e! do I allow you to
read novels? do I allow you to go to the play?"

We said, "No"--and hoped it was over. But he had not done yet. He turned
to Helena.

"Answer some of the questions," he went on, "from my Manual of Christian
Obligation, which the girls call my catechism." He asked one of the
questions: "If you are told to do unto others as you would they should
do unto you, and if you find a difficulty in obeying that Divine
Precept, what does your duty require?"

It is my belief that Helena has the materials in her for making another
Joan of Arc. She rose, and answered without the slightest sign of
timidity: "My duty requires me to go to the minister, and to seek for
advice and encouragement."

"And if these fail?"

"Then I am to remember that my pastor is my friend. He claims no
priestly authority or priestly infallibility. He is my fellow-Christian
who loves me. He will tell me how he has himself failed; how he has
struggled against himself; and what a blessed reward has followed his
victory--a purified heart, a peaceful mind."

Then papa released my sister, after she had only repeated two out of all
the answers in Christian Obligation, which we first began to learn when
we were children. He then addressed himself again to the girls.

"Is what you have just heard a part of my catechism? Has my daughter
been excused from repeating it because she is a young lady? Where is
the difference between the religious education which is given to my own
child, and that given to you?"

The wretched girls still sat silent and obstinate, with their heads
down. I tremble again as I write of what happened next. Papa fixed his
eyes on me. He said, out loud: "Eunice!"--and waited for me to rise and
answer, as my sister had done.

It was entirely beyond my power to get on my feet.

Philip had (innocently, I am sure) discouraged me; I saw displeasure,
I saw contempt in his face. There was a dead silence in the room.
Everybody looked at me. My heart beat furiously, my hands turned cold,
the questions and answers in Christian Obligation all left my memory
together. I looked imploringly at papa.

For the first time in his life, he was hard on me. His eyes were as
angry as ever; they showed me no mercy. Oh, what had come to me?
what evil spirit possessed me? I felt resentment; horrid, undutiful
resentment, at being treated in this cruel way. My fists clinched
themselves in my lap, my face felt as hot as fire. Instead of askin