“The creature will eat us out of house and home,” said grand’ther one day, looking at me, for him good-humoredly.

“Well, don’t shoot me, as you shot the pigeons.”

“Pah, have pigeons a soul?”

In February the weather softened, and a great revival broke out.  It was the dullest time of the year in Barmouth.  The ships were at sea still, and the farmers had only to fodder their cattle, so that everybody could attend the protracted meeting.  It was the same as Sunday at our house for nine days.  Miss Black, in consequence of the awakening, dismissed the school for two weeks, that the pupils might profit in what she told us was The Scheme of Salvation.

Caroline was among the first converts.  I observed her from the moment I was told she was under Conviction, till she experienced Religion.  She sang no more of mornings, and the making of molasses candy was suspended in the evenings.  I thought her less pleasing, and felt shy of holding ordinary conversations with her, for had she not been set apart for a mysterious work?  I perceived that when she sewed between meetings her work was worse done than ever; but grand’ther made no mention of it.  I went with Aunt Mercy to meetings three times a day, and employed myself in scanning the countenances around me, curious to discover the first symptoms of Conviction.

One night when grand’ther came in to prayers, he told Aunt Mercy that Pardon Hitch was awfully distressed in mind, in view of his sins.  She replied that he was always a good man.

“As good as any unregenerate man can be.”

“I might as well be a thorough reprobate then,” I thought, “like Sal Thompson, who seems remarkably happy, as to try to behave as well as Pardon Hitch, who is a model in Barmouth.”

When we went to church the next morning, I saw him in one of the back pews, leaning against the rail, as if he had no strength.  His face was full of anguish.  He sat there motionless all day.  He was prayed for, but did not seem to hear the prayers.  At night his wife led him home.  By the end of the third day, he interrupted an exhorting brother by rising, and uttering an inarticulate cry.  We all looked.  The tears were streaming down his pale face, which was lighted up by a smile of joy.  He seemed like a man escaped from some great danger, torn, bruised, breathless, but alive.  The minister left the pulpit to shake hands with him; the brethren crowded round to congratulate him, and the meeting broke up at once.

Neither grand’ther nor Aunt Mercy had spoken to me concerning my interest in Religion; but on that very evening Mr. Boold, the minister, came in to tea and asked me, while he was taking off his overcoat, if I knew that Christ had died for me?  I answered that I was not sure of it.

“Do you read your Bible, child?”

“Every day.”

“And what does it teach you?”

“I do not know.”

“Miss Mercy, I will thank you for another cup.  ’Now is the day, and now is the hour; come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, I will give you rest.’”