red a swift, low phrase that might have
been "Fiddlesticks!"

"My dear, no one believes in hell nowadays."

"Does any one believe in anything?"

"Belief in the essentials of Christianity was never more apparent."

It was a treasured phrase from the morning's sermon.

"What are the essentials?"

"Belief that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten
Son--you know as well as I, child--belief in the atoning blood of the
Christ."

"Wouldn't it be awful, Aunt Bell, if you didn't believe in it, and had
to be in hell because the serpent persuaded Eve and Eve persuaded Adam
to eat the apple--that's the essential foundation of Christianity, isn't
it?"

"Why, certainly--you must believe in original sin--"

"I see--here's a note in Bernal's hand, on one of these old
papers--evidently written much later than the other: 'The old gentleman
says Christmas is losing its deeper significance. What is it? That the
Babe of Bethlehem was begotten by his Father to be a sacrifice to its
Father--that its blood might atone for the sin of his first pair--and so
save from eternal torment the offspring of that pair. God will no longer
be appeased by the blood of lambs; nothing but the blood of his son will
now atone for the sin of his own creatures. It seems to me the sooner
Christmas loses this deeper significance the better. Poor old loving
human nature gives it a much more beautiful significance.'"

"My dear," began Aunt Bell, "before I broadened into what I have called
the higher unbelief, I should have considered that that young man had a
positive genius for blasphemy; now that I have again come into the
shadow of the cross, it seems to me that he merely lacks imagination."

"Poor Bernal! Yet he made me believe, though he seemed to believe in
nothing himself. He makes me believe _now_. He _calls_ to me, Aunt
Bell--or is it myself calling to him that I hear?

"And blasphemy--even the word is ridiculous, Aunt Bell. I was at the
day-nursery yesterday when all those babies were brought in to their
dinner. They are strictly forbidden to coo or to make any noise, and
they really behaved finely for two-and three-year-olds--though I did see
one outlaw reach over before the signal was given and lovingly pat the
big fat cookie beside its plate--thinking its insubordination would be
overlooked--but, Aunt Bell, do you suppose one of those fifty-two babies
could blaspheme you?"

"Don't be silly!"

"But can you imagine one of