stay the Sacrament;' 'it was the correct thing,' in fact,
like having a good hat to wear on Sundays. I couldn't stand it. I didn't
feel that I wanted to lead a different life, I was very well content as
I was, and I wasn't going to sham religious to curry favour with the
Doctor, or any one else."

East stopped speaking, and pegged away more diligently than ever with
his pencil. Tom was ready to cry. He felt half sorry at first that he
had been confirmed himself. He seemed to have deserted his earliest
friend, to have left him by himself at his worst need for those long
years. He got up and went and sat by East and put his arm over his
shoulder.

"Dear old boy," he said, "how careless and selfish I've been. But why
didn't you come and talk to Arthur and me?"

"I wish to heaven I had," said East, "but I was a fool. It's too late
talking of it now."

"Why too late? You want to be confirmed now, don't you?"

"I think so," said East. "I've thought about it a good deal; only often
I fancy I must be changing, because I see it's to do me good here, just
what stopped me last time. And then I go back again."

"I'll tell you now how 'twas with me," said Tom warmly. "If it hadn't
been for Arthur, I should have done just as you did. I hope I should. I
honour you for it. But then he made it out just as if it was taking the
weak side before all the world--going in once for all against everything
that's strong and rich and proud and respectable, a little band of
brothers against the whole world. And the Doctor seemed to say so too,
only he said a great deal more."

"Ah!" groaned East, "but there again, that's just another of my
difficulties whenever I think about the matter. I don't want to be one
of your saints, one of your elect, whatever the right phrase is. My
sympathies are all the other way; with the many, the poor devils who run
about the streets and don't go to church. Don't stare, Tom; mind, I'm
telling you all that's in my heart--as far as I know it--but it's all a
muddle. You must be gentle with me if you want to land me. Now I've seen
a deal of this sort of religion; I was bred up in it, and I can't stand
it. If nineteen-twentieths of the world are to be left to uncovenanted
mercies, and that sort of thing, which means in plain English to go to
hell, and the other twentieth are to rejoice at it all, why----"

"Oh! but, Harry, they ain't, they don't," broke in Tom, really shocked.
"Oh, how I wish Arthur hadn't gone!