and she was often praying me to go; and
now she looked at me, with a sigh just creeping
forth from her lips, as she expected a
refusal. But I did not refuse. I had been
kept away from church before because I dared
not go; and now I was desperate and dared
do anything. If I did look like a heathen in
the face of all men, why I was a heathen in
my heart; for I was falling back into all my
evil ways. I had resolved, if my search of
work at Padiham should fail, I would follow
my father's footsteps, and take with my own
right hand and by my strength of arm what
it was denied me to obtain honestly. I had
resolved to leave Sawley, where a curse
seemed to hang over me; so what did it
matter if I went to church, all unbeknowing
what strange ceremonies were there performed?
I walked thither as a sinful man—sinful in
my heart. Nelly hung on my arm, but even
she could not get me to speak. I went in;
she found my places, and pointed to the words,
and looked up into my eyes with hers, so full
of faith and joy. But I saw nothing but
Richard Jackson—I heard nothing but his
loud nasal voice, making response, and
desecrating all the holy words. He was in
broadcloth of the best—I in my fustian jacket.
He was prosperous and glad—I was starving
and desperate. Nelly grew pale as she saw
the expression in my eyes; and she prayed
ever and ever more fervently as the thought
of me tempted by the Devil even at that very
moment came more fully before her.

By and by she forgot even me, and laid
her soul bare before God, in a long silent
weeping prayer, before we left the church.
Nearly all had gone—and I stood by her,
unwilling to disturb her, unable to join her. At
last she rose up, heavenly calm. She took my
arm, and we went home through the woods,
where all the birds seemed tame and familiar.
Nelly said she thought all living creatures
knew it was Christmas Day, and rejoiced,
and were loving together. I believed it was
the frost that had tamed them; and I felt the
hatred that was in me, and knew that whatever
else was loving, I was full of malice and
uncharitableness, nor did I wish to be otherwise.
That afternoon I bade Nelly and our
child farewell, and tramped to Padiham. I
got work—how I hardly know; for stronger
and stronger came the force of the temptation
to lead a wild, free life of sin; legions seemed
whispering evil thoughts to me, and only my
gentle, pleading Nelly to pull me back from
the great gulph. However, as I said before,
I got work, and set off homewards to move
my wife and child to that neighbourhood. I
hated Sawley, and yet I was fiercely
indignant to leave it; with my purposes
unaccomplished. I was still an outcast from the
more respectable, who stood afar off from
such as I; and mine enemy lived and
flourished in their regard. Padiham, however,
was not so far away, for me to despair
to relinquish my fixed determination. It
was on the eastern side of the great Pendle
Hill; ten miles away, may be. Hate will
overleap a greater obstacle.

I took a cottage on the Fell, high up on
the side of the hill.  We saw a long bleak
moorland slope before us, and then the grey
stone houses of Padiham, over which a black
cloud hung; different from the blue wood or
turf smoke about Sawley. The wild winds
came down, and whistled round our house
many a day when all was still below. But I
was happy then. I rose in men's esteem. I
had work in plenty. Our child lived and
throve. But I, forgot not our country proverb:
"Keep a stone in thy pocket for seven
years: turn it, and keep it seven years more;
but have it ever ready to cast at thine enemy
when the time comes."

One day a fellow workman asked me to go
to a hill-side preaching. Now I never cared
to go to church; but there was something
newer and freer in the notion of praying to
God right under His great dome; and the
open air had had a charm to me ever since
my wild boyhood. Besides, they said these
ranters had strange ways with them, and I
thought it would be fun to see their way of
setting about it; and this ranter of all others
had made himself a name in our parts.
Accordingly we went; it was a fine summer's
evening, after work was done. When we got
to the place we saw such a crowd as I never
saw before, men, women, and children: all
ages were gathered together, and sat on the
hill-side. They were care-worn, diseased,
sorrowful, criminal; all that was told on their
faces, which were hard, and strongly marked.
In the midst, standing in a cart, was the
ranter. When I first saw him, I said to my
companion, " Lord! What a little man to
make all this pother! I could trip him up
with one of my fingers; "  and then I sat
down, and looked about me a bit. All eyes
were fixed on the preacher; and I turned
mine upon him too. He began to speak; it
was in no fine-drawn language, but in words
such as we heard every day of our lives, and
about things we did every day of our lives. He
did not call our short-comings pride or
worldliness, or pleasure-seeking, which would have
given us no clear notion of what he meant,
but he just told us outright what we did, and
then he gave it a name, and said that it was
accursed, and that we were lost if we went
on so doing.

By this time the tears and sweat were
running down his face; he was wrestling for
our souls. We wondered how he knew our
innermost lives as he did, for each one of us
saw his sin set before him in plain-spoken
words. Then he cried out to us to repent;
and spoke first to us, and then to God, in a
way that would have shocked many but it
ditl not shock me. I liked strong things; and
I liked the bare full truth: and I felt
brought nearer to God in that hour—the
summer darkness creeping over us, and one