And in matters of religion Miriam’s mind was a virgin soil. She was absolutely ignorant of doctrine. Until she came to Pole Moor never once had she set foot in Church or Chapel. As an infant she had not been baptised—a source of much satisfaction to my father, who was great in his scorn of what he called pædobaptism, which I take to mean the baptism of infants; and I have heard him hold forth by the hour upon the sinfulness of admitting puling babes to the membership of Christ’s Church, and on the whimsical practice of allowing sponsors in the persons of godfathers and godmothers to take upon themselves spiritual responsibility for the backslidings of their godchildren, for, as Enoch Hoyle sagely remarked, in the sight of God every tub must stand upon its own bottom. So my father set himself to preparing Ruth for baptism and admission to the Church of God at Pole Moor by expounding to her the true faith as declared by Calvin. And to all his teaching did Miriam seriously incline. It was a winsome sight, those drear winter nights, to see the old man sat by the glowing peat fire with Miriam on a hassock by his knees the while, one hand gently stroking her ebon locks, he fed her, as Enoch Hoyle put it, with the sincere milk of the Word, she staring musing into the red embers, her hands resting idle on her lap.
Now as to the absolute soundness of the doctrine preached by my father I have, I grieve to say, in these my riper years, had many heart-searchings. But no doubts troubled Miriam’s mind. I do not doubt that from the first she accepted my father as the very oracle of God. She stood as it were appalled before the immensity of his wisdom. That one man, and a little one at that, should have read all the books that cumbered the shelves of his little study, that he should be able to read the very Hebrew in which the Tables of the Law were traced by the Divine finger, that he could read and write the very tongue in which Jesus spoke to his disciples by the sea of Galilee or on the Mount,—oh! who could doubt that such a man must be as the prophets of old, his every word but the echo of the Master’s voice. I do verily believe that if, in some moment of inspired fervour, my father had assured Miriam that the moon was made of green cheese she would have e’en taken his word for it. Never before nor after had my father a more reverent, a more loving pupil. In very truth she sat at his feet and treasured his every word as a pearl beyond price.
But Enoch Hoyle, who felt it his duty to aid in Miriam’s spiritual and doctrinal education, was often sore discomfited, and confessed to me, oft with tears in his eyes, that he believed at bottom, despite her seeming conformity, Miriam was little better than a pagan and a heathen.
“And what makes you think so?” I asked the worthy deacon.
“Weel, aw’m oppen to tell yo’, if yo’re oppen to hear me,” quoth Enoch, settling himself for a good talk, than which there was nothing the good soul liked better, the sound of his own voice being ever the music he liked best. “Aw’ve been a member o’ Pole Moor sin’ th’ chapel were oppened in th’ year o’ our Lord 1790. Aw joined th’ church a bit afore that, when th’ saints met for prayer an’ thanksgivin’ in th’ Silent Woman, th’ public down i’ Slowit yonder. Aw’m not denyin’ ’at there were conveniences i’ holdin’ th’ sarvices i’ a licensed house, for preichin’s dry work, an’ listenin’ to some o’ th’ preichers we’n had to put up wi’ ’s drier still. Aw’ve allus thowt th’ Lord missed his way when he didn’t ca’ me to be a preicher mysen. But aw’ve done mi best to mak’ up for that mistake on th’ part o’ Providence bi keepin’ th’ regular ministers up to th’ mark. We’n had ’em o’ all mak’s sin’ th’ Pole were first oppened. There’s bin Calvinist an’ hyper-Calvinists an’ Fullerites an’ Antinomians, an’, as aw’n said, all mak’s, an’ they’n all had th’ benefit o’ owd Enoch Hoyle’s opinion o’ their doctrine an’ preichin’, an’ aw ma’ no doubt they were all th’ better for it. Aw’n stuck like a leech to th’ owd spot, an’ purge th’ flock as they liked, an’ some o’ th’ parsons welly purged it to death, they ne’er managed to purge Enoch Hoyle out o’ it. Aw’d have stuck to it if there’d bin nowt but heath-bobs to preich to, as folk said ’ud be th’ case when we raised our Ebenezer at th’ Pole.”
“But what in the name o’ goodness has all this ancient history to do with Miriam?” I asked.
“Aw’m comin’ to that, Abe, all i’ good time. Dunnot thee be impatient. Th’ gret fault o’ th’ present day is just that same wantin’ to cut things short. Why, if we tuk notice o’ th’ younger end they’d do away wi’ th’ very hour-glass on th’ pulpit desk, an’ we’d ne’er be sure we’d had our money’s worth. What aw want yo’ to understand is ’at me havin’ sat sin’ th’ sap were fresh i’ mi. veins till now aw’m in th’ sere an’ yellow leaf, under this preicher an’ that, aw should know th’ ins an’ outs o’ religious doctrine as weel as here an’ there a one.”
“That seems to stand to reason,” I conceded, though with some misgiving, for I could not see to what this prolix prelude tended.
“Weel,” proceeded Enoch, evidently gratified by my concession, “weel, if there’s one point on which aw’m more clear nor another it’s on th’ doctrine o’ predestination in a’ its fulness an’ consekenses.”
“Ah!” I interposed. “I’ll not be sorry to be enlightened on that point myself. I’ve never been on very sure ground there.”