I had a hope ’at I should see my lad again, that’s been ower t’ sea for monny a year. I fair pines sometimes to hev another look at his dear face. But he’s in the Lord’s hands. He’s found t’ pearl of great price, thank God, an’ if I don’t see him on earth, I shall meet him i’ heaven.” By-and-bye there rose up just behind her a tall, fine-looking man, about thirty years of age, whose brown and weather-beaten face was “bearded like the pard.” To him Mr. Clayton had given a “permit” on the strength of a “note of removal,” which, unlike many careless Methodists of nomadic habits, who neglect this duty and so slip out of Church fellowship, he had taken care to bring along with him. “I’m glad to be here to-day,” said he; “I have only just arrived in your beautiful little village, but as I know something of this religion, and have the love of God shed abroad in my heart, I cannot resist the opportunity of telling you what God has done for my soul. I was a wild, harum-scarum lad when I left my home to seek my fortunes in a foreign land. My parents were two as godly Christians as were to be found out of heaven; but the restraints of a Christian home, and the hum-drum life of a country village were more than my wilful spirit and roaming tendencies could bear, so I left home somewhat suddenly and much against my parents’ will. A long, rough, and tedious voyage across the sea partly cured me of my roving desires, and I felt half inclined to come home again, especially as I had left my mother in tears and my father sad at heart. When I landed, however, I made up my mind not to go home until I had earned what it was worth my while to carry back. For a long time I led a wandering life, not bettering my condition, and I’m sorry to say not much better myself. At last the tide turned; I settled down and made money very fast. I could never forget, however, that the dear old folks at home were praying for me. One night I was away on business, and found my way to a Methodist chapel, for there’s plenty of them yonder as well as here. It was only a prayer-meeting, but I heard them sing the old hymns to the old tunes, so familiar to my boyhood, and when a plain-spoken old man began to pray it reminded me so much of my father’s voice that I burst into tears. My wild and careless life condemned me all at once, and I could not help crying out, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner!’ They gathered round me and prayed with me. I was in an agony of trouble, and cried loudly for mercy, and at last the Lord spoke peace to my soul.”