I have described the sequestered and beautiful hamlet of Barton, to which I was so often taken visiting by Mary Grace Burmington.  At Barton there lived a couple who were objects of peculiar interest to me, because of the rather odd fact that having come, out of pure curiosity, to see me baptized, they had been then and there deeply convinced of their spiritual danger.  These were John Brooks, an Irish quarryman, and his wife, Ann Brooks.  These people had not merely been hitherto unconverted, but they had openly treated the Brethren with anger and contempt.  They came, indeed, to my baptism to mock, but they went away impressed.

Next morning, when Mrs. Brooks was at the wash tub, as she told us, Hell opened at her feet, and the Devil came out holding a long scroll on which the list of her sins was written.  She was so much excited, that the motion brought about a miscarriage and she was seriously ill.  Meanwhile, her husband, who had been equally moved at the baptism, was also converted, and as soon as she was well enough, they were baptized together, and then ‘broke bread’ with us.  The case of the Brookses was much talked about, and was attributed, in a distant sense, to me; that is to say, if I had not been an object of public curiosity, the Brookses might have remained in the bond of iniquity.  I, therefore, took a very particular interest in them, and as I presently heard that they were extremely poor, I was filled with a fervent longing to minister to their necessities.

Somebody had lately given me a present of money, and I begged little sums here and there until I reached the very considerable figure of seven shillings and sixpence.  With these coins safe in a little linen bag, I started one Sunday afternoon, without saying anything to anyone, and I arrived at the Brookses’ cottage in Barton.  John Brooks was a heavy dirty man, with a pock-marked face and two left legs; his broad and red face carried small side-whiskers in the manner of that day, but was otherwise shaved.  When I reached the cottage, husband and wife were at home, doing nothing at all in the approved Sunday style.  I was received by them with some surprise, but I quickly explained my mission, and produced my linen bag.  To my disgust, all John Brooks said was, ‘I know’d the Lord would provide,’ and after emptying my little bag into the palm of an enormous hand, he swept the contents into his trousers pocket, and slapped his leg.  He said not one single word of thanks or appreciation, and I was absolutely cut to the heart.

I think that in the course of a long life I have never experienced a bitterer disappointment.  The woman, who was quicker, and more sensitive, doubtless saw my embarrassment, but the form of comfort which she chose was even more wounding to my pride.  ‘Never mind, little master,’ she said, ’you shall come and see me feed the pigs.’  But there is a limit to endurance, and with a sense of having been cruelly torn by the tooth of ingratitude, I fled from the threshold of the Brookses, never to return.