“Well, they couldn’t be better,” said Tom, pleased with this tribute to his benefactor.
“Noah, but they set up to be. Nah aw’ll nooan go as fur as some folk ’at aw know, ’at say as parson’s bun’ to be oather a rogue or a fooil.”
“That’s strong, Ben, isn’t it?”
“Aye, lad, it’s nooan exactly what yo’d call meeat for babes; but aw reckon it meeans summat like this—’at if a parson believes all he preeaches he’s a fooil, an’ if he dunnot he’s t’other thing.”
“But surely,” began Tom.
“Aye, aye, aw know what yo’d say—’at they do believe. Weel then aw’ll tell yo’ I’m too mich respeck for their intellec’s to think at them, wi’ all their college larnin’, can believe one hawf o’ what ther paid to teach. Nooah, nooah, religion as them mak’ o’ preachers mis-ca’ their teachin’ is nobbut fit for women an’ childer, an’ to keep th’ ignorant i’ awe. Nah! aw’m a reely religious man missen, an’ that’s why aw dunnot hold wi parsons.”
This seemed a somewhat novel reason for discrediting ministers, and Tom could but look his surprise, which was exactly what Ben wanted.
“Nah! aw’ll gi’ yo’ a hinstance,” he said, sitting on a low wall—they were out for a walk—and bidding Tom follow his example. “Aw’ll gi’ yo’ a hinstance. Yo’n bin to th’ Baptis’ Chapel, wheer Jabez Tinker goes?”
Tom nodded.
“Nah, then, if yo’ll swallow all th’ parson says at Aenon yo’ mun believe that afore aw wer’ born aw wer’ predestined awther to heaven or hell—yo’ follow me?”