s--its
vain bungling God of one tribe who crowns his career of impotencies--in
all but the art of slaughter--by instituting the sacrifice of a Son
begotten of a human mother, to appease his wrath toward his own creatures;
a God who even by this pitiful device can save but a few of us. Was ever
god so powerless? Do you think we who grow up now do not detect it? Is it
not time to demand a God of virtue, of integrity, of ethical dignity--a
religion whose test shall be moral, and not the opinion one forms of
certain alleged material phenomena?"

When he had first spoken the old man cowered low and lower in his chair,
with little moans of protest at intervals, perhaps a quick, almost
gasping, "God forgive him!" or a "Lord have mercy!" But as the talk went
on he became slowly quieter, his face grew firmer, he sat up in his chair,
and at the last he came to bend upon the speaker a look that made him
falter confusedly and stop.

"I can say no more, sir; I should not have said so much. Oh, Grandad, I
wouldn't have hurt you for all the world, yet I had to let you know why I
could not do what you had planned--and I was fool enough to think I could
justify myself to you!"

The old eyes still blazed upon him with a look of sorrow and of horror
that was yet, first of all, a look of power; the look of one who had
mastered himself to speak calmly while enduring uttermost pain.

"I am glad you have spoken. You were honest to do so. It was my error not
to be convinced at first, and thus save myself a shock I could ill bear.
But you have been sick, and I felt that I should not believe without
seeing you. I had built so much--so many years--on your preaching the
gospel of--of my Saviour. This hope has been all my life these last
years--now it is gone. But I have no right to complain. You are free; I
have no claim upon you; and I shall be glad to provide for you--to educate
you further for any profession you may have chosen--to start you in any
business--away from here--from this house--"

The young man flushed--wincing under this, but answered:

"Thank you, sir. I could hardly take anything further. I don't know what I
want to do, what I can do--I'm at sea now. But I will go. I'm sure only
that I want to get out--away--I will take a small sum to go with--I know
you would be hurt more if I didn't; enough to get me away--far enough
away."

He went out, his head bowed under the old man's stern gaze. But when the
latter had stepped to