d his father, still
lightly.

'I cannot see how it would do any good. It is my own affair. And I
thought it might be better to wait till the conclusion was reached.
However, that may not be for some time; and if you wish'--

'We wish to share in whatever is interesting you, Pitt,' his mother
said gently.

'Yes, mother, but at present things are not in any order to please you.
You had better wait till I see daylight.'

'Is it a question of marriage?' asked his father suddenly.

'No, sir.'

'A question of Uncle Strahan's wishes?' suggested Mrs. Dallas.

'No, mother.' And then with a little hesitation he went on: 'I have
been thinking merely what master I would serve. Upon that would depend,
in part, what service I would do;--of course.'

'What master? Mars or Minerva, to wit? or possibly Apollo? Or what was
the god who was supposed to preside over the administration of justice?
I forget.'

'No, sir. My question was broader.'

'Broader!'

'It was, briefly, the question whether I would serve God or Mammon.'

'I profess I do not understand you now!' said his father.

'You are aware, sir, the world is divided on that question; making two
parties. Before going any farther, I had a mind to determine to which
of them I would belong. How can a navigator lay his course, unless he
knows his goal?'

'But, my boy,' said his mother, now anxiously and perplexedly, 'what do
you mean?'

'It amounts to the question, whether I would be a Christian, mother.'

Mr. Dallas slued his chair round, so as to bring his face somewhat out
of sight; Mrs. Dallas, obeying the same instinctive impulse, kept hers
hidden behind the screen of her coffee-urn, for she would not her son
should see in it the effect of his words. Her answer, however, was
instantaneous:

'But, my dear, you _are_ a Christian.'

'Am I? Since when, mother?'

'Pitt, you were baptized in infancy,--you were baptized by that good
and excellent Bishop Downing, as good a man, and as holy, as ever was
consecrated, here or anywhere. He baptized you before you were two
months old. That made you a Christian, my boy.'

'What sort of a one, mother?'

'Why, my dear, you were taught your catechism. Have you forgotten it?
In baptism you were made "a member of Christ, a child of God, and an
inheritor of the kingdom of heaven." You have learned those words,
often enough, and said them over.'

'That will do to talk about, mother,' said Pitt slowly; 'but in what
sense is