“I don’t know, I don’t know,” said the other gloomily; “these things ain’t in my line. Besides, I’m too old and too hard now; it’s no use for such as me to think about ’em.”
Horace said nothing immediately, but taking out a little New Testament, he read out, without any comment, the parables of the lost sheep and the lost piece of silver. Then he said, “Old friend, I am so glad we have met. Will you accept this little book from me? It will tell you better than I can all about the loving Saviour, who has taken that dear child to himself, and wants you and your wife to follow her.”
Without saying a word Ruby clutched the Testament, thrust it into his breast-pocket and then, rising hastily, said, “I wish you good day, sir; maybe we shall meet again. Thank you kindly for the little book.”
“Farewell for the present,” said Horace. “Yes, I believe we shall meet again,” and he turned his steps homewards, deeply thankful that he had not declined the work which was so unexpectedly thrust upon him.
Chapter Ten.
A Rough Jewel Polished.
Some months had passed since Horace Jackson’s brief conversation with Ruby Grigg on the green at Bridgepath, and the good work was making steady progress in that hamlet. A few of the adversaries continued rather noisy and troublesome; but it was observable that these avoided, as by common consent, one particular beer-shop, which used to be a favourite resort of the roughest and most dissolute characters, while the publican himself who kept this house was to be seen, at first occasionally, and now regularly at the service which was held in the schoolroom on the Sunday evenings.
News of this happy change had reached Horace from several quarters, and gave the sincerest pleasure to himself and his uncle. Meditating thankfully on these things, the young man was passing one afternoon down a by-lane which led to Bridgepath. It was a lonely spot, far from any house. On either hand the lane was closed in by tall hedges, and a broad belt of turf skirted the rugged road on each side, affording pasture to any stray beasts which might wander thither unbidden. Wild flowers and singing birds filled the untrimmed bushes; while the lowing of cattle, faintly heard from some far-off farm or pasture, added depth to the solitude. With his face turned in the direction of Bridgepath, Horace had just crossed the top of another and narrower lane, which joined at right angles that along which he was walking, and had passed the opening about a hundred yards, when he was startled by hearing a voice behind him shouting out, “Hi! Hi! Hi! Mister!” He looked back, and the sight that met his eye was not reassuring. A tall figure, bare-headed and without a coat, was striding after him, tossing its arms about, and brandishing in the right hand a long whip.