All that was done with, he
said, a turned page of the black and barbarous past; it was his business
to write new things upon a new sheet. Perhaps it was for this reason
that Thomas Bull never really came to understand or enter into the heart
of a Zulu, or a Basuto, or a Swahili, or indeed of any dark-skinned man,
woman, or child. To him they were but brands to be snatched from the
burning, desperate and disagreeable sinners who must be saved, and he
set to work to save them with fearful vigour.
His wife, although her vocabulary was still extremely limited and much
eked out with English or Dutch words, got on much better with them.
"You know, Thomas," she would say, "they have all sorts of fine ideas
which we don't understand, and are not so bad in their way, only you
must find out what their way is."
"I have found out," he said grimly; "it is a very evil way, the way of
destruction. I wish you would not make such a friend of that sly black
nurse-girl who tells me a lie once out of every three times she opens
her mouth."
For the rest Dorcas was fairly comfortable, as with their means she
was always able to have a nice house in whatever town they might be
stationed, where she could give tennis parties and even little lunches
and dinners, that is if her husband chanced to be away, as often he
was visiting up-country districts, or taking the duty there for another
missionary who was sick or on leave.
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