‘God moves in a mysterious way, doesn’d He, Mr. Penrose?’ said old Enoch.

’He does indeed, Enoch.  Here I’ve been trying to convert Moses with my preaching, and the Almighty sets aside His servant, and converts the sinner by means of a dog and a little child.  After all, there’s something can get at the heart besides theology and philosophy.  The foolishness of God is greater than the wisdom of man.’

‘Then yo’ think he’s convarted, Mr. Penrose?’

’Well, if the New Testament test is a true one, he is, for he is indeed bringing forth fruits meet for repentance.’

‘He is so,’ said Enoch, ’it what Abram sez is true.  I awlus towd my missus that whenever Moses gave his furst hawve-craan it ’ud be his fust stride towards th’ kingdom o’ grace; but if he’s gin Jim Crawshaw his deeds back he’s getten a deal further into th’ kingdom nor some o’ us.’

Mr. Penrose attempted to continue the conversation, but in vain, for a lump rose in his throat, and the landscape was dimmed by the moisture he could not keep back from his eyes.  And as with the pastor, so with his companions.  A great joy filled all their hearts—­a joy too deep for words, but not for tears.

In a little while Mr. Penrose said: 

’Moses called to see me last night to ask for re-admission into the Church.  He wants me to baptize him next Sunday afternoon week, and would like to give his testimony.’

‘But he were baptized thirty year sin’ by Mr. Morell,’ said Abram.  ‘Why does he want dippin’ o’er agen?’

’Because, as he says, he never received his testimony before last Monday, when he saved Oliver’s child from drowning.’

‘An’ are yo’ baan to baptize him?’ asked Enoch.

‘Why not?  If the deacons are willing, I shall be only too glad.’

* * * * *

It was the first Sunday afternoon in October, and along a dozen winding moorland paths there came in scattered groups the worshippers to the Rehoboth shrine.  Old men and women, weary with the weight of years, renewed their youth as they drew near to what had been a veritable sanctuary amid their care and sorrow and sin; while manhood and womanhood, leading by the hand their little ones, felt in their hearts that zeal for the house of prayer so common to the dwellers in rural England.  Long before the hour of service the chapel-yard was thronged, and from within came the sounds of stringed instruments as they were tuned to pitch by the musicians, who had already taken their place in the singing-pew beneath the pulpit, which stood square and high, canopied with its old-fashioned sounding-board and cornice of plain deal.  There was ‘owd Joel Boothman,’ who had played the double bass for half a century, resining his bow with a trembling hand; and Joe and Robert Hargreaves fondly caressing their ‘cellos.  Dick o’ Tootershill and his two sons were delicately touching the trembling strings of their violins; and Enoch was polishing, beneath the glossy sleeve of his ‘Sunday best,’ ‘th’ owd flute’ which had been his salvation.