“No,” said Adam Olliver, “since then t’ yung squire’s gi’en ’is ’art te God, ’is neeame te t’ Chotch, an’ ’is hand’s gotten hod o’ t’ gospil ploo’, he’ll nivver leeak back, you may depend on’t. There dizn’t seeam te be ony change i’ t’ squire hisself, bud the Lord’s managin’ matters for uz. We hae neea need te stand an’ wait as though we hae neea fayth i’ God, bud just gan on an’ raise t’ munny, an’ get riddy for t’ tahme when the Lord says, ‘Arise an’ build.’ Tahmes an’ seeasons the Lord keeps iv ’is aun poo’er. Bud we’ve prayed i’ fayth, an’ when He sees fit, t’ topstooane ’ll be browt on’ wi’ shootin’ ‘Grace, grace be tiv it.’” There was always something so infectious about Adam Olliver’s fixed and fervent faith in God, that in spite of prudential policy and worldly wisdom he managed to carry the day. Nor was Mr. Clayton at all unwilling to be urged into energetic measures. That God was with them he did not doubt. The gracious seasons of spiritual power and refreshment which he himself had felt and seen, were proof enough that the work was of God. Hence he encouraged and invited a free conversation on the subject. The senior “circuit steward,” Mr. Smallwood, was one of those wondrously cautious men who can only see an inch before their nose, and who wish to make that much progress by degrees. “We must be very careful,” said he, “it is as much as ever we can do now to pay our way, and this very quarter there is a deficiency of more than ten pounds. Then there’s Bexton Chapel; they are trying to reduce the debt on it by a hundred pounds, and if we begin another scheme at the same time, we shall find ourselves in difficulties.” “I confess, Mr. Chairman,” said Nathan Blyth, “that our good friend, Adam Olliver, has more faith than I have. It’s true, the young squire has cast in his lot with us, but that very thing has made his father more bitter against us. He has even threatened to give Mr. Houston notice to quit, if he does not close his kitchen against the Methodist preachers.” “Never mind about that,” said Farmer Houston, “threatened folks live long, and threatened tenants may have long leases. I opened my doors to the Methodist preachers, and God opened my heart to receive the truth, and as long as I live, God helping me, those doors shall never be closed again to those who brought me the news of a Saviour’s love. My temporal affairs are in the hands of a kind Providence; and as a token of gratitude for personal and family mercies, I gladly promise for me and mine a hundred pounds towards Nestleton Chapel, to be paid as soon as the Lord opens the way to build it.” “Halleluia,” said the old hedger, “when God works whea can ’inder. Ivverybody knoas ’at ah can’t deea mitch, eeaven if ah sell me slashin’-knife an’ donkey, bud ah’ve seeaved a trifle oot o’ me wayges, an’ be t’ tahme t’ chapel’s begun, ah sall hev five pund riddy, seea you may put it doon.” The old hedger’s grand self-sacrifice was greeted with a round of hearty cheers.