is guest.

"What! the local's family?"

Mr Donnithorne nodded.

Soon after, a tall, gentlemanly man ascended the pulpit.

The managing director was disappointed. He had come there to hear a
miner preach, and behold, a clergyman!

"Who is he?" inquired Clearemout.

But Mr Donnithorne did not answer. He was looking up the hymn for Mrs
D, who, being short-sighted, claimed exemption from the duty of "looking
up" anything. Besides, he was a kind, good man at heart--though rather
fond of smuggling and given to the bottle, according to Oliver
Trembath's account of him--and liked to pay his wife little attentions.

But there were still greater novelties in store for the London man that
morning. It was new to him to hear John Wesley's beautiful hymns sung
to equally beautiful tunes, which were not, however, unfamiliar to his
ear, and sung with a degree of fervour that quite drowned his own voice,
powerful and deep though it was. It was a new and impressive thing to
hear the thrilling, earnest tones of the preacher as he offered up an
eloquent extempore prayer--to the petitions in which many of the people
in the congregation gave utterance at times to startlingly fervent and
loud responses--not in set phraseology, but in words that were called
forth by the nature of each petition, such as "Glory to God," "Amen,"
"Thanks be to Him"--showing that the worshippers followed and
sympathised with their spokesman, thus making his prayer their own. But
the newest thing of all was to hear the preacher deliver an eloquent,
earnest, able, and well-digested sermon, without book or note, in the
same natural tone of voice with which a man might address his fellow in
the street--a style of address which riveted the attention of the
hearers, induced them to expect that he had really something important
to say to them, and that he thoroughly believed in the truth of what he
said.

"A powerful man," observed the managing director as they went out; "your
clergyman, I suppose?"

"No, sir," replied Mr Donnithorne with a chuckle, "our minister is
preaching elsewhere to-day. That was James Penrose."

"What! the miner?" exclaimed Clearemout in astonishment.

"Ay, the local preacher too."

"Why, the man spoke like Demosthenes, and quoted Bacon, Locke, Milton,
and I know not whom all--you amaze me," said Mr Clearemout. "Surely
all your local preachers are not equal to this one."

"Alas, no! some of the young ones are indeed able eno