"I don't know about that, John. My thoughts were not heavenly at all
today, and I hope they stayed where they belonged. Take the tongs, John,
and lift a lump of coal to the fire. I joy to see the blaze. I wouldn't
like Hatton hearthstone to have the ill luck that has just come to Yates
Manor House. You know, John, the fire in their hall has been burning for
nearly two hundred years, never, never allowed to go out. The young
squire always fed it as soon as the old squire went away. It was dead
and cold this morning. Yates is past comforting. He says it bodes all
kinds of misfortunes to them."

"How long ago is it since Hatton Hall fire was lit?"

"Well, John, our fire isn't out of counting, like some of the old hearth
fires in Yorkshire. But Hatton fire will never go out, John. It was lit
by a man that will not die, nor his name perish forever. _Why-a!_ John
Wesley kindled the fire on Hatton hearthstone."

"Say what you can about it, mother. My father has told me the story many
a time, but I can never hear it too often."

"My dear lad, it was in the days of thy great-grandfather. One afternoon
John Wesley came to Hatton and was met with honor and welcome. And word
was sent far and near, to squire and farmer, hedger and ditcher. And at
eight o'clock the good, great man stood up in Hatton's big barn in their
midst. And he talked heavenly to them of Christ and of the love of God
that was not willing that _any_ should perish, but that _all_ should
come to repentance. Eh, my dear, he talked till men and women were
weeping for joy and hope, and the big barn felt as if it was on fire.
And that night John Wesley sat a long while with the Master of Hatton,
and it was past midnight when they went to bed. But very early in the