“Nay, I’ll be hanged if he shall. You shall have my house first, though we have no room to spare.”
Piggy Morris stood still a moment. Lucy’s heart beat with hope. Then Morris exclaimed,—
“Lucy Blyth! For your sake, you shall have my old malt house. I can do without it, and the Methody parson shall come into Midden Harbour!”
“Oh, Mr. Morris! God bless you for saying that. Now I shall be able to come and see you every week.” That clinched the nail, and as Adam Olliver said at the quarterly meeting, “God was strangger than the devil,” and Midden Harbour couldn’t “keep oot the hosts o’ God’s elect.”
“Come in and tell my father,” said Lucy, as they reached the garden gate, “you’ll be the most welcome guest he’s seen for many a day.”
“Good evening, Morris,” said Natty Blyth, who had come to the door; “Come in a bit!”
“I can’t stop, thank ye,” blurted out Piggy Morris. “They tell me you want to hold your meetings in Midden Harbour. You can have my malt-kiln and welcome, and you may tell the Methody parson that he may thank Lucy Blyth for that. Good night.”
