“Ay, what you all say, and the most any of you can do,” David said bitterly. “Parson and people all alike. He sits in his arm-chair and expects those poor sinners to come up to him, and preaches fine sermons in church, when there’s not one of those as wants the sermons most there to hear him. I walked twenty mile yesterday, and fetched Nat Wills home with me, and I’ve got him at my lodgings now; but if I hadn’t gone after him, do you think he’d have come to me?”
“Then you was a fule,” said Stokes, promptly. “He’ll never do you no good. An’ now you’ll be convertin’ him, and setting un up for a saent. I doan’t hold by they thyur doings.”
They had come into Thorpe by this time; a bright light streamed out from the blacksmith’s forge at the corner, where three roads met. A man who was standing there, with his face turned towards the fiery sparks struck out with every blow upon the anvil, looked round as he heard the advancing steps.
“Be that you, Tom?” he asked, peering into the darkness.
“What’s brought you in from Wesson this time o’ day?” said Stokes, answering one question by another in his slow deliberate way.
“Th’ old missess is tooked so bad, master fetched the doctor hisself, and sent me right off for the passon. I’m to bide hyur for un, and go back in his trap.”
“So th’ old woman’s come to her end at last, and has sent for the passon? Hyur’s Stephens been tryin’ to set down passons and choorch, and arl the rest o’t.”
“Ay; he’d like to have it a’ under his own thumb, for a’ he’s so smarl,” said Stringer, who, like most of the people about, knew David, and had nodded to him across Stokes. He did not mean to offer any offence by his words; it was only stating facts when he alluded to the young man’s personal appearance. “That’s the way wi’ the Methodists. My mawther wor wan, and she never gived poor feyther no quiet. But wann they’m took bad, they likes a rale minister. I take it very kindly o’ Passon Brent to turn to at this time o’ night.”
“Yes, he’ll go,” said Stephens, gravely, “and flatter with smooth words. But what has he done for that old woman’s life? Hasn’t she a name through the country for her hard, wicked, grasping ways? Has he ever been to her, and pleaded with her, and been faithful with her sin? Do you think the Lord’s Apostles were content to go and say a prayer over the poor souls that were dying?”
“Been and pladed with her?” said Stringer, at once. “You’d ha’ had a kettle of boiling water over you, if you’d tried that on wi’ the old missess. Noa, noa,—I doan’t say as passons is bound to ran risks wi’ the wommen, such as that. But they’ve been going on wi’ their ways for a good bit, and it bain’t so strange to they as’t is to you dissenters, as think you’ve found out something new, and must go runnin’ arl over the country a talking about it.”