"An enthusiast? Why, a person who is enthusiastic—a person who—really, my dear, I don't quite know how to explain it—but it is very dangerous to be an enthusiast in religion. Mr. Cheriton has always been such a comfortable preacher, and such a favorite with everybody. It would be a great pity, if he should run away after enthusiasm like poor Mr. Wesley and his brother." Saturday was a holiday, and Mrs. Thorpe, leaving the shop in charge of Rebecca, carried us off for a long walk into the country, bringing up at a farmhouse belonging to a cousin of hers, who had a famous dairy. The good woman, who was a widow with several tall sons and daughters, made us very welcome, and regaled us with all sorts of country dainties. Here, too, the conversation turned on the Methodists. "Eppie, my dairy-woman, is wholly taken up with them," said she, "and so is her husband. Mrs. Thirlwall, our rector's wife, was here yesterday dealing with me to turn them away, because they went to the Methodist preaching at five o'clock on Sunday morning up on the Fell, and again to what they call—what is it, Meg?" "A class meeting," said Meg. "Yes—a class meeting at Mary Chewrel's cottage in the evening." "'But,' says I, 'Mrs. Thirlwall, don't Hodge and Eppie go to church? I thought I saw them stay to the sacrament.'" "'Yes, they did,' answers the lady." "'Well,' says I, 'so long as they goes regular to church and sacrament, and does their work regular, and as well or better than they ever did before, I don't see as I has any call to discharge two old servants,' says I." "And then she says, 'Mrs. Thirlwall does,'" added Meg, taking up the tale as her mother paused for lack of breath. "'But, Mrs. Davis, I tell you they are not content with that, but they have meetings in their own cottage, where they sing hymns.'" "'Would you rather hear Hodge singing songs on the ale-bench?' mother says she." "And I like Mr. Wesley's hymns," added Meg, with decision. "I think the words and tunes are beautiful." "Why, how do you know them?" asked Mrs. Thorpe. Mrs. Davis looked a little embarrassed. "Well, you know my poor Annie has been in a very low-spirited and dwining way ever since her misfortune. One could hardly get a word out of her by times for days together, and she took no interest in any thing. I was much afraid she would go out of her mind. But somehow, I don't know how, Eppie get talking with her, and one evening she says to me— "'Mother, if you don't say no, I want to go and hear the Methodist preacher on the Fell to-morrow morning.' "I was that surprised that I did not know what to think, for she had hardly spoken for a month, and you know she has felt that hard toward me that she would not look at me if she could help it. Now what would you have done, Cousin Thorpe?" "I should have let her go."