"Hark yo' theer now!" said Enoch with great gusto, "an' yo' th' parson's own son. There's th' guiding o' the Lord i' this. Aw'st happen kill two birds wi' one stone yo' an' Miriam, aw mean. Weel, it's this way. There's no gettin' away fro' it 'at God Almighty knows th' beginnin' fro' th' end, even fro' th' beginnin' o' th' world, aye, an' afore that. Both thee an' Miriam were in His mind's eye, so to speik, afore th' mooin was, or th' sun or th' stars, or the waters which are aboon the firmament, an' them 'at are under the firmament." "It looks a long time, Enoch, but go ahead." "Weel, an' if He knew 'at yo' were goin' to be born it's ekally sartin He knew where yo'd go to when yo' dee, an' as He could just will it His own gait it's plain as th' nose on your face 'at we're all predestinate oather for Heaven or Hell long afore we were oather born or thowt on." "It's a hard saying, that, Enoch," I demurred. "Nowt o' th' sort," maintained Enoch stoutly. "It's like sowing turnip seed. Tha knows 'at we sow it i' han'fuls, an' it comes up as thick as mustard an' cress. Weel, we sort out th' likely shoots an' leave 'em i' th' ground to swell into turnips. T'others we just poo up an' other mak' into pottage or throw 'em to th' pou'try--sheer waste o' gooid seed, yo' med say, an' yet it's th' only way. It's th' same wi men an' women. Some's nobbut fit for pooin' up an' castin' into th' oven." "But, again, what has all this to do with Miriam?" I asked. "Weel, aw were just speerin' about owd Granny Sykes, th' owd beldame at Burnplatts. An' aw were tellin' her how thankful oo owt to be to ha' been ta'en into a Christian household where oo'd ha' the means o' grace an' the hope o' glory--bein' dipped, aw mean--and so escape joinin' Granny Sykes in th' outer darkness wheer there's weepin', an' wailin', an' gnashin' o' teeth." "Oh, you said that, did you?" "Aw did. An' oo' went as white as a sheet, an' her eyes shot lightnin' an' daggers as oo jumped up an' just shook me till what few teeth aw han rattled i' mi yead." "'You believe that?'" oo said. "'Aye,' aw towd her, it were just wovven for her wi' a shuttle o' adamant.'" "'Yo' wicked old man,' she cried, 'yo' wicked, wicked old man.' Yo' may tak' my word for it, Abe, yon wench is a spit-fire, if ivver there were one. Oo'll be a handful for onny man to tackle, an' thank God it won't be Enoch Hoyle." I didn't know whether to laugh or to storm; but Enoch Hoyle was Enoch Hoyle, a good man at heart, but surely he had forgotten the assurance that God is Love.