Said another, whose few wits had been lost in beer, he’d ‘as soon put the parson in the horse-pond as look at him.’
The gathering storm Wentworth took as a signal to retire. At the outside women were weeping and shivering in the cold. They were the wives of the Chartist committee-men, who sat nightly in the public-house, spending money which the poor deserted wives and mothers sorely needed at home. It was a grievous sight, and the young parson grieved to think how little he could do to remove the evil which existed all round. Suddenly he found himself addressed by a young woman, whose fresh, girlish face of beauty was a contrast to the weary and despairing faces that met him on every side.
‘Oh, sir,’ said she enthusiastically, ‘if you could but get the men to listen to you, how much better it would be for them! The poor fellows need a friend.’
It seemed to Wentworth as if a ray of sunlight had suddenly appeared. Naturally the young parson turned round to look at the speaker; but, startled at her audacity, the beautiful girl had suddenly disappeared, and the next face that met him wore a very different expression. If one face was a sunbeam the other was a thundercloud. It was the face of the senior deacon. For a long time after, however, the memory of that fair girl’s face haunted Wentworth as a dream. Seeing that a storm was rising, he asked the senior deacon, in his blandest tones, how he was. Harshly as a nutmeg-grater, the senior deacon replied that he was as well as could be expected, considering the state that the town was in. Severely looking at the parson, he added:
‘We missed you to-night, sir.’
‘Oh yes, at the prayer meeting. I had intended to be present, though. I find I made a sad mistake on the last occasion. You know I called on Mr. B.’—naming one of the richest supporters of the chapel—‘to engage in prayer, and what an unpleasant silence there was till the pew-opener, coming up, whispered in my ear, “Sir, Mr. B. never prays,” and I had to pray myself?’
‘Well, sir,’ said the senior deacon, ‘we have not all the same gifts; some can pray in public, others can’t. But you need not have kept away from the meetin’ on that account.’
‘Well,’ said Wentworth, ‘the truth was, I had intended to be there, but I went to the Chartist meeting instead.’
‘So it seems, sir. You had not been there long before we all heard of it. The news was over the town in a very little while. I own it quite took away my breath.’
‘Which I am glad to find you have recovered by this time,’ said the minister gaily. ‘I was not only there, but I made a speech.’