tled wi' t' devil for their souls.
I've niver seen sich tewin' o' t' spirit sin I becom a Methody. 'Twere a
hot neight, and what wi' t' heat an' t' spiritual exercises, t'
penitents were fair reekin' an' sweatin'. We went thro' one to t' other
and kept pleadin' wi' 'em. 'Tread t' owd devil under fooit,' says we;
'think on t' blooid o' t' Lamb that weshes us thro' all sin.' An' t'
penitents would holla out: 'I can't, I can't: he's ower strang for me;
I'm baan to smoor i' hell fires.' But t' local were stranger nor t'
devil for all that, an' first one an' then another on 'em would shout
out: 'I'm saved; I've fun' Him, I've fun' the Lord!' Then they'd git up
an' walk out o' t' room that weak you could hae knocked 'em down wi' a
feather.

"At lang length there was nobbut Sam Learoyd left. He was quieter nor t'
others, but t' load o' sins about his heart was as tough as Whangby
cheese. So me an' t' preacher gat on either side o' him an' we prayed
an' better prayed, but all for nowt. So at last Sam got up off his
knees, an' wi' a despert look on his face, says: 'Let me be. If I'm baan
to find salvation I'll find it misen.'

"At that we gav ower prayin', but kept kneelin' by his side an' waited
for the Lord to sattle t' job. An' outside t' wind were yowlin' as if it
would blow down t' walls and chimleys. But warr nor t' yowlin' o' t'
wind were t' groans o' Sam Learoyd.

"After a while t' groans gat easier, and then t' local started singin'
in a low voice, 'Rock of Ages.' But Sam would have noan o' his singin'.
So we just waited to see what would happen. Well, after a while t'
groans stopped, an' Sam lifted up his heead an' looked round. 'Arta
saved?' asked t' local, and Sam answered: 'I'm convicted o' sin.'
'Praise be to God,' sang out t' local, and we gat Sam off his knees and
out o' t' chapil an' away home. An' ivver sin that time Sam's coom
reg'lar to chapil twice on Sundays an' to t' weeknight sarvice too."

"But will it last?" asked Tom Parfitt, whose long experience as a chapel
member had taught him the snares of backsliding.

"Aye, 'twill last," replied the circuit steward. "Sam's a changed man:
he has gien ower sweerin', goes no more to t' public, but bides at home
o' neight an' sits cowerin' ower t' fire readin' t' Book."

The account which the circuit steward gave of the farmer's conversion
was substantially correct, but it did not furnish the whole truth. The
character of his life had changed, but his conversi