‘I’m glad you’ve come, Jonathan,’ he said. ‘We haven’t got a preacher, only one that comes once a month; it’s only praying and reading most Sabbath days now; and there’s some that aren’t faithful. Are you willing to take the work now you’re home again?’
Mr. Trimblerigg said that he would.
‘I wonder,’ said the old man, fixing him with his gaze, ‘whether you’ll be contented to stay here after I’m gone?’
‘I shall do what the Lord tells me,’ said Jonathan.
‘Let’s ask Him now,’ said Uncle Phineas. ‘Bring me the Book.’
There was no reason why Mr. Trimblerigg should refuse; but it was a curious experience to see that the Book opened where a marker had been placed in it; to see the old man pass his hand over to the left, measure his finger up the page and lay it on an exact spot. Nor did he wonder then, when the text was read, that his future had been fixed for him in terms that he could not dispute.
‘And Laban said unto him, I pray thee if I have found favour in thine eyes, tarry; for I have learned by experience that the Lord hath blessed me for thy sake. And he said, “Appoint me thy wages, and I will give it”.’
After Heaven had thus spoken there was a pause; then Phineas said, ‘The word “Tarry” is in italics, Jonathan. That seems to point, doesn’t it? Have you any doubt left in you now, about what God means you to do?’
‘No, Uncle,’ replied Mr. Trimblerigg, ‘I have none.’ The text, in fact, had not altered by a hair’s breadth his views of the career he was to run.
‘“Appoint me thy wages and I will give it,”’ went on the old man. ‘That comes in too. But it isn’t wages exactly, is it, Jonathan? Though you may call it so for want of a better word. You know that I’ve made two wills, don’t you, Jonathan?’