(for harsh was the teaching of his childhood, and meagre the
occasions of self-culture ever since), the beauty of creation is by no
means lost upon him, and he notices at times its wisdom too. With a
fixed habit of manly piety ever on his lips and ever in his heart, he
recognises Providence in all things, just, and wise, and good. More than
so; simply as a little child who endures the school-hour for the
prospect of his play-time, Roger Acton bears up with noble meekness
against present suffering, knowing that his work and trials and
troubles are only for a little while, but his rest and his reward remain
a long hereafter. He never questioned this; he knew right well Who had
earned it for him; and he lived grateful and obedient, filling up the
duties of his humble station. This was his faith, and his works followed
it. He believed that God had placed him in his lot, to be a labourer,
and till God's earth, and, when his work is done, to be sent on better
service in some happier sphere: the where, or the how, did not puzzle
him, any more than divers other enigmatical whys and wherefores of his
present state; he only knew this, that it would all come right at last:
and, barring sin (which he didn't comprehend), somehow all was right at
present. What if poverty pinched him? he was a great heir still; what if
oppression bruised him? it would soon be over. He trusted to his Pilot,
like the landsman in a storm; to his Father, as an infant in the dark.
For guilt, he had a Saviour, and he thought of him in penitence; for
trouble, a Guardian, and he looked to him in peace; and as for toil,
back-breaking toil, there was another Master whom he served with spade,
and mattock, and a thankful heart, while he only seemed to be working
for the landlord or his bailiff.

Such a man then had been Roger Acton from his youth up till now, or, if
sadness must be told, nearly until now; for, to speak truth, his heart
at times would fail him, and of late he had been bitter in repinings and
complaint. For a day or two, in particular, he had murmured loudly. It
was hard, very hard, that an honest, industrious man, as he was, should
so scantily pick a living out of this rich earth: after all said, let
the parson preach as he will, it's a fine thing to have money, and that
his reverence knows right well, or he wouldn't look so closely for his
dues. [N.B. Poor Mr. Evans was struggling as well as he could to bring
up six children, on a hundred and twen