The next evening there was another conference, but this time it was a conference of three, Jim Coates having come to report progress.
There was now a little band of four Christians among the navvies. They had held two meetings, at which a chapter had been read, and two had prayed. Their mates had not yet learnt the secret of these gatherings; lively times were expected when they did.
Then Jim went on to say how he and Dick had visited the camp on Sunday and found a dreadful state of matters. "Talk o' heathen folks, they're not in it, not a bit of it, and never anybody comes along to say a word to 'em; not even to give 'em a tract. And you should hear 'em talk about religious folks, it 'ud fair make your hair stand on end, that it would. I've been thinking, Mrs. Waring——" and then poor Jim came to a standstill, and sat nervously twirling his hat in his hands. "I've been thinking," he started again, and again there came a pause.
"You needn't be afraid of us, Mr. Coates," said Nanna, "we're only two poor lone women that a mouse would scare out of our wits."
"I don't know about that," said Jim, with a laugh. The bit of fun set him quite at his ease. "I've been thinking that if only we could get the use of a shed we might hold a meeting there on Sundays."
"I'm sure my friend the ganger would arrange that all right for you," put in Phebe.
"Yes, I think he would," replied Jim; "it wasn't on that point I wasn't sure, but on something else."
"And what is that?" inquired Phebe, feeling quite curious as to what could be making Jim shy.
"Well, it's this. I've been thinking if only you'd come and talk to the men as you've talked to me, it might be the making of some of 'em."
"That is impossible!" said Phebe, rising up from her chair in her agitation, "impossible."