tion of that
ideal of goodness which more or less clearly exists in all our minds,
seems to me to rest only in the conviction that all are children of one
perfect Father. And I can give you our definition of goodness without
hesitation, it is summed up for us in one word--'Christlikeness.'"

"I cannot see it; it seems to me all exaggerated," said Erica.
"I believe it is only because people are educated to believe and
predisposed to think it all good and perfect that there are so many
Christians. You may say it is we who are prejudiced. If we are, I'm
sure you Christians have done enough to make us so! How could I, for
instance, be anything but an atheist? Shall I tell you the very first
thing I can remember?"

Her eyes were flashing with indignant light.

"I was a little tiny child--only four years old--but there are some
scenes one never forgets. I can see it all as plainly as possible, the
room in a hotel, the very doll I was playing with. There was a great
noise in the street, trampling, hissing, hooting. I ran to the window,
an immense crowd was coming nearer and nearer, the street was black with
the throng, they were all shouting and yelling--'Down with the infidel!'
'Kill the atheist!' Then I saw my father, he was there strong and
fearless, one man against a thousand! I tell you I saw him, I can see
him now, fighting his way on single-handed, not one creature brave
enough to stand up for him. I saw him pushed, struck, spit upon, stoned.
At last a great brick struck him on the head. I think I must have been
too sick or too angry to see any more after that. The next thing I
remember is lying on the floor sobbing, and hearing father come into the
room and say: 'Why, little son Eric, did you think they'd killed me?'
And he picked me up and let me sit on his knee, but there was blood on
his face, and as he kissed me it dropped upon my forehead. I tell you,
you Christians baptized me into atheism in my own father's blood. They
were Christians who stoned him, champions of religion, and they were
egged on by the clergy. Did I not hear it all then in my babyhood?
And it is true; it is all fact; ask anybody you like; I have not
exaggerated."

"My dear child, I know you have not," said Charles Osmond, putting his
strong hand upon hers. He could feel that she was all trembling with
indignation. Was it to be wondered at? "I remember those riots perfectly
well," he continued. "I think I felt and feel as indignant about them