"And are things no better at the Church?" I asked.
"Well, sur, they d'think of things deffurent up there. We do'ant look upon they as thinking about religion, like we Wesleyans do, or used to do," she added, correcting herself. "Now, sur, we be all alike. There do'ant seem any deffurence between the Church and the world. That is why God 'ave allowed this ter'ble war to come; for 'twill be ter'ble, do'ant you think so, sur?"
"Yes," I replied, "I am afraid it will."
"I d'ear they Germans be ter'ble fighters, and that every man in the country is a sojer. Es that true, sur?"
"Yes, practically true."
"Ah, 'tis a wisht thing ed'n et, then? but ef all the people would return to the Lord I shudd'n fear, but we seem to 'ave forgot the power of prayer. Be you better then, sur, makin' so bold?"
"Not much better, I am afraid," I replied.
"You do look fine an' slight, sur," she added, looking at me pityingly.
At first I scarcely understood what she meant, but I discovered that the word "slight" was commonly used among the Cornish people when they spoke of people looking ill.
"Pardon me," I said, for although the old dame was comparatively ignorant, and lived in a narrow world of her own, her conversation had greatly interested me. She had made me realize the power of Methodism in the county half a century before, and I wondered whether, in the simplicity of her mind and heart, she had got hold of a greater truth than I had realized. I remembered some words of the Founder of Christianity, "He hath hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hath revealed them unto babes." "Have you lost the knowledge of God, which you once possessed, with the rest of the people?"