want a clothes-horse set betwix' me an' him at dinner, or he'd turn my
vittles sour i' my belly."

"He twilted his wife, did Learoyd, while she ran away wi' Sam Woodhead
at t' Woolpack, an' then he selled his dowter for sixpence. He can't
bide women-fowks i' t' house."

"Then he'll not git me to coom an' live wi' him. I've swallowed t'
church i' my last place, but I'm noan baan to swallow t' steeple at
efter."

Such were the opinions passed on Learoyd by the farm labourers round
about Holmton, and it was little wonder that, as the years went by, the
condition of his farm grew steadily worse.

When the Parfitts had been married fifteen years, a strange rumour
reached their cottage of a spiritual change that had been wrought in the
soul of Samuel Learoyd. It was reported that the farmer had been
attending the revival services held in the little Primitive Methodist
chapel about a mile away from his farm, that his flinty heart had been
melted, and that he had "found the Lord." The weaver's family was slow
to credit this change, though Mary prayed fervently night and morning
that it might be true. Their doubts, however, were set at rest by the
circuit steward of the Holmton chapel where they attended service. He
had taken part in the revival meetings and related what he had seen.

"Aye, it's true, sure enough," he said. "Sam Learoyd's a changed man. It
were t' local preacher that done it. He gat him on to his knees anent t'
penitential forms at after t' sarvice, an' there were a two-three more
wi' him; an' t' preacher an' me wrastled wi' t' devil for their souls.