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Updated: May 15, 2025
But then I always got something better for me instead, and the peace of God with it." "And you call that getting answers to prayer from a heavenly Father?" said Foster derisively. "I do," was Bradly's reply.
Such was Thomas Bradly's kitchen. Many a happy gathering was held there, and many a useful lesson learned in it. But, besides the rooms already mentioned, there was one adjoining the kitchen which was specially Thomas Bradly's own. It was of considerable size, and was entered from the inside by a little door out of the kitchen. This door was commonly locked, and the key kept by Bradly himself.
"You had him there, Tommy," cried one of the auditory, considerably delighted at Foster's evident discomfiture. But the latter returned to the charge, saying, "All very fine, Tommy Tracks; but you haven't fully answered my objection." "I know it," was Bradly's reply. "Just so." "Well, what does it profess to do?" "Doesn't it profess to convert all the world?" "How soon?"
"Dear Jane, I am sorry now for all as I've done at you. Pray forgive me. You will find a letter all about it in the bag; and I've put your little marked Bible, and the other br -t with it, into the bag. So no more at present from yours JH." Slowly the facts of the case dawned on Thomas Bradly's mind.
And it may be here said that the jar was in due time placed on a bracket in Bradly's private room, and labelled in large red letters, "Drunkards' Ointment," giving Thomas many an opportunity of speaking a forcible word against evil companionship to those who sought his help and counsel. But to return to the party at the old Hall. Long and weary seemed that walk home, specially to the wounded man.
A few days after Thomas Bradly's visit to the vicarage, Mrs Maltby and her daughter left home for the seaside. In the evening of the day of their departure, something different from the ordinary routine was evidently going on at Thomas Bradly's. As it drew near to half-past six o'clock, four young women, neatly dressed, might be seen making their way towards his house.
So saying, Lady Morville rang the bell, and having ordered some refreshment for Thomas Bradly, asked him to wait while she went to her own room and wrote Jane a letter. In half an hour she returned, and, having given the letter into Bradly's charge, said,
A few well-chosen coloured Scripture prints and illuminated texts adorned the walls; and everything in Bradly's house was in the most perfect order. You would not find a chair awry, nor books lying loose about, nor so much as a crumpled bit of paper thrown on the floor of his "Surgery," nor indeed anywhere about the premises.
There was no gloom about Bradly's religion: it shone in his heart, in his life, on his face, and in his home; it attracted the troubled and sin-burdened; it was the concealed envy of many who scoffed at and reviled him. And yet there was not unclouded sunshine even in his happy home: a shadow, and a dark one, rested on his hearth.
If there was one man more than another whom William Foster the sceptic both disliked and feared, it was "Tommy Tracks." Not that he would have owned to such a fear for a moment. He tried to persuade himself that he despised him; but there was that about Bradly's life and character which he was forced to respect, and before which his spirit within him bowed and quailed spite of himself.
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