The squire turned away from the loquacious gamekeeper to ponder on the results of Methodist “poaching” and Methodist preaching, and he felt half inclined to go himself and hear what the thing was like. Nor did his day’s experiences end here, for as he retraced his steps, walking as his wont was with his head bent down and his hands behind him, he suddenly came upon Adam Olliver, who was returning homewards from his daily labour, on the back of Balaam. The squire was walking on the grassy path by the roadside, and the short winter’s day was fast deepening into night, so that neither form nor foot betrayed his presence to the happy old hedger, who was, as usual, opening his mind to his dumb companion, without any reserve. Conversation with bipedal donkeys needs a strong infusion of the latter article; with Balaam, however, the case was different. “Balaam, aud boy,” the old man was saying, “a warse crew then them i’ Midden Harbour couldn’t be fun’ atween York and Lunnun, an’ ivvery yan on ’em ’ll be browt te God. His seeaving grace is cum te Potter Bill an’ Nanny Spink, just as it com te t’ yung squire, for the Lord mak’s nae difference. May the Lord seeave t’ aud squire. He nobbut wants t’ luv o’ Jesus iv ’is ’eart te be a blessin’ te all Waverdale, an’ then t’ new chapil wad be built iv a twinklin’.” “Hem!” coughed the squire loudly, still keeping in the shade, deepened now by overhanging trees. “Massy on uz! Ah did’nt knoa there was onnybody there!” “Good evening!” said the squire. “You are just coming from work, I suppose.” “Hey! Ah’ve been deeain’ a lahtle bit, but ah isn’t up te mitch noo-a-days. Ah can nobbut faddle aboot a bit wi’ me slashin’-knife, an’ if t’ maister nobbut payd me what ah addled, there wad be a good monny mair pennies then shillin’s te draw o’ Setterda’ neets. Are yo’ gannin’ te Nestleton?” “Yes, I’m going in that direction for a little way.” “That’s right. Ah’s fond ov a bit o’ cumpany, tho’ ah mak’s a shift te get on withoot. Ah was talkin’ te Balaam, when ah heeard yo’ cough.” “That’s the name of your donkey, I suppose?” said the squire, with a smile. “Yes. He hezn’t mitch te say te ma’ i’ answer, tho’ noo an’ then he’s noisy aneeaf, bud he’s a varry good lissener, at onny rate he’s better then nowt. Ah reckon you’ve heeard what’s bin gannin’ o’ in Midden Harbour latly. The Lord’s been gettin’ tiv Hissen a glorious victh’ry, an’ scoores o’ poor sowls hez been tonned frae darkness te leet, an’ frae t’ poo’er o’ Satan te God. De yo’ knoa owt aboot that, ah wunder?” “Not much, I’m afraid,” said the squire, who was getting more than he bargained for. “Why then, bless yo’, why nut? Jesus dee’d fo’ yo’, bare your sins iv His aun body upo’ t’ tree. Try Him! Beleeave iv Him, an’ ah’ll lay me life He’ll mak’ yo’ as ’appy as yo’ can live.” “Then you are happy, are you?”