“But please we haven’t got any money,” she said anxiously.
“Marry come up! to think I’d take money from such bits of things as you! I want no money, child. The good Lord, He pays such bills as yours. And what set you coming to the preaching? Did your father bid you?” (See Note 2.)
“Father likes us to come,” said Cissy, when her thanks had been properly expressed; “but he didn’t bid us—not to-night. Mother, she said we must always come if we could. I’m feared Baby won’t understand much: but Will and me, we’ll try.”
“I should think not!” replied Mrs Wade, laughing. “Why, if you and Will can understand aught that’ll be as much as need be looked for. How much know you about it?”
“Please, we know about the Lord Jesus,” said Cissy, putting her hands together, as if she were going to say her prayers. “We know that He died on the cross for us, so that we should not be punished for our sins, and He sends the Holy Ghost to make us good, and the Bible, which is God’s Word, and we mustn’t let anybody take it away from us.”
“Well, if you know that much in your little hearts, you’ll do,” said the landlady. “There’s many a poor heathen doesn’t know half as much as that. Ay, child, you shall ’bide for the preaching if you want, but you’re too soon yet. You’ve come afore the parson. Eat your bread and milk up, and ’bide where you are; that’s a snug little corner for you, where you’ll be warm and safe. Is Father coming too, and Neighbour Ursula?”
“Yes, they’re both coming presently,” said Cissy.
The next arrival was that of two gentlemen, the preacher and a friend. After this people began to drop in, at first by twos and threes, and as the time drew near, with more rapidity. The Mounts and Rose Allen came early; Elizabeth Foulkes was late, for she had hard work to get away at all. Last of anybody was Margaret Thurston and with her a tall, strong-looking man, who was John Thurston, her husband. John Johnson found out the corner where his children were, and made his way to them; but Rose Allen had been before him, and was seated next to Cissy, holding the little hand in hers. On the other side of little Will sat an old lady with grey hair, and a very sweet, kind face. She was Mrs Silverside, the widow of a priest. By her was Mrs Ewring the miller’s wife, who was a little deaf, and wanted to get near the preacher.
When the room was full, Mr Pulleyne, who was to preach that evening, rose and came forward to the table, and gave out the Forty-Second Psalm.
They had no hymn-books, as we have. There were just a few hymns, generally bound up at the end of the Prayer-Book, which had been written during the reign of good King Edward the Sixth; but hardly any English hymns existed at all then. They had one collection of metrical Psalms—that of Sternhold and Hopkins, of which we never sing any now except the Hundredth—that version known to every one, beginning—