I imagine present before me this heterogeneous crowd. A Catholic crosses himself, a Shaker shakes, a dervish howls; Buddhists, Mahometans, and Confucians appear. Closing my eyes I wonder, could they not, one and all, do their several forms in the same building? The same “free for all” church in the same “free for all” country. Trading and walking together with mutual respect, why not worship also? I look around and see Charley coming back. He stops short at my expression. “What are you now conjuring up?” he asks. I told, “a church, where all kinds of people worship in one building.” “Very good; when we go back home we will get one up; call it a church fair, or carnival of churches. Each and all sects to have a booth of their own. The Hindoos would put up an ox as a symbol. The Mahometans—what? a goat. The Jews a sheep. The Christians a lamb. The Chinese a roast pig. Egyptians a cat. Other pagans, somewhere—a snake. Taken altogether, an animal fair, and as all have good points, even a snake, Americans would accept all, and could, by protecting each, make them a happy family. As a cat and dog of one family live in peace under one roof, and the church symbolic animals in one farmyard, so could the principals they symbolize aid in its several good, in one church building.” I look prayerfully to him and say, regretfully, “But you don’t believe Jesus is coming back.” “Yes, I do,” he replies. “_Then_ is He coming. For this is He waiting. Peace on earth, among the churches. Upon the cross His arms were spread. To reach around the earth, to join all churches in peace, which is brotherhood; children of God—Father.” “What would the Jew say to that?” “They started it before Jesus. The Jewish High Priest Hillel composed the prayer, ‘Our Father.’” “Yes; but he meant it only for the Jews.” “Well! he can still be a Jew, in the new world church,” and walked briskly around. I muse. Where would be my father’s place, as he is an infidel, in this many-sected or membered church. Would Jesus enfold him as a neighbor of kind heart? I think so. Entirely rejoicing in this selection of God’s following, I charmingly ask Show Off, who now appears, “How long do these churches hold open?” “Always, with Gods as relief.” “You mean ministers—but does nobody work?” “Yes; at the schools until noon.” What! half of time for God, instead of seventh? Can the millennium have come here? Has, most likely, no one told them of the Sabbath? One day of seven? Well, we can keep both—certainly our Sabbath, and explain to these people why we do. “One question more. Have you jails in this city? What do you do to people vicious in hot anger!” He turns partly to me to see what I am asking; then, understanding me, he answers gravely: “Freeze them.” Aunt Robet, now off duty, takes charge of us, conducting us to her sitting-room.