That the ground was ready for the sowing was the opinion of Wesley, though few signs had been given to him to induce this conclusion, but that he had not misinterpreted the story of the Valley of Dry Bones was proved by the sight of the multitudes upon the roads--upon the moorland sheep-tracks--upon the narrow lanes where the traffic was carried on by pack-horses. There they streamed in their thousands. Farmers with their wives and children seated on chairs in their heavy waggons, men astride of everything that was equine--horses and mules and asses--some with their wives or sisters on the pillion behind them, but still more riding double with a friend. On the wayside were some who were resting, having walked seven or eight or ten miles, and had seen the sun rise over the hills on that scented Spring morning. Some were having their breakfast among the primroses under the hedges, some were smoking their pipes before setting forth to complete their journey. Mothers, were nursing their infants beneath the pink and white coral of the hawthorns. “'Tis a fair,” said Hal Holmes to his friend, Dick Pritchard, who was seated by his side in a small pony cart made by himself during the winter. “Salvation Fair,” hazarded the water-finder. “Salvation Fair I would call it if only I was bold enough.” The smith shook his head. “That is how it will be styled by many, I doubt not,” he said. “And being as it must be, a strange mixture of the two--a church-going and a fairgoing--I have my fears that 'twill fall 'twixt the two. If the thing was more of a failure 'twould be a huge success. You take me, Dick?” “Only vague, Hal--only vague, man,” replied the water-finder, after a long cogitating pause. “When you spake the words there came a flash upon me like the glim from the lanthorn when 'tis opened sudden. I saw the meaning clear enough like as 'twere a stretch of valley on an uneven night of moonlight and cloud. Seemed as if there was a rift in your discourse and the moon poured through. But then the clouds fled across and I walk in the dark. Say 't again, Hal, and it may be that 'twill be plain. I have oft thought that your speech lit up marvellous well.” The blacksmith grinned. “Maybe that is by reason of my work with the forge,” he said. “The furnace is black enough until I give it a blast with the bellows and then 'tis a very ruby stone struck wi' lightning.” “Maybe--ay, very likely,” said the little man doubtfully. The smith grinned again.