The man looked at him—there was still some light in the room—and after the lapse of a few moments he said:
“You have spoke a great truth, Mr. Wesley. Humility is for all of us. Pray that I may attain it, brother. It should come easy enough to some that we know, but for such as you and me, especially me, dear brother, 'tis not so easy. The gift of prophecy surely raises a humble man into circumstances so lofty that he is above the need for any abject demeanour. Ay, now that I reflect on't, I am not sure that I have any right to be humble. 'Twould be like flouting a gift in the face of the giver. 'Twould be like a servant wearing a ragged coat when his master hath provided him with a fine suit of livery.”
He had risen from his place, and now he remarked that the evening had come and he had far to travel. He gave Wesley his hand, nodded to the others and went through the door without another word.
The men whom he left in the room drew long breaths. One of them—the farmer—made a sound with his tongue against his teeth as one might do when a child too young to know better breaks a saucer. The miller gave an exclamation that went still further, showing more of contempt and less of pity. Mr. Hartwell, the mine-owner, who was a quiet, well-read man, said:
“I have heard of cases like to his; I have been reading of revivals, as some call such an awakening as has taken place through Mr. Wesley's preaching, and every one of them has been followed by the appearance of men not unlike Dick Pritchard in temper—men who lose themselves in their zeal—get out of their depth—become seized by an ambition to teach others before they themselves have got through the primer.”
“For me, I call to mind naught but the magic men of Egypt,” said Jake Pullsford. “They were able to do by their traffic with the Evil One all that Moses did by miracle. I always had my doubts about the power that Dick Pritchard professed—finding water by the help of his wand of hazel—as 'twere a wizard's wand—maybe the staves of the Egyptian sorcerers were of hazel—I shouldn't wonder. And now he falls into a trance and says he sees a vision, equalling himself to St. John at Patmos! For myself I say that I never knew of a truly godly man falling into a trance. My grandfather—you are old enough to remember him, farmer?”
“I mind him well—pretty stiff at a bargain up to the end,” said the farmer with a side nod of acquiescence.
“We be talking of the same man,” resumed the miller. “Well, I say that he told me of one such mystical vision seer that came from Dorset in his young days, and he saw so many things that he was at last tried for sorcery and burnt in the marketplace. Ah, those were the days when men wasn't allowed by law to go so far as they do now-a-days. Why, 'tis only rarely that we hear of a witch burning in these times.”
Wesley held up his hand.
“I had my misgivings in regard to Pritchard from the first,” he said. “And when I got news that he had been causing you trouble I felt that he had indeed been an agent of the Evil One. But now—God forbid that I should judge him in haste. I scarce know what to think about him. I have heard of holy men falling into trances and afterwards saying things that were profitable to hear. I am in doubt. I must pray for guidance.”