"I think I am a little shocked," said Phyllis. She did not say that her first thought just then was that the feather fan was not, after all, the price of blood: it was something much worse. "It was an encouragement of idolatry, was it not, Mr. Courtland?"
"Scarcely," said he. "On the contrary, it was an honest attempt to lead them from their idols to something higher and better."
"You are something higher and better," suggested Ella.
"Quite so; I am a little lower than the angels, but a good deal higher than the awful image which they worshiped before I turned up," said he. "The whole tribe admitted in the most honorable manner that I was by far the best god they had ever had; they had not an unlucky day so long as they worshiped me, and I retained my Winchester and a full supply of cartridges."
"The testimony was flattering," said Ella. "But still Phyllis is shocked."
"I am," said Phyllis. "I believe in God. Mr. Courtland believes in a Principle."
"Anyhow, I led some thousands of savages from idolatry and cannibalism to something higher, and that's a better record than most gods of my acquaintance can show. Everything must be done gradually to be done permanently. Nothing could be more absurd than the /modus operandi/ of your missionary. Most of them have got rid of their Christianity to make way for their theology. They endeavor to inculcate upon the natives the most subtle points of their theological system, immediately after they have preached against the wickedness of economy in the matter of clothing."
"A large missionary work might be done among husbands at home," said Ella. "But what about the dynamite, that is the charge which still hands over you--a charge of dynamite?"
"That was my worst hour," said Courtland. "I had gone up the Fly River in my steam launch to a point never previously reached by a European.
