breeze, for things are too quiet to last; there's beena queerish sort of grin on the faces of Foster's old mates when they'vepassed me lately, as makes me pretty sure there's something in the windas mayn't turn out very pleasant. But I'm not afraid: we've got theLord and the right on our side, and we needn't fear what man can do untous. "

"True, Thomas, we must leave it there; and we may be sure that all willwork together for the furtherance of the good cause in the end. "

"I've not a doubt of it, sir; but for all that, I mean to keep a brightlook-out. I'm not afraid of their trying their games with me; it'sBarnes and Foster as they mean to pay off if they can. "

That same evening James Barnes knocked at Bradly's Surgery door, andclosed it quickly after him. There was a scared look in his eyes; hisdress was all disordered; and, worse still, he brought with him into theroom an overpowering odour of spirits. Poor Thomas's heart died withinhim. Alas! was it really so? Had the enemy gained so speedy a triumph?

"So, Jim, you've broken, I see, " exclaimed Bradly sorrowfully. "TheLord pardon and help you!"

"Nothing of the sort, " cried the other; "I've never touched a drop, Thomas, since I signed, though a good big drop has touched me. "

"What do you mean, Jim?" asked Bradly, greatly relieved at the tone ofhis voice. "Are you sure it's all right? Come, sit down, and tell meall about it. "

"That I will, Thomas; it's what I've come for. You'll easily believe mewhen I tell you, " he continued, after taking a seat, "that they've beenat me every road to try and get me back, badgering, chaffing, threatening, and coaxing: it's strange what pains they'll take as isworking for the devil. But it wouldn't act. Well, three or four nightsago, when I got home from my work, I found two bottles on my table. They was uncorked; one had got rum, and the other gin in it. Now, Iwon't say as my mouth didn't water a bit, and the evil one whispered`Just take a glass;' but no, I wasn't to be done that way, so I lifts upa prayer for strength, and just takes the bottles at once out into theroad, and empties them straight into the gutter. There was some lookingon as would let the enemy know. So to-night, as smooth ways wouldn'tact, they've been trying rough 'uns. Four of my old mates, Ned Tayloramong 'em, watches when my missus went off to the shop, and slips intothe kitchen where I was sitting. They'd brought a bottle of rum withthem, and began to talk friendly fashion, and tried might and main toget me to drink. But I gave the same answer--I'd have none of it. Thenone of them slipped behind my chair, and pinned me down into it, and NedTaylor tried to force my mouth open, while another man held the bottle, ready to pour the rum down my throat. But just then our little Bob, seeing how roughly they were handling me, bolted out into the street, screaming, `They're killing daddy! They're killing daddy!' So thecowardly chaps, seeing it was time to be off, took to their heels, allbut Ned Taylor. He'd taken the bottle of rum from the man as held it, and he took and poured it all down my coat and waistcoat, and said, `Ifyou won't have it inside, you shall have it out;' and then he burst outinto a loud laugh, and went after the rest of them. If you examine myclothes, Thomas, you can see as I'm telling the truth. However, they'vejust been and cut their own throats, for they've only made me moredetermined than ever to stick to my tee-totalism. "

"All right, Jim, " said the other cheerfully; "they've outwittedthemselves. I've an old coat and waistcoat as I've nearly done with, but they've got a good bit of wear in them yet. They'll just about fityou, I reckon. You shall go back in them, and keep them and welcome, and we'll make these as they've spoilt a present to the dunghill. Ionly wish all other bad habits, and more particularly them as comesthrough rum, brandy, and such like, could be cast away on to the sameplace. You did quite right, Jim, to come straight to me. "

"Ay, Thomas, I felt as it were best; for I were in a towering rage atfirst, and I think I should have half killed some of 'em, if I couldonly have got at them. "

"Ah, well, Jim, you just let all that alone. `Vengeance is mine, I willrepay, saith the Lord. ' We'll get our revenge in another way some day;we may heap coals of fire on some of their heads yet. But you leavematters now to me. I shall see Ned Taylor to-morrow myself, and givehim a bit of my mind; and warn him and his mates that if they tryanything of the kind on again, they'll get themselves into trouble. "

"Thank you, Thomas, with all my heart, for your kindness: `a friend inneed's a friend indeed. ' But there's just another thing as I wants totalk to you about afore I go. I meant to come up to-night about itanyhow, even if this do hadn't happened. "

"Well, Jim, let's hear it. "

"Do you remember Levi Sharples, Thomas?"

"What! That tall, red-haired chap, with a cast in his left eye, and amouth as wide and ugly as an ogre's?"

"Yes, that's the man. You'll remember, Thomas, he was concerned in thathousebreaking job four years ago, and the police have been after himever since. "

"To be sure, Jim, I remember him fast enough; he's not a man one'slikely to forget. I suppose a more thorough scoundrel never set foot inCrossbourne. It was a wonderful thing how he managed to escape and keepout of prison after that burglary business. But what about him?"

"Why, Thomas, I seed him in this town the day before yesterday. "

"Surely, Jim, you must be mistaken. He durstn't show his face inCrossbourne for the life of him. "

"No, I know that; but he's got himself made up to look like anotherman, --black hair, great black whiskers, and a thick black beard, and aforeign sort of cap on his head, --and he's lodging at the Green Dragon, and pretends as he's an agent for some foreign house to get orders forrings, and brooches, and watches, and things of that sort. "

"But are you certain, Jim, you're not mistaken?"

"Mistaken! Not I. I used to know him too well in my drinking days. He'll never disguise that look of that wicked eye of his from them asknows him well; and though he's got summat in his mouth to make him talkdifferent, I could tell the twang of his ugly voice anywheres. "

"Well, Jim?"

"Ah, but it ain't well, Thomas, I'm sorry to say: there's mischief, youmay be sure, when the like of him's about. You know he used to be agreat man with Will Foster's old set; and, would you believe it, I sawhim yesterday evening, when it was getting dark, standing near Foster'shouse talking with him. They didn't see me, for I was in the shadow;I'd just stooped down to fasten my boot-lace as they came up together. I'd had a message to take to William's wife, and was coming out the backway, when I heard footsteps, and I knew Levi in a moment, as the gaslamp shone on him. I didn't want to play spy, but I _did_ want to knowwhat that chap was up to. So, while their backs was towards me, Icrawled behind the water-butt without making any noise, and I couldcatch a few words now and then, as they were not far-off from me. "

"Well, Jim, and what did you hear?"

"Why, Levi said, `It won't do for me to be seen here, so let us have ameeting in some safe place. '--`Very well, ' says William, and then theyspoke so low I could only catch the words, `Cricketty Hall;' but just asLevi were moving off, he said in a loud whisper, `All right, then--Friday night;' and I think he mentioned the hour, but he spoke so low Icouldn't clearly mate out any more. So I've come to tell you, ThomasBradly, for there's mischief of some sort up, I'll be bound. "

Bradly did not answer, but for a time a deep shade of anxiety settled onhis features. But after a while the shadow passed away. "James, " hesaid earnestly, "I can't believe as there's anything wrong in thismatter in William Foster. I can't believe the Lord's led him so far, inthe right way, and has now left him to stray into wrong paths. I'vewatched him narrowly, and I'm certain he's as true as steel. But Ithink with you as there's mischief brewing. Though William has got aclever head, yet he's got a soft heart along with it, and he's not overwide-awake in some things; and I'll be bound he's no match for a villainlike that Levi. I tell you what it is, Jim: it strikes me now, just aswe're speaking, as Levi's being set on by some of William's old mates todraw him out of the town to a place where they can play him some trick, or do him some harm, without being hindered or found out. I can'texplain how, of course, but that's my thought. Now, if you'll lend me ahelping hand, I'm persuaded as we shall be able, if the Lord will, toturn the tables on these fellows in such a way as'll effectually tietheir hands and stop their tongues for many a long day to come. "

"All right, Thomas, " cried Barnes, "I'm your man; I think you're on theright scent. "

"Very good, Jim; Cricketty Hall, and Friday night, that's where and whenthe meeting's to be. It means next Friday no doubt, for Levi Sharpleswon't stay in this neighbourhood a moment longer than he can help. Youmay depend upon it, when these two meet at the old ruin, Levi'll havesome of their old mates not far-off, and there'll be wild work with poorWilliam when they've got the opportunity. But we'll give 'em morecompany than they'll reckon for. But now, Jim, we must be cautious howwe act. Of course I could go and tell William privately what I thinkLevi's up to, but I shall not do that; I want to catch that rascal inhis own trap, and get him out of the country for good and all, and givethe rest of them such a lesson as they'll not soon forget. So it won'tdo for you or me to be seen going out towards Cricketty Hall on Fridayevening, for they are sure to set spies about, and we should spoil all. I'll tell you how we'll manage. I've been wanting a day at Foxleigh forsome time, as I've some business of my own there. You get leave to meetme there, and I'll pay your fare. Go by the eight a. M. Train on Fridaymorning, and I'll take the train that starts at dinner-time. No one'llever suspect us of going to Cricketty Hall that way. I shall tell thepolice at Foxleigh my business, and they'll be glad enough to send somemen with us when they know that Levi Sharples will be there, the manthey've been wanting to catch. We can get round to the woods aboveCricketty Hall from Foxleigh without being seen, when it begins to bedark, and can get down into the ruins without their noticing us, forthey'll never think of any one coming by that road, such a roundaboutway. And mind, Jim, not a word to any one, not even to your missus. All you need tell her is, that I've wanted you to meet me about somebusiness at Foxleigh, and you won't be back till late. "

"All right, Thomas, " said Barnes; "you may depend on it I shan't saynothing to nobody. I shall just tell my missus afore I'm setting off onthe Friday morning as I've got a job to do for you, and she mustn'texpect me home till she sees me; and no one'll be surprised at myturning up at the station, as they all know as I used to be porterthere. "

Cricketty Hall was one of those decayed family mansions which are to bemet with in many parts of England. Its original owners had been personsof importance many generations back, but their name and fame had passedaway. The lands connected with the Hall had become absorbed into otherproperties; and the building itself had gradually crumbled down, many aneighbouring farm-house owing some of its most solid and ornamentalportions to the massive ruins from which they had been borrowed ortaken. Still, enough had been left to show that the place had once beena mansion of considerable pretensions. The old gateway, with itsportcullis and drawbridge, was still standing, while the moat whichsurrounded the entire building indicated that it had been originally ofvery capacious dimensions. The roof and most of the walls had longsince disappeared; trees grew in the centre, and spread out theirbranches over the space once occupied by the dormitories, while aprofusion of ivy concealed many a curiously carved arch and window. From the gateway the ground sloped rapidly, affording a fine view of theneighbouring country. Behind the house was high ground, once thicklywooded, and still partially covered with trees and underwood. The Hallwas about two miles distant from Crossbourne, and was well-known to mostof its inhabitants, though but seldom visited, except occasionally bypicnic parties in summer-time. Old tradition pronounced it to behaunted, but though such an idea was ridiculed now by everybody wheneverthe superstition was alluded to, yet very few persons would have likedto venture into the ruins alone after dark; and, indeed, the lonelinessof the situation made it by no means a desirable place for solitaryevening musings. 

The ordinary way to the Hall was by a footpath leading to it out of thehighroad across fields for a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile. Itcould also be approached by a much less frequented track, which passedalong sequestered lanes out of the main road from the town of Foxleigh, the nearest town to Crossbourne by rail, and brought the traveller toit, after a walk of six miles from Foxleigh, through the overhangingwooded ground which has been mentioned as rising up in the rear of theold ruins. 

The only exception to the dilapidated state of the premises was a largevaulted cellar or underground room. Its existence, however, had beenwell-nigh forgotten, except by a few who occasionally visited it, andkept the secret of the entrance to it to themselves. 

The Friday on which the appointment between Foster and Levi Sharples wasto be kept at Cricketty Hall, was one of those dismal April days whichmake you forget that there is any prospect of a coming summer in thechilly misery of the present. Cold showers and raw breezes made thepassers through the streets of Crossbourne fold themselves together, andexpose as little surface as was possible to the inclemency of theweather; so that when James Barnes and Thomas Bradly left the station bythe early and mid-day trains, there were but few idlers about to noticetheir departure. 

At length the mills loosed, and Foster hurried home, and, after a hastytea, told his wife that an engagement would take him from home for a fewhours, and that she must not be alarmed if he was a little late. Then, having put on a stout overcoat, he made his way through the higher partof the town, and past the vicarage, and was soon in the open country. It was past seven o'clock when he reached the place where the footpathleading to the old Hall met the highroad. It was still raining, thoughnot heavily; but thick, leaden-coloured clouds brooded over the wholescene, and served to deepen the approaching darkness. It was certainlyan evening not calculated to raise any one's spirits; and the harshwind, as it swept over the wide expanse of the treeless fields, withtheir stern-looking stone fences, added to the depressing influences ofthe hour. But Foster was a man not easily daunted by such things, andhe had stridden on manfully, fully occupied by his own thoughts, till hereached the stile where the footpath to the ruins began. Here hepaused, looked carefully in all directions, listened attentively withouthearing sound of traveller or vehicle, and then whistled in a low tonetwice. A tall figure immediately rose up from the other side of thehedge and joined him. 

"Well, Levi, " said Foster, "I have kept my appointment; and now whatwould you have with me?"

"I'll tell you, William, " replied his companion. "You know I'm a markedman. The police are looking out for me on account of that housebreakingjob--more's the pity I ever had anything to do with it. However, I'm achanged man now, I hope: I think I've given you some proof of thatalready, William, so you may trust me. A man wouldn't come back andthrust his head into the lion's mouth as I've done, to show hissincerity and sorrow for the past, if he hadn't been in earnest. Now, what I want you to do is this:--You know how many Sunday afternoons youand I, and others of our old mates, have spent in card-playing in thecellar of that old Hall--the Lord forgive me for having wasted his holyday in such sin and folly! Now, I've a long story to tell, and I shouldlike to tell it in that same place where you and I joined in what wassinful in our days of ignorance and darkness. I can tell you there howI was brought to see what a fool's part I had been playing, and how Icame to my right mind at last. You can give me some good advice; and Iwant to leave one or two little things with you to give or send to mypoor old mother when I'm far away. And when we've had our talk out, we'll part at the old ruin, and I shall make the best of my way out ofthe country, and begin a new and better life, I trust, where I'm notknown. I'm sorry to have given you the trouble to come out all thisway, specially on such a night as this; but I really don't feel safeanywhere in or near Crossbourne, as the police might pop on me at anymoment, and I felt sure, from what I heard of the change that has takenplace in you, that you wouldn't mind a little trouble to help an oldcompanion out of the mire. You needn't be afraid to come with me; I canhave no possible motive to lead you into danger. "

"I'm not afraid, Levi, " said Foster quietly. "I'm ready to go withyou. "

Nothing more was said by either of them till they had followed out thefootpath and stood before the gateway of the old Hall. They were soonmaking their way cautiously amongst the fallen blocks of stone towards aturret which rose to a considerable height at the end of the ruinsfarthest from the gateway. "Go forward, William, " said Sharples, "whileI light my lantern. " So saying, he paused to strike a match, while hiscompanion threaded his way towards the turret. At this moment a figure, unobserved by Foster, emerged from behind a low wall, and, havingexchanged a few whispered words with Levi, disappeared through anarchway. 

The two companions, having now gained the turret, proceeded to descend afew broken steps concealed from ordinary observation by a mass ofbrushwood, and reached the entrance of a spacious vault. "Stay amoment, " said Sharples; "I'll go first and show a light. " So saying, hepushed past the other, and the next instant Foster felt himself heldfast by each arm, while a handkerchief was pressed over his mouth. Hewas at once painfully conscious that he had been completely entrapped, and that resistance was perfectly useless, for two strong men graspedhim, one on either side. But his presence of mind did not desert him, and he now had learnt where to look, in secret prayer, for that "verypresent help in trouble" which never fails those who seek it aright. Thus fortified, he attempted no resistance, but patiently awaited theevent. 

In a few minutes the handkerchief was withdrawn from his eyes, and hefound himself in the presence of about a dozen men, all of whose faceswere blackened. On a large stone in the centre of the vault was placedthe bull's-eye lantern which his companion had recently lighted, andwhich, by pouring its light fully on himself, prevented him from clearlyseeing the movements of his captors. What was to come next? He was notlong left in doubt. 

"Saint Foster, " said Levi Sharples, who stood just behind the lantern, and spoke in a sneering, snuffling voice, "we don't wish you any harm;but we have brought your saintship before our right worshipful court, that you may answer to the charge brought against you, of havingdeserted your old principles and companions, and inflicted muchinconvenience and discredit on the cause of free-thought and goodfellowship in Crossbourne. What say you to this charge, Saint Foster?"

Their poor victim had by this time thoroughly recovered his self-possession, and being now set at liberty--for his enemies knew that hecould not escape them--answered quietly, and in a clear, unfalteringvoice, "I must ask first by what authority this court is constituted;and by whose authority you are now questioning me?"

"By the authority of `might, ' which on the present occasion makes`right, ' Saint Foster, " was the reply. 

"Be it so, " said Foster. "I can only reply that I have been followingout my own honest convictions in the course I have lately taken. Whatright has any man to object to this?"

"A good deal of right, Saint Foster, since your following out yourpresent honest convictions is a great hindrance to those who used toagree with you in your former honest convictions. "

"I am not responsible for that, " was Foster's reply. 

"Perhaps not, " continued Sharples; "nevertheless, we are met on thepresent agreeable occasion to see if we cannot induce you to give upthose present honest convictions of yours, and join your old friendsagain. "

"That I neither can nor will, " said the other in a firm voice. 

"That's a pity, " said Sharples; "because if you persist in yourdetermination, the consequences to yourself may be unpleasant. However, the court wishes to deal very leniently with you, in consideration ofpast services, and therefore I am commissioned to offer you a choicebetween two things. --Officer! Bring forward the `peacemaker. '"

Upon this, a man stepped forward, uncorked a bottle of spirits, andplaced it on the stone in front of the lantern. 

"Saint Foster, " proceeded his pretended judge, "we earnestly exhort youto lift this bottle of spirits to your lips, and, having taken a heartyswig thereof, to say after me, `Long life and prosperity to free-thoughtand good fellowship. ' If you will do this we shall be fully satisfied, and shall all part good friends. "

"And if I refuse?" asked the other. 

"Oh! There'll be no compulsion--we are not going to force you to drink. This is `Liberty Hall;' only, you must submit to the alternative. "

"And what may that be?"

"Oh! Just to carry home with you a little of our ointment, as a tokenof our kind regards. --Officer! Bring forward the ointment. "

A general gruff titter ran round the vault as one of the men placedbeside the bottle a jar with a brush in it and a bag. 

"My worthy friend, " proceeded the former speaker, "that jar is full ofointment, vulgarly called tar, and that little bag contains feathers. Now, if you positively refuse to drink the toast I have just named inspirits, we shall be constrained to anoint you all over from head tofoot with our ointment, and then to sprinkle you with the feathers; inso doing, we shall be affording an amusing spectacle to the inhabitantsof Crossbourne, and shall be doing yourself a real kindness, byfurnishing you with abundant means of `feathering your own nest. '"

A roar of discordant laughter followed this speech. Then there was apause, and a deathlike silence, while all waited for Foster's answer. For a few moments he attempted no reply; then he said, slowly and sadly:"I know it will be of no use for me to say what I think of the utterbaseness of the man who has enticed me here, and now acts the part of myjudge. You have me in your power, and must work your will on me, for Iwill never consent to drink the toast proposed to me. But I warn youthat--"

At this moment a shrill whistle was heard by every one in the vault, andthen the sound of shouts outside, and the tramping of feet. --"The game'sup!" cried one of the men with the blackened faces; "every one forhimself!" and a rush was made for the steps. But it was too late: astrong guard of police fully armed had taken their stand at the top ofthe stair, and escape was impossible, for there was no other outlet fromthe vault. As each man emerged he was seized and handcuffed--all exceptFoster, whose unblackened face told at once that he was not one of theguilty party, and who was grasped warmly by the hand by Thomas Bradlyand James Barnes, who now came forward. 

When the vault had been searched by the constables, and they hadascertained that no one was still secreted there, the whole of theprisoners were marched into the open court and placed in a row. Thesergeant, who had come with his men, then passed his lantern from faceto face. There was no mistake about Sharples; his false hair and beardhad become disarranged in the scuffle, and other marks of identificationwere immediately observed. "Levi Sharples, " said the sergeant, "you'reour prisoner--we've been looking out for you for a long time; you'llhave to come with us. --As for the rest of you, well, I think you won'tany of you forget this night; so you'd best get home as fast as you canand wash your faces. --Constables, take the handcuffs off 'em. "

No sooner was this done than the whole body of the conspirators vanishedin a moment, while the police proceeded to carry off their prisoner. But before the officers were clear of the ruins, a strange moaning soundstartled all who remained behind. "Eh! What's that? Surely it ain't--a--a--" exclaimed Jim Barnes, in great terror. The sergeant, who wasjust leaving with his men, turned back. All stood silent, and thenthere was distinctly heard again a deep groaning, as of one in pain. "Lend a light here, Thomas, " cried the sergeant to one of hisconstables. All, except those who were guarding the prisoner, proceededin the direction from which the unearthly sounds came. "Have a care, "cried Bradly; "there's some ugly holes hereabouts. " Picking their waycarefully, they came at last to the mouth of an old well: it had beenlong choked up to within a few feet of the top, but still it was anawkward place to fall into. 

There could now be no mistake; the groaning came from the old well, andit was a human cry of distress. "Who's there?" cried the sergeant, throwing his light down upon a writhing figure. "It's me--it's NedTaylor. Lord help me! I've done for myself. Oh, help me out forpity's sake!" With great difficulty, and with terrible suffering to thepoor wretch himself, they contrived at last to draw him up, and to placehim with his back against a heap of fallen masonry. 

"What's to be done now?" asked the sergeant. "Leave him to us, " repliedBradly; "we'll get him home. I see how it is: he's one of these chapsas has been taking part in this sad business, and in his hurry to getoff he has tumbled into this old well and injured himself. We'll lookafter him, poor fellow; he shall be properly cared for. Good-night, sergeant, and thank you for your timely help. "

When the police had departed with their prisoner, Bradly went to thewounded man and asked him if he thought he could walk home with help;but the only reply was a groan. "He's badly hurt, I can see, " saidThomas; "we must make a stretcher out of any suitable stuff we can find, and carry him home between us. The Lord's been very gracious to us sofar in this business, and I don't doubt but he'll bring good out of thisevil. " So they made a litter of boughs and stray pieces of plank, andset out across the fields for Crossbourne. 

"Stay a bit, Jim, " whispered Bradly to James Barnes; "lend me yourlantern. Go forward now, and I'll join you in a minute. " He was soonback again, having brought the jar of tar from the vault, about whichand its purpose he had heard from Foster while the police were searchingthe place. "I must keep this, " he said, "in my Surgery; it'll docapitally to give an edge to a lesson. " And it may be here said thatthe jar was in due time placed on a bracket in Bradly's private room, and labelled in large red letters, "Drunkards' Ointment, "--giving Thomasmany an opportunity of speaking a forcible word against evilcompanionship to those who sought his help and counsel. 

But to return to the party at the old Hall. Long and weary seemed thatwalk home, specially to the wounded man. At last they reached the town, and carried the sufferer to his miserable dwelling, with cheery words tohis poor wife, and a promise from Bradly to send the doctor at once, andthat he would call himself next day and see how he was going on. 

Then the three friends hastened at once to Foster's house, that theymight be the first to acquaint his wife with her husband's peril anddeliverance. Never was thanksgiving prayer uttered or joined in withmore fervour than that which was offered by Thomas Bradly after he hadgiven to Kate Foster a full account of the evening's adventure. Thenall sat down to a simple supper, at which Foster was asked by ThomasBradly to tell him how he came to be taken in by such a man as LeviSharples. 

"I don't wonder, " began Foster, "that you should think it weak andstrange in me; but you shall judge. Levi Sharples and myself used to begreat friends--or rather, perhaps, I ought to say frequent companions, for I don't think there was ever anything worth calling friendshipbetween us. He used to profess a great respect for my opinion. Heregularly attended the meetings of our club, and made smart speeches, and would come out with the vilest sentiments expressed in the vilestand foulest language, such as disgusted me even then, and makes meshudder now when I think of it. He had a ready way with him, and couldtrip a man up in an argument and get the laugh against him. Not that hehad really read or studied much; but he had gathered a smattering onmany subjects, and knew how to make a little knowledge go a great way. Most of the other members of the club were afraid of him, for he had nomercy when he chose to come down on a fellow; and if any one tried tomake a stand against him for a bit, he would soon talk him down with hisbiting sarcasms and loud sneering voice. 

"I told you that he professed to have a high opinion of myself as adebater and free-thinker. He seldom crossed me in argument, and when hedid he was sure to give in in the end. I was vain enough at the time toset this down to my own superior wit and knowledge; but I am now fullypersuaded that he was only pretending to have this good opinion of methat he might make use of me for his own purposes. He knew that I was askilful workman, and earned more than average wages, and so he wouldoften borrow a few shillings from me, which he never remembered to payback again. But he managed to get these loans very dexterously, alwaysmixing up a little flattery when he came to borrow. 

"Often and often, I'm ashamed to say, I have wandered out with him andother members of our club in the summer, on Sunday afternoons, toCricketty Hall; and there, down in the old vault, we have been playingcards and drinking till it was time to return. I could see plainlyenough on these occasions that Levi would have been only too glad to winlargely from me; but I had sense enough to keep out of his clutches, asI had noticed him managing the cards unfairly when playing with others. 

"I can't say that I felt any particular regret when he had to takehimself off out of the neighbourhood. There were no ties that couldreally bind us together; for, indeed, how can there be any real unionwhere the closest bond is a common hatred of that gospel which is sotruly, as I am thankful to say I have myself found it, the religion oflove? I scarcely missed him, and seldom thought of him, and was ratherstartled when, a few days ago, he made himself known to me in thetwilight. 

"We were alone, and I was going to pass on with a civil word; but hebegged me to stop, and in such a tone of voice as rather touched me. Hethen reminded me that we had been companions in evil, and said that hehad heard of the change that had taken place in me. He added that hewas very unhappy, that he hated himself for his past wicked life, andthat as I used to stand his friend formerly when he needed a helpinghand, he hoped I would show that my change was a real one by mywillingness to give an old mate a lift over the stile and into the sameway of peace in which I professed to be walking myself. He had much totell me and ask of me, he said; but he was afraid of being discovered bythe police, spite of his disguise. Would I meet him at Cricketty Hall, he should feel safe there. 

"I did not know what to say. I could not get rid of my suspicions, notwithstanding his changed tone and manner. He saw it, and said: `Youdoubt my sincerity. Well, I suppose you'll agree that when a man'ssincerity gets into his pocket it's pretty sure to be genuine. Now, you've lent me money at different times, and I never paid any of itback. I've reckoned it up, and it comes altogether to three pounds tenshillings. Here it is; and many thanks to you for lending it me. I'monly sorry that I was not an honest man before. '

"I hardly knew what to say; however, I took the money, for I knew thatit was due to me. `Well, will you trust me now?' he asked. `Meet me, Levi, to-morrow night just after dark outside my house, ' I said, `and Iwill tell you then. ' He hesitated a little, and then said, `Very well, 'and left me. I was sorely puzzled, and could not tell what to think. And then at last it occurred to me that perhaps it was wrong in me tohang back. There _might_ be a real change beginning even in such a manas Levi Sharples. The Lord had been merciful to me, and why not to him?There hadn't been much to choose between us in badness in bygone days;and should I be right in repelling the poor man if I could be in any waythe means of bringing him into the narrow way? Well, you know the rest. We met the next night; and, mercifully for me, Jim Barnes, as I findfrom him, overheard the appointment to meet at Cricketty Hall; andwonderfully and graciously has the Lord kept me _in_ my trouble, anddelivered me out of it. "

"But how do you suppose that Sharples got hold of that money?" askedBradly. 

"Oh, " replied the other, "I can easily understand all about that. Youmay depend upon it the whole matter has gone on somewhat in this way:--My old mates have been scheming how to be revenged on me ever since Ileft them, and showed my colours on the side of Temperance and Religion. They've known Levi's whereabouts, and were aware how thick we used tobe; so they've set him upon drawing me into the snare. I don't doubtthat they subscribed that three pound ten between them, that Levi mightbe able to throw dust in my eyes with it, and throw me off my guard. "

"Just so, just so; I see it all!" cried Bradly. "Eh! Haven't they beennicely outwitted? Why, they've lost their money, they've lost the birdout of the cage, and they've clapped their own man in prison. Mark mywords, William, we shan't have much more trouble from them for many along day; but if they attempt to give us any, I shall bring them out thelittle jar of ointment they left behind them, and bid them tell us whatcomplaints it's good for. Ah! Well, there's just a few words out ofthe good old book as'll crown it all. Here they are in the Twenty-seventh Psalm: `The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall Ifear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat upmy flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though an host should encamp againstme, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in thiswill I be confident. '"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

DOCTOR PROSSER AT CROSSBOURNE. 

Dr and Mrs Prosser came to pay their spring visit to the Maltbys aboutten days after William Foster's happy escape out of the hands of hisenemies. The doctor was exceedingly glad of this opportunity of havinga little quiet conversation with his old college friend the vicar onsubjects which, though near his heart, were too commonly pushed out ofhis thoughts by the pressure of daily and hourly engagements. For hiswas the experience so common in these days of multiplied occupations andceaseless coming and going: he could find no time for pause, no time forserious meditation on subjects other than those which demanded daily thefull concentration of his thoughts. He was not unconscious that he wasmoving on all the while through higher and nobler things than thosewhich he was pursuing, just as we are conscious of the beauties of somelovely scenery, glimpses of which flash upon us on either side, as wedash on by rail at express speed to our journey's end; but, at the sametime, he was painfully aware that he was really living not merely amidstbut _for_ the things which are seen and temporal, without any settledand steady aim at the things which are not seen and are eternal. So hehoped that his visit to Ernest Maltby might be helpful to him bybringing him into an intellectual and spiritual atmosphere entirelydifferent in tone from that with which he was surrounded in his Londonhome and society. He had seen the true beauty and felt the persuasiveforce of holiness, in his previous intercourse with the vicar ofCrossbourne; and he believed that it might do him good to see and feelthem again, as exhibited in the character and conversation of hisfriend. 

He was also very anxious that his wife should learn some practicalwisdom from the Maltbys, which might guide her into the way of makingher home happier both to herself and to him. It is true that things hadconsiderably improved since the Christmas-eve when the doctor found herabsent from home. His words of loving remonstrance had sunk deeply intoher heart, and she had profited by them. She had managed to curtail herengagements, and to be more at home, especially when she knew that herhusband was counting upon her society. Still, there were many self-imposed duties to which she devoted time and strength which could ill bespared, and in the performance of which she was wearing herself down; sothe forced interruption of these by her visit to Crossbourne was lookedupon by her husband with secret but deep satisfaction. 

The only drawback to their visit was that neither Mrs Maltby nor herdaughter would be at home; but Mr Maltby had begged them not topostpone their visit on this account, as his sister, Miss Maltby, wouldbe staying with him, and would take the place of hostess to his guests. And, indeed, sorry as Dr Prosser was that he should miss seeing his oldlady friends, he was satisfied that their place would be well suppliedby the vicar's sister. 

Miss Maltby was considerably older than her brother, and had been almostin the position of a parent to him when he had, in his early life, losthis own mother. She was one of those invaluable single women, notuncommon in the middle rank of society in England, whose sterlingexcellences are more widely felt than openly appreciated. She was notone of those active ladies who carry little bells on the skirts of theirgood deeds, so as to make a loud tinkling in the ears of the world. Hers was a quiet and unobtrusive work. Her views of usefulness and dutywere, in the eyes of some of her acquaintance, old-fashioned and behindthe age. Standing on one side, as it were, out of the whirl of _good_excitement, she could mark the mistakes and shortcomings in the bringingup of the professedly Christian families which came under herobservation, and of the grownup workers of her own sex. But the wisdomshe gathered from observation was stored up in a mind ever under thecontrol of a pure and loving heart. Sneer or sarcasm never passed herlips. When called on to reprove the wrong or suggest the right, shealways did it with "meekness of wisdom, " her object being, not toglorify self by making others painfully conscious of theirinconsistencies or defects, but to guide the erring gently into thepaths of righteousness, sober-mindedness, and persuasive godliness. Practical good sense, the fruit of a plain scriptural creed thought out, prayed out, and lived out, in the midst of a thousand unrealities, andhalf-realities, and distortions of the truth in belief and practice, wasthe habitual utterance of her lips and guide of her daily life. She andThomas Bradly were special friends, inasmuch as they were thoroughlykindred spirits, anything like sham or humbug being the abhorrence ofboth, while the Word of God was to each the one only infallible court ofappeal in every question of faith and practice. 

"You must see a good deal of the coarser-grained human material here inCrossbourne, " remarked Dr Prosser to the vicar, as they strolledtogether in the garden in the evening after their meeting. "When I lasthad the pleasure of visiting you, before you came to this living, yourparishioners were of a more civilised stamp. "

"More `civil' would perhaps be a more correct term, " said Mr Maltby, "at least so far as touchings of the hat and smooth speeches wereconcerned. But, in truth, with all the roughness of these people, thereis that sterling courtesy and consideration in many of them which Irarely meet with in more cultivated districts. "

"Well, " said the other, "I suppose that is owing to the increasedintelligence produced by habits of reading, attending lectures, andstudying mechanism. "

"I think not, " replied the vicar. "I have not, in my own experience, found true courtesy and consideration to be the fruit of increasedintelligence. On the contrary, the keener the intellectual edge, as arule, the keener the pursuit of selfish ends, and the more conspicuousthe absence of a regard to the interests and a respect for the feelingsof others. "

"Then you don't credit education with this improvement in courtesy andconsideration. "

"Certainly not. I believe that with increased intelligence there isalso an increased sensitiveness in all our faculties, and so anincreased appreciation of what is beautiful and becoming; but it is theheart that must be touched if there is to be that real concern for thewelfare and comfort of others which I have observed in many of mypresent parishioners. They are rough extremely, but there is an honestand warm heart beneath the surface; and when the love of Christ getsdown into these hearts, and the grace of Christ dwells there, I do notknow a nobler material to work with. "

Dr Prosser was silent for a minute, then he said, "I suppose we are allagreed that true religion has a very humanising and refining influence. I only feel a wish, at times, that Religion herself were less hamperedby creeds and dogmas, so that her full power might be felt, and to a farwider extent. I think that then religious and intellectual advancementwould keep steady pace side by side. "

"Do you, my dear friend?" said Mr Maltby sadly. "I must confess I amquite of a different opinion. People seem to me to have gone wild onthis subject, and to have lost their senses in their over-anxiety tocultivate them. Intellect-worship is to my mind the master snare of ourday. Cram the mind and starve the heart--this is the great popularidolatry. And so religion must be a misty, dreamy sort of thing; notwell-defined truth, plainly and sharply taught in God's Word, requiringfaith in revealed doctrines which are to influence the life by taking upa stronghold in the heart, but rather a foggy mixture of light anddarkness, of superstition and sentiment, which will leave men to followpretty nearly their own devices, and allow them to pass through thisworld with quieted consciences, so long as they are sincere, let theircreed be anything or nothing: and as to the future, why, this world isthe great land of realities, and a coming judgment, a coming heaven orhell, these are but plausible dreams, or, at the most, interestingspeculations. Excuse me, my dear friend, for speaking warmly. I cannotbut feel and speak strongly on this subject when I mark the growingtendency in our day to fall down and worship the cultivation of theintellect, to the neglect and disparagement of definite gospel truth, and of that education of the heart without which, I am more firmlypersuaded every day, there cannot be either individual peace, homevirtue and happiness, or public honour and morality. "

"Perhaps you are right, " said the doctor thoughtfully. "There may be adanger in the direction you point out. Certainly we men of sciencehave, many of us, while valuing and respecting the Christian religion, been getting increasingly impatient of anything like religious dogmatismand exclusiveness. "

At this moment a servant came to say that Thomas Bradly wished to have aword with the vicar when he was disengaged. "Oh, ask him to come to mehere in the garden, " said the vicar. --"You shall see one of my roughdiamonds now, " he added smilingly to his friend; "indeed, I may call himmy `Koh-i-noor, ' only he hasn't been polished. --Thomas, " he continued toBradly as he entered, "here's an old friend of mine, Dr Prosser, agentleman eminent in the scientific world, who has come down from Londonto see me, and to get a little experience of Crossbourne ways andmanners. I tell him that he'll find us rather a rough material. "

"I'm sure, " replied Thomas, "I'm heartily glad to see any friend ofyours among us. He must take us as he finds us. Like other folks, wearen't always right side out; but we generally mean what we say, andwhen we do say anything we commonly make it stand for summat. "

"Well now, Thomas, " continued Mr Maltby, "you're a plain, practicalman, and I think you could give us an opinion worth having on a subjectwe've been talking about. "

"I'm sure, sir, I don't know how that may be, " was the reply; "but weworking-people sometimes see things in a different light from what thoseabove us does, --at least so far as our experience goes. "

"That's just it, Thomas. It will interest Dr Prosser, I know, to hearhow a theory about religion and truth, which is becoming veryfashionable in our day, would suit yourself and the quick-witted andwarm-hearted people you have daily to deal with. "

"Let me hear it, sir, and I'll answer according to the best of myjudgment. "

The vicar then repeated to Bradly the substance of the conversationbetween himself and the doctor on religious dogmatism and breadth ofviews. 

"Ah, well, " cried Thomas laughing, "you're almost too deep for me. Butit comes into my mind what happened to me a good many years ago, when Iwere quite a young man. There were a nobleman in our parts, --I wasn'tliving at Crossbourne then, --and his son came of age, and such a feastthere was as I never saw afore or since, and I hope I never may again. Well, my father's family had been in that country for many generations, and so they turned us into gentlefolks, me and my father, that day, andwe sat down to dinner with the quality; and a grand dinner it was forcertain. When it was all over, as I thought, and the parson hadreturned thanks, just as I were for getting up and going, they bringsround some plates with great glass bowls in 'em, nearly full of water, something like what an old aunt of mine used to keep gold-fish in; andthere was a knife and fork on each plate. Then the servants brings allsorts of fruits, --apples and pears, and peaches and grapes, --and sets'em on the table. I was asked what I'd have, and I chose a great rosy-cheeked apple. And then I were going to bite a great piece out of it, but a gent as sat next me whispers, `Cut it, man; it's more civil to cutit. ' So I takes up the knife, which had got a mother-o'-pearl handle toit, and tries to cut the apple, but I could only make a mark on it suchas you see on a hot-cross-bun. Then I looked at the blade of the knife, and it were just like silver, but were as blunt as a broomstick. However, I tried again, but it wouldn't cut; so I axes a tall chap inlivery as stood behind my chair if they'd such a thing as a butcher'ssteel in the house, for I wanted to put an edge to my knife. Eh, youshould have seen that fellow grin! `No, sir, ' he says, `we ain't gotnothing of the sort. ' `Well, then, ' says I, `take this knife away, --there's a good man!--for it's too fine for me, and bring me a good steelknife with an edge as'll cut. '--Now, if you'll excuse my long story, gentlemen, it seems to me that the sort of religion you say is gettingpopular among the swell people and men of science in our country isuncommon like that fruit-knife as couldn't suit me. It's a deal toofine for common purposes, and common people, and common homes, andcommon hearts; it hasn't got no edge--it won't cut. We want a religionwith a good usable edge to it, as'll cut the cords of our sins and theknots of our troubles. Now, that's just the religion of the Bible. Ittells us what we're to do for God and for our fellow-creatures; it tellsus how we're to do it, by showing us how the Lord Jesus Christ shed hisblood to free us from the guilt and power of sin, and bought us grace bywhich we might walk in his steps; and it shows why we're to do it, --justfrom love to him, because he first loved us in giving Jesus to die forus. I don't see what use religion or the Bible would be to us if thesethings weren't laid down for us clear and sharp; if p'raps they wastrue, and p'raps not; or true for me, but not true for my neighbour; orhalf true, and half false; or true for to-day, and not true for to-morrow. "

"Bravo!" said Dr Prosser, delighted, and clapping his hands. "Ibelieve your rough workman's hammer has hit the right nail on the head, and hit it hard too. "

"I'm very glad, sir, if you think so, " said Bradly, "I've had chapscrying up to me now and then some such sort of views as the vicar andyourself have been talking about; but I've felt sure of this, howeverwell they may look on paper, they'll never act. What's the use of aguide, if he's blind and don't know where he's taking you to? Iremember I were once spending a night at a gent's house, and the nextmorning I had to walk to a town twenty miles off. It were quite acountry-place where the gentleman lived, and when he were saying good-bye to me I axed him for directions, for I'd never been in that part ofthe country before. So he said, `You must go for about a mile and ahalf along this road, and then you'll come to a wood on your left hand. You must go through that wood, and then any one'll be able to direct youfor the rest of the way. '--`And pray, ' says I, `which path must I takethrough the wood? For I daresay there's more than one. '--`Oh, you can'tmistake, ' says he; `you've only to follow your nose. ' So I set off, supposing it was all right. I found the wood easily enough, but when Igot to it I was quite at a nonplush. There was three roads into thewood, each one as distinct as the other. It was all very well to say, `Follow your nose;' but if I looked down one road that would befollowing my nose, and so it would be when I looked down either of theother roads. I had to chance it; and a pretty mess I made of it, for Icompletely lost my way, and didn't get to my journey's end till afterdark. --Now, some of these scientific gents as has got too wise tobelieve in the old-fashioned Bible and its plain meaning, what sort ofdirections would they give us through this world, so that we might doour duty in it, and get happily through it, and reach the better land?It would be much with poor sinners as it was with me. If we're to havea religion without doctrines and without a revelation, or if we're onlyto pick out just as much from the Bible as suits our fancies and ourprejudices, we shall be just following our nose. And where will thatlead us? Why, into all sorts of difficulties here, and the end will benothing but darkness. "

"Just so, Thomas, " said the vicar; "I feel sure that you speak thetruth. We want the plain, distinct teaching of the doctrines of God'sWord, if we are to be holy here and happy hereafter. We want to knowunmistakably what to believe, and how to act out our belief. What ablessing it is that, when we take up our Bibles in a humble andteachable spirit, we can say, `Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and alight unto my path. ' But we are come upon strange times indeed, whenprofessed teachers of the Christian religion can propound to us `agospel without an atonement, a Bible without inspiration, and anignorant Christ. '--Well, Thomas, shall we come into my study? DrProsser will excuse me for a few minutes. "

An evening or two after this conversation, as the whole vicarage partylingered round the table after supper, Dr Prosser turned to his hostand said, "Judging from all I see and hear, Maltby, a parish like yoursmust be a famous place for testing the working value of many moderntheories of morality and religion. "

"Yes, " was the reply; "what you say, my dear friend, is true indeed. Learned and amiable men sit in their libraries and college rooms, andweave out of their own intellects or consciousness wonderful theories ofthe goodness of human nature, the charms of a more genial Christianitythan is to be found by ordinary seekers in the Scriptures, and the needof a wider entrance to a broader road to heaven than the strait gate andnarrow way of the Gospels. But let such men come to Crossbourne, andhave to deal with these people of shrewd and sharpened intellects, strong wills, strong passions, and strong temptations, and they willfind that the old-fashioned gospel is, after all, the only thing thatwill meet all man's moral and spiritual needs. I have never been morestruck with this than in the case of a reformed-infidel amongst us: thechange in that man has been indeed wonderful, as even his bitterestenemies are constrained to acknowledge, --he has indeed found the gospelto be to him the `pearl of great price. ' The change in that man'scharacter, home, and even expression of countenance, is truly as fromdarkness to light. "

"I wish, " observed Miss Maltby, "there was less of the theoretical andfanciful, and more of the practical and scriptural, in many of themodern schemes proposed for the acceptance of my own sex in the matterof education. I wish wise men would let us alone, and allow us to keepour proper place, and follow out our proper calling, as these may beplainly gathered from the great storehouse of all wisdom. "

"Pray give us your thoughts a little more fully, Miss Maltby, " said thedoctor. "I think there may be one here at any rate who will benefit bythem. "

"Two, John, at least, " said his wife, laughing: "for if I am the one whoam to benefit, you will be the other; for whatever improves me will besure to improve your home, so we shall share the profits. "

Her husband held out his hand to her, and while they exchanged a lovingpressure, Miss Maltby said: "Woman seems now to be treated as anindependent rational being, whose one great object ought to be in thislife to outstrip, or at any rate keep on a level with, the other sex inall intellectual pursuits. Did God put her into the world for this?Did he give her as a rule faculties and capacities for this? I cannotbelieve it. This ambition to shine, this thirst for excessiveeducation, this craving after female university distinctions, why allthis is eating out that which is truly womanly in hundreds of our girls, and turning them into a sort of intellectual mermaids, only one halfwomen, and the other half something monstrous and unnatural. And whatis the result? Let me read you the words of a high authority--DrRichardson: `These precocious, coached-up children are never well, ' hesays. `Their mental excitement keeps up a flush which, like theexcitement caused by strong drink in older children, looks like health, but has no relation to it. ' And if this overtasking the mind is soinjurious to the body, what will our women of the next generation be ifthings go on with us as they are doing at present? I must just quoteagain from the same authority. Dr Richardson says, `If women succeedin their clamour for admission into the universities, and like mothsfollow their sterner mates into the midnight candle of learning, thecase will be bad indeed for succeeding generations; and the geniuses andleaders of the nation will henceforth be derived from those simplepupils of the Board schools who entered into the conflict of life withreading, writing, and arithmetic, free of brain to acquire learning ofevery kind in the full powers of developed manhood. '"

"You make out a very gloomy case and prospect for us, " said Mrs Prossersadly and thoughtfully. 

"I do, " replied the other; "and what makes all this far worse is, thatthis mental overwork cannot go on without depriving the sufferers--forthey _are_ sufferers to an extent they little dream of--of that sweetprivilege of being a true blessing to others which Christian mothers, daughters, and sisters enjoy, whose work inside, and moderately outsidethe home, is done simply, unostentatiously, and in a womanly manner. Verily, those women who sacrifice all to this mental forcing, to thisrace for intellectual distinction, --verily, they have their reward. Butthey can look for no other. "

"But stay, my dear friend, " interposed Dr Prosser. "I have been goingwith you heart and soul, only I felt a little jolt just then, as if thewheels ran over a stone. Was not that last expression a littleuncharitable? Will all women who covet and strive after intellectualhonours be necessarily shut out of heaven?"

"Far be it from me to say so, " exclaimed Miss Maltby earnestly; "I wasspeaking about reward. Surely we make some sad mistakes on thissubject; I mean about reward in a better world. We are naturally soafraid, some of us, of putting good works in the wrong place, that wehave gone into the opposite extreme, and turned them out of their rightplace. It is surely one of the sweetest and most encouraging ofthoughts that Jesus will condescend to reward earnest work done for him, though after all only the fruit of his own grace. But if we women areto have our share in these heavenly rewards, our hearts cannot beengrossed in the pursuit of earthly intellectual prizes. Oh! We cannotthink and speak too earnestly on such a subject as this; can we, dearbrother?"

"No, indeed, " said the vicar, "when we remember that the Lord is comingagain, and then shall he reward every one according to his works. "

No one spoke for a while, and then Mrs Prosser asked, "What do youthink, dear Miss Maltby, of these female guilds, and societies, andclubs?"

"I think very ill of them, " was the reply; "for they substitute, or arein danger of substituting, self-imposed rules and motives for the simplerules and constraining motives set before us in God's Word. "

"I don't quite understand you, " said the other. 

"I mean thus, " continued Miss Maltby. "Let us take an example. I havesome young lady friends who have joined an `early-rising club. ' Theyare to get up and be downstairs by a certain hour every morning, or paya forfeit, and are to keep a strict account of their regularities orirregularities, as the case may be. "

"And what harm do you see in this?" asked Dr Prosser. 

"Just this, " replied the other: "it seems to me that this bandingtogether to accomplish an object, in itself no doubt desirable, gives asort of semi-publicity to it, and thereby robs it of its simplicity, andin a measure deprives God of his glory in it, as though the constraininglove of Christ were not sufficient to induce us to acquire habits ofself-denial and usefulness. How much better for one who desires to livein the daily habit of unostentatious self-discipline modestly topractise this regularity of early-rising as an act of Christian self-denial, to be known and marked by Him who will accept and graciouslybless it, if done to please him and in his strength. In a word, dearfriends, I cannot but think that our female character is likely tosuffer by the adoption of these new and, in my view, unscripturaltheories and systems, and that the less of excitement and publicitythere is in woman's work, and the more of the quiet home work and homeinfluence in her doings, the holier, the healthier, the happier, and themore truly useful will she be. "

"I quite agree with my sister in this matter, " observed the vicar. "Ibelieve that there is a subtle element of evil in this club system amongyoung females which has escaped the notice of many Christian people. Imean the independence of _home_ which it generates, as well as the newmotives which it introduces. Thus, a bright, intelligent young ladyfriend of mine had joined a society or club for secular reading. Themembers are bound to read works, selected by a responsible personconnected with the society, for one hour every day, a certain finehaving to be paid for every hour missed. And what was the consequencein my young friend's case? Why, the society had usurped the place ofthe parents; it, not they, was to be the guide of her studies, and homeduties must remain undone rather than this hour be infringed upon: forit was a point of honour to keep this hour sacred, as it were; and sothe debt of honour had to be paid, even though the debt of conscience--that is, what home duties required--should be left unpaid. Just as itis on the turf and at the gaming-table, --the man's gaming debts arecalled debts of honour, and _must_ be paid, come what will, while debtsto the tradesman, whose livelihood depends on his customers' honesty, may remain unpaid. Such has been, or rather _had_ been the result withmy young friend. But finding that this reading-club was detaching herthoughts from home, weakening the hold of home upon her, causing her tolean on the judgment of others rather than on that of her parents, andto neglect, or do with an ill grace, duties clearly assigned to her byGod, and to substitute for them self-imposed tasks and studies, she hadthe good sense and good principle to give it up. Surely a system whichhas a tendency to draw young people out of the circle of home duty, influence, and authority, and thus to make them independent of thosewhom God has given them to be their guides and counsellors, and tosubstitute the rules and penalties of a self-constituted society for themotives and discipline of the gospel, can neither be sound in itself, nor strengthening to the character, nor healthful either for mind orsoul. "

"Well, " said the doctor thoughtfully, "there is a great deal, I am sure, in what you say, and I think my dear wife and myself are getting roundto be pretty much of one mind with you now on these important matters. "

It was with much regret that Dr Prosser and his wife took their leaveof the vicarage and its inmates on the first of May. It was a lovelymorning, combining all the vigorous freshness of spring with the maturewarmth of summer. As the doctor and the vicar strolled down to thestation, leaving Mrs Prosser to ride down with the luggage, theyencountered Thomas Bradly, who was also on his way to the line. 

"Good morning, Thomas, " said Mr Maltby; "do you know how Edward Tayloris to-day?"

"Badly enough in body, sir, " replied Bradly; "but I believe the Lord'sblessing this trouble to his soul, and so he's bringing good out ofevil. --And so I suppose we're to lose Dr Prosser. Well, I'm sorry forit, for all the working-men I've talked with was greatly set up with thelecture he gave us in the Town Hall the other night, and we were hopinghe'd give us another. "

"We must get him to run down and favour us again when the autumn comesround, " said Mr Maltby. 

"That I shall be charmed to do, " replied the doctor. "It was quiterefreshing to speak td such an audience. They don't leave one in anydoubt about their understanding and appreciating what is said to them. "

"That's true, sir, " said Bradly, "and that makes it all the moreimportant they should listen to them as can show them as Scripture andscience come from the same God, and so can't possibly contradict oneanother; and that's what you did, and I was very thankful to hear you doit. "

"I am glad that I made that clear, " said the doctor. 

"Yes, you did, sir; and I'm so glad you did it without any `ifs' and`buts. ' Why, we had a chap here the other day--the vicar weren't athome at the time--and he puts out bills to say as he were going to givea popular lecture on the Evidences of Christianity, Historical, Geographical, and I don't know what besides. It were put about too ashe were an able man, and a Christian man, and so me and some of myfriends went to hear him. But, bless you, he couldn't go straight athis subject, but he must be making all sorts of apologies, he was soprecious fearful of speaking too strongly in favour of the Word of Godand the gospel, and lest he should be uncharitable to them as didn't seejust as he did; and he were full of compliments to this sceptical writerand that sceptical writer, and told us all their chief objections, andwas so anxious to be candid, and not put his own opinions too strongly, that most of us began to think as the lecture ought to have been calleda lecture _against_ the evidences of Christianity. I'm sure, for onewho remembered what he said in favour of the Bible there'd be a dozen aswould just carry home the objections, and forget the little as was saidon the other side. Indeed, it reminded me of Bobby Hunt's flower-garden. But I ax your pardon, sir; I mustn't be taking up more of yourtime. "

"Oh, go on by all means, " said Dr Prosser, laughing; "I want to hearyour illustration from Bobby Hunt's flower-garden. "

"Well, sir, Bobby Hunt, as he were usually called, though he preferredto be spoken to as _Mr_. Hunt, had a cottage on the hills. He were aman as always talked very big. He'd once been a gentleman's butler, andhad seen how the gentlefolks went on. So he liked to make things abouthim seem bigger than they really was. One day, in the back end of theyear, he met me in the town, and asked me why I'd never been over to seehis conservatory and flower-garden. I said I'd come over some day, andso I did. --`I'm come to see your flower-garden, ' says I. --`Come along, 'says he; `only, you mustn't expect too much. '--`'Tain't likely, ' says I;but I weren't exactly prepared for what I did see, or rather didn't see. At the back of his cottage was a little bit of ground, with a fewpotatoes and stumps of cabbages in it, all very untidy; and he takes meto the end of this, and says, `There's my flower-garden. '--`Where?' saysI. --`There, ' says he. --`I can see lots of weeds, ' says I, `but scarceanything else. '--`Oh, ' he says, `it only wants the weeds clearing off, and you'll find more flowers than you think for. '--It were pretty muchthe same with the gent's lecture. He showed us plenty of infidel weeds;but as for the Scripture flowers, they was so smothered by the scepticalobjections, it'd take a sharp eye to notice 'em at all. "

"You don't think, then, my friend, " asked the doctor, "that thisapologetic style--this parade of candour in stating the views andobjections of the sceptical--is of much use among the people ofCrossbourne?"

"No use at all, sir, here or anywhere else, you may depend upon it. Wedon't want such candour as that. The sceptics and, their creeds andtheir objections can take care of themselves. We want just to have thesimple truth set before us. "

"I quite agree with you, " said the doctor: "timid defence is moredamaging to the cause of truth than open attack. "

"I believe you, sir. Suppose I were to ask you to employ one of mymates, and you was to ask me if I could give him a good character; whatwould you think of him if I were to say, `Well, I've a good opinion ofhim myself, and he's honest and all right, for anything that I know tothe contrary; but I should like you to know that John Styles don't thinkhim over honest, and Anthony Birks told me the other day as he wouldn'ttrust him further than he could see him; and though Styles and Birksaren't no friends of mine, still they're very respectable men, andhighly thought of by some. But, for all that, I hope you'll employ mymate, for I've a very high opinion of him myself on the whole'? If Iwere to give you such a character of my mate, would it dispose you toengage him? I fancy not. But this is just how some of these gentsrecommends the Scriptures in their lectures and their books. It's myhonest conviction, doctor, they're not loyal believers in God's truththemselves, or they'd never defend it in this left-handed way. "

"I'm afraid what you say is too true, " said Dr Prosser; "and I shallnot forget our conversation on this subject. --What a lovely day!" hecontinued, turning to Mr Maltby. "What a contrast to the day on whichI last passed through Crossbourne. "

"When was that?" asked his friend; "I did not know that you had been inthis neighbourhood before. "

"Oh, I was only passing through by rail on my way to town. Let me see;I was coming from the north, and passed your station late at night onthe 23rd of last December. "

"Ah, Thomas!" said the vicar, "that is a night _we_ cannot forget. --PoorJoe Wright! His was a terrible end indeed. "

"What! A man killed on the line that night near Crossbourne?" said thedoctor. "I remember having my attention drawn to it more particularly, because it must have happened a few minutes after I passed over the verysame spot; so I gathered from the account of the accident in the_Times_. "

"You must have been going up to London then by the express, " said hisfriend. 

"Yes. And I've special cause to remember the night--it was dismal, rainy, and chilly. The train was very full, and I was a little anxiousabout my luggage, as it contained some articles of considerable value. There was no room for it in the luggage vans, which were full when Ijoined the train, and I had to speak rather sharply to a porter who Isuspect was not over sober. He jerked up my things very roughly on tothe top of the first-class carriage into which I got, and was going toleave one of the most important articles on the platform, if I had notjumped out and seen it put up myself. And then I had to scold him againfor not covering the luggage properly with the tarpaulin, without whichprotection it would, some of it at least, have been damaged, as a steadyrain was falling. I don't know when I have been more put out, andreally I felt ashamed of myself afterwards. However, all was right inthe end; the luggage was all safe and uninjured, and I had a prosperousjourney. "

"I'll wish you good morning, sir, " said Thomas Bradly to the doctor, asthey entered the station yard. "A pleasant journey to you, sir; andthere'll be many of us working-men as'll be very proud to see and hearyou again in Crossbourne. "

"Farewell, my good friend, " said the other. "I shall look forward withmuch pleasure to the fulfilment of my promise. "

A few minutes more, and Dr and Mrs Prosser were on their way back tothe great city. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

CONFESSION AND EXPLANATION. 

When Edward Taylor's accident and its cause were known in Crossbourne, the consternation caused among the enemies of religion and of thetemperance cause was indescribable. Thomas Bradly made no secret ofwhat had happened, and of how Foster's persecutors had been outwitted:not in any revengeful spirit, but partly because he thought it betterthat the plain truth should be known, and so the mouths of the marvel-mongers be stopped; and partly because he felt sure that the enemy wouldkeep pretty still when they knew that their late proceedings were blazedabroad. So he just quietly told one or two of his fellow-workmen allthe particulars, without note or comment, and left the account to do itsown work. 

Nor could there be any doubt as to the result. Never had there beensuch "a heavy blow and great discouragement" to the infidel party asthis. Not only was there a storm of indignation poured out upon theheads of the conspirators by the more sober-minded working-men, --for ittook no very shrewd guessing to find out who had been Ned Taylor'scompanions in the heartless and cruel outrage, --but even those who mighthave secretly applauded had the plot been successful, were eager to joinin the general expressions of disgust and reprobation now that it hadfailed; for nothing meets with such universal and remorseless execrationas unsuccessful villainy. There were also those who never lost anopportunity of chaffing the unfortunate delinquents; while, to completetheir mortification and discomfiture, a rude copy of satirical verses, headed, "A Simple Lay in Praise of Tar, by one of the Feathered Tribe, "was printed and widely circulated through the town and neighbourhood. Nor was there much sympathy, under their ignominious defeat, between themembers and friends of the Free-thought Club. After a few nights, spentchiefly in personalities and mutual recriminations, which well-nighterminated in a general stand-up fight, the meetings of the club wereadjourned _sine die_, and the institution itself fell to pieces in a fewweeks, and its existence was speedily forgotten. 

The heaviest weight of trouble, however, had fallen upon poor NedTaylor. He had suffered very serious injuries by his fall into the oldwell, and, having utterly ruined his constitution by intemperance, wasunable to rally from the shock and the wounds and bruises he hadreceived. So he lay a miserable, groaning wreck of humanity on hiswretched bed, in the comfortless kitchen of his bare and desolate home. 

His old companions soon came to see him; not from any real care forhimself or his sufferings, but partly to coax and partly to threaten himinto silence, so that he might not reveal the names of his companions inthe attempt on Foster. But Ned's wife soon gave them to understand thather husband had already had more than enough of their company; that theyneedn't trouble themselves to call again; and that she hoped, if he wasspared, that he would have nothing more to say to any of them as long ashe lived. So his old companions in evil, taking this "broad hint" as itwas meant, left him in peace, and he had leisure to look a little intothe past, and to ponder his sin and folly. 

He was a man, like many others of his class, not without kindly feelingsand occasional good intentions; but these last had ever been as "themorning cloud and the early dew, " and like all good resolutionsrepeatedly broken, had only added fresh rivets to the chains of his evilhabits. And so he had plunged deeper and deeper into the mire ofintemperance and ungodliness, till scarce the faintest trace of thedivine image could be discerned in him. 

But now his conscience woke up, and he was not left without helpers. Thomas Bradly visited him on the day after his accident, and saw that hewas properly cared for. William Foster also called on him in a day ortwo, and assured him of his hearty forgiveness. The poor unhappy manwas deeply touched at this, and, hiding his face in his hands, sobbedbitterly. He was indeed a pitiable object as he lay back on his raggedbed, partly propped up with pillows, his head bound round with a cloth, his left eye half closed, and one arm lying powerless by his side. 

"William, " he said, when he could manage to get the words out, "I don'tdeserve this, kindness from you of all men in the world; it cuts me tothe heart, it does, for sure. I think I heard the parson say once, whenhe were preaching in the open-air at the market-cross one summer'sevening, summat about heaping coals of fire on a man's head as haswronged you, by returning him good for evil. I'm sure, William, you'vebeen and heaped a whole scuttleful of big coals on my head, and they'rered-hot every one on 'em. "

"Well, well, " said Foster, much touched by this confession, "it will beall right, Ned, as far as I'm concerned, and I hope you'll soon bebetter. --I've come to learn, " he added in an undertone, and with strongemotion, "my own need of forgiveness for all I've done against mySaviour in days gone by, and it would be strange and wrong indeed if Icouldn't heartily forgive a fellow-sinner. "

"The Lord bless you for that word, " said the other; "and let me tellyou, William, bad as I've been agen you and poor Jim Barnes, I've neverliked this job; and as for that Sharples, I knew as he was the meanestrascal to treat you as he did, and I only wish as I'd had the sense andcourage to keep out of the business altogether. "

"Well, you've learnt a lesson, Ned; and if it should please God to bringyou round, you must keep clear of the old set. "

"You may depend upon that, William, " said the sick man; "I've had enoughand to spare of them and their ways. --I'll tell you how it all began, William, and who it was as set the thing a-going. "

"Nay, Ned, " interposed Foster hastily, "I don't want to know; I'd rathernot know. I can guess pretty well, though I saw none of their facesdistinctly. They don't want any punishment from me if I wished to giveit them, for they're getting it hot and strong from all sides already;and as for Sharples, poor wretched man, he's got caught in his own trapas neatly as if he'd set it on purpose to catch himself. "

"Just as you please, William; I'm sure it's very good of you to take itas you do. "

"No, Ned, don't say so; there's no goodness anywhere in the matter, except in that merciful God who so wonderfully watched over andprotected me. I'm sure it has been worth all I've gone through athousand times over, to have learnt what he has taught me in thistrouble, --a lesson of trust and love. But I will come and see youagain, Ned; you have had talking enough for one time. "

The vicar also called on the sufferer frequently, and was glad to findhim humble, patient, and willing to receive instruction. But it was toThomas Bradly that the poor man seemed specially drawn, and to him hefelt that he could open all his heart. 

"I've summat on my mind, Thomas, as I wants to talk to you about, " hesaid to Bradly one day when they were left quite alone; it was about aweek after the return home of Dr and Mrs Prosser. The sick man wasable to sit up in a chair by the fire, though the doctor gave no hope ofany real or lasting improvement. Through the kindness of his friendshis cottage had partly lost its comfortless appearance, and himself, hiswife, and children had been provided with sufficient food and clothing. Yet the stamp of death was on the poor patient's wasted features, and aracking cough tried him terribly at times. But his mind was quiteclear, and he had begun to see his way to pardon and peace, though itwas with but a trembling hand that his faith laid hold of the offeredsalvation. 

"What is it that you want to tell me?" asked Bradly cheerfully. 

"I'll tell you, Thomas: I know I'm a dying man, and it's all right itshould be so; I've brought it upon myself, more's the sin, and more'sthe pity. "

"Nay, Ned, take heart, man; you'll come round yet, and be spared to seta good example. "

The sick man shook his head, and then broke out into a violent fit ofcoughing. "It's pulling me to pieces, " he said, when he could recoverhimself; "but I shall be happier if I can just tell you, Thomas, what'son my mind. It ain't about any of the wicked things as I've done, but Ishall be better content when I've told you all about it. You rememberthe night as poor Joe Wright met his death on the line last December?Well, I'd summat to do with that. "

"You, Ned!"

"Nay, Thomas, I don't mean as I'd any hand in killing him--it were hisown doing; but I were mixed up with the matter in a way, and I thoughtI'd tell you all about it, as you're a prudent man as won't go talkingabout it; and I shall get it off my mind, for it's been a-troubling mefor months past. "

"Go on, Ned. "

"Well, then, it were that same evening, two days afore Christmas-day, Iwere coming home from my work; and just as I were passing the RailwayInn I sees a bag lying on the step just outside the front door of thepublic. "

"A what?" exclaimed Bradly, half rising from his seat. "But go on--allright, " he added, noticing the sick man's surprise at his suddenquestion. 

"A bag, " continued the other. "It were a shabby sort of bag, and Ithought it most likely belonged to Ebenezer Potts, for I'd often seenhim carrying a bag like it: you know Ebenezer's a joiner, and he used tocarry his tools with him in just such a bag. So I says to myself, `I'llhave a bit of fun with Ebenezer. I'll carry off his bag, and leave itby-and-by on his own door-step when it's dark; won't he just be in afuss when he comes out of the public and misses it! I shall hear such astory about it next day. ' For you know, Thomas, Eben's a fussy sort ofchap, and he'd be roaring like a town-crier after his bag. It were afoolish thing to do, but I only meant to have a bit of a game. So Icarries off the bag, and turns into the Green Dragon on my way home tohave a pint of ale. 

"There was two or three of our set there, and one says to me, `What haveyou got there, Ned?'--`It's Eben Potts's bag of tools, ' says I; `I foundit lying on the step of the Railway Inn while he went in to get a pint. I shall leave it at his own door in a bit; but won't he just make a fineto-do when he misses it!'--`It'll be grand, ' said one of them, and theyall set up a laugh. --`Let me look at the bag, ' said poor Joe Wright, who'd been staring at it. I hands it to him. `Why, ' says he, `'tain'tEben's bag after all. '--`Not his bag!' cries I, in a fright. --`Nothingof the sort, ' says he; `I knows his bag quite well. Besides, just feelthe weight of it; there's no tools in this bag. '--`Well, it _did_ strikeme, ' says I, `as it were very light. What's to be done now? They'll beafter me for stealing a bag. I wonder what's in it? Not much, I'msure; just a few shirts and pocket-handkerchers, or some other gents'things, I dessay. '

"`Well, ' says another, `there'll be no harm looking, and it'll be easilydone--it's only a common padlock. Has any one got a key as'll unlockit?' No one of us had; so we says to the landlady's daughter, MissPhilips, who'd been peeping in, and had got her eyes and ears open, `Have you got ever a bunch of keys, miss, as you could lend us?' Shetakes a bunch out of her pocket, and comes in to see what we shouldfind. `There's a lump of summat in it, I can feel, ' says I, as I wastrying to open the padlock. Well, one key wouldn't do, but anotherwould, and we opens the bag. `Nothing but bits of paper arter all, 'says one. --`You stop a bit, ' says I, and I turns the bag bottom up. Twothings fell out: one were a book, I think, and it must have tumbledunder the table, I fancy, for none on us noticed it; we was all crowdingto see what the other thing was, which were wrapped up in soft paper, and fell on the table with a hard thump. `Just you open it, MissPhilips, ' says Joe Wright; `it's better for your lovely soft hands to doit than our rough 'uns. '--`Go along with your nonsense, Joe, ' says she;but she takes up the little parcel and opens it; and what do you thinkthere were in it, Thomas?" He paused; but Bradly made no answer. "Ah!You'd never guess. Why, it were a beautiful gold thing full of preciousstones, such as ladies wear round their wrists. 

"Well, we all stared at it as if we was stuck. `What's to be done now?'says I; `this'll be getting us into trouble. '--`Put it back, lock up thebag, and take it back to where you fetched it from. '--`Nay, ' says I, `that won't pay; they'll lock me up for a thief. '--`Well, what do yousay yourself? I wish we'd never meddled with it, any of us; it'll begetting us all into a scrape, ' says another of my mates. --`Shall we buryit?' says one. --`Shall we drop it into a pond?' says another. --`Nay, it's sure to turn up agen us if we do, ' says I. So we sat and talkedabout it for some time, and had one pint after another, till we was allpretty fresh. Then says I, all of a sudden, `I'll tell you what we'lldo, if you'll help me, and I'll pay for another pint all round, ' (therewas just four of us altogether). `The express train from the north'llbe passing under the wooden bridge in the cutting a little after ten;let's put the bracelet, as Miss Philips calls it, back into the bag, andlock it up safe, and then let's take the bag, and one of us clamber downamong the timbers of the bridge, and drop the bag plump on the top ofthe train. It don't stop, don't that train, till it gets to London; sowhen they finds the bag at the other end, nobody'll know wherever itcame from, 'cos it's got no direction to it, and we shall get fairlyquit of it. '

"It were a wild sort of scheme, and I should never have thought of sucha thing if I hadn't had more ale than brains in me at the time. Butthey all cried out as they'd join me, so we had t'other pint; and thenwe put back the bracelet, and stuffed in a lot of papers with it, andlocked up the bag as it was afore. "

"And the book?" asked Bradly, eagerly. 

"Oh, we never thought about the book; it's never crossed my mind fromthat day to this. I suppose we forgot all about it, we was so taken upwith the other thing. I daresay the landlady's daughter found it underthe table; and if she did, she'd be sure to keep it snug and not sayanything about it, as it might have told tales. "

"Perhaps so, Ned. And what did you do next?"

"Why, we went our ways home; and Joe Wright took charge of the bag, ashis house was nearest the road as leads to the cutting. We all met atpoor Joe's at half-past nine, and walked together to the wooden bridge. It were a rainy night, and the timbers of the bridge was very slippy. It was proposed for Joe to drop the bag, and he were quite willing. Iwas in a bit of a fright about him all the time, for he'd drunk morethan any of us, and his legs and hands wasn't over steady. Howsomever, we'd no time to lose, so Joe got over the side of the bridge, and downamong the timbers, and the train came rushing on, and, as we stoopedover the side, we could see as the bag fell plump on to the top of thecarriage. We knowed afterwards as _that_ were all right; for if the baghad dropped on one side, or been shook off, the police would have beensure to have found it. And then poor Joe--eh! It were awful; I can'tbear to think of it. The Lord forgive me for having had aught to dowith it!--he tried to climb back, poor chap; but the great big beams waswide to grasp, and very slippy with the rain, and he weren't used tothat sort of thing, and so he lost his hold, and down he fell on to therails, quite stunned; and, afore any on us could get at him, thestopping train were on him, and he were a dead man. "

The sick man, having thus finished his story, sank back exhausted; but, recovering himself after a while, he said, "Well, Thomas, I've eased mymind: you know all. If it hadn't been for me, poor Joe'd never havecome to that shocking end. I hope the Lord'll forgive me. But you maybe sure neither me nor my mates meant any harm to poor Joe. "

"That's quite clear, Ned, " replied Bradly, gravely; "it was indeed awild and foolish thing to do, but when the liquor's in the wit's out. No doubt you've much to repent of, but certainly you aren't answerableas if you'd killed poor Joe. Only, see how one thing leads to another. If you'd only loved the inside of your home as much as you loved theinside of the public, you'd have kept out of the way of temptation, andhave escaped a deal of misery. Well, Ned, cast this burden on the Lord. Tell him all about it, as you've told me; and ask him to wash away allyour sins in his precious blood, and he'll do it. "

"I will, I will, Thomas, " said the poor sufferer. 

When Bradly left Ned Taylor's house, he walked home very slowly, revolving many thoughts in his mind, and, according to his fashion, giving them expression in a talk, half out loud, to himself, asfollows:-- "Well, now, we've got another step on the road to set poorJane straight; and yet it looks like a step, and a good long step too, back'ards. It's all explained now what's become of the bag and thebracelet, but we're further off from getting them than ever. I don'tknow; p'raps it's lying at the left-luggage office in London. I'll sendup and see. But I mustn't say anything about it at present to Jane. But, suppose it shouldn't be there--what then? Why, we've lost all clueto it; we're quite in the dark. Stop, stop, Thomas Bradly! What areyou about? What are you stumbling on in that fashion for, without yourtwo walking-sticks--`Do the next thing, ' `One step at a time'? Ay, that's it, to be sure. And the next thing's to send to the left-luggageoffice in London; and the rest's to be left with the Lord. "

So that evening Bradly spoke to one of the guards, a fellow-abstainer, and a man with whom he was on intimate terms, telling him as much of thestory of the losing of the bag as was necessary, without mentioning hissister's name, and asked him to make full inquiries in London. Hisfriend accordingly did so without delay, but brought back the sorrowfultidings that nothing answering to the bag described was lying at theleft-luggage office, or had been seen or heard of by any of theofficials. 

Poor Thomas! He could not help feeling a little disheartened. He hadhoped, as Ned Taylor proceeded with his confession, that something wascoming that would lead to the discovery of the long-lost and earnestly-desired evidence of Jane's innocence; and now that confession onlyshowed that the bag had been carried hopelessly out of their reach. Hadit been hidden away somewhere in Crossbourne, there would have been agood hope of hunting it out; but now that it had been conveyed away tothe great metropolis, and had been carried off from the railwayterminus, further search and inquiry seemed absolutely useless. Ofcourse, if an honest man had accidentally got hold of it, and found outhis mistake, it was possible he might have found some clue to therightful owner in Hollands' letter, if he discovered that letter in thebag; but as nearly half a year had now gone by since the loss, there wasno reason to suppose that the bag had fallen into the hands of any onewilling, or, if willing, able to restore it. If, on the other hand, adishonest person had got hold of it, of course the bracelet would havebeen broken up, or hopelessly sold away, and the bag destroyed. 

It was now the beginning of June, when one evening Bradly was sitting inhis arm-chair at home, with a shadow on his face, as he meditated onthese things. Jane, whose quick eye marked every change in herbrother's countenance, was persuaded that there was something more thanusually amiss, for the light on Bradly's habitually cheerful face to beclouded, and gently asked the cause. 

"To tell you the truth, dear Jane, " he replied, "I am troubled, spite ofmyself, about your matter. "

"What, Thomas! Have you heard anything fresh?"

"Yes, I have; but I wasn't meaning to say anything about it at presentto you, as I wouldn't trouble you to no purpose, and I thought I'd waitfor more light. "

"Oh, tell me, Thomas, tell me! What is it?"

"Why, the simple truth is that the bag's been found; and yet it's lost, and worse lost than ever. "

"O Thomas!"

"Well, Jane dear, don't fret; I'll tell you all about it. " He thenproceeded to give her the full particulars of Ned Taylor's story, and ofthe endeavour he had made, but without success, to trace the bag inLondon. Jane listened patiently, and did not speak when her brother hadfinished, but her lips moved in silent prayer. 

"Thomas, " she said, quietly and sadly, "it is a sore trial of faith, butlet us still trust in the Lord, and follow your favourite maxim, `Do thenext thing. '"

"The Lord bless you, dear Jane, for your patience. You're right; only Idon't clearly see what _is_ the next thing. "

"Will it not be of any use to advertise?" she asked. 

"I'm afraid it's too late now, " he said; "but, while we trust the Lord, we must use all the means he puts within our reach. It is possible, ofcourse, that an advertisement in the London papers may meet the eye ofthe person who has got the bag, supposing, that is to say, that anhonest man took it by mistake and has kept it. " So the followingadvertisement was inserted for a week in the principal London papers:--

 Five Pounds Reward. --A small, shabby-looking carpet-bag, was lost or stolen from the Northern Express on its arrival in London at the Saint Pancras Station, at 3 a. M. December 24th last year. Whoever will bring this bag to the clerk at the Left-Luggage Office, Saint Pancras Station, with the contents as he found them, shall receive the above reward. 

Not much to the surprise, though still somewhat to the disappointment, of brother and sister, no application was made for the reward by themiddle of June, and Bradly was obliged to confess to his sister that, every effort having now been made, without success, to recover the bag, he could do no more. 

To his great surprise and relief, Jane heard him with a cheerful smile. "Thomas, " she said, "remember the good old saying, `Man's extremity isGod's opportunity. ' You told me a while since you were convinced Godwas about to clear up this trouble for us, and that you could trace hisguiding hand. Now, somehow or other, my faith, instead of failing, isdaily growing stronger. I'm persuaded, though I can't tell you why, that we shall have full daylight on this matter, and perhaps beforelong. "

"The Lord be praised for this, " exclaimed her brother. "O my dear Jane, I've been wrong to doubt him. Yes, when old Jacob gave up all for lost, and said, `All these things are against me, ' it were just the other way;the road was being made plain and straight for him--he was soon to seeonce more his long-lost Joseph. And so it will be now. You believe it, and I'll believe it, and we'll be looking out in faith and trust. "

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

FURTHER CONFESSIONS. 

Ned Taylor's misspent life came to an end a few weeks after hisconfession to Thomas Bradly of his connection with the awful death ofJoe Wright. His internal injuries could not be healed; and, after manydays and nights of terrible suffering, meekly and patiently borne, hepassed away from a world on which he had left no other mark but the scarof a wasted life. Alas that beings to whom God has given faculties, bythe right use of which they might glorify him on the earth, should passaway from it, as thousands do, to be remembered only as a warning and ashame! Not but that there was a little fringe of light on the skirts ofthe dark cloud of Ned Taylor's career. There was, indeed, no joy nortriumphant confidence at the last, but there was humble and penitenthope. 

Bradly and Foster were among those who followed him to the grave, andlistened with awe to the sublime words of the burial service. As theyturned to go home, Bradly noticed a female among the by-standers, whoseface he felt sure he knew, though it was nearly concealed from him byher handkerchief, and the pains she manifestly took to avoid observationas much as possible. She was one, if she was the person he supposed herto be, whom he would least have expected to meet on the presentoccasion; but he might, of course, be mistaken. That same evening, while he was sitting in his surgery about nine o'clock, he heard a timidknock at the outer door. He was used to all sorts of knocks, bold andtimid, loud and gentle, so he at once said, "Come in, " and was notsurprised to see a woman enter, with her face muffled up in a shawl. 

"Take a seat, missus, " he said in a kind voice, "and tell me what I cando for you. "--His visitor sat down and uncovered her face withoutspeaking a word. It was Lydia Philips, the publican's daughter. Shewas simply dressed; her face was very pale and sad, and she hadevidently been weeping, for the tears were still on her cheeks. 

"Mr Bradly, " she said, "will you give a word of advice and a helpinghand to a poor heart-broken girl? You and I don't know much of eachother, but at any rate you won't quite despise me, though you know who Iam, when I tell you my trouble, if you'll be good enough to listen toit. "

"Despise you, Miss Philips! No, indeed; I know too much of my own evilheart to be despising any poor fellow-sinner. "

"Ah, that's just what I am and have been, " she exclaimed vehemently; "avile, miserable sinner. --You saw me to-day at poor Ned Taylor'sfuneral?" she added abruptly. 

"I did, miss; and I own it took me by surprise. "

"Well, Mr Bradly, I want to tell you to-night what brought me there. Iknow that Ned Taylor told you all about the bag, and the bracelet, andpoor Joe Wright's death, because once when I called upon him in hisillness, and found him alone, he said that he had confessed it all toyou to ease his conscience, and that I had nothing to fear, for you werea prudent man, and would keep the story to yourself. I told him I wasnot afraid about that; and then we had a very serious talk together, andhe begged me with many tears to forgive him for all the wicked words hehad said in our house, and the bad example he had shown there; and hefinished by begging and praying me to get out of the public-house andthe business, where there were so many snares, and to care for my souland a better world. 

"O Mr Bradly, I can never forget his words. But they were not thefirst that touched me, and brought me to a sense of sin. That nightwhen poor Wright was killed, when Ned turned that bag upside down whichhe told you about, a little book fell out of it under the table; but themen were so eager with their plan, and so frightened about the bracelet, that they never remembered or thought anything about the book; but Ifound it under the table when they were gone, for I had noticed thatsome of the papers out of the bag had not been put back, and I wascurious to see if there was any writing on any of them, but there wasnot; they were only bits of silver paper and other waste paper. As Istooped to pick them up I noticed the little book, and took it up fromunder the table. It was an old-fashioned Bible, very faded and worn. As I carelessly turned over a leaf or two, I noticed that a red-ink linewas drawn under some of the words. Not understanding why this was done, my curiosity was a little excited, and I read a few of the verses. There was one which seemed to have been very much read, for the Bibleopened of its own accord at the place; the words were these, --`Thou wiltkeep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because hetrusteth in thee. ' My heart sank within me as I read them. I felt thatI knew nothing of this peace, nor, indeed, of any peace at all. Ihastily turned to another part, and my eye caught the words, which wereunderlined with the red mark, `Fear not, little flock; for it is yourFather's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. ' I _did_ fear, and Iknew I was not one of `the little flock. '

"We used to read the Bible every day at the boarding-school I went to, and the mistress explained it, and we used to get verses by heart, and awhole chapter or part of one on Sundays; and we had to write out onSunday evenings what we could remember of one of the sermons. But thiswas only task-work; and I remember agreeing with my special friend atschool what a happiness it would be when we were not forced to learn anymore verses. But the words of the little book were quite a differentthing to me--they seemed as if they came to me from another world. Theymade me miserable: for they showed me what I hadn't got, which waspeace; and what I was not, which was one of Christ's little flock. Ihad _heard_ all about it before, but I had never _felt_ about it tillthen. And it made me wretched as I read. So I threw down the book onthe table in a pet; but somehow I couldn't let it be. So I carried itoff to my bedroom, and kept reading one marked verse after another tillmother called for me. But I was thinking about the little Bible all thetime; and yet I didn't want to think about it, for it made me more andmore unhappy. 

"So I determined to get rid of it; for every time I looked at one ofthose red-ink lines, the words above it seemed as though they were putthere to condemn me. And, besides, I was afraid that any one should seeme with that Bible, and want to know where I got it; for if the owner ofthe bag, who was of course the owner of the Bible too, should make anoise about the loss in the town, and it were to come round to him thatI'd got the Bible, he'd be wanting me to tell him what had become of thebag and the bracelet. So I resolved to get rid of the little book; butsomething in my heart or conscience wouldn't let me burn it, or pull itto pieces and destroy it. Then, all of a sudden, it came into my mind--it may be that God put it there--that I would try to drop it somewhereabout William Foster's house, where he or his wife would find it. Iused to know Kate Foster well before I went to the boarding-school, aswe were schoolfellows when we were little girls. I thought that perhapsthe marked verses might do one or other of them good: for I felt howmuch they both needed it, and if the little book made me unhappy, possibly it might make them happy; and, at any rate, I should feel thatI had done better than destroy it, and Foster's house would be the lastplace any one would be thinking of tracing a Bible to. 

"So, late on in the evening, about ten o'clock, I crept round to theback of William Foster's house, and intended to have lifted the latch ofthe outer door softly, and placed the Bible on the window-sill inside. But just then I heard Kate's voice. I could hardly believe my ears--yes--she was praying and crying; pouring out her heart to God withtears. Oh, I was cut to the very soul; and then it rushed into my mind, `Drop the Bible into the room, ' for I had seen that the casement was alittle open. I felt pretty sure that her husband could not be in;indeed I satisfied myself that he was not in that room by cautiouslypeeping in. Kate's head was bowed down over the cradle, so that I wasnot observed. So I drew the casement open a little further, and let theBible fall inside. But in so doing, a ring for which I had a particularvalue slipped off my finger, and of course I could not recover itwithout making myself known. "

Here Thomas Bradly took a little box out of one of his drawers, andhanded it to his visitor without a word. 

"Yes, " she said, having opened the box, "this is the very ring; thankyou very much for keeping it for me and now restoring it to me. I heardthat it had got into your daughter's hands, though I didn't know how. Iknow I've done very wrong in telling stories about it and denying thatit was mine; but I was afraid of getting myself and our house intotrouble if I owned to it. "

"Good, " said Bradly, when she had finished her story; "the next bestthing to not doing wrong is an honest confession that you've done it, and then you're on the road to doing right. I see exactly how thingshas gone; and now, my poor friend, what can I do for you?"

"Why, Mr Bradly, two or three things. In the first place, you won'tmention what I've been telling you to the neighbours, I'm sure. "

"Yes, miss, you _may_ be sure; gossiping ain't in my line at all. But, after all, there's nothing to fear so far as you're concerned, for theBible and the ring have both got to their rightful owners. "

"The Bible, Mr Bradly?"

"Yes; it's been a blessed worker, has that little book. It belongs tomy sister Jane. It were she as made them red-ink marks in it. Onlythis is to be a secret at present, if you please. And I'm persuaded asbag, and bracelet, and all 'll turn up afore long, and then there'll beno blame to nobody. --But what's the next thing you want with me?"

"Why, I want to sign the pledge in your book; for, please God, I'llnever touch strong drink again. "

"Eh! The Lord be praised for this!" exclaimed Bradly; "you shall sign, with all the pleasure in life. --But do your parents give their consent?"

"Yes, mother does. I've had a long talk with her, and, though we keep apublic-house, she has seen so much of the misery and ruin that have comefrom the drink, that she says she'll never stand in the way of her childbeing an abstainer. "

"Bless her for that; she'll never regret it, " said Thomas. 

So the book was brought out, and the signature taken; and then bothknelt, while Bradly commended his young friend to that grace andprotection which could alone secure her stability. 

"And what else can I do for you?" he asked, when they had risen fromprayer. 

"Please, Mr Bradly, I want you to help me get some situation at adistance from Crossbourne, where I can earn my own living as a teacher. Mother is quite agreeable to my doing so; indeed, she sees that ourhouse is not a safe and proper place for me now, and she'll be verythankful if I can get a situation where I shall be out of the reach ofso much evil as goes on more or less in a place like ours. "

"I'll do that too, with all my heart, " said the other, "as far as in melies. I'll speak to the vicar, and I know he'll do his best to get yousuited. You've had a good education, so he'll be able to find yousummat as'll fit, I've no doubt. --And now I'm going to ask you, miss, just to accept a little Bible from me, instead of that one which you'vehelped to send back to its right owner; and I want you to make it yourdaily guide. " So saying, he took from a shelf, where he kept a littlestore of Scriptures, a new Bible, and sitting down, wrote LydiaPhilips's name within the cover, and his own beneath it as the giver;and then, below all, the two texts, "Thou wilt keep him in perfectpeace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee;" and, "Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father's good pleasure to giveyou the kingdom. " These he underlined with red-ink. "Now, " he said, "you'll keep this little book, I'm sure, to remind you of our meetingto-night. Read it with prayer, and you'll soon find peace, if youhaven't begun to find it already. "

The young woman received the little gift most gratefully, and said, "Iwill keep it, and read it daily, Mr Bradly; and I do think that I ambeginning to see my way to peace. Poor Ned Taylor's words have not beenin vain; and what you have said to-night has helped me on the way. Iknow I am not worthy to be called God's child, but I think, nay, I feelsure, he will not cast me out. I have wandered far, very far, from thefold; but now I really feel and understand the love of Jesus, and thathe has come to seek and to save that which was lost. "

When his visitor was gone, Bradly spent a few minutes alone in earnestprayer and thanksgiving, and then, with a bright face, entered his cozykitchen, and drew his chair close to Jane's. 

"Another little link, " he said, "or, perhaps, one of the old ones made alittle stronger. " She looked smilingly at him, but did not speak. Thenhe told her of Lydia Philips's visit and conversation with himself. "You see, " he continued, "Lydia fully confirms poor Ned Taylor's story;but then she brings us no nearer the bag. However, the Lord can find itfor us, or show us as there's something better for us than finding it, if that be his will. "

"True, Thomas, " said his sister; "and now `the next thing' is for you tosee the vicar about Lydia Philips and her situation. "

"Just so, dear Jane; I'll do so, if I'm spared to-morrow. "

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

ALL RIGHT. 

Ernest Maltby was deeply interested in the account which Thomas Bradlygave him of the work going on in the heart of Lydia Philips. 

"This is the Lord's doing, " he said, "and is marvellous in our eyes. Iam so glad that she came to you, Thomas; and equally so that you havecome to me about her, for I think I know of a situation that may suither nicely. "

"Indeed, sir; I'm truly glad of that. "

"Yes; I heard yesterday from our old friend Dr Prosser that he iswanting to find just such a young woman as Lydia Philips to fill a placewhich is now vacant, and the appointment to which is in his hands. Iwill write to him about her at once, if Lydia is willing to go. Perhapsyou would be good enough to call at her house as you go by, and ask herto step up and speak to me. --By the way, Thomas, have you heard anythingmore about the bag since poor Taylor made his confession to you? I havebeen so busy lately that I have quite forgotten to ask you. "

"Nothing, sir, but Lydia's story; and that, as you see, merely confirmspoor Ned's account. We're fast now: the bag's been in London half ayear now, or thereabouts, if it hasn't been destroyed long ago; and, ifit's still in existence somewhere or other, we've nothing whatever toshow us where. I've not liked to trouble you any more about it, butI've left no stone unturned. I got a friend of mine, the guard of oneof the trains, to inquire at the left-luggage office at Saint Pancras;and I put an advertisement for a week together into the London papers, offering five pounds reward to any one as'd bring the bag just as it waswhen it was lost; but it were all of no use, and I didn't expect as itwould be, as it were taken up to London so long ago. It would haveturned up months since if it had got into honest hands, and they hadfound our address in the bag. But I thought it best to try everything Icould think of. And now me and Jane's satisfied to leave it to the Lordto find it for us in his own way. "

"Yes, " replied the vicar, "that is your truly wise and happy course; andnow you can patiently wait. --But stay; it just occurs to me, now I havebeen mentioning Dr Prosser, that he must have been travelling by thevery train on to which the bag was dropped. It was the night of 23rdDecember last, was it not?"

"Yes, sir, that was the night. "

"And it was dropped on to the express train from the north to London?"

"It was, sir; but what then?"

"Why, don't you remember what the doctor said as we were walking withhim to the station the morning when he left us? Don't you remember hissaying that his luggage was put on the top of the carriage he was in, and that he was angry with the porter for his carelessness in notcovering it properly?"

"Yes, sir; I think I remember it now, but other things have put it outof my head. "

"Well, Thomas, it seems to me not at all impossible that the bag wasdropped on to this carriage; and you know that the train did not stoptill it reached London. "

"Well, sir?"

"Might not the bag have been reckoned by the porter at London as part ofthe doctor's luggage, if it was just on the top of it, and have beencarried off by him?"

"Possible, sir, but I'm afraid not very likely. "

"No, perhaps not, but, as you admit, possible. "

"True, sir; but if Dr Prosser took it home, and found it had been amistake, wouldn't he have sent it back to the luggage office; and if so, the guard would have found it there when he inquired by my wish. "

"I'm not so sure of that, Thomas: the doctor's head would be full ofthoughts about other things, science, and other matters; and when he gothome he wouldn't trouble himself about his luggage if he'd seen it safeon the cab; he would leave it to the servants to see that it was allbrought in; and if there was your bag with it as well, he would not havenoticed it. And if he came upon it afterwards in the hall, he wouldprobably think it was something that belonged to Mrs Prosser, or to oneof the servants. And as for Mrs Prosser herself, she was in those daysso full of meetings and schemes of all sorts away from home, that a baglike that might have stood in their hall for days and she would not havenoticed it; and so, if it really got there, it might have been carriedoff by the servants to the lumber-room, and may be there still. "

Thomas Bradly smiled, and shook his head sorrowfully. "It's possibleenough, no doubt, sir, but I'm afraid it's too good to be true. But isit sufficiently possible for me to do anything? Supposing the doctortook it by mistake, and it went with him to his house, and is stowedaway there in some lumber-room or cupboard, from what you say neither henor his missus will remember anything about it. "

"That's true, Thomas; and certainly it wouldn't be worth while yourgoing up to London on such a mere chance or possibility; but it suggestsitself to me that, if Lydia Philips would like the situation which thedoctor has to offer, and he is willing to take her on my recommendation, it would be a great satisfaction to me if you would, at my expense, gowith her and see her safe to London, and introduce her to Dr Prosser, and you could then take the opportunity of asking his servants about thebag. You may be quite sure that if it is in the house _they_ will bequite aware of the fact, and where it is to be found. "

"You've just hit the right nail on the head, sir, " replied Bradlythoughtfully. "I'll go with pleasure; and don't say a word about theexpenses, for I shall feel it to be a privilege to give that littletrouble and money if I can only lend a helping hand in settling poorLydia in a better place than her own home, poor thing. "

Three days after the above conversation Bradly called again at thevicarage, by Mr Maltby's request. 

"All is arranged, Thomas, " said the vicar. "Lydia Philips is to go tothe situation; and as it has been vacant for some time, the doctor wantsher to go up to London as soon as possible; so she is to start nextTuesday, if you can make it convenient to accompany her on that day. "

"All right, sir; I can ask off a day or two at any time, and I'll beready. "

"And, Thomas, I can't help having a sort of hope, and almostexpectation, that you will hear something satisfactory about the bag. "

"Thank you, sir; it's very kind of you to say so, but I shan't sayanything to Jane about it. I don't want to raise hopes in her, as Ican't see much like a foundation for 'em; so I shall only tell her aboutLydia's getting the situation, which she'll be very pleased to hear, andthat it's your wish I should see her safe to London. But if I do findthe bag, and all safe in it, you shall hear, sir, afore I get back. "

Tuesday evening, 6 p. M. A telegram for Reverend Ernest Maltby fromLondon. The vicar opened it; it was signed TB, and was asfollows:--"All right--I have got it--hurrah!--Tell Jane. "

An hour later found the vicar in Thomas Bradly's comfortable kitchen, and seated by his sister. 

"Jane, " he began, "I have often brought you the best of all good news, the gospel's glad tidings; perhaps you won't be sorry to hear a littleof this world's good news from me. "

"What is it?" she asked, turning rather pale. 

"Jane, the Lord has been very good--the bag is found; your brother hasgot it all right. "

Poor Jane! She thought that she had risen out of the reach of allstrong emotion on this subject; but it was not so. "Patience had indeedhad her perfect work in her, " yet the pressure and strain of her sorrowhad never really wholly left her. And now the news brought by the vicarcaused a rush of joy that for a few moments was almost intolerable. Buther habitual self-control did not even then desert her, and she wasenabled in a little while to listen with composure to the explanation ofher clergyman, while her tears now flowed freely and calmly, bringinghappy relief to her gentle spirit. And then, at her request, Mr Maltbyknelt by her side, and uttered a fervent thanksgiving on her behalf toHim who had at length scattered the dark clouds which had long hung overthe heart of the meek and patient sufferer. And now, oh what a joy itwas to feel that the heavy burden was gone; that she who had borne itwould be able to show her late mistress, Lady Morville, that she wasinnocent of the charge laid against her, and had never swerved from thepaths of uprightness in her earthly service. As she thought on thesethings, and bright smiles shone through her tears, the vicar was deeplytouched to hear her, as she quietly bowed her head upon her hands, implore pardon of her heavenly Father for her impatience and want offaith. He waited, however, till she again turned towards him her facefull of sweet peace, and then he said, --

 "`Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; The clouds ye do much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break With blessings on your head. '

"Yes, Jane, your trial has indeed been a sharp one; but the Lord knewthat you could stand that trial. And now he has brought you out of itas gold purified in the furnace. "

"I don't know, dear sir, " was her reply; "I can see plenty of the drossin myself, but yet I do hope and trust that the chastening has not beenaltogether in vain. "

"I will leave you now, Jane, " said the vicar, rising, "and I shall bedelighted to hear from your brother's own lips all about his finding thelong-missing bag. "

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

FULL SATISFACTION. 

On the afternoon of the next day after his disclosure of the good newsto Jane Bradly, the vicar received a note from herself, asking thefavour, if quite convenient, of the company of himself and his sister, Miss Maltby, at a simple tea at Thomas's house. Gladly complying withthis request, the invited guests entered their host's hospitable kitchenat half-past six o'clock, and found just himself and his family, readyto greet them. 

"I'm glad to see you safe back again, Thomas, " said Mr Maltby, as hetook his seat by Mrs Bradly, Jane being on his other hand. 

"And right glad I am to find myself safe back again, " said the other. "London's no place for me. I got my head so full of horses andcarriages, and ladies and gentlemen, and houses of all sorts and sizes, that I could scarce get a wink of sleep last night; and as for thatunderground railway, why it's like as if all the world was running awayfrom all the rest of the world, without waiting to say `good-bye. '"

"And so you've found the bag at last?" said Miss Maltby. 

"If you please, ma'am, " said Thomas, "I thought, with your leave, notmeaning to be uncivil, and with the vicar's leave, we'd just let thatmatter be till tea's over, and then go right into it. None of us haslooked inside the bag since I came back, not even Jane; she's been quitecontent to wait and take my word for it as all's right. I thought asI'd just tell my story in my own way, and then you'd all of you be ableto see how wonderfully all has been ordered. "

"Nothing can be better than that, I'm sure; don't you think so, Ernest?"said Miss Maltby. 

"Yes, " replied her brother; "it is a privilege to be thus invited to`rejoice with them that do rejoice, ' as we have wept with you when youwept. So you shall tell us your story, Thomas, at your own time, forthat will be the best. --And now let me know how you found Dr Prosserand his wife, and if all was right about poor Lydia Philips. "

Having replied to this question, and given due attention to theentertainment of his guests, Thomas Bradly, when tea was finished, helped his wife to remove the large table to one side, and then, havingdrawn forward a smaller one into the midst of the assembled company, placed on the very centre of it a bag, which he fetched out of hissurgery. Certainly the article itself was not one much calculated todraw attention or excite curiosity; indeed, there was something almostburlesque in its extreme shabbiness, as it stood there the centre ofattraction, or at any rate observation, to so many eyes. 

"Shall we have your story now, Thomas?" said the vicar, when all wereduly seated. 

"You shall, sir; and you must bear with me if I try your patience by myway of telling it. 

"We'd a very pleasant journey to London, and then took a cab to DrProsser's. The door were opened by a boy in green, with buttons allover him; he looked summat like a young volunteer, and summat like agreat big doll. I'd seen the like of him in the windows of two or threeof the big clothing shops as we drove along. I couldn't help thinkingwhat a convenience them buttons must be; for if he didn't mind you, youcould lay hold on him by one of 'em, and if that'd come off there'd belots more to take to. `Young man, ' says I, `is your master at home?'He'd got his chin rather high in the air, and didn't seem best pleasedwith the way in which I spoke to him. `Who do you mean by my master?'says he. `Dr Prosser, ' says I; `I hope he's your master, for certainlyyou don't seem fit to be your own. ' He stares very hard at me, and thenhe says, `All right. ' So I gets out, and sees to Miss Philips and herboxes; and the doctor were very kind, and talked to me aboutCrossbourne, and so did the missus. She seemed quite a changed woman, so homely-like, and they both looked very happy, and were as kind ascould be to poor Lydia, so she took heart at once. 

"When I were ready to go, I says to Dr Prosser, `Doctor, may I have aword or two with your green boy?' `My what?' says the doctor, laughing. `Your green boy, ' says I; `him with the buttons. ' `Oh, by all means, 'he says; `I hope there's nothing wrong?' `Nothing at all, sir, thankyou, ' I says. --`Here, William, ' says he, `step into the dining-room withthis gentleman; he wants to speak to you. '

"`You don't know who I am, ' I said to the boy when we was by ourselves. `No, nor don't want to, ' says he. --`Do you know what this is?' I asked, holding up half-a-crown. `Yes, I know what that is wellenough. '--`Well, you've no need to be afraid of me; I'm not a policemanin plain clothes, ' says I. `Aren't you?' said he; `I thought youwas. '--`There, put that half-crown in your pocket, ' I said, `and answerme one or two civil questions. ' `With all the pleasure in the world, 'says he, as brisk as could be. --Then I asked him if he remembered thedoctor's coming home on Christmas-eve last year. `Yes, he rememberedthat very well. '--`Did he bring anything with him besides his ownluggage?' He looked rather hard at me. --`Nobody's going to get you intotrouble, ' says I, rather sharp. `Have you lost anything?' he asks againvery cautiously. --I told him `yes, I had. ' He wanted to know what itwere like, but that wouldn't do for me. So I asked my other questionover again. `Yes, the doctor brought a bag with him as didn't seem tobelong to him; at least he hadn't it with him when he left home. '--`Whatsort of a bag?' says I. `It was a small bag, and a very shabby onetoo. '--`And what did you do with it?' `I put it in the doctor'sstudy. '--`And is it there now?' `I suppose so; nobody never meddleswith any of the doctor's things. '--`And you haven't seen it, nor heardanything about it since?' `No, I haven't. '--`Thank you, my boy; that'sall I want to know from you. '

"Then I asks the doctor to let me have five minutes alone with him, which he granted me most cheerfully; and I just tells him as much aswere necessary to let him know what I wanted, and why I wanted it. --`Abag, ' he said; `ah, I do remember something about it now; but, if Idon't mistake, there was nothing but paper in it. However, it's prettysure to be in my closet, and if so it will be just as I put it there, for no one goes to that closet but myself. ' So he unlocks the closetdoor, and comes back in a minute with a bag in his hand. `Is this it?'he asks. --`I suppose it is, ' says I, `for I never saw it; but we shallsoon find out. ' The doctor had a key on his bunch which soon opened thepadlock, and then we turned out what was inside. Paper, nothing butpaper at first. I were getting in a bit of a fright; but after a bit wecomes to summat hard wrapped up; and there, when we unfolded the paper, was the missing bracelet! And then we searched to the bottom, and foundan envelope sealed up and directed, `Miss Jane Bradly;' but what'sinside I don't know, for of course I didn't open it. 

"We was both very glad, at least I was, you may be sure; and the doctorwere very kind about it, and shook hands with me, and said he was sorryas we'd been kept out of the things so long: but I told him it were nofault of his, and it were all right, for the Lord's hand were plainly init; for if it had gone elsewhere we might never have seen it again. SoI carried off the bag as carefully as if it had been made of solid gold, and it hasn't been out of my sight a moment till I got it safe home. 

"The doctor sent his best regards to you, sir, and the same to MissMaltby, and so did his missus. And as I went out at the door, I justsaid to the green boy, `William, you keep a civil tongue in your head to_everybody_, my lad, and don't be too proud of them buttons. '

"And now, dear friends, with your leave, I'll open the bag again, andsee what it's got to tell us. " Having unlocked the padlock with anordinary key, Thomas Bradly drew forth a quantity of paper, and then asmall packet wrapped up in silver paper which he handed to his sister. Poor Jane's hands trembled as she unfolded the covering, and she hadsome difficulty in maintaining her self-command as she drew forth thebracelet, the innocent occasion of so much trial and sorrow. It wasevidently a costly article, and, though a little tarnished, looked verybeautiful. As Jane held it up for inspection, tears of mingled sadnessand thankfulness filled her eyes. 

"Oh, " she said, "how little did I think, when I took the fellow to thisbracelet into my hand at Lady Morville's, and held it up to look at it, as I am doing now, that such a flood of sorrow would have come from sucha simple act of mine! Ah, but I can see already how wonderfully theLord has been bringing good to others out of what seemed so long to befull of nothing but evil for me. "

"You recognise the bracelet then, Jane, " asked the vicar, "as the matchto the one which was found in your hand?"

"O yes, sir: the image of that bracelet has been burnt into my memory; Icould never forget it; it has often haunted me in my dreams. "

While these words were being spoken, Thomas had emptied out theremaining contents of the bag on to the table, and thoroughly examinedthem. All that he found was the unopened envelope and a quantity ofwaste paper. 

"This belongs to you, dear Jane, " said Bradly, giving her the letter. 

She shook her head. "I cannot, Thomas, " she said. "Oh, do _you_ openit, and read it out, " she added imploringly. 

"Well, I don't know, " replied her brother; "I feel just now more like acry-baby than a grown man. Shall we ask our kind friend the vicar toopen it and read it out for us?"

"O yes, yes, " cried Jane, "if he will be so good. "

"With pleasure, dear friends, " said Mr Maltby, and he held out his handfor the dingy-looking letter. --Little did the writer imagine, when hepenned that wretched scrawl, what a value it would have in the eyes ofso many interested and anxious hearers. It was as follows:--

 "Dear Jane Bradly, "I hardly know how to have the face to be a-writing to you, but I hope you'll forgive me for all I've done, for I've behaved shameful to you, and I don't mean to deny it. But I had better begin at the beginning. It were all of that lady's-maid. I wish I'd never set eyes on her, that I do. 

 "Well, you know as we couldn't either of us a-bear you, because you knew of our evil ways, and you was so bold as to tell us we was doing wrong. I knowed that you was right, and I wasn't at all easy; but Georgina wouldn't let me rest till we had got you out of the house. And so she took one of her ladyship's bracelets and hid it away, and made her pretence to her ladyship as she couldn't find it; and then we got you to look at it that morning as her ladyship found you with it. 

 "We was both very glad to get you away, and we had things all our own way for a little while, till her ladyship caught out Georgina in telling her some lies, and running her up a big bill at the mercer's for things she'd never had. So, when Georgina got herself into trouble, she wanted to lay the blame on me; but I wasn't going to stand that, so I complained to Sir Lionel, and Miss Georgina had to take herself off. That was about two years after you had left Monksworthy. 

 "When she were gone I began to get very uneasy. I didn't feel at all comfortable about the hand I'd had in your going, and I couldn't get what you had said to me about my bad ways out of my head day nor night. And there was another thing. Just to spite you, I got Georgina to get hold of your Bible a day or two before the bracelet was supposed to be lost. She gave it to me, and I put it in a drawer in my pantry where I kept some corks; it were a drawer I didn't often go to, and there it were left, and I never seed it till a few weeks since, and then I was looking for something I couldn't find, and poked your little Bible out from the back of the drawer. `What's this?' I thought; and I took it up and noticed the red-ink lines under so many of the verses. Oh, I was struck all of a heap when I read some of them. They showed me what a wicked man I had been, for they just told me what I ought to be, and what I could plainly see you was trying to be when you was living at the Hall. And they told me about the love of Jesus Christ, and that seemed to cut me to the heart most of all. 

 "I didn't know what to do, I were quite miserable; and the other servants began to chaff me, so I tried to forget all about better things, and put the Bible back in the drawer. But I couldn't let it rest there, so I kept reading it; but it didn't give me no peace. So I ventured to kneel me down in my pantry one day and ask God to guide me, and I felt a little happier after that. But I soon saw as it wouldn't do for me to remain any longer at the Hall, if I meant to mend my ways. I were mixed with so many of the others, I couldn't see my way out of the bad road at all if I stayed. I know I ought to have gone straight to Sir Lionel, and told him how I had been a-cheating him; but then I should have brought my fellow-servants, and some of the tradesmen too, into the scrape, and I couldn't see the end of it. So I made up my mind to cut and run. I know it's wrong, but I haven't got the courage just to confess all and face it out. 

 "And now, what I want to do before I leave the country, for I can't stay in England, is to see and make amends to you, Jane, as far as I can. I have found out from one of your old friends here where you are living, and I mean to let you have this letter on my way. Sir Lionel has let me have a holiday to see my friends, and I haven't said anything about not coming back again. But he'll be glad enough that he's got shut of me when he comes to find out what I've been--more's the pity. I know better, and ought to be ashamed of myself; but, if I gets clear off into another country, I'll try and make amends to them as I've wronged in Monksworthy. You'll find the bracelet and the Bible along with this letter. Georgina took both bracelets, and left the one as didn't turn up with me; for, she said, if there was any searching for it they'd never suspect _me_ of taking it, but they might search _her_ things. 

 "So now I think I have explained all; and when you get the Bible, and the bracelet, and this letter, the only favour I ask is that you will wait a month before you let her ladyship know anything about it, and that will give me time to get well out of the country. 

 "So you must forgive me for all the wicked things I have done--and do ask the Lord to forgive me too. I hope I shall be able to turn over a new leaf. I shan't forget you, nor your good advice, nor what I did at you, nor the verses marked under with red-ink. So no more from your humble and penitent fellow-servant, "JH. "

Such was the letter, which was listened to by all with breathlessinterest. 

"And now what's `the next step'?" said Thomas Bradly. 

"I think your next step, " said the vicar, "will be to go yourself toLady Morville, and lay before her this conclusive evidence of yoursister's innocence. "

"Yes; I suppose that will be right, " said Bradly. "I can explain itbetter than Jane could--indeed, I can see as Jane thinks so herself; andit would be too much for her, any way, to go about it herself and, besides, it'll have a better look for me to go. "

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

PEACE. 

"If you please, my lady, Thomas Bradly would be glad to speak with youfor a few minutes, if you could oblige him. "

"Thomas Bradly?" asked Lady Morville of the footman who brought themessage; "is he one of our own people?"

"No, my lady; but he says you'll know who he is if I mention that JaneBradly is his sister. "

"Dear me! Yes, to be sure. Take him into the housekeeper's room, andtell him I will be with him in a few minutes. "

"Well, Thomas, " said her ladyship, holding out her hand to him as sheentered the room, "I'm very glad to see you. I needn't ask if you arewell. "

"Thank your ladyship, I'm very well; and I hope you're the same, and SirLionel too. "

"Thank you. Sir Lionel is not so well just now; he has had a good dealto worry him lately. But how are all your family? We miss you stillfrom church very much, and from the Lord's table. --And poor Jane?"

"Well, my lady, poor Jane's been poor Jane indeed for a long time, butshe's rich Jane now. "

"You don't mean to say, Thomas--!" exclaimed the other in a distressedtone. 

"Oh no!" interrupted Bradly; "Jane's not left yet for the better land, though she's walking steadily along the road to it. But the Lord hasbeen very gracious to her, in bringing her light in her darkness. Shewants for nothing now, except a kind message from your ladyship, which Ihope to carry back with me. "

"That you shall, with all my heart, Thomas, though I don't quite seewhat your meaning is. But I can tell you this: I have never feltsatisfied about poor Jane's leaving me as she did, and yet I do not seethat I could have acted otherwise than I did at the time; but I havewished her back again a thousand times, you may tell her, especially asI fear there were some base means used to get her away. "

"How does your ladyship mean?"

"Why, have you not heard, Thomas, that John Hollands the butler hasabsconded? He left us on a pretence of visiting some of his relations, with his master's leave, last December; and we find now that he has beenrobbing us for years, and cheating the trades-people, and even sellingsome of Sir Lionel's choice curiosities, and putting the money into hisown pocket. It is this that has worried Sir Lionel till he is quiteill. We have had, too, to make an entire change of all our servants;for we found that all of them had been, more or less, sharing inHollands' wickedness and deceit. "

"And was your ladyship's own maid, Georgina, one of these?"

"O Thomas! She was worse, if possible, even than Hollands. Before heleft I detected her in lying, thieving, and intemperance, besidesabominable hypocrisy, and was thankful to get her out of the house. "

"Well, my lady, I'm truly sorry for all this; but perhaps it shows thatpoor Jane's story may have been true after all. "

"Indeed it does; but still I have never been able to understand Jane'sconduct when I found the bracelet in her hands. If she had onlyproduced the other bracelet, and explained in a simple way how she cameby them, or if the other bracelet had been found, that might have made adifference; but it has never been seen or heard of from that day tothis. "

"I can now explain all to your ladyship's full satisfaction, " saidBradly. 

"Indeed, Thomas, I shall be only too thankful, for I now know bothGeorgina and John Hollands to have been utterly untruthful, and I couldalmost as soon have doubted my own senses as Jane's truthfulness andhonesty. But appearances did certainly seem very much against her. "

"Your ladyship says nothing but the simple truth, but I can explain itall now from John Hollands' own confession. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes, my lady. On the 23rd of last December, Hollands, who was on hisway abroad, stopped at our station--Crossbourne station--on the road, and left a bag and a letter for Jane in the hands of a railway porter. In that bag was the missing bracelet, the fellow to the one yourladyship saw in Jane's hands; and a letter was in the bag too, explaining how John had joined Georgina in a plot to ruin Jane, becauseshe had reproved them for some of their evil doings. "

"Dear me!" cried her ladyship, shocked and surprised; "is it possible?But why did you not acquaint me with this at once?"

"Well, my lady, here is the strangest part of my story. The porter, instead of bringing the bag on to us at once, left it outside a public-house, while he went in to get a drink, and when he came out again thebag was gone; and, though every inquiry and search was made after it, itonly turned up a few days ago. "

"But the letter?" asked Lady Morville; "did the porter lose that too?"

"No; he brought it to us in a day or two, for he were afraid to bring itat first, because he'd lost our bag. "

"Still, Thomas, if you or Jane had brought that letter, it would, nodoubt, have made all plain, and quite cleared her character. "

"Ah! But, my lady, the letter the porter brought said very little. Ihave it here. It only says, `Dear Jane, I am sorry now for all as I'vedone at you. Pray forgive me. You will find a letter all about it inthe bag, and I've put your little marked Bible and the other br---t[that means bracelet, of course] with it into the bag. So no more atpresent from yours--JH. '"

"And why didn't you bring me this letter, Thomas? I should have beenquite satisfied with it. "

"Ah! My lady, it would have looked a lame sort of tale if I'd broughtthis letter and said as the bag and bracelet had been lost. It wouldhave looked very much like a roundabout make-up sort of story, letterand all. "

"I see what you mean, Thomas; but now you say that the bag and itscontents have been found after all. Pray, tell me all about it. "

"Well, it's a long story, my lady; but, if you'll have patience with me, I'll make it as short as I can. "

Bradly then proceeded to give Lady Morville the history of the manner inwhich the way had been opened up little by little, and the bag found atlast. He then drew from his pocket a neatly-folded packet, and handedit to her ladyship, who, having opened it, found the bracelet. 

"Yes, " she said, "there can be no doubt about it--this is my missingbracelet; and that heartless creature Georgina has cruelly misled me, and, more cruelly still, ruined for a time the character of her fellow--servant. But, poor, wretched, misguided creature, her triumphing wasshort indeed. "

Before she could say more, Bradly placed in her hands Hollands' letterof explanation. She read it through slowly and carefully; and then, laying it down, leaned her head on her hand, while her tears fell fast. 

"O Thomas, " she said, after a while, "what a terrible trial yoursister's must have been! How can I ever make her amends for the cruelinjustice I have been guilty of to her?"

"Nay, my lady, " cried Thomas, touched by her deep emotion, "you've doneJane no wrong; you did as you was bound to do under the circumstances. It's all right now, and the Lord's been bringing a wonderful deal ofblessing out of this trouble. Jane's been sharply chastened, but she'sstood the trial well, by God's grace, and she's come out of it purifiedlike the fine gold. All she wants now is a kind message by me, assuringher as you are now thoroughly satisfied she was innocent of what waslaid to her charge and led to her leaving your service. "

"She shall have it, Thomas, and not only by word of mouth, but in my ownhandwriting. "

So saying, Lady Morville rang the bell, and having ordered somerefreshment for Thomas Bradly, asked him to wait while she went to herown room and wrote Jane a letter. In half an hour she returned, and, having given the letter into Bradly's charge, said, --

"I have been talking to Sir Lionel, and he is as pleased as I am at thethorough establishment of Jane's character; and we both wish to show oursense of her value, and our conviction that she deserves our fullestconfidence, and some amends too for my mistaken judgment, by offeringher the post of matron to a cottage hospital we have been building, ifshe feels equal to undertaking it. She will have furnished rooms, board, and firing, and thirty pounds a year, and the duties will notrequire much physical exertion. I shall thus have her near me, and itwill be my constant endeavour to show my sense of her worth, and mysorrow for her sufferings, by doing everything in my power to make hercomfortable and happy. "

"I'm sure Sir Lionel, and your ladyship more particularly, deserve ourmost grateful thanks for your goodness, " said Thomas Bradly. "I don'tdoubt as Jane'll be better content to be earning her own living again, though she's not been eating the bread of idleness, and I'm sure shecouldn't start again in a happier way to herself, so I'll tell her yourmost kind offer; and may the Lord reward Sir Lionel and yourself forit. "

No man in the United Kingdom journeyed homeward that day in a happierframe of mind than Thomas Bradly. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

FINALE, AT CRICKETTY HALL. 

The letter and offer of Lady Morville poured a flood of sunshine intoJane's heart, and helped to hasten her restoration to perfect health. Most thankfully did she accept the situation offered her by her formermistress, which restored her to an honourable position, and enabled herto earn her own living in a way suited to her abilities, experience, andstrength. She wrote at once her earnest thanks, and her gratefulacceptance of the proposed post, and it was arranged that she shouldleave her home for Monksworthy in the beginning of August. But ThomasBradly had set his heart on having a special temperance demonstrationbefore her departure; so it was put before Mr Maltby, and a grandtemperance tea-party and open-air meeting at Cricketty Hall wasannounced for the second Saturday in July. 

It soon got whispered about that something more than usual was to beexpected in the speeches after the tea; and as every one knew that"Tommy Tracks" could get up a capital meeting, there was a good deal ofattention drawn to the subject among the operatives and people generallyin the town and neighbourhood. Bills of a large size had been dulyposted, and small handbills left at every house; and a prayer-meetinghad been held on the Wednesday evening previous, to seek a specialblessing on the coming gathering, so that its promoters looked hopefullyfor a fine day, and were not disappointed. 

Tea was to begin at 5 p. M. , and the meeting as near half-past six ascould be accomplished. Crossbourne human nature, like the human naturein most English manufacturing districts, had a great leaning to tea-parties and _fetes_, the latter name being sometimes preferred by theyounger men as being more imposing. On the present occasion there wasan abundance of interested and willing helpers, so that early in theSaturday afternoon the road to Cricketty Hall was all alive with comersand goers, more or less busy with band and tongue; while carts of manyshapes and sizes were conveying the eatables and drinkables up to theold ruin. The tea-tickets had sold well, and there was evidently muchexpectation in the minds of the public generally. 

About half-past three o'clock the Temperance and Band of Hope memberscame flocking into the market place, Bradly being there to keep order, with Foster and Barnes as his helpers. The last of these had charge ofa small basket, which he now and then glanced at with a grin of peculiarsatisfaction. Then the band mustered in full force--a genuinetemperance band, which never mingled its strains of harmony with streamsof alcohol. And oh, what a noble drum it boasted of!--could musicalambition mount higher than to be permitted the privilege of belabouringthundering sounds out of its parchment ends? Such clearly was the viewof two of the youngest members of the Band of Hope, who were gazing withfond and awed admiration at the big drum itself and its highly favouredbearer. 

Shortly before four o'clock the vicar and his sister made theirappearance; and then, in a little while, the procession, withappropriate banners flying, large and small, was on its way, Mr andMiss Maltby marching at the head, and Thomas Bradly bringing up therear. In front of the procession was the band, which struck up a livelyair as all stepped forward, the drum being particularly emphatic atevery turning. Just at the outskirts of the town an open carriagejoined the long line: there were in it Mrs Maltby and her daughter, whohad returned from the seaside a few days before, and Jane Bradly, whowas not yet equal to much exertion. 

On, on they marched, bright and happy, conscious that their cause was agood one, and that their enjoyment would not be marred by any excesses. The day was charming; there had been just enough rain during thepreceding night to lay the dust and freshen up the vegetation, while theardent rays of the sun were tempered from time to time by transientscreens of semi-transparent clouds. As the procession neared CrickettyHall, a cooling breeze from the west sprang up, just enough to ruffleout the banners, as they were carried proudly aloft, without distressingtheir bearers. Then the band, which had been silent for a while, put onthe full power of lungs and muscle in one prolonged outburst ofboisterous harmony; and just at five minutes to five the whole body ofthe walkers, old and young, was drawn up in due order in front of theruined gateway. 

It was just the right spot for such a summer's gathering. Far awaytowards the south sloped the fields, disclosing on either hand many asnug farm-house amidst its ripening crops, and to the extreme east anundulating range of dim, blue, shadowy hills. Facing a spectator, as hestood with his back to the ruined gateway, was the town of Crossbourne, with its rougher features softened down by the two miles of distance;its tall chimneys giving forth lazy curls of smoke, as though pausing torest after the ceaseless labours of a vigorous working week. The noblerailway viaduct, spanning the wide valley, was rendered doublypicturesque by its nearest neighbours of houses being hidden on one sideby a projecting hill; while the greater part of the old church wasvisible, seeming as though its weather-beaten tower were looking downhalf sternly, half kindly on the eager thousands, who were living, toomany of them, wholly for a world whose glory and fashion were quicklypassing away. And now, till a bandsman should give a trumpet-signal fortea, all the holiday-makers, both old and young, dispersed themselvesamong the ruins, and through the wood, and over the rising ground in therear. 

Strange contrast! Those crumbling stones, that time-worn archway, thoseshattered windows, that rusty portcullis, all surely, thoughimperceptibly, corroding under the ceaseless waste of "calm decay, " andsadly suggestive of wealth, and power, and beauty all buried in the dustof bygone days; and, on the other hand, the lusty present, full ofvigour, energy, and bustling life, to be seen in the gaily-deckedvisitors swarming amidst the ruins in every direction, and to be heardin the loud shouts and ringing laughter of children, and of men andwomen too, who had sprung back into their childhood's reckless buoyancyfor a brief hour or two. 

And now the shrill blast of the trumpet called the revellers to tea. This was set out in rough but picturesque form, in the centre of whathad once been the great hall. New-planed planks, covered withunbleached calico, and supported on trestles, formed the tables; whilethe tea-making apparatus had been set up in what had originally been thekitchen, near to which there welled up a stream of the purest water. 

When as many were seated as could be accommodated at once, the vicar wasjust about to give out the opening grace, when a young man decoratedwith an exceedingly yellow waistcoat, and as intensely blue a temperancebow, came hastily up to him, and whispered mysteriously in his ear. Thesmile with which this communication was received showed that there wasnothing amiss. Having asked the assembled company to wait for a minute, Mr Maltby hastened out of the building, and quickly returned, leadingin Dr and Mrs Prosser. A shout of surprised and hearty welcomegreeted the entrance of the new guests. 

"This is not to me, " said the vicar, "an altogether unexpected pleasure;but I would not say anything about the doctor's coming, as, though I hadinvited him, he left it very doubtful whether his engagements wouldallow him to be here, and I had pretty well given him up. But I am surewe are all rejoiced to see him among us on this happy occasion. "--Therecould be no doubt of that, and the doctor and his wife beingaccommodated with places, grace was sung, and the tea began in earnest. 

If you want thoroughly to appreciate a good tea, be in the habit ofdrinking nothing stronger, take a moderate walk on a bright, blowysummer's afternoon, have a scramble with a lot of little children tillall your breath is gone for the time being, and then sit down, if youare privileged to have the opportunity, in the open-air, to such a mealas was spread before the temperance holiday-makers of Crossbourne. DrProsser and his wife thought they had never enjoyed anything more intheir lives, and looking round saw a sparkling happiness on every face, the result in part, at any rate, of partaking of that most gentle, innocent, and refreshing of stimulants--tea. 

But even the most importunate tea-cup must rest at last; and so, whilethe first division, having been fully satisfied, gave way to a second, the band struck up a torrent of music, and in due time sat downthemselves with those whom they had helped to cheer with theirenlivening strains. And now the last cup of tea had been emptied, andthe most persevering of the Band of Hope boys had reluctantly retired, leaving an unfinished plate of muffins master of the field. 

The fragments were gathered up, the tables and trestles removed, and thetrumpeter, invigorated by his inspiriting meal, poured forth a blastloud and long to recall the stragglers. It was close upon half-pastsix, and all began now to assemble, pouring in from all quarters intothe central open space. A few chairs had been brought, and wereappropriated to the ladies and speakers. Two large cake-baskets turnedon their ends, with two stout planks across them, served for a table, which was placed in front of a huge fragment of a buttress, beneathwhich irregular masses of fallen moss-covered stone made very fairlycomfortable seats for some of the more special friends and supporters;while the audience generally were seated all up and down within hearingdistance, forming a most picturesque congregation, as they sat, orstood, or lay down, as proved most convenient. By the time the vicarwas ready to commence the proceedings, the space all round him wasrapidly filling with men and women from the town, who had not been atthe tea, but were drawn by interest or curiosity to be present at theafter-meeting. 

All were very silent as the vicar, after the usual preliminary hymn andprayer, rose, and began as follows:--

"I make no apology, dear friends, for being about to occupy a portion ofyour time by addressing you this evening; but I shall not detain youlong. Still, what I have to say is of deep importance to you all, and, therefore, I must ask your earnest and patient attention. 

"Without further preface, then, I do earnestly desire to impress uponyou all this truth, that there can be no real peace, no solid happinessin this world, unless we are _consciously_ seeking to live to the gloryof God. I look around me, and see with alarm, in these days ofincreased knowledge and intelligence, how entirely many thoughtfulpeople are living without God in the world; I mean, without having any_conscious_ communion or connection with him. 

"This is so very dangerous a feature of our times, because there is atthe same time a very widely spread respect for religion. Coarse abuseand reviling of religion and religious people are frowned upon now byall persons of education and refinement as vulgar and illiberal. Butyet, with this respect for religion and its followers, there seems to begrowing up a conviction or impression that people can be good, andhappy, and profitable in their day without any religion at all. If youare religious, well and good, no one should meddle with you; and if youare consistent, all should respect you, and it would be exceedingly badtaste to quarrel with you for your opinions. But then, if you are _not_religious, well and good too, no one should meddle with you, and itwould be very uncharitable, and in very bad taste, to quarrel with youabout your creed or views. Religion, in fact, is becoming with many amatter of pure indifference--a matter of taste; you may do well _with_it, and you may do as well, or nearly as well, _without_ it. 

"Hence it has come to pass that there are to be found men of science andlearning who never trouble themselves about religion at all. They wouldcertainly never care to abuse it; but then they plainly think thatscience, and the world, and society can get on perfectly well withoutit. 

"And what is worse still, even professedly religious people are beingcarried down this stream of opinion, without being fully or perhaps atall conscious whither it has been leading them. Thus, even ladiesprofessing godliness are being entangled by the intellectual snares ofthe day, and are so pursuing the shadows of this world--its honours, itsprizes, its mind-worship--as to become by degrees almost whollyseparated from God and thoughts of him. And thus, while they do notoutwardly neglect the ordinances of religion, they have ceased to meetGod in them; they hear in them a pleasing sound rather than a livingvoice, and find themselves offering to God, when they join in psalms andhymns and spiritual songs, rather a mere musical accompaniment than theintelligent melody of a heart that believes and loves. 

"Oh, don't be deceived, dear friends, any of you. You who go to themills, or are engaged in any other manual labour, don't think, becauseyou may be spending your evenings and leisure in mechanics' institutes, or in attending science classes, or in working up scientific subjects, that in these pursuits you can find real peace, without religion andwithout God; that religion is no matter of necessity, but only acomfortable and creditable superfluity; or that, at any rate, by usingoutward attendance on religious ordinances, as a sort of make-weight, you can be solidly happy while your hearts are far from God. It cannotbe. You are not thus disgracing our common humanity like the drunkardsand profligates, but, then, you are not fulfilling the true law of yourbeing; you cannot be doing so while you are travelling all your lives ina circle which keeps you ever on the outside of the influence of thelove and of the grace of that God who made you and that Saviour whoredeemed you. 

"Don't mistake me, dear friends; I rejoice with all my heart to seeprogress of every kind amongst you, so long as it is real. Some peoplesay that we ministers of the gospel are foes to education and tointellectual progress. Nay, it is not so. I will tell you what we arefoes to, and unflinching foes; we are foes to all that is false andhollow, and we assert that nothing can be sound and true which puts theGod who made us out of his place, and thrusts him down from his rightfulthrone in our hearts. Study science by all means, cultivate yourintellects, elevate your tastes, refine your pursuits. But then, remember that you are, after all, not your own in any of these things, for Christ has purchased you for himself. Begin with him, and he willgive you peace, and an abiding blessing upon _all_ that you do; butnever suppose that you can be really living as you ought to live, --thatis, as God made you and meant you to live, --while you are feeding yourintellects and starving your souls. 

"And now I will only add how happy I am to meet you all here. We areabout soon to part with one who is well-known to many of you, --JaneBradly. It is partly in connection with the Lord's wonderful dealingswith her, as you will hear shortly from her brother Thomas, that we haveset on foot this happy gathering. It is one cheering sign of realprogress in Crossbourne that our Temperance Society and Band of Hope areso nourishing. You know the rock on which we have founded them; I mean, on love to the Lord Jesus Christ. May these societies long flourish! Itrust we shall gain some members to-night; for Thomas, I know, has gotthe pledge-book with him. And now I have much pleasure in calling onWilliam Foster to address you. "

When Foster rose to speak there was a deep hush, a silence that might befelt. 

"If I had come to a gathering like this a year ago, " began the speaker, "it would have been as a mocker or a spy. But how different are thingswith me to-day! I am now one of yourselves, a total abstainer uponprinciple, an unfeigned believer in the Bible, and a loyal though veryunworthy disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ. I have good cause toremember these old ruins, as you all know; but you do not many of youknow how I used to spend Sabbath after Sabbath here in gambling; and yetthe good Lord bore with me. And it is not long since that he gave me awonderful deliverance, not far from the spot where I now stand. But Iam not going to refer any more to that, except to say, let by-gones beby-gones. I bear no ill-will to those who have shown themselves myenemies. What I want to do now, for the few minutes that I shall standhere, is just to give you my experience about the Bible. 

"When I was professedly an unbeliever, I thought I knew a great dealabout the Bible, and I used to lay down the law, and talk very big aboutthis inconsistency and that inconsistency in the Scriptures, and I justread those books which supplied me with weapons of attack. But I was inutter ignorance of what the Bible really was; and had I read it frombeginning to end a thousand times over, --which I never did, nor evenonce, --it would have been all the same, for I should not have read it ina candid spirit--I should not have wanted to know what it had to tellme. 

"It's just perfectly natural. I remember that two of our men went up toLondon some time ago, and they strolled together into the KensingtonMuseum. When they came back, we asked them what they had seen there, and what they liked best. One of them had seen a great number of richand curiously inlaid cabinets, but he could call to mind nothing else, though he had spent hours in the place, and had been all over itupstairs and downstairs. As for the other man, he couldn't for the lifeof him remember anything, but he could tell you all about the dinnerthey had together at a chop-house afterwards, --what meat, whatvegetables, what liquor they had, and how much it cost to a penny. Yousee it was what their mind was set on that really engrossed theirattention. 

"And so it is in going through the Bible: you'll not get a word ofinstruction from it, if you go in at Genesis and come out at Revelation, if you go in with an unteachable mind. God would have us ask himhumbly, but not dictate to him. Or you may notice in the Bible justsuch things as you want to notice, and not see anything else, thoughit's as plain as daylight. So it was with me, and so it has been andwill be with thousands of sceptics. I just looked into a Bible now andthen to find occasion for cavilling and scoffing, and I found what Iwanted. But I missed all the love, and the mercy, and the promises, andthe holy counsel, and never so much as knew they were there, though myeyes passed over them continually. 

"But now the Bible is a new book to me altogether. I can truly say, inits own words, `The law of thy mouth is dearer unto me than thousands ofgold and silver. ' The more I read, the more I wonder: often and often, when I come to some marvellous passage, I am constrained to stop and bowmy head in astonishment and adoration. There's nothing like studyingthe book itself--asking God, of course, to give one the guidance of hisHoly Spirit. The more I read, the more I find verses that just asexactly fit into my own experience as if they had been penned especiallyin reference to the history, circumstances, character, and wants ofWilliam Foster; and no doubt they were, for that's a most wonderfulthing about the Bible, and shows that it is God's book, --I mean that itas much suits each individual man's case as if it had been originallywritten for that man only. 

"I remember there was an American in our country some years ago, whosaid he would open any lock you could bring him; and so I believe hedid, by making ingenious picks that would get into the most complicatedlocks. But that's nothing to the Bible; for without any force ordifficulty it comes as one universal key that will unlock every heart, and open up its most secret thoughts and feelings, and then throw lightand peace into the darkest corners. This is what the Bible has been andis to me; it shows me daily more of myself, and more of Christ and hislove, and more of a heaven begun on earth. 

"Now I would just advise and urge you all to take up this blessed bookin a humble and teachable spirit, and you'll find it to be to you whatGod in his mercy has made it to me. And I'll tell you how to deal withdifficulties, and hard places, and so on. Now, mind, I'm only justgiving you a leaf out of my own experience. I'm not setting myself upas a teacher. I'm not saying a word to disparage God's ministers, forthey are specially appointed by him to study, and unfold, and expoundthe Word; and I can only say with sincere thankfulness that I come homewith new light on the Bible from every sermon which I hear from ourearnest and deeply taught clergyman. But, as regards our own privatereading, just let me say, if you come to a hard place, read it again;and if you don't understand it then, read it again; and if you don'tunderstand it then, why, read somewhere else in the book, and you'llfind that the more you study the Word throughout, the more one passagewill throw light upon another, the more your mind and heart will expandand embrace and understand truths which were wholly hidden or onlyimperfectly seen before. This, at any rate, is my own happy experience, and my dear wife's also. May God make it the experience of every one ofyou. "

He sat down again amidst the profoundest silence, and then all joinedheartily in the hymn beginning, --

 "Holy Bible, book divine, Precious treasure, thou art mine. "

The vicar then called upon James Barnes to speak. 

"Well, I don't know, " began Jim, starting up, and plunging headlong intohis address; "I don't feel at all fit to stand up in such a company asthis, and yet I've got summat to say, and it's a good deal to the pointtoo, I think. At our last public temperance meeting, the first I'd thepleasure of speaking at, we had a noisy set of fellows trying to put medown, and now we're all as quiet as lambs. 

"Well, William Foster's just been giving you his experience about theBible, and I can say amen to all he's been a-saying; I mean this, thatthe good book's been doing for him and me just what he says. It's beenand made a changed man of him, there's no doubt about that. He's been akind friend to me, and he's been a kind friend to many as has often hadnothing but hard words for him. I like to see a man live up to what heprofesses. 

"Perhaps you'll say, `Jim, why don't you set us an example?' Well, I'mtrying, and I hopes to do better by-and-by. But there's no mistakeabout William. He aren't like a chap I heard talk of the other day. Afriend of mine were very much taken up with him. --`Eh! You should hearhim talk, ' he says. `You never heard a man talk like him; he'd talk aparrot dumb, he would. '--`Very likely, ' says I; `but does he practisewhat he preaches?'--`Why, they reckon not, ' says my friend. Now thatsort don't suit me; and it oughtn't to suit any of us, I'm sure. Wetemperance people aren't like that. 

"Ah! It's a fine thing is this temperance, if you only get hold of itby the Bible end. See what it's been and done for me and mine. Look atmy wife Polly there, sitting on that big stone--(Nay, Polly, 'tain't nouse your shaking your head and winking; I _must_ have it out)--just lookat her: you wouldn't believe as she's the same woman if you'd only seenher at our old house a year ago. I can scarce believe myself as she'sthe same sometimes. I has to make her stand at the other end of theroom now and then to get a long view of her, to be sure she's the same. She's like a new pin now, bright and clean, with the head fixed on inthe right place. 

"Ah! You may laugh, friends, but it's nothing but the plain truth. There's a deal of difference in pins. You just take up a new one, asshines all over like silver, and it'll stand hard work, and it's just asif it were all of a piece--that's like my wife now. But you get hold ofan old yaller crooked pin, with point bent down to scratch you, and whenyou try to make use of it, the head's in the wrong place, it's gotslipped down, and the thick end of the pin runs into your finger, andmakes you holler out--that's like what my wife _was_. But she's not abit like that now; she's like the new pin, bless her; and it's beenTommy Tracks--I begs his pardon--it's been Mr Thomas Bradly, and theBible, and the temperance pledge as has been and gone and done it all. 

"And then there's the children. Why, they used to have scarce a wholesuit of clothes between 'em, and that were made of nearly as many oddpieces and patches as there's days in the year. And as for boots, why, when they'd got to go anywheres, one on 'em, on an errand, and wanted tolook a bit respectable, he were forced to put on the only pair of bootsas had got any soles to 'em, and that pair belonged to the middlemost, but they fitted the eldest middlin' well, as they let in plenty of airat the toes. And what's the case now? Why, on a Saturday night you cansee a whole row of boots standing two and two by the cupboard door, andthey shines so bright with blacking, the cat's fit to wear herself outby setting up her back and spitting at her own likeness in 'em. It'sthe gospel and temperance as has done this. 

"But that ain't all. I've knowed two of our lads fight over a dirtycrust as they'd picked out of the gutter, for their mother hadn't gotnothing for them to eat, --how could she, poor thing, when the money hadall gone down my throat? It's very different now. We've good bread andbutter too on our table every day, with an onion or two, or a redherring to give it a relish, and now and then a rasher of bacon, or abit of fresh meat; and before so very long I've good hopes as we shallhave a pig of our own. Eh! Won't that be jolly for the children? Itold 'em I thought of getting one soon. Says our little Tom, `Daddy, how do they make the pig into bacon?' `They rub it with salt, ' says I. Next day, at dinner-time, I watched him put by a little salt into asmall bag, and next day too, and so on for a week. So at last I says, `What's that for, Tommy?' `Daddy, ' says he, `I'm keeping it for the newpig. Eh! Won't I rub it into him, and make bacon of him, as soon as hecomes?'

"But I ax your pardon, friends, for telling you all this. --`Go on, ' doyou say? Well, I'll go on just for a bit. So you see what a blessingthe giving up the drink has been to me and my family. And, what'sbetter still, it's left room for the gospel to enter. It couldn't getin when the strong drink blocked up the road. I'm not going to boast; Ishould get a tumble, I know, if I did that. It ain't no goodness ofmine, I'm well aware of that. It's the Lord's doing, and his blessingon Thomas Bradly's kindness and care for a poor, wretched, ruined sinnerlike me. But here's the fact: we has the Bible out now every night inour house, and I reads some of the blessed book out loud, and then weall kneels us down and has a prayer; and we goes to church on Sundays, and it's like a little heaven below. Rather different that from what itused to be on the Sabbath-day, when I were singing and drinking with alot of fellows, and it were all good fellowship one minute, and perhapsa kick into the street or a black eye the next. Ay, and there's many ofthe old lot as knows the change, and what the Lord's done for me, andthey're very mad, some on 'em; but that don't matter, so long as theydon't make a madman of me. 

"But just a word or two for you boys and girls of the Band of Hope aforeI sit down. --Now, I've brought with me, by Mr Bradly's leave, somethingto show you. " So saying, he beckoned to a young man, who handed him asmall basket. He opened it, and produced a small jar with a brush init. A half-suppressed murmur of merriment ran through the crowd. "Ah!You know what this is, I see, " continued James Barnes. "'Tain't thefirst time as this has made its appearance in Cricketty Hall. Now, I'mnot going to say anything ill-natured about it. As William Foster hassaid, `let by-gones be by-gones. ' It's very good of him to say so, andI only mean to give you a word or two on the subject. This little jarhas got tar in it, and tar's a very wholesome and useful thing in itsproper place. Now, a few months ago them as shall be nameless meant todaub William all over with this, and feather him afterwards, because hewouldn't break his pledge. A cowardly lot they was to deal so with oneman against a dozen of 'em; but that's neither here nor there. I onlywant you, boys and girls, to take example by William, and stick to yourpledge through thick and thin. See how the Lord protected him, and howhis worst enemy were caught in his own trap. He were just winding acord round his own legs when he thought he'd got William's feet fast inthe snare. Now, boys and girls, when you're tempted to break thepledge, just think of this jar of tar, and offer up a prayer to be keptfirm. 'Twouldn't be a bad thing--specially if you're much in the way oftemptation--just to get a jar like this of your own, and hang it up inthe wash-house, and put some good fresh tar in it, and, just before yougo to your work of a morning, take a good long sniff at the tar--it's afine healthy smell is tar--and maybe it'll be a help to you the wholeday. There, I've done. "

And he sat down as abruptly as he had risen, amid the hearty cheers andlaughter of his hearers. 

The vicar then introduced Dr Prosser, remarking that he was sure thatthose who had heard him lecture last April would be delighted to listento his voice again. The doctor, who was vociferously cheered, stoodforward and said:--

"I have the greatest pleasure in being with you, dear friends, to-day. I have heard a great deal of what has been going on from your excellentvicar, and have now listened with the deepest interest to thecharacteristic speeches which have just been made. I shall be glad nowto say a few words, and to add my testimony to the importance of certaintruths which need enforcing in our day. Thomas Bradly is to follow me, and I feel sure that his homely eloquence and plain practical good sensewill be a fit termination to this most truly interesting meeting. 

"What I would now urge upon you all is this, --the unspeakable importancein these days of grasping realities instead of hunting shadows. I havebeen, I fear, till lately, more or less of a shadow-hunter myself. Iused to sympathise with the cry, --

 "`For names and creeds let senseless bigots fight-- He can't be wrong whose life is in the right. '

"But I don't think this now. We men of science are too apt to deal withabstractions, and to follow out favourite theories, till we are indanger of forgetting that we have hearts and souls as well as heads;that, as has been beautifully said, `The heart has its arguments as wellas the understanding;' and that, as God's Word tells us, `The thingswhich are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen areeternal. ' I am more and more strongly persuaded of this every day. Weare living in times of immense energy and surprising intellectualactivity, but, at the same time, are surrounded with unrealities orhalf-realities. We want something to grasp that will never deceive us, never fly from us. Anything--like mere vague generalities will neversatisfy beings constituted as you and I are; and thus it is that wecannot do without something real in our religion, something definite. We want to come into real communion with a personal Being, whom we canconsciously, though spiritually, approach, love, and reverence. We wanta real person such as ourselves, and yet infinitely above ourselves; andsuch an one we have in the Lord Jesus Christ, our Saviour--one who islike us as man, yet infinitely above us as God--one who can smile on us, because he is human, and can watch over us, guide us, and bear with us, because he is divine. 

"Be sure of this, dear friends, --and I am speaking to you now as personsof intelligence, who can thoughtfully weigh what I say, --science cannever be true science, knowledge can never be real knowledge which setsaside the God who is the fountain of all truth and every kind of truth. If we are to learn anything aright and thoroughly, we must learn it asbelievers in Him in whom `we live, and move, and have our being, ' whohas given us all our faculties, and placed us in the midst of thatuniverse all of whose laws are of his own imposing and maintaining. Depend upon it, you cannot acquire any sound and useful knowledgearight, if you try and keep up an independence of that God who is theauthor and upholder of all things physical and spiritual. At the Crosswe must learn the only way of peace for our souls; and, in dependence onthe grace and wisdom of Him who is in every sense the Light of theworld, we must seek to make real advance in every field of knowledge, content to know and feel our own ignorance, and thankful to gain lightin _all_ our investigations from Him who can at the same time baffle thesearchings of the wisest, and unfold to the humble yet patient andpersevering inquirer treasures of knowledge and wisdom otherwiseunattained and unattainable. In a word, as the whole universe belongsto the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, and was made by him what it is, if we would pursue any branch of knowledge, any science whatever, withthe truest and fullest prospect of success, we must do it as Christians, as in dependence on Him `in whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom andknowledge. '

"This, I am well aware, is not the tendency of the age, which is ratherto seek knowledge apart from God, and to treat science and religion asdistant and cold acquaintances, instead of loving and inseparablefriends. --But now I gladly give way to my old friend Thomas Bradly, whohas, I know, something to tell us which will do us good, if we will onlycarry it away with us. "

"Yes, " said Bradly, slowly and thoughtfully, as he took the speaker'splace, by the vicar's invitation, "it is true, dear friends, that I havesomething of moment to say to you. This has truly been a happy day tome so far. I rejoice in the presence of so many dear friends; and it isindeed kind of Dr Prosser to be at the trouble to come among us, andgive us those words of weighty counsel which we have just heard. I havelistened to the other speeches also with very great satisfaction. Ithink we're got on the right foundation, and we only wants to stickthere. 

"Well now, dear friends, I've got something to show you here. Look atthis little book; it ain't got much outward show about it, but it's gotthe old-fashioned words of God's truth inside. It was my mother's Bibleafore she were married, and a blessed book it were to her, and to herchildren too. I think I can see her now, sitting of a summer's evening, after the day's work were done, under an old apple tree, on a seat as myfather had made for her. She would get us children round her, and be sohappy with her little Bible, reading out its beautiful stories to us, and telling us of the love of Jesus. She always read the Bible to uswith a smile, unless we'd any of us been doing anything wrong, and thenshe read to us what the Bible tells us about sin, and she looked graveindeed then. 

"Well, when she died, the little book were left to our Jane--her motherwished it so--and Jane prized it more than gold, and used to mark herfavourite verses with a line of red-ink under 'em; it were her way, andhelped to bring the passages she wished particularly to remember morequickly to her eye. But the Lord was ordering and overruling thismarking for his own special purposes. Look at the book again; you canmany of you see the red lines. 

"Now, it's some years ago as me and mine was living a long way off fromhere. Jane were in service at a great house, and the butler and lady's-maid, who hated the truth and poor Jane, because she loved it and stoodup for it, managed to take away her character in the eyes of hermistress; but the Lord has graciously opened her mistress's eyes atlast, and that cloud is passed away for ever. I only mention this justto bring in this little book. The butler, to vex poor Jane, had takenaway her Bible from her before he took away her character; but whathappened? Why, when she had left the place, he goes to his drawer andtakes out the Bible when he were looking for summat else; for he'd quiteforgot as he'd hid it there. He sees the red lines, and reads theverses over them, and they make him think, and he's brought torepentance. 

"The little book's beginning to do great things. He wants to restorethe book, and make amends to Jane, does the butler; but he's been such arogue, he's obliged to take himself away into foreign parts somewhere. But I don't doubt but what he'll come right in the end; the Word'll notlet him alone till it's brought him to the foot of the cross. As he'son his way abroad, he leaves the Bible at the station here to be takento our house; but it manages to get lost on the way, and turns up atlast in the tap-room of a public-house. Now, just mark this. If theBible had come straight to our house, it would have helped to clearJane's character with her mistress, and no more; but there were otherwork for it to do. The publican's daughter gets hold of it, and seesthe red lines. She sees the verses above 'em, and they pricks herconscience. She don't like this, and she resolves to get rid of thebook. Yes, yes; but the little book has taken good aim at her heart, and shot two or three arrows into it, and she can't get 'em out; it'sbeen doing its work, or rather the Lord's work. So she takes it withher in the dark, and drops it into William Foster's house, of all placesin Crossbourne. 

"Just fancy any one leaving a Bible in that house ten months ago. Butit came at the very nick of time. William's wife were in great trouble, and she'd tried a great many sticks to lean upon, but they'd all snappedlike glass when she leaned her weight on 'em--she found nothing as'dease the burden of an aching heart. It were just at the right time, then, as the little Bible fell into her room. She took it up, noticedthe red lines, and some precious promises they was scored under, and bydegrees she found peace. --Eh, but William must know nothing of this; howhe would scoff if he found his wife reading the Bible!--But what's this?William finds his missus quite a changed woman; she's twice the wife tohim she was, and his home ain't like the same place. What's the secretof this change? He don't like to ask; but he watches, and he finds theworn old Bible hidden in the baby's cradle. He reads it secretly; heprays over it; the scales fall from his eyes; he becomes a changed man;he comes out boldly and nobly for Christ; he and his wife rejoicetogether in the Lord. 

"But the little homely book hadn't quite done its work yet. Foster onenight asks me to help him in a little trouble which the words of thebook had got him into. Strange that, isn't it? No, 'tain't strange;'cos there's deep things, wonderful things, and terrible things in thatblessed book; but then there's light too to help you past these deeppits, if you'll only use the Word as God's lamp. I takes up the Bibleto help William to a bright text or two, and I sees my mother's name inthe cover. Here was our long-lost Bible; its work so far were done, andnow it's got back to its rightful owner. But after we'd got it backwe'd some time to wait; but waiting-times are blessed times for trueChristians. At last the full evidence, of which Jane's Bible were onelittle link, came up, and my dear sister's character were cleared ofevery spot and stain as had been cast upon it by her fellow-servants. 

"Now, what I want you to notice, dear friends, is just this--howwonderfully the Lord has worked in this matter. If my dear sister hadnot suffered in the first instance from the tongue of the slanderer, that blessed book'd never have done all this good, as far as we can see. The butler wouldn't have been convinced of sin; the publican's daughterwouldn't have been brought to repentance and praise; William and hiswife wouldn't have been made happy and rejoicing believers. And indeed, though I can't explain all now, neither, as far as we can tell, wouldJim Barnes have been what he now is, with his missus like a new pin, norwould poor Ned Taylor have died a humble penitent. All these preciousfruits have growed and ripened out of the loss of my dear sister'sBible. And she herself--well, it's been a sore trial, but it's yieldedalready the peaceable fruit of righteousness. She's lost nothing in theend but a little dross, and her sorrow has helped to bring joy to many. 

"Now, I ask you all to cling to the grand old book; to use it as a swordand a lamp, --a sword against your spiritual enemies, and a lamp to guideyou to heaven. We've heard a good deal just now of the special dangersof our own times, how people are getting wise above what's written. Ah!But `the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. ' Dr Prosser'sa man of science, and you've heard his experience. You see he finds hecan't get on without the old-fashioned gospel. A religion without aregular creed's no use at all. He's found out as religion without areal human and divine Saviour's only moonshine; nay, it's no shine atall; it's just darkness, and nothing else. There's a striking verse inthe prophet Jeremiah as just suits these days. It's this, and I'mreading it out of Jane's Bible. You'll find it in Jeremiah, the eighthchapter and the ninth verse: `The wise men are ashamed, they aredismayed and taken: lo, they have rejected the word of the Lord; andwhat wisdom is in them?' Well, but do you cling to the old Bible--there's nothing like it. There's many a showy life just now as lookswell enough outside; but if you want a life as'll wear well you mustfashion it by God's Word. 

"Now, afore I sits down, I'm just a-going to tell you about DickTrundle's house-warming. --Dick were one of them chaps as are always formaking a bit of a show, and making it cost as little as possible. Hewere a hard-working man, and didn't spend much in drink, so he managedto get a little money together, and he puts up half-a-dozen houses. Theend one were bigger than the rest, and had a bow-window to it. --Well, Dick were a bachelor, and had an old housekeeper to do for him. Whenhis new houses were built, and he were just ready to go into his own, heresolves to have a house-warming, and he invites me and three otherchaps to tea and supper with him. We'd some of us noticed as he'd beensending a lot of things to the house for days past. --When the right daywas come, we goes to the front door, 'cos it looked more civil, and weknocks. Dick himself comes to the door, and says through the keyhole, `I must ask you to go round, for the door sticks, and I can't open it. 'So we goes round. --There were a very handsome clock in the passage, in agrand mahogany case. `Seven o'clock!' says I, looking at it; `surely wecan't be so late. ' `Oh no, ' says he, `the clock stands. I got it dirtcheap, but there's something amiss with the works. But it's a capitalclock, they tell me, entirely on a new principle. '--We was to have teain the best parlour. `Dear me, ' says one of my mates, `what a smell ofgas!' `Yes, ' says Dick; `ain't them beautiful gas-fittings? I got 'emsecond-hand for an old song, but I'm afraid they leak a bit. '--We shouldhave been pretty comfortable at tea, only the window wouldn't shutproperly, and there came in such a draught as set us all sneezing. `I'msorry, ' says Dick, `as you're inconvenienced by that draught; it's thebuilder's fault. Of course I took the lowest estimate for these houses, and the rascal's been and put me in green wood; but the carpenter shallset it all right to-morrow. '--But the worst of all was, the gas escapedso fast it had to be turned off at the meter. `Ah!' says he, `thatwon't matter for to-night, for I've bought a famous lamp, a new patent. I got it very reasonable, because the man who wanted to part with itwere giving up housekeeping and going abroad. ' So we had the lamp in, and a splendid looking thing it were; but I thought I saw a crack in themiddle, only I didn't like to say so. Well, all of a sudden, just inthe middle of the supper, the lamp falls right in two among the dishes, and the oil all pours out over my neighbour's clothes. Such a scenethere was! I tried to keep from laughing, but I couldn't stop, though Ialmost choked myself. --Dick, you may be sure, weren't best pleased. Itwere a bad job altogether; so we bade good-night as soon as it werecivil to do so. But I shall never forget Dick Trundle's house-warming, nor the lesson it taught me. 

"What we want, dear friends, is, not what's new, cheap, and showy, butwhat's solid, and substantial, and thoroughly well made. Will it _wear_well? That's the question after all. Dick's fine things was just gotup for show; they'd no wear in 'em--they was cheap and worthless. Nowthere's a deal of religion going in our day as is like Dick Trundle'shouse and purchases; it's quite new, it makes a great show, it looksvery fine, till you come to search a little closer into it. But itain't according to the old Bible make: it don't get beyond the head; itcan't satisfy the heart. What we want is a religion that's real--justthe religion of the gospel, as puts Jesus Christ and his work first andforemost. If you haven't got that, you've got nothing as you can dependon it'll fail you when you most want it. It may be called very wide, and very intelligent, and very enlightened, but it won't act in the dayof trouble, and when the conscience gets uneasy. 

"Well, now, we've got a happy company here to-night; we're many of ustotal abstainers on principle and most of us, I hope, Bible Christianson principle, after the old fashion; for, if we haven't Christ and hisWord for our foundation, we haven't got that as'll stand the test. No, friends, take the word of Tommy Tracks--and you've got what'll confirmwhat I say all round you in this meeting to-night--the life as is begun, continued, and ended in the fear of God, and with the Bible for itsguide, and Jesus for its example, is the life that's just what you and Iwere meant to live by the God who made us and redeemed us, and it'splainly and unmistakably the life that _wears_ best. "