"Up she comes to me and casts herself right on my neck. 'Mother,' says she, 'I've been a wicked, undutiful, self-willed girl to you. I was bound to have my own way, take me where it would, and when I couldn't, I was determined to die. But the Lord has showed me my sin, and I've given it all up to Him,' says she, raising of her eyes. 'It's all over now. Mother, forgive me, and I will try to be your own Nan again.'
"And then I kissed and hugged her," concluded the good mother, wiping her eyes, and she put on her apron and fell to serving breakfast just as she used to do. "I am afraid she isn't long for this world, but it is a joy to see her happy once more. Now do you wonder that I haven't a word to say against the Methodists?"
"I am sure, I do not," answered Mrs. Thorpe.
"Where is Nan?" I dreaded to ask for her after all I had heard.
"She is gone down to Judy Lechmire's to make her bed, and carry her some broth, and read the Bible to her a bit. Judy is bed-rid, and she does not get too much kindness, for she has been a bad 'un in her day, surely and the folk hereabout do take her for a witch. Here comes Nan now."
I glanced out of the window and saw approaching, a tall pale girl with the red-gold hair and clear skin so common in these parts. She looked ill, and moved languidly; but her face was the very abode of peace. She greeted us kindly, and seemed particularly glad to see Mrs. Thorpe.
"After dinner Nan and Meg shall sing you one of their hymns!" said Mrs. Davis. "For Meg is as wholly taken up with them as her sister. And though the church is good enough for me, I won't deny that the Methodists have worked such a change as I could never have believed, if I had not seen it, among the wild folks hereabouts, specially the colliers."
Accordingly Anne and Meg sung for us with much feeling, that hymn of Mr. Wesley's, beginning—
"Jesus, lover of my soul."
They both had sweet well-regulated voices, and I am sure I never enjoyed any music more.