thaa's fotched aar Joe daan fro' heaven to hear thee playin'; he
seems nearer to me naa nor he ever did sin' he left us." And so,
ever afterwards, Mr. Penrose, when we want to feel aar Joe near
us, I just taks up th' flute and plays, and he awlus comes.'

Old Enoch paused, for his voice was thick, and with his
handkerchief he wiped away the moisture from his eyes.

In another minute he continued:

'Bud, Mr. Penrose, I'd a wurr trouble than oather o' those I've
towd yo' on. A twothree year sin' I wor a reprobate. I don't know
how it coom abaat, but somehaa I geet fond o' drink, and I tuk to
stopping aat late, and comin' wom' rough like, and turnin' agen
th' missus. They coom up to see me from Rehoboth, and owd Mr.
Morell prayed wi' me; but it wor all no use. Th' devil hissel wor
in me. They say, Mr. Penrose, as yo' durnd believe in a devil;
that yo' co evil a principle or summat of that sort. If thaa'd bin
like me thaa'd hev no doubts abaat a devil. I've felt him in me,
an' I've felt him tak' howd o' me and do as he'd a mind wi' me.
One day, when they'd crossed mi name off th' Rehoboth register,
and th' missus were sobbin' fit to break her heart, aw coom across
th' owd flute as aw were rootin' in a box for some medicine. There
it lay, long forgetten. As aw seed it, tears coom in my een. Aw
thought haa it bed helped mi when I lost o' mi brass, and when Joe
deed, and aw tuk it up and said, "Can ta help me naa, thinksto?"
An' aw put it together, and went aat on th' moors and began to
play; and fro' that hour to this aw've never wanted to sup a drop
o' drink. Naa, Mr. Penrose, yo' preachers talk abaat th' Cross,
and it's o' reet that yo' should; but yo' cannot blame me for