Greatly surprised and touched at these words, Horace looked earnestly into Reuben’s face for an explanation, and as he did so, it struck him that the old expression of cunning had given place to one of gentleness and peace.
“I’ll tell you all about it, sir,” proceeded the other. “You must know as I haven’t been easy in my mind for some time past—never since that new schoolmaster at Bridgepath said a few words to me last feast-day. You know I often come to the village, ’cos I’ve some good customers there, and I never used to miss the feast. Well, I’d heard a deal about the new goings on there long afore I set my own eyes on any on ’em, and I weren’t best pleased, nor weren’t my best customers neither, you may be sure. But still, down in my heart, I couldn’t help feeling as things were being changed for the better; yet it didn’t quite suit my pocket that they should be, and so I were very cross, and ready to take everything by the wrong handle. So when the schoolmaster came and spoke to me, I were as grumpy at first as a bear with a sore head, as the saying is. But he wouldn’t see it—no, not a bit, and talked to me as pleasant as if I’d been all the while looking sugar and honey at him; and I began to feel very uneasy all over. Then, too, I couldn’t help seeing as the boys and girls were as different as possible from what they used to be. Many was the time as I’ve sworn with a big ugly oath as I’d set Grip at them, when they came up and plagued me and wanted to meddle with my goods. But there weren’t no need for it now. Yet I stuck out for all that, and talked it over with the keepers of the beer-shops; and we all agreed as it were a great nuisance setting up this new school and reading-room. But we didn’t really think so, except that it began to hurt our trade; for this was where the shoe pinched. And then it was, when my mind was a-playing at ‘see-saw,’ first up on this side, and then up on the other, that you was sent that day to have a talk about the children and my own blessed little ’un, and to give me the Testament. When you was gone, I grumbled to myself at first, ‘Precious humbug this! What’s the use of a Testament to me? I ain’t a-going to pull a long face and sing psalms,’ and I were half in the mind to throw it away.”
“And what stopped you, old friend?” asked Horace.
“I’ll just tell you, sir,” replied the other. “When you gave it me, I stuck it in my coat-pocket, next my little girl’s picture-book: and when I took it out again, t’other little book came with it, and I couldn’t for the life of me do it any harm. So I put ’em both back again side by side; and the next time as we camped in a quiet place, I took the Testament out and began to read a bit out loud. And Sally heard me, and she came and listened with her mouth and eyes wide open, and then asked me what the book was and where I’d got it. I told her all about it; and then she asked me if I thought I could find in the book them last words which our dear little ’un spoke. I told you, sir, you’ll remember, as she said, ‘Jesus said, “Suffer the little children to come unto me.”’ Them was her last words, poor thing! Well, we sat on these steps day after day and hunted for them words between us; and we found ’em at last. But we found something else as we hadn’t been looking for. We found a couple of miserable old sinners, Ruby and Sally Grigg, as was going along the broad road to destruction.” He paused, for his voice had become choked and troubled.
“And did you find nothing more?” asked Horace, deeply interested.
“Ay, to be sure we did, sir. We found Jesus Christ was willing to have us; and we found peace—not at first, nor all at once, but by degrees, and after a while. Sally were the first to get a firm hold: but I believe I’ve grasped it myself now, and by God’s help I mean not to let go.”
“This is indeed joyful news, dear friend,” said Horace Jackson, when he could trust himself to speak. “Who would have thought it?”
“Ay, who indeed?” said Reuben warmly. “And now,” he added, “I want a bit of advice, sir, from you, for it ain’t all grass and gravel with me now; there’s some deepish ruts and some stony roads before me, and that’s why I were so anxious to stop you just now, sir, that I might tell you all about it, and get a word or two from yourself to give us a bit of encouragement.”
“I am truly thankful—I can’t tell you how thankful,” replied the young man. “The Lord has indeed done great things for you, and I shall be only too happy to be helpful to you in any way that I can.”
“Thank you, sir, kindly; ’tain’t worldly help as I wants from you. I’ve earned enough for me and Sally to last us as long as we live; and it’s almost time as I sold the old van, and settled down somewheres for the rest of my days. But it’s just this, sir—I want to do some work for the Lord, who’s been and done so much for Sally and me. Now I could, as I said just now, sell the old van and settle down; but then I mightn’t be able to do much good, and my old limbs would get stiff for want of my regular exercise, and I should just be snoozing away the rest of my time in a big arm-chair. Now I ain’t quite used up, nor Sally neither. So I could keep on the move from place to place, dropping a word for Christ here, and a word there, where I’ve been used to drop scores of words for the devil; and if you’d put me in the way, I could take a lot of Testaments and other good books with me, and sell ’em instead of the poisonous trash as I used to carry. Now, what do you advise me?”