Part 8 (1/2)

”Help yo',” said Adam, ”te be seear He will. But you mun help yersen.

If a fellow c.u.ms inte my hoose o' purpose te mak' ma' miserable, an'

begins te pull t' winder cottain doon, an' rake t' fire oot, tellin'

ma' 'at darkness an' gloom 's best fo' ma'; ah sudn't begin to arguy wiv him. Ah sud say, 'c.u.m, hod thee noise an' bundle oot. Ah knoa better then that, an' ah'll hev as mitch dayleet as ah can get.' Noo, theease doots o' yours, they c.u.m for neea good, and they shutt t'

sunleet o' faith oot o' yer heart. Noo, deean't ax 'em te sit doon an'

hev a crack o' talk aboot it, an' lissen tiv 'em till you're hoaf oot o' yer wits. Say 'Get oot, ah deean't want yo,' an' ah weean't hae yo'!' an' oppen t' deear _an' expect 'em te gan_. Meeastly you'll finnd 'at they'll tak t' hint an' vanish like a dreeam. Brother Hepton, doots is neea trubble, if yo' weean't giv 'em hooseroom.

Questionin's weean't bother yo' if yo' deeant give 'em a answer. An'

whativver yo' deea, fill your heead wi' t' Wod ov G.o.d. 'It's written!'

'It's written!' _that's_ the way te settle 'em.--Sister Petch, hoo are _you_ gettin' on?”

Sister Petch is an aged widow, poor amongst the poorest, an infirm and weakly woman, living a solitary life, but ever upborne by a cheerful Christian content which is beautiful to see.

”Why, I've nothing but what's good to say of my gracious Lord and Saviour. Sometimes ah gets a bit low-spirited an' dowly, especially when my rheumatism keeps me from sleeping. But I go straight to the cross, and when I cry, 'Lord, help me!' I get abundant strength. The Lord won't lay on me more than ah'm able to bear, an' sometimes He makes my peace to flow like a river. My Saviour's love makes up for all my sorrows.”

”Hey, mah deear sister, ah'll warrant it diz. You an' me's gettin' aud an' creaky, an' the Lord's lowsin' t' pins o' wer tabernacle riddy for t' flittin.' Bud if t' hoose o' this tabernacle be dissolved, we knoa 'at we've a buildin' ov G.o.d. Till that day c.u.ms, 'Lord, help me!' is a stoot crutch te walk wi', an' a sharp swoord te fight wi', an' a soft pillo' te lig wer heeads on, an' a capital gla.s.s te get a leeak at heaven through. The Lord knoas all aboot it, Peggy, an' He says te yo', 'ah knoa thi patience an' thi povvaty,' but thoo's _rich_, an'

bless His neeame you'll be a good deal richer yit.

'On all the kings of 'arth, Wi' pity we leeak doon; An' clayme i' vartue o' wer berth, A nivver fadin' croon.'

Halleluia! Peggy. You're seear ov all yo' want for tahme an' for etarnity.--Brother Laybourn, tell us o' the Lord's deealin's wi'

_you_.”

Brother Laybourn is the village barber, and like many others of his fraternity is much given to politics, an irrepressible talker, great at gossip, and being of a mercurial temperament befitting his lithe little frame, he is a little deficient in that stedfastness of character which is requisite for spiritual health and progress. In answer to Adam's invitation, he runs down like a clock when the pendulum's off----

”Why, I hev to confess that I isn't what I owt to be, an' I isn't altegither what I might be, but I is what I is, an' seein' things is no better, I'm thenkful that they're no worse. I've a good monny ups and doons, and inns and oots, but by the grace of G.o.d I continny to this day, an'”----

”Ah'll tell you what it is, Brother Laybourn,” said Adam, cutting him short in his career, ”Fooaks 'at ez sae monny ups and doons is varry apt to gan doon altegither; an' them 'at ez so monny ins an' oots mun take care they deean't get clean oot, till they can't get in na mair.

'Unsteeable as watter thoo sall nut excel.' It's varry weel to be thenkful, bud when wa' hae te confine wer thenks te nut bein' wa.r.s.e than we are, it dizn't seeam as though we were takkin' mitch pains te be better. 'T' kingdom o' heaven suffers violence, an' t' violent tak'

it be _foorce_,' Leonard. Ah pre' yo' te give all diligence te mak'

your callin' an' election sure: an' if yo'll n.o.bbut pray mair, yo'll hev a good deal mair te thenk G.o.d for then ye seem te hev te-neet.--Lucy, mah deear, hoo's the Lord leadin' you te-neet?”

Lucy Blyth's experience is generally fresh and healthy, and her utterances are always listened to with gladness and profit, for Lucy is a favourite here as everywhere else.

”I thank G.o.d,” says Lucy, ”that the Lord _is_ leading me, though it is often by a way that I know not. I often find that the path of duty is very hard to climb, and the other path of inclination looks both easy and pleasant. If it were not for the real and precious help I get by prayer, I fear that I should choose it. I am trying to do right, and desire above all things to keep the comfort of a good conscience, and to walk in the light. I find that one of the best means of resisting temptation and mastering self and sin is to work for G.o.d and to try to benefit others. I pray every day of my life that I may be a lowly, loving disciple of my Saviour, and His conscious love and favour are the joy of my heart.

'Blindfold I walk this life's bewildering maze, Strong in His faith I tread the uneven ways, And so I stand unshrinking in the blast, Because my Father's arm is round me cast; And if the way seems rough, I only clasp The Hand that leads me with a firmer grasp.'”

”Hey, mah bairn,” Adam makes reply, and there is a wealth of tenderness in his tones, ”t' way o' duty is t' way o' seeafty. It may be rough sometahmes, an' thorns an' briars may pierce yer feet, but if yo' n.o.bbut clim' it patiently, you'll finnd 'at t' top on't 'at G.o.d's gotten a blessin' riddy fo' yo' 'at pays for all t' trubble an' pain.

Besahdes that, He's wi' yo' all t' way up, an' He's sayin' te yo' all t' while, 'Leean hard upo' Me!' 'Sorrow may endure for a neet,' Lucy, 'bud joy c.u.ms i' t' mornin'.' A trubble-clood brings a cargo o'

blessin', an' t' bigger the blessin' the blacker it leeaks. Nestleton Brig settles doon strannger for all t' looads 'at gans ower it, an'

you'll be better an' purer for t' boddens yo' hae te carry. Ah's glad yo' finnd a c.u.mfot an' a blessin' i' trying te deea good; for there's nowt oot ov heaven 'at's sae like Jesus as wipin' tears and soffenin'

trubbles, an' takkin balm to bruis'd hearts. Besahdes, you can't mak'

music for other fooaks withoot hearin' it y'ursen. Them 'at gives gets, an' as seean as ivver we begin te watter other fooaks' gardens, ivvery leeaf i' wer aun is drippin' wi' heavenly dew. May the Lord bless yo', mah bairn, ivvery hoor i' t' day!”----To this every member of the cla.s.s responds with a genuine and warm ”Amen.”