CHAPTER XXIV.

“BALAAM” IS TAKEN INTO CONSULTATION.

“The ass learnt metaphors and tropes, But most on music fixed his hopes.”

_Gay._

“Methought I heard a voice, and yet I doubted, Now roaring like the ocean, when the winds Fight with the waves, now in a still small tone.”

_Dryden._

As may be imagined, the next day or two was occupied by the Nestletonians in discussing matters pertaining to the startling event which had taken place in Thurston Wood. Thurston Beck was dragged and re-dragged, even the deep pool into which the “cascade” poured its waters was explored as far as the limited means at the disposal of rural justice would permit, but all in vain; the body of Black Morris could not be found. There were some, indeed, who ventured to express an opinion that the marks in the woods and the discovered gun were capable of some other explanation. Meanwhile Philip Fuller lay helplessly in the grip of strong disease, and willy-nilly, examination and arrest must be suspended for awhile, Squire Fuller, himself a J.P. for the county, undertaking surveillance of his son until such times as he could answer for himself. Here for the present we must leave the painful story, and turn our attention in a widely different direction.

* * * * *

Blithe Natty was up at his work betimes, as his custom was. The cheery sound of his ringing anvil, and the cheerier sound of his grand tenor voice, mingled musically in the morning air. The glittering sparks from the red-hot iron, out of which he was developing a horse-shoe, glanced at his leather apron, and sprinkled the floor with dull dark flakes. The fire on the hearth flamed and flickered, casting its reflection on the wall, on which hung rows of shoes ready to be nailed on the hoofs of whatever horses had cast or worn out their metal armour. Screwkeys, patterns, boring-braces, and other implements of the grimy craft were suspended in similar fashion; and leaning in the corners, and laid upon the rough beams overhead were numerous long bars and rods and sheets of iron, the raw material, out of which his deft and skilful handicraft evolved all sorts of articles for farming or domestic use.

Blithe Natty was evidently in good spirits this morning, judging from the cheery nature of his song:--

When troubles and trials are gathering round, The best thing to do, never doubt it, Is to tell them to Jesus; He’ll help, I’ll be bound; Then go, tell the Lord all about it.

His people need never, no never despair-- And I for one never will doubt it; But I’ll go to the feet of my Saviour in prayer-- I’ll go tell my Lord all about it.

The sceptic may sneer, and the world may deride, And laugh at my folly and scout it; Every need of my life to my God I’ll confide-- I’ll go tell my Lord all about it.

Though as strong as Goliath my sorrow may be, A word from my Saviour can rout it; My eyes His salvation shall speedily see-- I’ll go tell my Lord all about it.

Men may smile at my faith in His word if they will; No matter how much they may flout it, I’ll hold to His covenant promises still, And go tell my Lord all about it.

The love of my Saviour’s my strength and my stay-- I could never be happy without it; So I’ll trust in His faithfulness; happen what may, I’ll go tell my Lord all about it.

And when I am landed on Canaan’s bright shore, Before angels and saints will I shout it; Give glory and praise to my King evermore, The King that I told all about it.

“Halleluia! Nathan Blyth. That’ll be a glorious teeal te tell, an’ a glorious crood te lissen tiv it,” said Adam Olliver, who had ridden up to the Forge to get a new supply of shoes for Balaam, whom he speedily tethered by his bridle to the iron hook driven into the wall for that purpose.

“Good mornin’, Adam. What, is Balaam going barefoot?”

“Why, no, he is’nt exactly as bad as that, bud he’s gettin’ sae near t’ grund ’at ah thowt it was better to tak’ it i’ tahme. Can yo’ spare tahme te shoe ’im?”

“Hey, hey, old friend. I’ll put him to rights for you. I have his size,” said Natty, glancing along the rows of ready made shoes, “and I’ll fit him in a twinkling. But what will you give me for my news this morning?”

“Why, ah deean’t knoa. It mebbe isn’t worth mitch.”

“Hey, but it is. It’s news ’at ’ll warm your heart, or I’m a Dutchman.”

“What, hez Black Morris turned up? Or is t’ young squire better?”

Nathan Blyth’s face clouded a moment, as he said, “I’m sorry to say I’ve nought so good to say of either. Still it’s good news.”

“Oot wiv it, then. ‘Bad news’ll keep, let good news peep.’ Why, you deean’t meean te say t’ squire’s gi’en us a bit o’ land?”

“No,” said Natty, “you’ll have to wait a bit longer for that miracle to come to pass. But I’ve a miracle to tell you that’s almost as big. We’ve gotten another place to hold service in, an’ it’s best place in all the neighbourhood.”

“Prayse the Lord. He nivver was woss then His wod yit. Wheer is it?”

“Why, it’s in Midden Harbour!” said Nathan, whose eyes were twinkling with delight.

“You deean’t say sae? Ah didn’t doot ’at God wad oppen’ t’ way, bud ah didn’t expect it quite sae seean. Wheease hoose is it?”

“It’s nobody’s house; it’s”----

“What! Is it t’ mautkill?”

“Hey!” shouted Blithe Natty, and he gave the haunch of the old donkey such a slap with his big, open hand, as who should say, “There, Balaam, what do you think to that?”

Balaam, for once in his life, was thoroughly astounded. He erected his ears, turned his wondering gaze on the triumphant blacksmith, and gave vent to a loud “Hee-ho” of most magnificent volume and a _crescendo_ force that was quite startling.

“That’s right, Balaam,” said Old Adam, laughing heartily. “It’ll mak’ uthers cock their ears an’ oppen their mooth besides thoo. Halleluia! Halleluia!”

Either startled still more by the old man’s enthusiasm or else entering into the spirit of their triumph, Balaam gave tongue a second time, in a style that sent the two bystanders into such a fit of laughter that it threatened to endanger a blood-vessel.

“What in the world’s up now?” said Farmer Houston, who suddenly appeared upon the scene.

“Oop?” said Adam. “Why, ivverything’s oop! Methodism’s oop! Piggy Morris is oop! an’ oor sperrits is oop: mahne, an’ Nathan’s, an’ Balaam’s, an’ all!”

Mr. Houston’s delight at the taking of Fort Midden Harbour was extreme, and it was agreed that information should be sent at once to Mr. Mitchell, that the good work might be forthwith begun.

“We mun strike while t’ iron’s yat,” said Adam. “Mah wod, bud weean’t there be sum sparks! Bud we mun mind what we’re aboot. We sall hae te be as wise as sarpents; we’re gannin’ te put wer heeads intiv a wasp’s nest, an’ if we deean’t mind we sall get teng’d [stung] as seear as dayleet. Bud what’s ah talkin’ aboot? The Lord’ll draw their tengs frev ’em, an’ mak’ ’em as ’armless as bluebottles.”

“I cannot understand,” said Farmer Houston, “how such a surly fellow as Piggy Morris, who never had a good word to say for us, has been won so completely over.”

“Why,” said Blithe Natty, “I believe its all owing to my daughter. She’s managed to get round him somehow. He gave me to understand that much at my own door.”

“God bless ’er!” said Adam Olliver, “an’ He will. Ah’s as sartain ’at there’s a breet futur’ befoore that bairn as ah is ’at we sall seean hev a chapil. The Lord’s fashionin’ on ’er for a great wark, an’ sae you’ll see.”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the stately form of Squire Fuller was seen riding up to the Forge on his favourite and beautiful chestnut mare. With a nod of recognition to Farmer Houston, and a kindly smile on Adam Olliver, he said,--

“Nathan Blyth, can I have a word with you in private?”

Nathan touched his forelock, as in duty bound, and led the squire through a door which opened on a narrow passage leading to the house.

Farmer Houston and Adam Olliver exchanged glances of interest and wonder.

“The Lord’s workin’,” said the latter, simply. “Yance Natty Blyth had te gan tiv ’im. Noo, he ’ez te cum te Natty Blyth. What’s oop ah deean’t knoa, but ah knoa ’at t’ prayers o’ God’s people ’s at yah end, an’ ’at Nestleton chapil’s at t’uther, an’ the Lord’s linkin’ on ’em tegither.”

“The old squire’s looking very grey and haggard,” said Farmer Houston, “and how bent and bowed he is!”

“Ah’s freeten’d he dizn’t knoa where te tak’ his trubbles. If he wad nobbut tak’ ’em te t’ Cross, that’s the spot te get rid on ’em. At ony rate he wad get strength te bide ’em.”

Nathan Blyth re-appeared for a moment to excuse his absence, and Adam Olliver, having led his donkey to the door, and mounted it, rode off in company with Farmer Houston. His last words to the silent and thoughtful blacksmith were,--

“Good mornin’, aud friend! Remember what you were singin’,--

Ah’ll trust tiv His faithfulness, happen what may, Ah’ll gooa tell the Lord all aboot it.”