Nestleton Magna Part 12

Thoosan's upo' thoosan's. Mah wod, Natty! bud they must mak' t'

squire's heead wark te' read 'em. They a'most tonn me dizzy te leeak at 'em."

Again the butler appeared, cutting short Old Adam's wonderment, and ushered them into the presence of the stern and stately squire, whose reception of them was courteous enough but cold. Farmer Houston, as the tenant of a farm which had been in the Houston family through many generations, was personally known to Squire Fuller, who accosted him by name.

"Good evening, Mr. Houston. Take a seat, but first introduce me to your friends."

Mr. Clayton received a cold and distant bow; Nathan Blyth a scrutinising gaze, more piercing than pleasant; but that good man and true, bore him as a true man should.

"And this," said Farmer Houston, "is one of my labourers, who has been an old and trusted servant to myself and my father for more than fifty years. His name is Adam Olliver."

The squire bowed in honest reverence to the time-worn veteran, who bore such a certificate of character, and asked them to what he was indebted for the honour of their visit.

Farmer Houston stated their case. He spoke of the lowly band of Methodists who lived in the village and wors.h.i.+pped G.o.d as their taste and conscience taught; of the services held in Adam's cottage, and then in his own kitchen; how even that was now too small for the congregation; how they desired to build a little chapel for the more decent and successful carrying out of their work, and how they had come to ask him to sell or lease to them a sc.r.a.p of land, on which to build their house of prayer. "Mr. Clayton," he said, "will answer any questions as to our doctrines or proceedings, and we shall be deeply grateful, sir, if you can see your way to grant us our request."

"I do not think there is any need to ask questions," said Mr. Fuller, with an ominous shake of the head. "You have the parish church, which is sufficiently large to hold all who choose to go. My friend the rector is a most estimable man, and I do not see that anything is to be gained by setting up an opposition establishment. I don't understand this newfangled religion you call Methodism, but I gather that it is a kind of fanatical parody on the National Church; that its adherents are remarkable for shouting and groaning, and for going to great excesses of mere emotional excitement. I am not particularly in love with the ideas that are taught in the parish church itself, but I certainly prefer them to yours, and shall as certainly refuse to be the means of introducing what is sure to be a source of sectarian jealousy, into our quiet and peaceful little village. It has done without such a thing from time immemorial, and shall not with my permission be exposed to what I cannot but regard as the introduction of a very pernicious element of mischief."

"Bud," said Adam Olliver, whose anxiety could not be restrained, "we aren't inthroducin' owt 'at's new. We've been hoddin' meetin's i'

Nestleton for five-an'-thotty year, an' naebody's na worse for it, an'

monny on us, sor, is a good deal better for 't. Parson knoas 'at we hae nae opposition tiv 'im, an' some on us gans te t' chotch i' t'

mornin's. Ah could tell yo', sor, o' monny a yan 'at's been meeade 'appy there; o' pooachers 'at's sell'd their guns, an' drunkards 'at's tonn'd sober, an' monny a scooare o' precious sowls ez dee'd rejoicin'

i' Jesus Christ, through t' meetin's 'at's been hodden i' mah lathle hoose an' i' t' maister's kitchin. As for t' village bein' peeaceful, there's plenty te deea at Midden Harbour, roond t' publichoose an'

uther spots. We want all t' village te fear G.o.d an' seeave their sowls. If yo' pleease, sor, deean't damp uz all at yance. Tak' a bit o' tahme te consither on 't. While you're thinkin', we sall be prayin', an' ah wop you'll excuse ma, sor, if ah say 'at if you'll pray aboot it yo'rself, it'll help yo' te c.u.m tiv a right detarmination."

Here Farmer Houston slyly pulled the old man's coat, afraid that he should venture too far and do more harm than good. Mr. Clayton, however, was delighted with the clear, concise way in which the old man pleaded the cause of his Master. He knew that He who told His disciples that when they were brought before rulers and magistrates He would tell them what they ought to say, was speaking through the lips of the G.o.dly hedger, who knew so well how to talk with G.o.d.

"Ah weean't trubble yo' no farther," said the old man, in obedience to the farmer's hint; "bud if you'll tonn te t' fifth chapther ov Acts, an' t' thotty-eight' an' thotty-nint' va.s.ses, you'll me'bbe finnd a bit o' good advice."

The squire smiled, partly in superior knowledge, and partly in amus.e.m.e.nt at the unsophisticated Doric of the speaker, but he could not ridicule such transparent honesty.

"Well, gentlemen," said he, "I can give you no encouragement to-night, but I'll take time to weigh the matter, and will let you know my decision."

"Prayse the Lord for that," said Adam Olliver, "an' may G.o.d guide uz all!"

Little did they think of the awful storm and tempest which should burst over Waverdale Hall and its aristocratic inmates before that final decision should be announced. The portly butler was summoned to conduct them to the door, and when the little party was fairly out into the park, they began to compare notes on the aspect of affairs.

"I don't think we shall succeed," said Farmer Houston, who was never of a very sanguine temperament.

"No," said Mr. Clayton, "Adam's pleading won upon his courtesy, but it will not change his mind."

"No," said Nathan Blyth, with a sigh, "we may put it out of court.

Nestleton'll have to go without a Methodist chapel for this generation, depend on't."

"Seea you think 'at squire's bigger then G.o.d, di yo'? Yan wad think, te hear yo' talk, that it was a matter for him an' uz te sattle. Is ther' onnything ower hard for the Lord? an' it's His business noo, an'

nut oors, an' ah for yan's gannin' te trust Him te t' end. Though it tarry, wayt for it. T' oad gentleman dizn't like it, ah can see, bud he'll hae te lump it, for ah's as sartan as ah's livin' 'at Nestleton chapel 'll be built afoore twelve munths is ower. He says he'll tak tahme te think on't; that's summat, an' mind mah wods, Squire Fuller'll be willin' aneeaf befoore the Lord's deean wiv 'im."

Adam's faith was great, as all G.o.d's people's ought to be. The mountain may be great, but when such faith as Adam's says "Be thou removed," it rocks from base to summit and is cast into the sea.

CHAPTER XVII.

DOCTOR JEPHSON GIVES AN UNPROFESSIONAL OPINION.

"Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou decked in silken stole, Grave these counsels on thy soul; Say man's true genuine estimate, The grand criterion of his fate, Is not, art thou high or low?

Did thy fortune ebb or flow?

Tell them, and press it on thy mind, As thou thyself must shortly find, The smile or frown of righteous heaven, To virtue or to vice is given."

_Burns._

At the turn of the road where Nathan Blyth's forge and homestead stood were three cottages, tenanted by farm labourers and their families. In one of these lay sick unto death the mother of a household of small children; and Lucy Blyth, whose heart was full of tenderness and all kindly charities, used to go every day to succour the poor invalid, and to tend and nurse the hapless babes who were soon to be left motherless and alone. Not only as an angel of mercy did the fair girl go on this loving errand, but as a Gospel messenger, and in winsome ways she led the ailing woman to the Cross. Through her instrumentality the sinner's Friend had been revealed to her anxious heart, and now, blest with the hope of a heavenly inheritance, and enabled to confide her infants to the sure care of the orphan's G.o.d, she was waiting with a calm content and a peaceful joy the moment of her crowning.

Doctor Jephson, who had ridden daily into Nestleton to attend the dying woman, had been a wondering witness of Lucy's gentle care and her G.o.dly influence over her dying charge. He had come to entertain a very high reverence and deep respect for such a combination of youth and beauty with the clear intelligence, the elevated character, and the nameless charm which won all hearts who came in contact with the blacksmith's daughter.

"She must be a changeling," he would say, as he left the lowly roof.

"She is as perfect a gentlewoman as was ever born in ducal mansion, and as handsome a woman as ever wore a coronet of pearls." Nor was this by any means the only place in which that excellent physician met the object of his admiration. There was not a home in the village, into which unwelcome sickness came, but Lucy's welcome and willing visits brought help and sympathy, balm and comfort of the rarest and most useful kind.

Now, it so happened, that just at this time, Squire Fuller was suffering severely from an attack of gout, and the patrician invalid was daily visited professionally by Doctor Jephson. Being one of the very few visitors to Waverdale Hall, whose breadth of intellect and high attainments made his conversation interesting to the imprisoned squire, the doctor spent as much time with him as his engagements would permit, and many and hot were the discussions between the two, as they sat in the cosy library. The doctor was an intelligent believer in revelation, a Christian in faith and character, and so it was never long before he came athwart the half-scoffing scepticism of his patient. He fully knew the value of the patronage he received from the Hall, but his manly independence of opinion was in no wise restrained or compromised by selfish considerations--a feature in his character for which in his heart the stately squire held him, despite his seeming anger, in high and genuine esteem.

Latterly, the exploits of the poaching fraternity, and certain glaring cases of immorality and rural crime had come before him, as a county magistrate. Referring to these, in the course of a hot argument, the squire expressed a doubt as to whether virtue, honour, and uprightness were to be found amongst the poorer cla.s.ses in rural districts.

"Aye, as often as they are to be found in the higher walks of life,"

said Dr. Jephson. "There are people in your own village, both men and women, whose lives are as n.o.ble and whose characters are as pure and excellent as any that you can find amid the homes of rank and wealth."

"You can't name them," said Squire Fuller, with a sneer. "It's merely a sentimental notion of Arcadian innocence, the dream of an optimist, the delusion of a poet, which vanish like mist when you come into actual contact with them. You can't produce a specimen of the peasant cla.s.s who is superior to the charms of skittles and beer."

"Yes, I can," said the doctor, emphatically. "A finer or more manly character than Old Adam Olliver cannot be found. If you can picture to yourself a Sir Philip Sydney in corduroy, or a Bayard on a donkey, you can sketch Adam Olliver for yourself."

"Why, that's the old man who came the other day on some wild-goose errand about a Methodist meeting-house. I confess I was greatly taken with him, and when Gregory Houston told me that he had been a faithful servant of his and of his father before him, for over fifty years, I certainly felt as though I owed him some reverence and respect."

"Aye, and well you might; for rough and uncouth as he is, he is one of Nature's n.o.bles, and if the new Methodist chapel will give us a village peasantry of that kind, it is a pity that there should not be one in every village in the land."

"But," persisted the squire, "Adam Olliver is evidently a 'character,'

and must therefore be regarded as an exception to the rule."

"No, he isn't," said the doctor, "his good wife Judith is a fitting match for him, and Nathan Blyth, the blacksmith, is as high principled and as good a hater of meanness as anybody in the land. As for that glorious girl of his, there is not her equal in Yorks.h.i.+re. She is the Lady Bountiful of the village, for though her resources may be small, as far as money is concerned, that is more than compensated for by the energy of her character, her untiring self-sacrifice, and the magic of her sympathy is felt in every house in Nestleton where sickness or sorrow has found a place. I tell you she is the good genius of the village, which could far better spare Squire Fuller than Lucy Blyth."

"I tell you what, Doctor Jephson," said the squire, with a sardonic smile, "I'll make it worth your while to marry her. You are evidently over head and ears in love with this village Venus, and if she is all that you say, could you do better than take her for your own wife? I should be much relieved if you did."

"Take her I would with all my heart," said the doctor, warmly, "with the certainty that I had got a prize without a parallel; but I am growing grizzly and old, and she would no more mate with me than the fawn of a summer's growth would accept the caresses of a polar bear. I should propose with the certainty of being rejected; but were I twenty years younger, I would make the venture, Squire Fuller. But, pray, how would it relieve you?"

"Why, that foolish boy of mine has taken it into his head to entertain a pa.s.sion for this paragon of virtue and beauty, which has not only turned his brain, but is undermining his health. He knows, of course, that any such ill-omened union is out of the question, and I can see,"

quoth the squire, warmly, "how bravely he tries to resign himself to the inevitable; but the struggle is stealing the light from his eye, the colour from his cheek, and the nerve from his limbs. If some kind fellow, fairy or fetch, would spirit her away, it would be an unspeakable relief." Here the squire heaved a sigh which told of the perturbation of his soul.

Dr. Jephson received the information in silence, but with a considerable amount of surprise.

"I imagine," continued the squire, "that this peerless young lady is spreading her net with a good deal of skill and perseverance, in the hope of landing such a very desirable prize."