Chapter 5 - Page 2

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
morning--before cocklight it was--your great-grandfather came downstairs
to see that Wesley had a cup of tea before his early start onward. And
he found the good man had already lit a fire and infused the tea, and
then and there it was made the law of Hatton household that the fire
John Wesley kindled there must never go out, but be a sign and covenant
of good to the House of Hatton as long as there was a man in Hatton to
carry it on." As she was talking Mrs. Hatton had put her basket of herbs
on a little table, and with glowing cheeks she now bent her head and
inhaled their refreshing odors. John was silent for a few moments, and
profoundly touched by the old homely story; then he said,

"My dear mother, it may be a son of Harry's that will be so favored. Had
we not better accept his marriage as pleasantly as we can? Lucy Lugur is
a beautiful girl, and that big fervent Welshman who is her father has
doubtless made her the image of all that God and man love in a woman."

"Maybe Lugur has done his best with her, but women see a long sight
further into women than men do. I'll hev to seek and to find good
reasons for Harry marrying so far below himself before I'll hev this or
that to say or do with such an