he went on, "that it might easily be
argued that the dog was a higher flight of nature even than man; that man
has gone ahead in mind and inventiveness; but that the dog is on the whole
the better Christian, because he does by instinct what man fails to do by
intention--he is so sympathetic, so unresentful, so trustful! It is really
amazing, if you come to think of it, the dog's power of attachment to
another species. We must seem very mysterious to dogs, and yet they never
question our right to use them as we will, while nothing shakes their love.
And then there is something wonderful in the way in which the dog, however
old he is, always wants to play. Most animals part with that after their
first youth; but a dog plays, partly for the fun of it, and partly to make
sure that you like his company and are happy. And yet it is a little
undignified to care for people like that, you know!"

"How ought one to care for people?" I said.

"Ah, that's a large question," said Father Payne, "the duty of loving--it's
a contradiction in terms! To love people seems the one thing in the world
you cannot do because you ought to do it; and yet to love your neighbour as
yourself can't _only_ mean to behave _as if_ you loved him. And
then, what does caring about people mean? It seems impossible to say. It
isn't that you want anything which they can give you--it isn't that they
need anything you can give them; it isn't always even that you want to see
them. There are people for whom I care who rather bore me; there are people
who care for me who bore me to extinction; and again there are people whose
company I like for whom I don't care. It isn't always by any means that I
admire the people for whom I care. I see their faults, I don't want to
resemble them. Then, too, there have been people for whom I have cared very
much, and wanted to please, who have not cared in the least for me. Some of
the best-loved people in the world seem to have had very little love to
give away! I have a sort of feeling that the people who evoke most
affection are the people who have something of the child always in
them--something petulant, wilful, self-absorbed, claiming sympathy and
attention. It is a certain innocence and freshness that we love, I think;
the quality that seems to say, 'Oh, do make me happy'; and I think that
caring for people generally means just that you would like to make them
happy, or that they have it in their power to make you happy. I