“’Appy! Prayse the Lord. Ah sud think I is, an’ hae been for mair then fifty year; an’ this minnit ah knoa nowt sae sartain as that Jesus is my Saviour, an’ ’at me’ neeame’s written i’ t’ Lamb’s Book ov Life.” “What were you saying about a new chapel, when I overtook you? Is there likely to be one in Nestleton?” “Hey, mair then likely, it’s sartain. Meeast o’ t’ monney’s riddy, and noo the Lord’s gi’en us a congregation an’ a society riddy, we’re nobbut waitin’ for t’ squire te be riddy, an’ then we sall ’rise an’ build.’” “But have you any hope that the squire is likely to be ready? I thought he had refused you a piece of ground long since.” “Why, seea he did--nay, nut exactly refused oot an’ oot; bud he said he wad tak’ tahme te think aboot it, an’ we’ve been prayin’ and beleeavin’ an’ waitin’ ivver since; an’ bless yo’, ah’ve neea mair doot aboot it, then I hev ’at t’ squire hisself ’ll cum te Jesus, an’ be meead as ’appy as Maister Philip is, God bless ’im. Ah tell yo’, that yung man’s a glorious and noble fello’ ’at ’ll sum day be yan o’ t’ greeatest blessin’s Waverdale’s ivver knoan.” “And you really hope that the squire himself will become a Methodist, do you?” “Why, ah didn’t say that. A man ’at’s a Methodist an’ nowt else is like a nut withoot a kennil, or a tree withoot sap, bud ah said ’at t’ squire ’ll becum a Christian. Why, his sun’s prayin’ for it, an’ ah nivver lets a day pass withoot prayin’ for it mysen--an’ mah lahtle class ’at meets i’ my hoose ivvery Thosday, prays for ’im as reg’lar as t’ neet cums. He’s bun’ te be seeaved, God bless ’im! an’ he’s bun’ te give us a bit o’ land for a chapil!” “Well, good evening. I hope you will succeed,” said the squire, for here his road diverged. “Good neet te yo’, an’ ah wop ’at you’ll finnd yer way te t’ Cross. That’s the spot for all on uz! Good neet.” Old Adam Olliver went on his way, utterly unconscious as to the identity of his companion, and when seated by his humble fireside, he told Judy that he had just had the chance of “sayin’ a wod for Jesus.” Meanwhile Squire Fuller bent his steps to the gate of Waverdale Park, saying to himself, “Praying for me, are they? Thank God for it.” As he passed through the park gate, he saw the household of Gaffer Green, the lodge-keeper, kneeling round their little room at family prayer. The lighted candle on the round table shone through the diamond panes of the cottage window, and Squire Fuller saw the open Bible, the spectacles laid upon them, the kneeling forms of wife, and son, and daughter, and the uplifted face of the white-haired old man, as he commended his household to God. “God forgive me!” sighed he to himself, and then, with a firm step, as though some new resolve was born in him, he hastened home. That earnest prayer was heard in heaven, and its answer was recorded in his own submissive and believing heart!