“And what did he say, Nancy?”
“Why, Miss, he seemed to scorn me. I might be mista’en—but he like gave a sort of a whistle, and I saw a bit of a smile on his face; and he said, ‘Oh, it’s all stuff! You’ve been among the Methodists, my good woman.’ But I telled him I’d never been near the Methodies. And then he said—
“ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘you must come to church, where you’ll hear the Scriptures properly explained, instead of sitting poring over your Bible at home.’
“But I telled him I always used coming to church when I had my health; but this very cold winter weather I hardly durst venture so far—and me so bad wi’ th’ rheumatic and all.
“But he says, ‘It’ll do your rheumatiz good to hobble to church: there’s nothing like exercise for the rheumatiz. You can walk about the house well enough; why can’t you walk to church? The fact is,’ says he, ‘you’re getting too fond of your ease. It’s always easy to find excuses for shirking one’s duty.’
“But then, you know, Miss Grey, it wasn’t so. However, I telled him I’d try. ‘But please, sir,’ says I, ‘if I do go to church, what the better shall I be? I want to have my sins blotted out, and to feel that they are remembered no more against me, and that the love of God is shed abroad in my heart; and if I can get no good by reading my Bible an’ saying my prayers at home, what good shall I get by going to church?’ ”
“ ‘The church,’ says he, ‘is the place appointed by God for His worship. It’s your duty to go there as often as you can. If you want comfort, you must seek it in the path of duty,’—an’ a deal more he said, but I cannot remember all his fine words. However, it all came to this, that I was to come to church as oft as ever I could, and bring my prayerbook with me, an’ read up all the sponsers after the clerk, an’ stand, an’ kneel, an’ sit, an’ do all as I should, and take the Lord’s Supper at every opportunity, an’ hearken his sermons, and Maister Bligh’s, an’ it ’ud be all right: if I went on doing my duty, I should get a blessing at last.
“ ‘But if you get no comfort that way,’ says he, ‘it’s all up.’
“ ‘Then, sir,’ says I, ‘should you think I’m a reprobate?’
“ ‘Why,’ says he—he says, ‘if you do your best to get to heaven and can’t manage it, you must be one of those that seek to enter in at the strait gate and shall not be able.’
“An’ then he asked me if I’d seen any of the ladies o’ th’ Hall about that mornin’; so I telled him where I had seen the young misses go on th’ Moss Lane;—an’ he kicked my poor cat right across th’ floor, an’ went after ’em as gay as a lark: but I was very sad. That last word o’ his fair sunk into my heart, an’ lay there like a lump o’ lead, till I was weary to bear it.
“Howsoever, I follered his advice: I thought he meant it all for th’ best, though he had a queer way with him. But you know, Miss, he’s rich an’ young, and suchlike cannot right understand the thoughts of a poor old woman such as me. But, howsoever, I did my best to do all as he bade me—but maybe I’m plaguing you, Miss, wi’ my chatter.”
“Oh, no, Nancy! Go on, and tell me all.”
“Well, my rheumatiz got better—I know not whether wi’ going to church or not, but one frosty Sunday I got this cold i’ my eyes. Th’ inflammation didn’t come on all at once like, but bit by bit—but I wasn’t going to tell you about my eyes, I was talking about my trouble o’ mind;—and to tell the truth, Miss Grey, I don’t think it was anyways eased by coming to church—nought to speak on, at least: I like got my health better; but that didn’t mend my soul. I hearkened and hearkened the ministers, and read an’ read at my prayerbook; but it was all like sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal: the sermons I couldn’t understand, an’ th’ prayerbook only served to show me how wicked I was, that I could read such good words an’ never be no better for it, and oftens feel it a sore labour an’ a heavy task beside, instead of a blessing and a privilege as all good Christians does. It seemed like as all were barren an’ dark to me. And then, them dreadful words, ‘Many shall seek to enter in, and shall not be able.’ They like as they fair dried up my sperrit.
“But one Sunday, when Maister Hatfield gave out about the sacrament, I noticed where he said, ‘If there be any of
