ADAM LIVESEY'S story was not told all at once and straight forward as it is here put down, but jerked out at intervals in a spasmodic fashion, and a few words at a time, in response to much kindly questioning. Then the man seemed half ashamed of having been drawn out, and shrank into himself again.
But Mr. Drummond had taken a liking to Adam. He felt strongly for the man, with his cravings after a higher and better life, his ignorance of the greatest yet simplest truths. He was profoundly touched at the wealth of fatherly tenderness that lay deep down in his heart, at his painful sense of wrong done to the pretty bright-eyed girl who had so sadly changed since she had linked her fate with his, at the manifest hopelessness which weighed down his whole nature.
Moreover, the manager had observed Adam at his work, and noticed how faithfully it was performed. He had found out that while many laughed at his grave, silent ways, all respected "the poor chap," as they called him, even while they pitied him for having "no pluck to help him to stand up for himself."
Mr. Drummond, in his own mind, compared Adam to those Gentiles of whom St. Paul wrote in the Epistle to the Romans. "This man," he thought, "is living in the heart of a great city and in the midst of a Christian nation. And yet, while he is as ignorant as a heathen, he has been doing by nature the things contained in the law. He has a tender, though not an enlightened conscience, and has obeyed its dictates and been a law unto himself. If only the gospel message could be brought home, first to his ears, and then by the blessed influence of the Holy Spirit to his soul, what a different life would Adam Livesey's become! Oh that into his heart might shine the light of the glory of God, in the face of Jesus Christ.
"And," he added the silent but heartfelt prayer, "oh that I might be made the instrument in leading him to the one and only Saviour!"
If the baby had waked up in a very short time, all this talk would have been impossible, but the words which take long to write are quickly spoken.
"I cannot help thinking, Adam, that it is not too late for you to better your position. I know you can in one sense, if not in another."
"It's no good talking, sir. What's done is done. I'm forty years old, and I'm just where I was at twenty-five, as far as wages go. I had two to feed then. I've eight now. Things are past mending for me. I'm o' no account in the world, and I shall never be of any."
"Of no account! I cannot agree with you there. You are of account, as a workman. What would become of Rutherford's if all such as you were withdrawn? There are many idle, useless people in the world, who could be better spared in a batch, than one man who does as honest a day's work as Adam Livesey."
In spite of himself, Adam's deep set eyes were kindled into an expression of pleasure, but he did not speak.