“Wise treatment has yet to be tried,” said Mrs Brook.
“Fiddlesticks!” returned Mrs Merton impatiently. “What do you call wise treatment?”
“Gospel treatment,” replied Mrs Brook.
“Oh! come now, you know that that has also been tried, and has signally failed. Have we not heard how many hundreds of so-called black converts in this and in other colonies are arrant hypocrites, or at all events give way before the simplest temptations?”
“I have also heard,” returned Mrs Brook, “of many hundreds of so-called white Christians, whose lives prove them to be the enemies of our Saviour, and who do not even condescend to hypocrisy, for they will plainly tell you that they ‘make no pretence to be religious,’ though they call themselves Christians. But that does not prove gospel treatment among the English to have been a failure. You have heard, I daresay, of the Hottentot robber Africaner, who was long the terror and scourge of the district where he lived, but who, under the teaching of our missionary Mr Moffat, or rather, I should say, under the influence of God’s Holy Spirit, has led a righteous, peaceful, Christian life for many years. He is alive still to prove the truth of what I say.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” returned Mrs Merton, with a decisive compression of her lips.
“Well, many people have testified to the truth of this, and some of these people have seen Africaner and have believed.”
“Humph!” returned Mrs Merton.
This being an unanswerable argument, Mrs Brook smiled by way of reply, and turned a sleeve inside out, the better to get at its dilapidations. Changing the subject, she desired Gertie to go and prepare dinner, as it was approaching noon.
“What shall I prepare, mother?” asked Gertie, laying down her work.