ngi, and it is
so hard to differentiate between the true and the false. But everything
here is so pure and unworldly that I think we manage to show our boys
what is the highest. We fail at times, but on the whole we succeed."

He looked so kind, so sympathetic, this old man, that Gordon felt bound
to pour out his feelings to him.

"You know, sir," he said, "I have awfully wanted to talk to a Roman
Catholic whom I thought would understand me, and especially one like
yourself, who has willingly abandoned all his own ambitions. There is
something very fine in the complete surrender of your Church. In ours
there is so much room for difference of opinion, so much toleration of
various doctrines. There seems so little certainty. In Rome there seems
no doubt at all."

"Yes, the Catholic Faith is a very beautiful creed," said the old man;
"we are misjudged; we are called narrow-minded and bigoted. They say we
want to make everyone conform to one type, and that we bind them with
chains. But, my son, it is not with chains that the Holy Church binds
her children. It is with loving arms thrown round them. The Church loves
her children far too much to wish them to leave her even for a minute.
She wants them entirely, hers and hers alone. Perhaps you will say that
is selfish; but I do not think so. It is the great far-seeing love that
sees what is best for its own. Love is nearly always right. But if you
wish to keep your own views, to worship God in your own way, well, there
are other creeds. Protestantism, it seems to me, lets out its followers,
as it were, on strings and lets them wander about a little, laugh and
pluck flowers, in the certainty that at the last she can draw her own to
her. Well, that is one way of serving God, and in the Kingdom of God
there is no right or wrong way, provided the service be sincere. There
are many roads to heaven. Our road is one of an infinite love that draws
everything to itself. There are other ways; but that is ours."

"But supposing there was a person," said Gordon, "who really wanted to
surrender himself to that perfect love, but who found the call of the
world too strong. You know, sir, I should give anything to be as you,
safe and secure. But I know I should break away; the world would call me
again. I should return, but when I give myself, I want to give myself
wholly, unconditionally. I want there to be no doubt; and I want to come
to-day."

"I will tell you a story," said the monk.