“I believe, Miss, them is his very words, for I’ve thought ’em ower many a time. An’ then he took that Bible, an’ read bits here and there, an’ explained ’em as clear as the day: and it seemed like as a new light broke in on my soul; an’ I felt fair aglow about my heart, an’ only wished poor Bill an’ all the world could ha’ been there, an’ heard it all, and rejoiced wi’ me.
“After he was gone, Hannah Rogers, one o’ th’ neighbours, came in and wanted me to help her to wash. I telled her I couldn’t just then, for I hadn’t set on th’ potaties for th’ dinner, nor washed up th’ breakfast stuff yet. So then she began a-calling me for my nasty idle ways. I was a little bit vexed at first, but I never said nothing wrong to her: I only telled her like all in a quiet way, ’at I’d had th’ new parson to see me; but I’d get done as quick as ever I could, an’ then come an’ help her. So then she softened down; and my heart like as it warmed towards her, an’ in a bit we was very good friends. An’ so it is, Miss Grey, ‘a soft answer turneth away wrath; but grievous words stir up anger.’ It isn’t only in them you speak to, but in yourself.”
“Very true, Nancy, if we could always remember it.”
“Ay, if we could!”
“And did Mr. Weston ever come to see you again?”
“Yes, many a time; and since my eyes has been so bad, he’s sat an’ read to me by the half-hour together: but you know, Miss, he has other folks to see, and other things to do—God bless him! An’ that next Sunday he preached such a sermon! His text was, ‘Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,’ and them two blessed verses that follows. You wasn’t there, Miss, you was with your friends then—but it made me so happy! And I am happy now, thank God! an’ I take a pleasure, now, in doing little bits o’ jobs for my neighbours—such as a poor old body ’at’s half blind can do; and they take it kindly of me, just as he said. You see, Miss, I’m knitting a pair o’ stockings now;—they’re for Thomas Jackson: he’s a queerish old body, an’ we’ve had many a bout at threaping, one anent t’other; an’ at times we’ve differed sorely. So I thought I couldn’t do better nor knit him a pair o’ warm stockings; an’ I’ve felt to like him a deal better, poor old man, sin’ I began. It’s turned out just as Maister Weston said.”
“Well, I’m very glad to see you so happy, Nancy, and so wise: but I must go now; I shall be wanted at the Hall,” said I; and bidding her goodbye, I departed, promising to come again when I had time, and feeling nearly as happy as herself.
At another time I went to read to a poor labourer who was in the last stage of consumption. The young ladies had been to see him, and somehow a promise of reading had been extracted from them; but it was too much trouble, so they begged me to do it instead. I went, willingly enough; and there too I was gratified with the praises of Mr. Weston, both from the sick man and his wife. The former told me that he derived great comfort and benefit from the visits of the new parson, who frequently came to see him, and was “another guess sort of man” to Mr. Hatfield; who, before the other’s arrival at Horton, had now and then paid him a visit; on which occasions he would always insist upon having the cottage-door kept open, to admit the fresh air for his own convenience, without considering how it might injure the sufferer; and having opened his prayerbook and hastily read over a part of the Service for the Sick, would hurry away again, if he did not stay to administer some harsh rebuke to the afflicted wife, or to make some thoughtless, not to say heartless, observation, rather calculated to increase than diminish the troubles of the suffering pair.
“Whereas,” said the man, “Maister Weston ’ull pray with me quite in a different fashion, an’ talk to me as kind as owt; an’ oft read to me too, an’
