That I believe is in the sacred story;
And when sin placeth me in Adam’s fall,
Faith sets me higher in his glory.”
George Herbert.
GREGORY HOUSTON, Adam Olliver’s master, and, as far as means and position were concerned, principal member of the little Methodist society in Nestleton, was crossing his farmyard one summer’s day, when his aged serving-man was engaged in getting together a few “toppers.” These are long screeds of thinly-sawn larch fir, to be nailed on the top of stakes driven into weak places in the hedgerows to strengthen them, and to secure the continuity of the fence.
“Well, Adam,” said the genial farmer, “how are you getting on?”
“Why, ah’s getting en all reet. It’s rayther ower yat for wark; but while it’s ower yat for me, it’s grand for t’ wheeat, an’ seea ah moan’t grummle. It’s varry weel there isn’t mitch te deea at t’ hedges, or ah’s flaid ’at ah sud be deead beeat.”
“Oh, they’re all right, I’ve no doubt,” said Mr. Houston; “I didn’t mean that. I was thinking of better matters.”
“Oh, as te that, bless the Lord, ah’ve niwer nowt te grummle at i’ that respect, but me aun want o’ faith an’ luv. T’ Maister’s allus good, an’ ah’s meeastlin’s ’appy. Neeabody sarves the Lord for nowt, an’ mah wayges is altegither oot of all measure wi’ me’ addlings, beeath frae you an’ Him.”