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Updated: May 11, 2025
His love surpasses that of any human being; His ears are ever open to our prayers." "I should like to have a talk with you, sir," said Kempson, when the stranger, having finished speaking, was giving his tracts to the people around. "There are some things which you said, sir, which I haven't heard for a long time, or thought about, but I know that they are true."
Just think, Bill, where our souls are to go; for the gas can't blow them to pieces, remember that." "I'm not going to be put off by any of your talk," answered Bill, in a surly tone, filling his pipe. Having done so, before poor Kempson could stop him, he had opened his safety lamp, and put in the bowl of his pipe to light it.
Samuel Kempson heard it far away, and, crawling out of the hole in which he had been hewing, threw his pick and spade over his shoulder, and took his way homeward, not over pleasant green fields as labourers in the country have to do, but along the dark, black gallery, lighted by his solitary Davy lamp, which was well-nigh burnt out. He did not forget his boy Dick.
Supposing that Roger Willoughby was still in England, he wrote a short letter to him to be forwarded by post, entreating that he would communicate with Mr Kempson and get him to exert his influence.
He asked each man present to say how many friends of his had been cut off on a sudden how many had died unprepared and then begged them to tell him if they were ready to leave the world; and if they were not ready, when would they be ready? "Do not delay, do not delay, my friends," he said, in a voice which went to the hearts of many of his hearers. Among them was Samuel Kempson.
The change from grief to joy, as she saw her boy stretching out his arms towards her, was almost too much for her strength, and she burst into tears as she took him from Kempson and pressed him to her bosom. When she recovered a little, she began to pour out her thanks to Samuel
Sometimes it is necessary to work all the twenty-four hours, and then the people are divided into three gangs, who each work eight hours; but the poor little trappers are divided only into two parties, who have each to be down in the mine twelve hours together, sitting all alone by the side of their traps, like poor little Dick, in the dark. Little Dick's father, Samuel Kempson, was a hewer.
"It's like hunting for a needle in a rick of hay, I'm thinking," said one of the men. "If we could learn what way the little fellow was going when he was last seen; you know there are more than sixty miles of road, taking all into account, and it will be a pretty long business to walk over them." "Right, mate, but the poor boy won't have got very far," observed Joseph Kempson. "Come along now."
"No; but I've got a key to open my lamp," answered Bill, producing a small key from a concealed pocket. "Don't be mad, Bill," cried Kempson. "You know that you've no business to have that key. As sure as you open your lamp you'll blow yourself and me into bits, and may be everybody in the mine, for I never felt it fuller of gas than it is to-day.
"Very sorry, Mrs Adams, very sorry; but we couldn't find the little chap," said Samuel Kempson, in a tone which showed that he felt what he said. The other men echoed his words. "Still it's better to come without him than to bring him up as many have been brought up, as you well know, without life in him.
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