‘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.