“Out of the deep have I called unto thee, O Lord:  Lord, hear my voice. 
  O let thine ears consider well the voice of my complaint. 
  If thou, Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done amiss,
      O Lord, who may abide it? 
  Because there is mercy with thee; therefore shall thou be feared. 
  I look for the Lord, my soul doth wait for him:  in his word is my trust. 
  My soul fleeth unto the Lord, before the morning watch,
      before the morning watch. 
  O Israel, trust in the Lord:  for with the Lord there is mercy: 
      and with him is plenteous redemption. 
  And he shall redeem Israel from all his sins.”

“Isn’t the last word ‘troubles,’ child? look again; I think it’s ‘troubles’ either there, or leastways in the Bible-psalm.”

“No, father, sins, ‘from all his sins;’ and ‘iniquities’ in the Bible-version—­look, father.”

“Well, girl, well; I wish it had been ‘troubles;’ ’from all his troubles’ is a better thought to my mind:  God wot, I have plenty on ’em, and a little lot of gold would save us from them all.”

“Gold, father? no, my father—­God.”

“I tell you, child,” said Roger, ever vacillating in his strong temptation between habitual religion and the new-caught lust of money, “if only on a sudden I could get gold by hook or by crook, all my cares and all your troubles would be over on the instant.”

“Oh, dear father, do not hope so; and do not think of troubles more than sins; there is no deliverance in Mammon; riches profit not in the day of evil, and ill-got wealth tends to worse than poverty.”

“Well, any how, I only wish that dream of mine came true.”

“Dream, goodman—­what dream?” said his wife.

“Why, Poll, I dreamt I was a-working in my garden, hard by the celery trenches in the sedge; and I was moaning at my lot, as well I may:  and a sort of angel came to me, only he looked dark and sorrowful, and kindly said, ‘What would you have, Roger?’ I, nothing fearful in my dream, for all the strangeness of his winged presence, answered boldly, ‘Money;’ he pointed with his finger, laughed aloud, and vanished away:  and, as for me, I thought a minute wonderingly, turned to look where he had pointed, and, O the blessing! found a crock of gold!”

“Hush, father! that dark angel was the devil; he has dropt ill thoughts upon your heart:  I would I could see you as you used to be, dear father, till within these two days.”

“Whoever he were, if he brought me gold, he would bring me blessing.  There’s meat and drink, and warmth and shelter, in the yellow gold—­ay, and rest from labour, child, and a power of rare good gifts.”

“If God had made them good, and the gold were honest gains, still, father, even so, you forget righteousness, and happiness, and wisdom.  Money gives us none of these, but it might take them all away:  dear father, let your loving Grace ask you, have you been better, happier, wiser, even from the wishing it so much?”