True to his Colours Part 17

"Good morning, Thomas," said Mr Maltby; "do you know how Edward Taylor is to-day?"

"Badly enough in body, sir," replied Bradly; "but I believe the Lord's blessing this trouble to his soul, and so he's bringing good out of evil.--And so I suppose we're to lose Dr Prosser. Well, I'm sorry for it, for all the working-men I've talked with was greatly set up with the lecture he gave us in the Town Hall the other night, and we were hoping he'd give us another."

"We must get him to run down and favour us again when the autumn comes round," said Mr Maltby.

"That I shall be charmed to do," replied the doctor. "It was quite refreshing to speak td such an audience. They don't leave one in any doubt about their understanding and appreciating what is said to them."

"That's true, sir," said Bradly, "and that makes it all the more important they should listen to them as can show them as Scripture and science come from the same G.o.d, and so can't possibly contradict one another; and that's what you did, and I was very thankful to hear you do it."

"I am glad that I made that clear," said the doctor.

"Yes, you did, sir; and I'm so glad you did it without any 'ifs' and 'buts.' Why, we had a chap here the other day--the vicar weren't at home at the time--and he puts out bills to say as he were going to give a popular lecture on the Evidences of Christianity, Historical, Geographical, and I don't know what besides. It were put about too as he were an able man, and a Christian man, and so me and some of my friends went to hear him. But, bless you, he couldn't go straight at his subject, but he must be making all sorts of apologies, he was so precious fearful of speaking too strongly in favour of the Word of G.o.d and the gospel, and lest he should be uncharitable to them as didn't see just as he did; and he were full of compliments to this sceptical writer and that sceptical writer, and told us all their chief objections, and was so anxious to be candid, and not put his own opinions too strongly, that most of us began to think as the lecture ought to have been called a lecture _against_ the evidences of Christianity. I'm sure, for one who remembered what he said in favour of the Bible there'd be a dozen as would just carry home the objections, and forget the little as was said on the other side. Indeed, it reminded me of Bobby Hunt's flower- garden. But I ax your pardon, sir; I mustn't be taking up more of your time."

"Oh, go on by all means," said Dr Prosser, laughing; "I want to hear your ill.u.s.tration from Bobby Hunt's flower-garden."

"Well, sir, Bobby Hunt, as he were usually called, though he preferred to be spoken to as _Mr_. Hunt, had a cottage on the hills. He were a man as always talked very big. He'd once been a gentleman's butler, and had seen how the gentlefolks went on. So he liked to make things about him seem bigger than they really was. One day, in the back end of the year, he met me in the town, and asked me why I'd never been over to see his conservatory and flower-garden. I said I'd come over some day, and so I did.--'I'm come to see your flower-garden,' says I.--'Come along,'

says he; 'only, you mustn't expect too much.'--''Tain't likely,' says I; but I weren't exactly prepared for what I did see, or rather didn't see.

At the back of his cottage was a little bit of ground, with a few potatoes and stumps of cabbages in it, all very untidy; and he takes me to the end of this, and says, 'There's my flower-garden.'--'Where?' says I.--'There,' says he.--'I can see lots of weeds,' says I, 'but scarce anything else.'--'Oh,' he says, 'it only wants the weeds clearing off, and you'll find more flowers than you think for.'--It were pretty much the same with the gent's lecture. He showed us plenty of infidel weeds; but as for the Scripture flowers, they was so smothered by the sceptical objections, it'd take a sharp eye to notice 'em at all."

"You don't think, then, my friend," asked the doctor, "that this apologetic style--this parade of candour in stating the views and objections of the sceptical--is of much use among the people of Crossbourne?"

"No use at all, sir, here or anywhere else, you may depend upon it. We don't want such candour as that. The sceptics and, their creeds and their objections can take care of themselves. We want just to have the simple truth set before us."

"I quite agree with you," said the doctor: "timid defence is more damaging to the cause of truth than open attack."

"I believe you, sir. Suppose I were to ask you to employ one of my mates, and you was to ask me if I could give him a good character; what would you think of him if I were to say, 'Well, I've a good opinion of him myself, and he's honest and all right, for anything that I know to the contrary; but I should like you to know that John Styles don't think him over honest, and Anthony Birks told me the other day as he wouldn't trust him further than he could see him; and though Styles and Birks aren't no friends of mine, still they're very respectable men, and highly thought of by some. But, for all that, I hope you'll employ my mate, for I've a very high opinion of him myself on the whole'? If I were to give you such a character of my mate, would it dispose you to engage him? I fancy not. But this is just how some of these gents recommends the Scriptures in their lectures and their books. It's my honest conviction, doctor, they're not loyal believers in G.o.d's truth themselves, or they'd never defend it in this left-handed way."

"I'm afraid what you say is too true," said Dr Prosser; "and I shall not forget our conversation on this subject.--What a lovely day!" he continued, turning to Mr Maltby. "What a contrast to the day on which I last pa.s.sed through Crossbourne."

"When was that?" asked his friend; "I did not know that you had been in this neighbourhood before."

"Oh, I was only pa.s.sing through by rail on my way to town. Let me see; I was coming from the north, and pa.s.sed your station late at night on the 23rd of last December."

"Ah, Thomas!" said the vicar, "that is a night _we_ cannot forget.--Poor Joe Wright! His was a terrible end indeed."

"What! A man killed on the line that night near Crossbourne?" said the doctor. "I remember having my attention drawn to it more particularly, because it must have happened a few minutes after I pa.s.sed over the very same spot; so I gathered from the account of the accident in the _Times_."

"You must have been going up to London then by the express," said his friend.

"Yes. And I've special cause to remember the night--it was dismal, rainy, and chilly. The train was very full, and I was a little anxious about my luggage, as it contained some articles of considerable value.

There was no room for it in the luggage vans, which were full when I joined the train, and I had to speak rather sharply to a porter who I suspect was not over sober. He jerked up my things very roughly on to the top of the first-cla.s.s carriage into which I got, and was going to leave one of the most important articles on the platform, if I had not jumped out and seen it put up myself. And then I had to scold him again for not covering the luggage properly with the tarpaulin, without which protection it would, some of it at least, have been damaged, as a steady rain was falling. I don't know when I have been more put out, and really I felt ashamed of myself afterwards. However, all was right in the end; the luggage was all safe and uninjured, and I had a prosperous journey."

"I'll wish you good morning, sir," said Thomas Bradly to the doctor, as they entered the station yard. "A pleasant journey to you, sir; and there'll be many of us working-men as'll be very proud to see and hear you again in Crossbourne."

"Farewell, my good friend," said the other. "I shall look forward with much pleasure to the fulfilment of my promise."

A few minutes more, and Dr and Mrs Prosser were on their way back to the great city.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

CONFESSION AND EXPLANATION.

When Edward Taylor's accident and its cause were known in Crossbourne, the consternation caused among the enemies of religion and of the temperance cause was indescribable. Thomas Bradly made no secret of what had happened, and of how Foster's persecutors had been outwitted: not in any revengeful spirit, but partly because he thought it better that the plain truth should be known, and so the mouths of the marvel- mongers be stopped; and partly because he felt sure that the enemy would keep pretty still when they knew that their late proceedings were blazed abroad. So he just quietly told one or two of his fellow-workmen all the particulars, without note or comment, and left the account to do its own work.

Nor could there be any doubt as to the result. Never had there been such "a heavy blow and great discouragement" to the infidel party as this. Not only was there a storm of indignation poured out upon the heads of the conspirators by the more sober-minded working-men,--for it took no very shrewd guessing to find out who had been Ned Taylor's companions in the heartless and cruel outrage,--but even those who might have secretly applauded had the plot been successful, were eager to join in the general expressions of disgust and reprobation now that it had failed; for nothing meets with such universal and remorseless execration as unsuccessful villainy. There were also those who never lost an opportunity of chaffing the unfortunate delinquents; while, to complete their mortification and discomfiture, a rude copy of satirical verses, headed, "A Simple Lay in Praise of Tar, by one of the Feathered Tribe,"

was printed and widely circulated through the town and neighbourhood.

Nor was there much sympathy, under their ignominious defeat, between the members and friends of the Free-thought Club. After a few nights, spent chiefly in personalities and mutual recriminations, which well-nigh terminated in a general stand-up fight, the meetings of the club were adjourned _sine die_, and the inst.i.tution itself fell to pieces in a few weeks, and its existence was speedily forgotten.

The heaviest weight of trouble, however, had fallen upon poor Ned Taylor. He had suffered very serious injuries by his fall into the old well, and, having utterly ruined his const.i.tution by intemperance, was unable to rally from the shock and the wounds and bruises he had received. So he lay a miserable, groaning wreck of humanity on his wretched bed, in the comfortless kitchen of his bare and desolate home.

His old companions soon came to see him; not from any real care for himself or his sufferings, but partly to coax and partly to threaten him into silence, so that he might not reveal the names of his companions in the attempt on Foster. But Ned's wife soon gave them to understand that her husband had already had more than enough of their company; that they needn't trouble themselves to call again; and that she hoped, if he was spared, that he would have nothing more to say to any of them as long as he lived. So his old companions in evil, taking this "broad hint" as it was meant, left him in peace, and he had leisure to look a little into the past, and to ponder his sin and folly.

He was a man, like many others of his cla.s.s, not without kindly feelings and occasional good intentions; but these last had ever been as "the morning cloud and the early dew," and like all good resolutions repeatedly broken, had only added fresh rivets to the chains of his evil habits. And so he had plunged deeper and deeper into the mire of intemperance and unG.o.dliness, till scarce the faintest trace of the divine image could be discerned in him.

But now his conscience woke up, and he was not left without helpers.

Thomas Bradly visited him on the day after his accident, and saw that he was properly cared for. William Foster also called on him in a day or two, and a.s.sured him of his hearty forgiveness. The poor unhappy man was deeply touched at this, and, hiding his face in his hands, sobbed bitterly. He was indeed a pitiable object as he lay back on his ragged bed, partly propped up with pillows, his head bound round with a cloth, his left eye half closed, and one arm lying powerless by his side.

"William," he said, when he could manage to get the words out, "I don't deserve this, kindness from you of all men in the world; it cuts me to the heart, it does, for sure. I think I heard the parson say once, when he were preaching in the open-air at the market-cross one summer's evening, summat about heaping coals of fire on a man's head as has wronged you, by returning him good for evil. I'm sure, William, you've been and heaped a whole scuttleful of big coals on my head, and they're red-hot every one on 'em."

"Well, well," said Foster, much touched by this confession, "it will be all right, Ned, as far as I'm concerned, and I hope you'll soon be better.--I've come to learn," he added in an undertone, and with strong emotion, "my own need of forgiveness for all I've done against my Saviour in days gone by, and it would be strange and wrong indeed if I couldn't heartily forgive a fellow-sinner."

"The Lord bless you for that word," said the other; "and let me tell you, William, bad as I've been agen you and poor Jim Barnes, I've never liked this job; and as for that Sharples, I knew as he was the meanest rascal to treat you as he did, and I only wish as I'd had the sense and courage to keep out of the business altogether."

"Well, you've learnt a lesson, Ned; and if it should please G.o.d to bring you round, you must keep clear of the old set."

"You may depend upon that, William," said the sick man; "I've had enough and to spare of them and their ways.--I'll tell you how it all began, William, and who it was as set the thing a-going."

"Nay, Ned," interposed Foster hastily, "I don't want to know; I'd rather not know. I can guess pretty well, though I saw none of their faces distinctly. They don't want any punishment from me if I wished to give it them, for they're getting it hot and strong from all sides already; and as for Sharples, poor wretched man, he's got caught in his own trap as neatly as if he'd set it on purpose to catch himself."

"Just as you please, William; I'm sure it's very good of you to take it as you do."

"No, Ned, don't say so; there's no goodness anywhere in the matter, except in that merciful G.o.d who so wonderfully watched over and protected me. I'm sure it has been worth all I've gone through a thousand times over, to have learnt what he has taught me in this trouble,--a lesson of trust and love. But I will come and see you again, Ned; you have had talking enough for one time."

The vicar also called on the sufferer frequently, and was glad to find him humble, patient, and willing to receive instruction. But it was to Thomas Bradly that the poor man seemed specially drawn, and to him he felt that he could open all his heart.

"I've summat on my mind, Thomas, as I wants to talk to you about," he said to Bradly one day when they were left quite alone; it was about a week after the return home of Dr and Mrs Prosser. The sick man was able to sit up in a chair by the fire, though the doctor gave no hope of any real or lasting improvement. Through the kindness of his friends his cottage had partly lost its comfortless appearance, and himself, his wife, and children had been provided with sufficient food and clothing.

Yet the stamp of death was on the poor patient's wasted features, and a racking cough tried him terribly at times. But his mind was quite clear, and he had begun to see his way to pardon and peace, though it was with but a trembling hand that his faith laid hold of the offered salvation.

"What is it that you want to tell me?" asked Bradly cheerfully.

"I'll tell you, Thomas: I know I'm a dying man, and it's all right it should be so; I've brought it upon myself, more's the sin, and more's the pity."

"Nay, Ned, take heart, man; you'll come round yet, and be spared to set a good example."

The sick man shook his head, and then broke out into a violent fit of coughing. "It's pulling me to pieces," he said, when he could recover himself; "but I shall be happier if I can just tell you, Thomas, what's on my mind. It ain't about any of the wicked things as I've done, but I shall be better content when I've told you all about it. You remember the night as poor Joe Wright met his death on the line last December?

Well, I'd summat to do with that."