“How could I be away from here unless I had hastened to meet Mr. Wesley on his way hither?” said Pritchard. “I have been trembling with desire to have his ear for the past week. It is laid on me to exhort him on some matters that he neglected. These matters can be neglected no longer.” The miller looked at Jake Pullsford, and the latter sat aghast. He was so astounded that he could only stare at Pritchard, with his hands on his knees and his head in its usual poise, craning forward. Some moments had passed before he succeeded in gasping out, after one or two false starts: “You--you--you--Dick Pritchard--you talk of exhorting Mr. Wesley? Oh, poor fellow! poor fellow! Now, indeed, we know that you are mad!” “Mr. Wesley should ha' found out the gift that is mine,” said Pritchard, quite ignoring the somewhat frank utterance of the carrier. “I suspected myself during several months of having that great gift of prophecy.'Twas no more than a suspicion for some time, and I dare not speak before I was sure.” “And what made thee sure, Dick?” asked the miller. “'Twas reading how the great prophet, Moses, made water flow from the rock,” replied Pritchard. “'What,' said I to my own self. 'What, Richard Pritchard, hath not all thy life been spent in performing that great miracle of Moses, and hast not known the greatness of thy gift?' And then I made search and found that water-finding has been the employment of most of the great prophets, Elijah being the foremost. Like to a flash from a far-off cannon gun, that reaches the eyes before ever the sound of the boom comes upon the ear, the truth was revealed to me. I knew then that the gift of the Tishbite was mine.” It was Jake Pullsford who now looked at the miller. The miller shook his head. “'Twould not matter much what you thought of yourself, Dick,” said the miller, “if only you had not been admitted to our fellowship; but things being as they be---” He shook his head again. “What overcomes me is the thought of thy former habit of life, Dick,” said the carrier. “Why, up to a month agone, a man more modest, shy and tame speaking, wasn't to be found in all the West Country. Why, man, I've seen thee sweat at the sound of thine own voice, like as if thou hadst been a thief a-hearing o' the step of an officer! Meek! Meek is no name for it! I give thee my word that it oft made me think shame of all manhood in the world to hear thee make apology for a plain truth that, after all, thou wast too bashful to utter!” “You could not see my heart, Miller,” said Pritchard. “'Twas only that I was humble in voice; I know now that in spirit I was puffed up with pride, so that I could hardly contain myself. But even after the truth came upon me in that flash, I was ready to treat the likes of you, Miller--ay, even the likes of thee, Jake Pullsford, as mine equal, so affable a heart had I by birth.”