to work six days and serve
Him on the seventh. It was vain for Bunyan to reply that he never
summoned people to hear him, but that if they came he could not but use
the best of his skill and wisdom to counsel them for their soul's
salvation; that he could preach and the people could come to hear without
neglecting their callings, and that men were bound to look out for their
souls' welfare on week-days as well as Sundays. Neither could convince
the other. Bunyan's stubbornness was not a little provoking to Foster,
and was equally disappointing to Wingate. They both evidently wished to
dismiss the case, and intentionally provided a loophole for Bunyan's
escape. The promise put into his mouth--"that he would not call the
people together"--was purposely devised to meet his scrupulous
conscience. But even if he could keep the promise in the letter, Bunyan
knew that he was fully purposed to violate its spirit. He was the last
man to forfeit self-respect by playing fast and loose with his
conscience. All evasion was foreign to his nature. The long interview
came to an end at last. Once again Wingate and Foster endeavoured to
break down Bunyan's resolution; but when they saw he was "at a point, and
would not be moved or persuaded," the mittimus was again put into the
constable's hands, and he and his prisoner were started on the walk to
Bedford gaol. It was dark, as we have seen, when this protracted
interview began. It must have now been deep in the night. Bunyan gives
no hint whether the walk was taken in the dark or in the daylight. There
was however no need for haste. Bedford was thirteen miles away, and the
constable would probably wait till the morning to set out for the prison
which was to be Bunyan's home for twelve long years, to which he went
carrying, he says, the "peace of God along with me, and His comfort in my
poor soul."

CHAPTER V.

A long-standing tradition has identified Bunyan's place of imprisonment
with a little corporation lock-up-house, some fourteen feet square,
picturesquely perched on one of the mid-piers of the many-arched mediaeval
bridge which, previously to 1765, spanned the Ouse at Bedford, and as Mr.
Froude has said, has "furnished a subject for pictures," both of pen and
pencil, "which if correct would be extremely affecting." Unfortunately,
however, for the lovers of the sensational, these pictures are not
"correct," but are based on a false assumption which grew up