"You've had it so much
your own way with your tracts and your talks this last few weeks that by
now you must be in need of a sermon yourselves. The gospel you preach is
only going to add to the complacency of England, and England is too
complacent already. All Northern nations are, which is why they are
Protestant. They demand a religion which will truckle to them, a
religion which will allow them to devote six days of the week to what is
called business and on the seventh day to rest and praise God that they
are not as other men."
"_Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's and unto God the things
that are God's_," said Mr. Smillie, putting the change in his pocket and
untying the nosebag from the horse.
"_Ye cannot serve God and mammon_," Mark retorted. "And I wish you'd let
me finish my argument."
"Mr. Smillie and I aren't touring the Midlands trying to find grapes on
thorns and figs on thistles," said Mr. Bullock scathingly. "We'd have
given you a chance, if you'd have shown any fruits of the Spirit."
"You've just said you weren't looking for grapes or figs," Mark laughed.
"I'm sorry I've made you so cross. But you began the argument by asking
me if I was saved. Think how annoyed you would have been if I had begun
a conversation by asking you if you were washed.
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