“Brother Houston stopped me in what I was going to say,” said Nathan Blyth, “but I’m not sorry, because of the capital finish he made. I just wish to say that I’m half ashamed of my want of faith, and that I’ll give fifty pounds when the day comes that we can make any use of it.”
“Ha’k ye there, noo! O ye ov lahtle fayth! Maister Smallwood, you’ll gan wi’ t’ tide, weean’t yo’? Bless the Lord! We’ll put Bexton te rights, an’ build this chapil, an’ gi’e yo’ ten pund te sattle up wi’, an’ then be riddy for summat else. Ah can hear t’ rappin’ o’ t’ ’ammers, an’ t’ rasp o’ t’ saw, an’ t’ clink o’ t’ troowel alriddy. Seea you can gan on an’ ‘get inte yo’r chariot an’ ride as fast as yo’ can, for there’s t’ sign ov abundance o’ rain?’ There’s t’ soond of a gannin’, an’ t’ wind’s bloaing ower’d t’ tops o’ t’ mulberry trees, an’ Nestleton’s gannin’ te hev a chapil as seeaf as taxes an’ quarter-day.”
Inoculated with the old patriarch’s faith and energy, the meeting took up the matter with warmth, and before they separated, more than three hundred pounds were promised to the new undertaking.
“Halleluia!” said Old Adam, when the result was announced, “whea is sae greeat a God as oor’s? Mister Chairman! the Lord says, ‘Oppen yo’r mooth wide, an’ ah’ll fill it!’ an’ mahne’s sae full, ’at ah’s nearly chooaked wi’ luv an’ grattitude te God!”
“Mr. Chairman,” said Mr. Mitchell, just before the meeting broke up, “I’ve been thinking that, as the matter has taken such a practical turn, and as Mr. Houston’s kitchen won’t hold the people who come, it will be well for us to try to get another place in which to hold a second service, somewhere in or near Nestleton, so as to be ready not only with the money, but the members necessary to keep the new chapel going. I should like to get a foothold in Midden Harbour, and if you, sir, and this meeting are agreeable, I’ll try what can be done.”
Here several members of the meeting shook their heads, and expressed a doubt as to the possibility of getting the ploughshare into such a very hard and flinty soil.
“There you are ageean,” said Adam Olliver, “dootin’ an’ fearin’, yo’ will hev it that the Lord is’nt a match for the devil. Let’s hod up t’ ’ands of oor yung minister, God bless ’im. If t’ walls o’ Jericho fell doon afoore t’ soond o’ t’ ram’s ’orns, it’s queer if Midden Harbour can keep oot the hosts o’ God’s elect. If naebody else will, ah’ll propooase it mysen; ’at a meetin’ be hodden i’ Midden Harbour, as seean as we can finnd a spot te hod it in. My opinion is ’at it’s just t’ right thing te deea. John Wesley said ’at we wer’ nut only te gan te them ’at needed uz, but te gan te them ’at needs uz meeast. There isn’t a warse spot i’ all t’ cuntry side then Midden Harbour, bud if wa’ can nobbut get t’ Gospil fairly in amang ’em, we sall tonn the devil clean oot ov his den, an’ mak’ t’ ugly spot as breet as a patch o’ Paradise.”
The proposition of Father Olliver was seconded and carried, and the meeting dispersed, strong in the determination to “go forward in the name of the Lord.”