’Pwicking holes in the Virgin Mawry,’ he said, and all the children tittered. Daddy started the Catechism again and said to Tommy,— ’What is thy duty towards God?’ Tommy looked bored but replied that his duty was to believe in Him, to fear Him, and to love Him.’ Father seemed to think it was a heaven-sent opportunity to point a practical moral, so remarked that if children really loved God, they ought not to bring a dead mouse in church to frighten the others with, and that if Tommy were sorry he had better put it in the porch. (That’s the worst of father, he isn’t satisfied with repentance; you have to burn the vanities as well). ’Don’t love God,’ said Tommy. Father stared down at the little heathen with a startled look on his face. ’You don’t love God, Tommy?’ ’No,’ said Tommy, who is nothing if not truthful, ’course I don’t, only believe in Him.’ I thought it was the most humorous thing I had ever heard, but Aunt Amelia was horrified, and at tea said that the present generation was hopeless and that Tommy’s remark was a specimen of the apostasy of the age. ’Well, I belong to the church militant, Amelia, so I’m not willing to leave it at that,’ said daddy, rather as if he were trying to keep his temper. So I, by way of pouring oil on the troubled waters, said,— ’But, daddy, don’t most people feel like Tommy? They "believe," but I think it’s most frightfully difficult to love the Man of Sorrows.’ Father looked at me with much the same expression as he had when he looked at Tommy, but he only said gently,— ’Darling, I don’t think you will love the Man of Sorrows until you’ve become acquainted with grief yourself.’ I felt a pig for the rest of the day; it seemed such a rotten thing to have said to father. The next time the kids had to go to church father said he was going to chuck the catechism and tell them stories instead, and let them choose their own hymns. Aunt Amelia (who was still staying with us for our sins) observed that nothing was gained by leaving the old paths; and then father made another of those extraordinary remarks that don’t seem to have the slightest connection with the rest of the conversation. ’"A Hindoo, though dying of thirst, will refuse water if offered in a foreign cup, but he will drink the _same_ water if offered in his own."’ When daddy got into church he said to the kids,— ’It’s much too hot to stay indoors this lovely day, we’ll all go out and sit in the shade in the meadow.’ The children were frightfully bucked, and when they were all seated daddy said,— ’Now, somebody choose a hymn.’ Tommy Vellacott said he would like the one about the little boy who stole the old gentleman’s watch. Father, with great difficulty, discovered that he meant ’The old man, meek and mild. The Priest of Israel slept. _His watch_ the Temple child The little Levite _kept_.’ I could feel Aunt Amelia’s expression down my backbone. Then daddy said,— ’Now, children, I will tell you a story.’