"But if you had a clear call, you would like it, to go to the Cape of
Good Hope and teach the Hottentots?"
"I do not mean that, aunty," said Eleanor laughing a little. "Surely you do not suspect me of any wandering romantic notion about doing the Lord's work in one place rather than in another. I would rather teach English people than Hottentots. But if I saw that my place was at the Cape of Good Hope, I would go there. If my place were there, some way would be possible for me to get there, I suppose."
"You would have no fear?" said Mrs. Caxton.
"No aunty; I think not. Ever since I can say 'The Lord is my
Shepherd—' I have done with fear."
"My love, I should be very sorry to have you go to the Cape of Good Hope. I am glad there is no prospect of it. But you are right about not choosing. As soon as we go where we are not sent, we are at our own charges."
The door here opened, and the party and the tea-table received an accession of one to their number. It was an elderly, homely gentleman, to whom Mrs. Caxton gave a very cordial reception and whom she introduced to Eleanor as the Rev. Mr. Morrison. He had a pleasant face, Eleanor saw, and as soon as he spoke, a pleasant manner.
"I ought to be welcome, ma'am," he said, rubbing his hands with the cold as he sat down. "I bring you letters from Brother Rhys."
"You are welcome without that, brother, as you know," Mrs. Caxton answered. "But the letters are welcome. Of how late date are they?"
"Some pretty old—some not more than nine or ten months ago; when he had been stationed a good while."
"How is he?"