"Ah, Phœbe not know; she got de good seed, and she drop it in. De Lord gib de hearing ear, only His servants take care to speak, and He do say:
"'My word shall not return to me void.'
"Maybe some poor broder 'mong dem meet Phœbe in glory and tank her for true word. But, missy, dem priests in Italy won't neber listen to de true word, dey blind leaders ob de blind. Ah, de poor sheep got no good shepherds dere! Dey say, 'Bery fine 'ligion for priests, fine shows, fine robes, fine chants, fine little box to hold dere God, but who b'lieves anyting? Ah, no God, no noting; we lib and die, and dere's de end.' Poor tings! Dem want missionary much as Hindoos. You don't know, missy, cause ob de blessed Gospel in your country. No priests, no nuns, no popes here, blindin' poor souls from looking to de Lamb ob God."
"Phœbe, I want to know how it is that you can repeat texts from our English Bible so correctly?"
"Well, dear chile, it jes' dis ways. Phœbe bit ob a gal once when poor slave, and Missy Falconer like her, and made fader buy her; so when missy go away from West Indies to Calcutta, she take Phœbe dere too, and make her free. Den Phœbe hear good missionary teach de Gospel, and de blessed Lord make it go right in her heart, and Phœbe free indeed. Den she want see good words with her own eyes and tell dem to odor sinners: plenty sinners dere too. So poor Phœbe try to read Bible in English, and learn plenty chapters, and say dem to dear missionary lady. Dis ways make say texts all right, in good words, but when Phœbe talk random, she only like poor chile, to de end ob her days. Ah! Noting like speakin' de Lord's own words, missy, allays say right den."
"I wish I could always say right, Phœbe, but I have such a jumble of things in my foolish head, that the right ones are seldom found in time."
"Ah! Dat not right, missy; what she lub best sure come uppermost. Lub de dear Lord Jesus, and eber be tinking what please Him; dat's de secret ob de Lord, and bery strong blessed secret too. Missy lub fader and moder, don't she?"
"I should think so, indeed!" said Evelyn, quickly.
"Sure, neber doubt it; and missy do anyting dey tell; neber stop to say, is she sure she lubs dem 'nough to wish please dem. Oh, no, cause she dere own chile, born to lub dem. Same ting de chile ob God, born again to lub Him; it's in de new heart, and can't help it so long as feel like chile. It's dem dat don't b'lieve Him real kind fader dat forgets, and wants windin' up like clock. God don't want no chillen ob dat sort, but livin', lovin' chillen, dat run in His ways free and happy, and willin'. Can't force no lub, missy. God make His chile born with it in new heavenly life."
In her frequent visits to the nursery, and loving reverence for the "black but comely" Christian there, Evelyn learned much and also taught something; and became scarcely less an object of interest to Phœbe than the orphan infant on her knee. The nurse was easily prevailed on to remain at The Moat House until circumstances should render her important evidence available in the matter of the missing document, and while Mrs. Falconer undertook correspondence with the maternal grandparent of the babe.