“Wonderful!” said Mr. Houston. “Isn’t it?”
“Marvellous!” said Nathan Blyth.
“Joost as ah expected!” said Adam Olliver. “The Lord’s nut only answered ’wer prayers, bud He’s gannin’ te giv uz t’ squire inte t’ bargain. God be thenk’d! Maister, let uz pray!”
The three good men and true knelt to offer heartfelt gratitude to God, and Adam Olliver, with tearful eyes and a heart gushing with love and praise, poured out his soul in prayer and thanksgiving, pleading for the old squire, for Philip, for God’s cause in Nestleton, until the very atmosphere seemed to be charged with the presence and power of a loving and gracious God. As soon as they had risen from their knees, Adam said,—
“Halleluia! Mah poor aud een ’ll see a Methodist chapil i’ Nestleton, an’ then ah’ll say, ‘Noo, Lord, lettest thoo thi’ sarvant depayt i’ peeace, for mi’ ees hez seen Thy salvation.’ Prayse the Lord! T’ moontain was varry greeat an’ varry high, bud afoore oor Zerubbabel it’s becum a playn! O Maister Houston! O Nathan Blyth! Nivver doot Him nae mair!”
“Well,” said Nathan, “it is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvellous.” Bringing forth the letter which the old squire had written to Lucy on the same subject, he said, “Now, then, what do you think to this?”
“My Dear Miss Blyth,—Your request, offered in response to my sincere desire to show my gratitude and esteem, at first surprised me; but the more I thought of it, the more clearly I saw in it another illustration of your own self-forgetting and self-sacrificing character. I should cordially have given the plot of land for your sake; I believe, however, that it will be more pleasing to you to know that I make this gift to the Methodist people in genuine admiration of the high and holy work they have done in this village, as well as in other places, and as a personal thank-offering for mercies, providential and spiritual, lately received at the hands of a forgiving and gracious God. As far as you are concerned, I would fain hope that I may have other and constant opportunities of showing the affectionate regard in which you are held by
“Yours very sincerely,
“Ainsley Fuller.”
“God bless ’im,” said Adam Olliver, “’is ’art’s i’ t’ right spot noo, hooivver, whativver it was fower munths since. An’ as for what he says aboot Lucy, it’s true, ivvery wod on’t. She’s t’ sweetest, goodest lass i’ Waverdale, an’ t’ squire hez t’ feynest lad. Lucy Blyth an’ Philip Fuller! Mah wod, Natty, what a pair they wad mak’! Ah ain’t mitch fayth i’ rich fooaks marryin’ poor fooaks. I offens finnds ’at they beeath on ’em marry mair then they reckon on. But Lucy’s a laydy, if ivver there was yan, if Philip’s a gentleman; they beeath luv the Lord, an’ they beeath luv tee-an t’ other, an’ if they wer’ joined tegither, all Waverdale wad be the better fo’t. Natty Blyth!” said Adam, noticing Nathan’s troubled countenance, and suddenly alive to probabilities, “Natty Blyth, aud friend! deean’t you gan an’ fight ageean God. Maister Houston, we’ve been an’ prayed te God for a twelve-munth ’at He wad tonn’d ’art o’ t’ aud squire an’ owerrule things seea as te get a chapil for uz. Noo, the Lord’s gi’en us what we wanted, an’ He’s getten things mixed up i’ deein’ it. Are we te leeav Him, an’ say, ‘There, Lord, Thoo mun brayk t’ threeads off noo; we’ve getten all we care aboot, an’ t’ rest may drop?’ Ah weean’t be sae meean an’ sae wicked; we mun still be co-workers wiv Him accordin’ tiv His will. If t’ web ov His providence hez a Methodist chapil i’ t’ pattern, it’s gotten Lucy Blyth an’ Philip Fuller in it as weel. Then, God helpin’ uz, we moan’t hinder t’ shuttle, but gan on till t’ weeavin’s deean. Sud we hae gotten this land if Philip Fuller hadn’t been sick? Sud we hae gotten this land if Lucy Blyth hadn’t gone te t’ Hall? Isn’t t’ aud squire ower heead an’ ears i’ luv wi’ beeath Philip an’ Lucy? Deean’t the two young fooaks luv t’ grund t’ eean t’ uther walks on? Aren’t they meead for yan anuther like two hoaves ov a pair o’ sithers? An’ isn’t t’ Methodist chapil gannin’ te be built te wed ’em in? Oppen thi’ een, Natty, an’ see what the Lord’s deein’. Ah fancy there’s a good bit o’ pride i’ yo’; for it may be just as strang under a blacksmith’s leather appron as under a squire’s white weeastcooat. You want te be independent, an’ it’s all varry weel up tiv a sartain point, bud you can’t be independent o’ God, an’ you’d better nut try. Natty, aud friend, ha’e you ivver axed Him what He hez te say aboot it?”