“If you let them come to my church and be baptised, I’ll see that you won’t be forgotten.”
“Will yeer riv’rance give me something the way I cud be goin’ on with?”
“I will, of course.”
“An’ how much?”
“I’ll give you five shillings, my poor woman. You can get a week’s lodging and food with that.”
“Oh—shure I’d want five shillings for each wan of them,” she replied quickly.
The Vicar paused. The tone of this bargaining jarred upon his ears; but yet, as he thought of it—three little souls saved—three little souls caught from the grasp of the Roman Church—three more names upon his baptismal register. And only fifteen shillings! It was money nobly spent, honourably set aside for the great interest and reward hereafter.
“I’ll give you fifteen shillings,” said he, “if you bring them to the church to-morrow morning to be baptised.”
She clasped her hands in ecstasy.