“Ay, is there,” said Mrs Nasmyth, heartily; “and there’s no fear but you’ll see it, when you ask in a right spirit that your eyes may be opened.”
“Mis’ Nasmyth,” said Sampson, quietly and solemnly, “I may be deceiving myself in this matter. I seem to get kind o’ bewildered at times over these things. But I do think I am in earnest. Surely I’ll get help some time?”
“Ay—that you will, as God is true. But oh man! go straight to Him. It’s between you and Him, this matter. But winna you bide still? I daresay the minister will soon be at leisure now.”
“I guess not. I hadn’t much particular to say to him. I can just as well come again.” And without turning his face toward her, he went away.
Janet looked after him till the turn of the road hid him, saying to herself,—
“If the Lord would but take him in hand, just to show what He could make of him. Something to His praise, I hae no doubt—Yankee though he be. God forgive me for saying it. I daresay I hae nae all the charity I might hae for them, the upsettin’ bodies.”
Chapter Fourteen.
Even in quiet country places, there are changes many and varied wrought by the coming and going of seven years, and Merleville has had its share of these since the time the minister’s children looked upon the pleasant place with the wondering eyes of strangers. Standing on the church-steps, one looks down on the same still hamlet, and over the same hills and valleys and nestling farm-houses. But the woods have receded in some places, and up from the right comes the sound of clashing machinery, telling that the Merle river is performing its mission at last, setting in motion saws and hammers and spindles, but in so unpretending a manner that no miniature city has sprung up on its banks as yet; and long may that day be distant.