"Why, Sir, as for that I can't say much; but I can say this, I like what I hear, and I can make out Mr. Ingleby's meaning a bit better now than I could at first. What he says often comes home here," placing his hand over his heart, "and then I can't help feeling, and at times I feel desperately; but then, worse luck, it all goes off on a Monday."
"I suppose, though, you sometimes think during the week on what you hear at church on the Sabbath?"
"I can't help doing that; but, worse luck, I can't make out his meaning by my own thinkings so cleverly as he does in his sarmunts."
"That's very likely; but I suppose you now reflect at times on the worth of your soul, and the possibility of its being lost?"
"Ay, that I do; more now in one hour than I ever did all my life long before. Parson Cole never made me feel or think, but when he was lashing away at the schesmeatics, as he calls the Methodists, and then I used to feel mightily pleased. I often think we were two fools together—one for lashing the Methodists, who never offended him, and t'other for being pleased with it. I never come from church now without thinking about myself and my sins, and about Jesus Christ who died on the cross, and about heaven and hell. These are now to me great realities. Nothing else, as you said to me when you first talked to me, is of equal importance. But I am very stupid in such matters, worse luck. Wife knows a power more about such things than I do, and she often helps me a bit to mind and understand Mr. Ingleby's sarmunts. We often sit up an hour or so after the youngsters and the sarvunts are gone to bed, to talk over these matters. I like her talk, as I understand it a bit."
"I suppose you understand Mr. Ingleby much better than you used to understand Mr. Cole; and I daresay you would not very willingly go back to your parish church?"
"I have been there, Sir, for the last time, and no mistake. When there, I could sit thinking about my crops and my cattle, but I can't do that at church now. No; Mr. Ingleby takes my heart along with him; and at times he gives such terrible back strokes that he makes me tremble—ay, and cry too; and I a'n't ashamed to confess it to you."
"I am thankful to hear you say what you do say, and I have no doubt but you will, by and by, know spiritual things much better than you do now."
"And so I tell him, Sir; I tell him he is now like the man of whom we read in the Gospel of Mark, who, when the Lord began to open his eyes, saw so confusedly, that men appeared like trees walking; but after a while he saw things as clearly and as distinctly as other people."
"The Lord grant it may be so; then I shall be a power happier than I be now. I sha'n't mind death then."