The Gold that Glitters | Page 5

Jenny as I reckoned you did, if you stick at nought in that
way."
"I think more of Jenny than of anyone else in the world, Kate, and you
know it," said Tom, with a dignity which Kate could not help feeling.
"But I think more yet of Him that's above the world. No, no! If ever I
win Jenny--and God grant I may I--I'll win her righteously, not lyingly.
I thank you for your good meaning, all the same."

"Good even to you both!" said an old man's voice; and they turned to
see the speaker coming down the lane. He was a venerable-looking
man, clad in a long brown coat, girt to him by a band of rough leather;
his long, silvery hair fell over his shoulders, and under his arm was a
large, clasped book, in a leather cover which had seen much service.
"Uncle Anthony!" cried Tom. "I knew not you were back. Are you on
your way up the hill? Here, prithee, leave me carry your book. Good
even, Kate, and I thank you!"
"Good even!" said Kate, with a nod to both; and Tom tucked the big
book under his own arm, and went forward with the traveller.
CHAPTER TWO.
HOW JENNY FARED THE FIRST EVENING.
"Well, for sure, Aunt Persis will be some fain to see you!" said Tom
Fenton, as he and his uncle, old Anthony, went forward up the hill.
"But whence come you, now, Uncle? Are you very weary? Eh, but I'm
glad you've won home safe!"
"God bless thee, my lad! Ay, He's brought me home safe. A bit
footsore, to be sure, and glad enough of rest: but gladder to be suffered
to do His will, and minister to His suffering servants. Whence come I?
Well, from Kidderminster, to-day; but--"
"Dear heart! but you never footed it all the way from Kidderminster?"
"No, no, dear lad. A good man gave me a lift for a matter o' eight miles
or more. But, dear me! I mind the time I could ha' run nigh on a mile in
five minutes, and ha' trudged my forty mile a day, nor scarce felt it. I
reckon, Tom, lad, thou'rt not so lissome as I was at thy years. Well, to
be sure! 'Tis all right; I'm only a good way nearer Home."
They walked on together for a few minutes in silence. Tom's thoughts
had gone back from the momentary pleasure of welcoming his uncle, to
whom he was greatly attached, to his sore disappointment about Jenny.

"What is it, Tom?" said the old man quietly.
"Oh, only a bit of trouble, Uncle. Nought I need cumber you with."
"Jenny Lavender?" was the next suggestion.
"Ay. I thought not you knew how I'd set my heart on her, ever since she
was that high," said Tom, indicating a length of about a yard. "I've
never thought o' none but her all my life. But she's that taken up with a
sorry popinjay of a fellow, she'll not hear me now. I'd always thought
Jenny'd be my wife."
Poor Tom's voice was very doleful, for his heart was sore.
"Thou'd alway thought so," said the quiet voice. "But what if the Lord
thinks otherway, Tom?"
Tom came to a sudden stop.
"Uncle Anthony! Eh, but you don't--" and Tom's words went no
further.
"My lad, thou'rt but a babe in Christ. 'Tisn't so many months since thou
first set foot in the narrow way. Dost thou think He means Jenny
Lavender for thee, and that thy feet should run faster in the way of His
commandments for having her running alongside thee? Art thou well
assured she wouldn't run the other way?"
Old Anthony had spoken the truth. Tom was but a very young Christian,
of some six months' standing. He had never dreamed of any antagonism
arising between his love to Christ and his love to Jenny Lavender.
Stay--had he not? What was that faint something, without a name--a
sort of vague uneasiness, which had seemed to creep over him
whenever he had seen her during those months--a sense of incongruity
between her light prattle and his own inmost thoughts and holiest
feelings? It was so slight that as yet he had never faced it. He
recognised now it was because his heart had refused to face it. And
conscience told him, speaking loudly this time, that he must hold back

no longer.
"Uncle Anthony," he said, in a troubled voice, "I'm sore afeard I've not
set the Lord afore me in that matter. I never saw it so afore. But now
you've set me on it, I can't deny that we shouldn't pull same way. But
what then? Must I give her up? Mayn't I pray the Lord to touch her
heart, and