soning by deduction that can take flight into the upper air
of life and certainty. You remember what he says about that?"

"Yes," said Dr. Leslie. "Yes, it isn't a thing one easily forgets. But
I have long believed that the powers of Christ were but the higher
powers of our common humanity. We recognize them dimly now and then,
but few of us dare to say so yet. The world moves very slowly, doesn't
it? If Christ were perfect man, He could hardly tell us to follow Him
and be like Him, and yet know all the while that it was quite
impossible, because a difference in his gifts made his character an
unapproachable one to ours. We don't amount to anything, simply
because we won't understand that we must receive the strength of
Heaven into our souls; that it depends upon our degree of receptivity,
and our using the added power that comes in that way; not in our
taking our few tools, and our self-esteem and satisfaction with
ourselves, and doing our little tricks like dancing dogs; proud
because the other dogs can do one less than we, or only bark and walk
about on their four legs. It is our souls that make our bodies worth
anything, and the life of the soul doesn't come from its activity, or
any performance of its own. Those things are only the results and the
signs of life, not the causes of it."

"Christ in us, the hope of glory," said the other doctor gravely, "and
Christ's glory was his usefulness and gift for helping others; I
believe there's less quackery in our profession than any other, but it
is amazing how we bungle at it. I wonder how you will get on with your
little girl? If people didn't have theories of life of their own, or
wouldn't go exactly the wrong way, it would be easier to offer
assistance; but where one person takes a right direction of his own
accord, there are twenty who wander to and fro."

"I may as well confess to you," he continued presently, "that I have
had a _protege_ myself, but I don't look for much future joy in
watching the development of my plots. He has taken affairs into his
own hands, and I dare say it is much better for him, for if I had
caught him young enough, I should have wished him to run the gauntlet
of all the professions, not to speak of the arts and sciences. He was
a clever young fellow; I saw him married the day before I left
England. His wife was the daughter of a curate, and he the younger son
of a younger son, and it was a love affair worth two or three
story-books. It c