When the Parfitts had been married fifteen years, a strange rumour reached their cottage of a spiritual change that had been wrought in the soul of Samuel Learoyd.  It was reported that the farmer had been attending the revival services held in the little Primitive Methodist chapel about a mile away from his farm, that his flinty heart had been melted, and that he had “found the Lord.”  The weaver’s family was slow to credit this change, though Mary prayed fervently night and morning that it might be true.  Their doubts, however, were set at rest by the circuit steward of the Holmton chapel where they attended service.  He had taken part in the revival meetings and related what he had seen.

“Aye, it’s true, sure enough,” he said.  “Sam Learoyd’s a changed man.  It were t’ local preacher that done it.  He gat him on to his knees anent t’ penitential forms at after t’ sarvice, an’ there were a two-three more wi’ him; an’ t’ preacher an’ me wrastled wi’ t’ devil for their souls.  I’ve niver seen sich tewin’ o’ t’ spirit sin I becom a Methody.  ’Twere a hot neight, and what wi’ t’ heat an’ t’ spiritual exercises, t’ penitents were fair reekin’ an’ sweatin’.  We went thro’ one to t’ other and kept pleadin’ wi’ ’em.  ‘Tread t’ owd devil under fooit,’ says we; ‘think on t’ blooid o’ t’ Lamb that weshes us thro’ all sin.’  An’ t’ penitents would holla out:  ’I can’t, I can’t:  he’s ower strang for me; I’m baan to smoor i’ hell fires.’  But t’ local were stranger nor t’ devil for all that, an’ first one an’ then another on ’em would shout out:  ‘I’m saved; I’ve fun’ Him, I’ve fun’ the Lord!’ Then they’d git up an’ walk out o’ t’ room that weak you could hae knocked ’em down wi’ a feather.

“At lang length there was nobbut Sam Learoyd left.  He was quieter nor t’ others, but t’ load o’ sins about his heart was as tough as Whangby cheese.  So me an’ t’ preacher gat on either side o’ him an’ we prayed an’ better prayed, but all for nowt.  So at last Sam got up off his knees, an’ wi’ a despert look on his face, says:  ’Let me be.  If I’m baan to find salvation I’ll find it misen.’

“At that we gav ower prayin’, but kept kneelin’ by his side an’ waited for the Lord to sattle t’ job.  An’ outside t’ wind were yowlin’ as if it would blow down t’ walls and chimleys.  But warr nor t’ yowlin’ o’ t’ wind were t’ groans o’ Sam Learoyd.

“After a while t’ groans gat easier, and then t’ local started singin’ in a low voice, ‘Rock of Ages.’  But Sam would have noan o’ his singin’.  So we just waited to see what would happen.  Well, after a while t’ groans stopped, an’ Sam lifted up his heead an’ looked round.  ’Arta saved?’ asked t’ local, and Sam answered:  ‘I’m convicted o’ sin.’  ‘Praise be to God,’ sang out t’ local, and we gat Sam off his knees and out o’ t’ chapil an’ away home.  An’ ivver sin that time Sam’s coom reg’lar to chapil twice on Sundays an’ to t’ weeknight sarvice too.”

“But will it last?” asked Tom Parfitt, whose long experience as a chapel member had taught him the snares of backsliding.