The very next night she began, 'I suppose your father is a foreigner?'
'No, he is an Englishman.'
'But if he is an Englishman you must have been baptised, or
sprinkled, or immersed, and your father and mother must belong to
church or chapel. I know there are thousands of wicked people who
belong to neither, but they are drunkards and liars and robbers, and
even they have their children christened.'
'Well, he is an Englishman,' said Madge, smiling.
'Perhaps,' said Selina, timidly, 'he may be--he may be--Jewish.
Mamma and papa pray for the Jews every morning. They are not like
other unbelievers.'
'No, he is certainly not a Jew.'
'What is he, then?'
'He is my papa and a very honest, good man.'
'Oh, my dear Madge! honesty is a broken reed. I have heard mamma say
that she is more hopeful of thieves than honest people who think they
are saved by works, for the thief who was crucified went to heaven,
and if he had been only an honest man he never would have found the
Saviour and would have gone to hell. Your father must be something.'
'I can only tell you again that he is honest and good.'
Selina was confounded. She had heard of those people who were
nothing, and had always considered them as so dreadful that she could
not bear to think of them. The efforts of her father and mother did
not extend to them; they were beyond the reach of the preacher--mere
vessels of wrath. If Madge had confessed herself Roman Catholic, or
idolator, Selina knew how to begin. She would have pointed out to
the Catholic how unscriptural it was to suppose that anybody could
forgive sins excepting God, and she would at once have been able to
bring the idolator to his knees by exposing the absurdity of
worshipping bits of wood and stone; but with a person who was nothing
she could not tell what to do. She was puzzled to understand what
right Madge had to her name. Who had any authority to say she was to
be called Madge Hopgood? She determined at last to pray to God and
again ask her mother's help.
She did pray earnestly that very night, and had not finished until
long after Madge had said her Lord's Prayer. This was always said
night and morning, both by Madge and Clara. They had been taught it
by their mother. It was, by the way, one of poor Selina's troubles
that Madge said nothing but the Lord's Prayer when she lay down and
when she rose; of course, the Lord's Prayer was the best--how could
it be otherwise, seeing that our Lord used it?--but those who
supplemented it with no petitions of their own were set down as
formalists, and it was always suspected that they had not received
the true enlightenment from above. Selina cried to God till the
counterpane was wet with her tears, but it was the answer from her
mother which came first, telling her that however praiseworthy her
intentions might be, argument with such a dangerous infidel as Madge
would be most perilous, and she was to desist from it at once. Mrs
Fish had by that post written to Miss Pratt, the schoolmistress, and
Selina no doubt would not be exposed to further temptation. Mrs
Fish's letter to Miss Pratt was very strong, and did not mince
matters. She informed Miss Pratt that a wolf was in her fold, and
that if the creature were not promptly expelled, Selina must be
removed into safety. Miss Pratt was astonished, and instantly, as
her custom was, sought the advice of her sister, Miss Hannah Pratt,
who had charge of the wardrobes and household matters generally.
Miss Hannah Pratt was never in the best of tempers, and just now was
a little worse than usual. It was one of the rules of the school
that no tradesmen's daughters should be admitted, but it was very
difficult to draw the line, and when drawn, the Misses Pratt were
obliged to admit it was rather ridiculous. There was much debate
over an application by an auctioneer. He was clearly not a
tradesman, but he sold chairs, tables and pigs, and, as Miss Hannah
said, used vulgar language in recommending them. However, his wife
had money; they lived in a pleasant house in Lewes, and the line went
outside him. But when a druggist, with a shop in Bond Street,
proposed his daughter, Miss Hannah took a firm stand. What is the
use of a principle, she inquired severely, if we do not adhere to it?
On the other hand, the druggist's daughter was the eldest of six, who
might all come when they were old enough to leave home, and Miss
Pratt thought there was a real difference between a druggist and,
say, a bootmaker.