larly, and worshiped without much regard for its more narrow
legends. They did not trouble themselves with the idea of the
everlasting punishment of babes, nor the fate of the untutored heathen.
They had, somehow, a simple idea that the human being who tried to do
right according to his or her views was all right as to the future.
They were not much in sympathy with what is called heretic-hunting.
They had each read the story of the gentle Nazarene, and had failed to
learn that there was more than one church--a church without either
spectacular effects or creed bickerings. A church of the group who, at
one time, clung to Him and His teachings, and so had shaped their
course. To them a narrow, grim old Presbyterian--were he but honest
and earnest according to his inherited brain and intelligence--might,
some time, a year or ten million years from now, be walking arm and arm
along the sidewalks of some glorious street of some New Jerusalem with
the Jesuit of to-day, honest and earnest according to his brain and his
intelligence. This is not reasoning. Was it a bad creed?

They were not afraid of old age as it came nearer, hour by hour and day
by day, these friends of mine. They had pondered of it much, of
course, for they were thoughtful people, and they had talked of it
doubtless many times, for there was little of which they thought that
the two did not reveal to each other in plain words; but they were not
troubled over the outlook. They seemed to realize that the flower is
no greater than what follows, that fruit is the sequel of all
fragrance, and that to those who reason rightly there is no difference
in the income of what is good in all the seasons of human being. I
remember well an incident of one evening.

We had been playing billiards, Grant and I. He had a table in his
house and had taught Jean how to play until she had become a terror,
though the Ape had nearly caught up with her in skill, and there was,
at this time, a great pretended struggle between them, and we had come
up into the library after a hard after-dinner game. Jean came in, and
we talked of various things, and looked at some old books, and,
somehow--I forget the connection--began talking of old age. It was in
the midst of our debate that Grant, after his insane way, suddenly
leaped up and, standing beside me as I sat, proceeded to make me an
oration. He talked of the friction of things and of the future of this
soul or mind of ours,