the back door into the kitchen four ill-looking men with clubs in
their hands. The servant hurried back trembling, saying that a
messenger had come to warn them of a great mob coming to upset them,
the ringleaders being four men with clubs.

Mary Bosanquet cast a glance at her audience and answered the maid
aloud, "Oh, we do not mind mobs when we are about our Master's
business. 'Greater is He that is for us than all that can be against
us.'" Then calmly she continued her subject, unhindered by any.

Having upon her table a few copies of the simple "Rules for the
Society of the People called Methodists," she handed one of them to
each of the four ringleaders, begging their acceptance that at their
leisure they might see the nature of the profession made by the
worshippers. They received them with respectful bows, and no more was
heard of "mobs" for that night.

The house was a lonely one, open on one side to the forest, and in it
at that time lived only Mary Bosanquet, Mrs. Ryan, a maid, and Sally
Lawrence, a little child of four years, whom Miss Bosanquet had taken
from her mother's coffin to her own warm care. When the nights became
dark, a disorderly crowd would gather at the gate to pelt the
worshippers with dirt, afterwards invading the yard to reach the
unshuttered windows, where they would roar like so many wild beasts.
But the protecting hand of God kept them from any real bodily harm.
"The Lord was with us," wrote the lady of the house most sweetly, "and
preserved us under Love's almighty shade."

Little Sally was the first of many orphans who followed. Through
various misfortunes and deaths around her, Miss Bosanquet quickly