Clara Hopgood

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.