CHAPTER XXXV.

OLD ADAM OLLIVER TO THE RESCUE.

“Who is it that will doubt The care of Heaven, or think immortal Powers are slow, ’cause they take privilege To choose their own time, when they will send Their blessings down?”

_Davenant._

Not one word did Nathan Blyth breathe to Lucy of his unsatisfactory interview with Philip Fuller. He was more affected than he cared to own, and went about his work with an absent and a heavy heart. Quick to read all the changes in her father’s moods, Lucy soon missed his cheery anvil song, and wondered what dark cloud had come to cast its shadow over him. In vain she sought his confidence. Seeing her anxiety, Nathan sought to deceive her by a constrained pleasantry and a heartless song. But Nathan was a poor hand at playing the hypocrite, and Lucy’s loving eyes were not to be deceived.

When Philip returned home, his father’s first glance at the sad and excited face told him that his errand, as he feared, had been in vain. This, instead of giving him pleasure, as it would once have done, increased alike his admiration of the character of the village blacksmith, and his desire to secure his peerless daughter as a life-mate for his son.

“I’ll go myself,” said the old man, when Philip had described his unsatisfactory and disheartening interview.

“That will be of no use,” said Philip; “he told me that even if you came, his mind would not alter, and Nathan Blyth always means what he says.”

The next morning the squire wrote a note to Lucy, to inform her that a piece of land, admirably situated in the centre of the village, was at the disposal of the Methodists, and that he had given orders for its transfer to Farmer Houston, free of cost. Great was Lucy’s rejoicing at this glorious victory, and Nathan Blyth was compelled to admire the tone of the letter which announced the grateful and timely gift. It breathed such love and esteem for Lucy, and what struck the blacksmith still more forcibly, it displayed such a spirit of Christian piety, and was marked by such a genuine religious feeling, that Natty wondered more and more.

* * * * *

That evening Farmer Houston, Nathan Blyth, and Adam Olliver were seated in the dining-room of the former, when Mr. Houston read the note which he had himself received, and which ran as follows:--

“MY DEAR HOUSTON,--When you last made a request to me for a piece of land on which to build a Methodist chapel, I imagined that I had sufficient reasons for refusing, and I did refuse accordingly. Subsequent events and a careful study of the whole matter have convinced me that I was in the wrong. I have now given orders for the transfer to you of a plot of ground on Nestleton Green, believing as I do, that the erection of the desired sanctuary will be of great moral and spiritual advantage to the village, and will be to the praise and glory of God. I shall be glad when your scheme is ripe to render further aid to your godly undertaking.

“Yours faithfully,

“AINSLEY FULLER.”

“Wonderful!” said Mr. Houston. “Isn’t it?”

“Marvellous!” said Nathan Blyth.

“Joost as ah expected!” said Adam Olliver. “The Lord’s nut only answered ’wer prayers, bud He’s gannin’ te giv uz t’ squire inte t’ bargain. God be thenk’d! Maister, let uz pray!”

The three good men and true knelt to offer heartfelt gratitude to God, and Adam Olliver, with tearful eyes and a heart gushing with love and praise, poured out his soul in prayer and thanksgiving, pleading for the old squire, for Philip, for God’s cause in Nestleton, until the very atmosphere seemed to be charged with the presence and power of a loving and gracious God. As soon as they had risen from their knees, Adam said,--

“Halleluia! Mah poor aud een ’ll see a Methodist chapil i’ Nestleton, an’ then ah’ll say, ‘Noo, Lord, lettest thoo thi’ sarvant depayt i’ peeace, for mi’ ees hez seen Thy salvation.’ Prayse the Lord! T’ moontain was varry greeat an’ varry high, bud afoore oor Zerubbabel it’s becum a playn! O Maister Houston! O Nathan Blyth! Nivver doot Him nae mair!”

“Well,” said Nathan, “it is the Lord’s doing, and it _is_ marvellous.” Bringing forth the letter which the old squire had written to Lucy on the same subject, he said, “Now, then, what do you think to this?”

“MY DEAR MISS BLYTH,--Your request, offered in response to my sincere desire to show my gratitude and esteem, at first surprised me; but the more I thought of it, the more clearly I saw in it another illustration of your own self-forgetting and self-sacrificing character. I should cordially have given the plot of land for your sake; I believe, however, that it will be more pleasing to you to know that I make this gift to the Methodist people in genuine admiration of the high and holy work they have done in this village, as well as in other places, and as a personal thank-offering for mercies, providential and spiritual, lately received at the hands of a forgiving and gracious God. As far as you are concerned, I would fain hope that I may have other and _constant_ opportunities of showing the affectionate regard in which you are held by

“Yours very sincerely,

“AINSLEY FULLER.”

“God bless ’im,” said Adam Olliver, “’is ’art’s i’ t’ right spot noo, hooivver, whativver it was fower munths since. An’ as for what he says aboot Lucy, it’s true, ivvery wod on’t. She’s t’ sweetest, goodest lass i’ Waverdale, an’ t’ squire hez t’ feynest lad. Lucy Blyth an’ Philip Fuller! Mah wod, Natty, what a pair they wad mak’! Ah ain’t mitch fayth i’ rich fooaks marryin’ poor fooaks. I offens finnds ’at they beeath on ’em marry mair then they reckon on. But Lucy’s a laydy, if ivver there was yan, if Philip’s a gentleman; they beeath luv the Lord, an’ they beeath luv tee-an t’ other, an’ if they wer’ joined tegither, all Waverdale wad be the better fo’t. Natty Blyth!” said Adam, noticing Nathan’s troubled countenance, and suddenly alive to probabilities, “Natty Blyth, aud friend! deean’t you gan an’ fight ageean God. Maister Houston, we’ve been an’ prayed te God for a twelve-munth ’at He wad tonn’d ’art o’ t’ aud squire an’ owerrule things seea as te get a chapil for uz. Noo, the Lord’s gi’en us what we wanted, an’ He’s getten things mixed up i’ deein’ it. Are we te leeav Him, an’ say, ‘There, Lord, Thoo mun brayk t’ threeads off noo; we’ve getten all we care aboot, an’ t’ rest may drop?’ Ah weean’t be sae meean an’ sae wicked; we mun still be co-workers wiv Him accordin’ tiv His will. If t’ web ov His providence hez a Methodist chapil i’ t’ pattern, it’s gotten Lucy Blyth an’ Philip Fuller in it as weel. Then, God helpin’ uz, we moan’t hinder t’ shuttle, but gan on till t’ weeavin’s deean. Sud we hae gotten this land if Philip Fuller hadn’t been sick? Sud we hae gotten this land if Lucy Blyth hadn’t gone te t’ Hall? Isn’t t’ aud squire ower heead an’ ears i’ luv wi’ beeath Philip an’ Lucy? Deean’t the two young fooaks luv t’ grund t’ eean t’ uther walks on? Aren’t they meead for yan anuther like two hoaves ov a pair o’ sithers? An’ isn’t t’ Methodist chapil gannin’ te be built te wed ’em in? Oppen thi’ een, Natty, an’ see what the Lord’s deein’. Ah fancy there’s a good bit o’ pride i’ yo’; for it may be just as strang under a blacksmith’s leather appron as under a squire’s white weeastcooat. You want te be independent, an’ it’s all varry weel up tiv a sartain point, bud you can’t be independent o’ God, an’ you’d better nut try. Natty, aud friend, ha’e you ivver axed Him what He hez te say aboot it?”

This last inquiry struck Nathan Blyth very forcibly, and he was compelled to own that to Philip Fuller’s appeal, he had given a final answer on the strength of previous convictions. The marvellous change in the squire’s attitude to Lucy and Methodism had not presented itself to him as the result of Divine interposition, and as requiring new guidance from the Throne of Grace. He made no answer. Adam Olliver rose to his feet, and with great solemnity said, “Natty, you an’ me’ll mak’ this a matter o’ prayer.”

Bidding Farmer Houston good-night, Adam and his companion wended their way homeward, and on arriving at his cottage the old hedger pressed Nathan Blyth to go in with him. Judy was over at the Forge, chatting with Lucy, and the two men drew up to the fire and resumed the conversation on the subject of Philip Fuller’s request.

“Ah feel ’at there’s nowt for it this tahme bud te ax the Lord te mak’ yer duty plain, Natty. You mun deea right, an’ if you’re bent o’ that an’ ax Him, He’ll mak’ t’ way as playn as dayleet. Ah’s fair bothered aboot it. Ah’s sartain that God hez His ’and iv it. Let’s ax Him!” With wondrous power and unction did Adam plead at the Throne of Grace: “If it’s for their good an’ Thah glory, an’ t’ good o’ t’ Chotch, bring ’em tegither, Lord, an’ let nut man payt ’em asunder. Guide beeath Natty an’ ’is lahtle lass i’ t’ right way. Show all consarned what’s best. Guide ’em all wi’ Thah coonsel, an’ efterwards bring ’em te glory. We ax it all for Christ’s seeak. Amen.”

“_Amen_,” said another voice, and rising from their knees they saw within the door the white and bended head of Squire Fuller.

“Forgive my intrusion,” said he; “I tapped twice at the door, but could not make you hear. When I opened it and heard your petitions, I could not help joining in them with all my heart, for I felt their need as much as you.”

“Cum in, sir, an’ sit yo’ doon,” said Adam, freshening up the cushion of his old arm-chair for his unusual guest.

“I did not expect to find you here, Mr. Blyth, but my errand has to do with you and yours. The prayer I heard just now shows that you have trusted our aged friend, and as I have come on purpose to do the same, I hope you will give me a few minutes in his presence.”

Nathan bowed, blushed, felt very uncomfortable, stood half a second irresolute, and then resumed his seat.

“That’s right, Natty,” said Adam; “the Lord’s showin’ yo’ t’ way. Gan on, sir!”

“I came to you, Adam Olliver, because I know that you are a good man, that your influence with God and with good men is great, that you are Mr. Blyth’s trusted friend, and because I want you to be a trusted friend of mine.”

“God bless yo’, sir. I isn’t mitch use, but ah’ll deea t’ best ah can fo’ yo’, wi’ all mi’ ’art.”

“Thank you! The case is just here. My son Philip--(“God bless ’im,” said Adam)--loves Lucy Blyth--(“God bless ’er,” said Adam)--with all the strength of his nature. I believe that his love and his life are bound up together. As you know, I strongly opposed it, as also did her father. Both the young people, with a filial devotion beyond all praise--(“God bless ’em,” said Adam)--submitted to our decision. Since then, I and mine have been in the furnace. My son has been at the door of death, and my life has been shadowed by the heaviest cloud that ever darkened a human heart. My life was saved from the hand of a ruffian, my boy was brought from the brink of the grave, and I was brought back to my Bible and my Saviour--(“Halleluia!” said Adam)--by the instrumentality of Lucy Blyth. All I have to-day of trust in Christ, and peace of mind and hope of heaven, I owe to these two young people--(“Glory be te God!” said Adam, while sympathetic tears were coursing down his cheeks). Do you wonder, Adam Olliver, that all my opposition died away? Do you wonder that the great desire of my heart is to see these two man and wife? I gave my son permission to ask for her at her father’s hands. He refused, and my son came back to me with no light in his eye, and I cannot bear to see my boy breaking his heart over an impossible love. Be my friend, and gain from him the consent he will not give to me. Tell him that before God and man it is right that these two, so strangely and mysteriously brought together, should be one in life and death, one to labour for Jesus and His cause; one to be a blessing to Waverdale, and good stewards for God when I am dead and gone!”

“Nathan Blyth!” said Adam, “noo’s the tahme ’at we’ve been axin’ for. Yah wod frae you will mak’ three ’arts ’appy, will pleease God, an’ fill all Nestleton wi’ joy! Ah deean’t think ’at you’ve mitch doot ye’rsen, bud if yo’ hev, just let ma’ remind yo’ ’at Lucy owt te hev a mind ov ’er aun, an’ ’at yo’ owt te lissen te what _she_ hez te say.”

In all his life Nathan Blyth had never been so moved. His independent spirit, his conviction of duty wrestled with his tenderness of heart, while the question forced itself upon him as to whether his convictions were of God. His cool judgment was at war with the impulses of his soul. But Adam’s last idea had laid abiding hold upon him. What will Lucy say? After all, her’s was the weightiest voice; beyond a certain point, he had no right to force her obedience, or be the arbiter of her destiny, or bind an adamantine chain around her life. He had done his duty with an honest conscience; now he was compelled to own that he himself was wavering, that Providence seemed to be on the other side, and so standing up before the anxious squire, whose humility was something wonderful to see, he said,--

“Squire Fuller, I yield. I’ve done all I can to hinder it, but I dare not further withhold my consent. My judgment does not approve, but it may be misguided and unsound, and I have never known Adam Olliver at fault; he lives too near to God for that. The matter rests with Lucy, and no influence of mine shall be exerted to hinder her from deciding according to the dictates of her conscience and the wishes of her heart.”

“Thank you for that, Nathan Blyth. I have as much confidence in her as you have,” said Squire Fuller. “I cannot ask you for more, and may God guide us all aright.”

“He will,” said Adam Olliver, “an’ as seear as ah’s a livin’ man, Lucy Blyth’s ‘Yis’ or ‘No’ ’ll be gi’en be’ t’ grace o’ God. Squire Fuller, ah’ve neea desire te see fooaks get oot o’ their station i’ life, bud t’ truth is, Lucy Blyth isn’t in hors, an’s called be’ t’ Providence o’ God te cum up higher.”

“I believe you are right, good old man,” said Mr. Fuller, half beside himself with joy, “and if ever ‘marriages were made in heaven,’ it will be the case when that charming girl becomes the bride of my noble-hearted son!”