“And you really hope that the squire himself will become a Methodist, do you?”
“Why, ah didn’t say that. A man ’at’s a Methodist an’ nowt else is like a nut withoot a kennil, or a tree withoot sap, bud ah said ’at t’ squire ’ll becum a Christian. Why, his sun’s prayin’ for it, an’ ah nivver lets a day pass withoot prayin’ for it mysen—an’ mah lahtle class ’at meets i’ my hoose ivvery Thosday, prays for ’im as reg’lar as t’ neet cums. He’s bun’ te be seeaved, God bless ’im! an’ he’s bun’ te give us a bit o’ land for a chapil!”
“Well, good evening. I hope you will succeed,” said the squire, for here his road diverged.
“Good neet te yo’, an’ ah wop ’at you’ll finnd yer way te t’ Cross. That’s the spot for all on uz! Good neet.”
Old Adam Olliver went on his way, utterly unconscious as to the identity of his companion, and when seated by his humble fireside, he told Judy that he had just had the chance of “sayin’ a wod for Jesus.” Meanwhile Squire Fuller bent his steps to the gate of Waverdale Park, saying to himself, “Praying for me, are they? Thank God for it.” As he passed through the park gate, he saw the household of Gaffer Green, the lodge-keeper, kneeling round their little room at family prayer. The lighted candle on the round table shone through the diamond panes of the cottage window, and Squire Fuller saw the open Bible, the spectacles laid upon them, the kneeling forms of wife, and son, and daughter, and the uplifted face of the white-haired old man, as he commended his household to God. “God forgive me!” sighed he to himself, and then, with a firm step, as though some new resolve was born in him, he hastened home. That earnest prayer was heard in heaven, and its answer was recorded in his own submissive and believing heart!
For a little while neither Philip nor his father spoke. The former thought he saw a change in his father’s countenance, a new light in his eye; the latter was lost in solemn but not unpleasant thought.
“Philip!” said he, at last, “ask the butler to call all the servants in for family prayer.”
Philip threw one quick and joyful glance, which fell with an ineffable benediction on the father’s heart, and hastened to give the welcome message. Without one prefatory word, the squire read the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah to the amazed and wondering household. Then as they knelt around, he opened the unfamiliar prayer-book, and began to read. The printed form was too strait for him; he broke away on the flood-tide of the new life which had come to him. He pleaded, praised, and prayed, until the most indifferent was melted into tears. After commending them all to the watchful care of Heaven, they rose from their knees, and the two were left alone. Philip could contain himself no longer; he flung himself upon the old man’s neck, and wept with joy. The stars that night looked down upon no holier spot than that stately home in which the Ark of God had found an honoured place.
