“What!” exclaimed Betty, greatly exasperated, “are we varmint, and you Quakers lions? A pretty set of lions, all sitting with their hats on in a meeting like so many stocks. Sheep, Sylvanus—call them sheep—that’s more like it. Now I tell you what it is. You won’t take anybody in lest you should be taken in by them, and they should get any of your blessed money. You would not take the man who said he was convinced of Friends’ principles, because he had eleven children, and heard you took care of all your members. Eh, Sylvanus? Eh? We, Mester Crook,—we take in all sorts and sizes. Methodism is a general hospital, it takes in all, and cures as many as it can.” “That is the best thing, Betty, thou hast said yet: and may the Lord enable you to cure many.” “I dare to say we shall cure a few, Mr. Crook,” said Betty, not fully appeased by the last compliment, and always Mr. Crooking him, when what she called her monkey was up,—“I dare say we shall cure a few; but no thanks to sitting and samming altogether as if all the deaf and dumb had been raked up from the four winds. If fish are to be catched, it is not by sitting on the Trent bank without line and hook, and wishing for them to jump into your creel. It must be by praying in season and out of season, and by preaching the word with unction. If mester niver sowed, he’d niver shear; if he did na mow his grass, and his woots (oats) he’d have a bare crib in winter, Mr. Crook; and what’s wisdom here is wisdom in them above, I reckon. As for saving souls by sitting still on bare benches and twiddling yer thumbs, it is just as good as telling th’ big miller at Cotmanhaye mill that his corn will grind if he lets the water-wheel stand still.” Sylvanus was prepared with an answer, but had no opportunity of giving it, for the reply to his mistress’s note came out of the parlour, and he was requested to deliver it as quickly as he could.