m since my conversion. There it pleased the Lord
to give me much help, and a great work followed, such as Billy had never
seen in that place before. Several times we were detained there all
night through, with penitents crying aloud for mercy, and believers
rejoicing.

As a rule, the Cornish man would remain at a meeting for hours, and come
again the next day, and the day after, if needful, till he felt that he
could cry for mercy, and then he would begin and continue crying until
he felt he could believe.

At the conclusion of these services we returned to the schoolroom, where
our meetings were continued.

Our friend Billy remained with us at Baldhu, and was very useful. He
spoke in the schoolroom with much acceptance and power in the simplicity
of his faith, and souls were added to the Lord continually.

At this time he was very anxious for a cousin of his, a man somewhat
older than himself, of the same name. This Billy was as famous for his
drunkenness and dissolute habits, as the other Billy was for his faith
and joy. The former used to go by the name of the "lost soul." The very
children in the lanes called after him, "Ah, Billy, you are a lost
soul," and laughed at him. I was then in the freshness and power of my
first love, and could not help regarding this pitiable object, and
considering his case; for I could not imagine why any man should remain
unsaved and without Christ.

Accordingly, one wet morning, when I felt pretty sure that old Billy
would not be out working in the field, I made my way down to his house.
As I expected, he was at home in his chimney comer; so setting down my
dripping umbrella, I told him how glad I was to find him there, for I
wanted to have a talk with him.

"Ah, it's all very well for you gentlemen, who have none else to do but
to go about and talk; but we poor men must work." So saying, he rose up
from his "settle" and went to the door.

"But, Billy, it is raining quite hard; you cannot work in rain like
that."

"Can't help it; we must do our work," and so he slammed the door after
him and departed.

His wife made all kinds of apologies for him, because "he was a very
singular kind of man; he did not mean bad--he was 'that curious,' that
he said and did curious things, and that I must not mind him."

I confess I was much disappointed at his abrupt departure from the
house, but I remained a little longer, till the worst of the storm was
over.

After the lapse of nearly