"Stop, stop!" cried Philip. "Let me take all that in before you go on to secondly. Do you mean to say, Patient, that God, the loving and merciful God, who says He wills not the death of any sinner,[7] selected a mere handful of men whom He chose to save, and deliberately left all the rest to perish? Was that love? Was that like God?" "Sir, we can only know from the Word what is or is not like God. He ruleth over all,[8] and who shall say unto Him, 'What doest Thou?'[9] And when all were sunk in sin, and He might justly have left all to perish, shall we quarrel with Him because He in His sovereign grace and electing love decided to whom the merit of His work, the free gift of God, should be applied?" "That is Covenanting doctrine, I suppose," said Philip, dryly. Celia saw breakers a-head. "Dear Patient," she said, very gently, "are you not trying to feed Philip with rather too strong meat? Remember what our Lord said to His disciples, 'I have many things to say unto you, but ye cannot bear them now.'"[10] "Speak you, then, Madam Celia," said Patient. "I have but one speech." "Oh! you good folks don't always agree!" observed Philip, as if he had made a discovery. "We quite agree," answered Celia. "I believe just what Patient does, but I don't think it is suited for you. She is trying to make you spell words of three syllables before you can say your alphabet perfectly; and I think it will be better to help you over the alphabet first. Dear Philip, those whom Christ saves are those whom He makes willing to accept His salvation. Are you willing?" "Go your own way, Madam," said Patient, in a dissatisfied tone; "go your own way. But don't account me in agreement with the teaching of Arminius." "My dear Patient, I know nothing about Arminius--neither who he is nor what he teaches," replied Celia, simply. "Does not God make His elect willing to accept His salvation?" "Surely, Madam, surely," answered Patient, a little mollified. "But you spake of _will_, Madam. Now I never can accept the free-will views of that heretic Arminius." "Fire away, Patient!" cried Philip, from the sofa; "I will lay five pounds on you. Well, really! I am rejoiced to find that the saints can quarrel like sinners! It makes a fellow feel himself less of an isolation." This was exactly the sentiment which Celia was most unwilling to foster in Philip's mind. She paused a moment, and sent up a prayer for wisdom before she spoke again. "Dear Philip, the saints after all are only a few of the sinners. Patient and I are both human, therefore open to sin and error. Don't take what we say, either of us; take what God says. He cannot mistake, and we may. Patient, you will not disagree with me in this?" "Not a whit, Madam. And I ask your pardon if I spake unadvisedly with my tongue." "And if I did," responded Celia, softly. "Least of all should we do it on such a subject as this."