he
marvellous occurrence of the previous evening--the speech and conduct of
William Foster. Of course a variety of distorted versions of the matter
flew abroad, and were caught and carried home into the country by some
who lived at a distance from the town. Among these versions was a
strongly affirmed and as strongly believed account of the last night's
occurrences, which set forth how William Foster, with a picked party of
his friends, had forced their way to the top of the hall, and were in
the act of mounting the platform for the purpose of turning the vicar
out of the chair, when a voice of unearthly loudness was heard to shout,
"Forbear!"--upon which the meeting broke up in wild confusion, leaving
Foster prostrated on the ground by some invisible and mysterious power,
where he lay till brought back to consciousness by the joint efforts of
Mr Maltby and Thomas Bradly; after which, at their earnest suggestion,
he there and then signed the pledge.

Foster's own companions, however, had not been altogether taken by
surprise. For some weeks past he had been absent from his club, and
from the public-house, and when questioned on the subject had given
short and evasive answers. A change had been coming over him--that was
clear enough; but whence it originated even those who had been the most
intimate with him were at a loss to conjecture. And now on the morning
after the meeting, when he walked into the mill-yard, while some looked
on him with the sort of wonder with which a crowd would gape at some
strange animal, the like of which they had neither seen nor heard of
before, others began to assail him with gibes and taunts and coarse
would-be witticisms. But Foster bore it all unmoved, never uttering a
word in reply, but going on steadily with his work. As the men,
however, were about to leave for their homes, after the mill had loosed,
a sneering, sour-looking fellow, one Enos Wilkinson, who had gathered a
little crowd about him, and was watching for Foster, whose work detained
him a little later than the ordinary hands, stepped across his path, and
raising his voice, cried, "Come now, Saint Foster, you'll be bringing
out a nice little book about your conversion, to edify us poor sinners
who are still in heathen darkness. When do you mean to favour us with
the first edition?"--"The day after you become sober and sensible,
Enos," was Foster's reply, and he walked on, leaving his persecutors
unprepared with an answ