And it may be just as well to say here and once for all, for the benefit of those who through no fault of their own, to be sure, but to their great loss notwithstanding, have not the privilege of being Yorkshire bred and born, that half-a-century ago theological discussion was, among the mill-hands of the West Riding, as common as ratting or dog-fighting or as disputing over the form of a foot-ball player in these degenerate days. Any fine Sunday of the year, if you walked in the country, you would come across a group of men, gravely excited, discussing with acumen, and all the artillery of text and commentary, original sin, predestination, effectual calling and the inefficiency of works. "And did he?" Ben shook his head. "He's a deep 'un is yon'. They ca' folk 'at go to Church o' a mornin' an' chapel i' th' afternooin, devil-dodgers; but yon's waur, he's a deacon-dodger. He knew as weel as he knew his dinner 'd be spoilin' bi hauf-past twelve 'at ther' wer' owd Split an' Tommy Shaw, not to say Jabez Tinker, at's happen more charity, just simply waitin' to lay howd on a word here an' a sentence theer to condemn; but he slipped past 'em a'. It wer' clivver aw'll nooan gainsay, but it wer' nooan honest. Yo've happen no reight to expect brains i' a parson, but th' leeast he can do is to be honest." "But yo' dunnot tell us ha he han'led th' text," said his wife impatiently. "Why th' cream on it wer' this: 'at th' Almighty fro' th' beginnin' had foreordained th' law o' righteousness, just th' same as he foreordained th' law o' gravitation an' he elected to salvation them as walked therein, an' them as didn't were rejected. Same as th' law o' combustion," he said, "if yo' put yo'r finger i'th' fire God had pre-arranged 'at yo' sud be burned, an' sarve yo' reight." "Why that's common sense enough to please you, father, you couldn't find fault with that." "Aye' that wer' reight enough; but yo' should ha' heeard th' way he wrapped it up an' dressed it i'th catch words o' th' hard-an'-fast Baptists, so as to mak' them o' th' owder end think it wer' all th' owd dish sarved up a bit different. But it wern't; it wer' common sense an' nat'ral religion dressed up to mak' 'em sound like Calvinism. He caught th' deacons sleepin', as he thowt, an' stole their clo'es; but Jabez Tinker saw through him, aw tell yo', an' so did Ben Garsed, if he _is_ an' owd foo." "And what did Tom say to it all?" asked Lucy. "Tom! Aw've no patience wi' Tom. He walked all th' way whom as if he wer' dreamin', an' all 'at aw could get out on him wer' 'at pale blue went varry well wi some shades o' yoller. He wer' thinkin o' his dyein', yo' see." "Was he for sure?" asked Mrs. Garside, "which dun yo' think's th' blindest, Lucy, a bat or a mole?" But Lucy was looking out of the window and answer made none. CHAPTER IX.