35

DAVID FERRIE'S TROUBLES AND

DELIVERANCE.

PART I.

THE Lord has nowhere promised that his people shall be raised above the pressure of outward circumstances. It is no part of his gracious designs towards those who love him and trust in him, that they shall pass through life untouched by temporal perplexities. The blight and the mildew, the frost and the flood which impoverish the ungodly, affect the righteous also, in the same way that God "maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust."

And yet there is a difference: it is very plainly written, "The eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry. The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles. Many are the afflictions of the righteous; but the Lord delivereth him out of them all. He keepeth all

his bones; not one of them is broken. Evil shall

slay the wicked; and they that hate the righteous shall be desolate. The Lord redeemeth the soul of his servants, and none of them that trust in him shall be desolate."

There was David Ferrie, for instance. He was just such a one as the apostle James refers to, "poor in this world, rich in faith, and an heir of the kingdom which God hath promised to them that love him."*

His trials in one hard winter

were very severe. untaught man, and had been used to hardships pretty nearly all his life long. He was only a farm-labourer; and those who know much of this class are well aware that they have need not to be very delicate and sensitive either in body or mind, considering the thorns and briars of this life, literal and figurative, through which they have to pass. But, for all that, they have fellow-feelings, and are men of like passions with-well, let us say, with you, reader, who perhaps know cold and hunger and fatigue only by having sometimes heard of them. If such men as David Ferrie are scratched and torn very roughly by those thorns and briars, they are hurt even as you would be; and if they cry out with pain, no great wonder : perhaps you would do the same under much smaller provocations.

To be sure, David was a rough,

So David Ferrie, one day in that hard winter, cried out in pain of soul. He had been some time out of regular work; and this was a sore trouble

* James ii. 5.

in itself, for David did not like idleness; and besides this, to be out of work was to be out of purse. A second cause for his distress was, that he had a sick wife, and a poor child yet more seriously ill. And David, rough as he was, dearly loved his wife and children; and it pierced him to the quick to see that the privations which he himself could have borne with patience and equanimity, were standing in the way of the recovery of those who were very dear to him. A third point in Ferrie's trouble was that he had a hard landlord in Mr. Flint, who was also the general shopkeeper for the village where Ferrie lived, and for the neighbourhood around. Mr. Flint was, in addition to this, landlord of the "Three Bells."

For a minute or two we must introduce the reader to the bar of the "Three Bells," where stood Mr. Flint with his hands in his breeches pockets, calmly eyeing poor David Ferrie, who stood, hat in hand, before him. Mr. Flint's attention was not entirely occupied by his tenant defaulter (for, alas! David was behind-hand with his rent); for he cast occasional glances at his shop-door opposite, and also paid heedful regards to his parlour, close to the bar, where might have been seen (if the door had not been partly shut) a passing guest, enjoying the comforts of a blazing fire, a choice cigar, and a bottle of London porter. The guest was a stranger in the village-a traveller, possibly; and though he had arrived at the "Three Bells" on foot, he had so much of the look of a gentleman of

ample resources, that Mr. Flint involuntarily paid him more than usual homage. We should add that this stranger was accompanied by a dog of considerable beauty and of commendable patience as well, as was tested by his enduring his master's applying the burnt end of his cigar to the poor animal's nose, without a growl. This is rather a digression from David Ferrie and his hard landlord; but it is necessary to the sequel of our story.

"Well, Ferrie, you have brought me my rent: is that what you want to see me about ?"

The poor man shook his head sorrowfully. "Indeed, Mr. Flint," said he, "I am uncommon sorry

"Yes, so you told me last week; but your being sorry does not bring grist to the mill; I'd have you to know that."

"I do know it, Mr. Flint."

"Have you brought me any part of the money? -say yes or no, Ferrie.”

"No, Mr. Flint," replied the poor tenant, in a

low tone.

"You mean to tell me that, do you? Do you know how many weeks you are behind ?" demanded Mr. Flint, very angrily, using language, in addition, which we must not record.

"I know, Mr. Flint; this is the eighth week—” "Oh, you know that, do you? and you know that eight half-crowns make a pound, I suppose.' “Yes,” David said; and he was very sorry, in

deed he was, that he could not pay. "I hope you believe me to be an honest man, Mr. Flint," he added.

"I'll tell you what I think about that when I see the colour of your money, Ferrie," said the landlord, with a sneer; and then he said, "I don't call you honest to-day. A pretty fellow you, to be bragging of your honesty and not pay your debts."

"Mr. Flint, I have lived in your cottage five years, ," said David, rather more loudly and firmly. "And what if you have ?"

"Haven't I always paid the rent till now ?”

"Well, and what if you have? You didn't think I was going to let you live in it rent-free, I reckon. If you did, I can tell you you never made a bigger mistake in all your life," said Mr. Flint, more loudly and threateningly.

"I never did expect such a thing, Mr. Flint, and I don't expect it now. It would not be in right or reason, sir; but I wish you would please

"I consider you are a hypocritical humbug, David Ferrie; pretending to be so much better than your neighbours, and setting up for a Methodist and all that sort of thing. Is that what you want me to consider, you canting fellow ?"-this, with many ugly and fearful words, and face inflamed by passion.

For a moment a deep crimson flush rose to David's furrowed cheek, and his lips trembled with