And now came mother and catechism; for Mrs. Wentworth followed the old custom, and declared that no child of hers should grow up without catechism. Secretly, the doctor was quite willing, though openly he played off upon the practice a world of good-natured discouragement, and declared that there should be an opposition set up--a catechism of Nature, with natural laws for decrees, and seasons for Providence, and flowers for graces! The younger children were taught in simple catechism. But Rose, having reached the mature age of twelve, was now manifesting her power over the Westminster Shorter Catechism; and as it was simply an achievement of memory and not of the understanding, she had the book at great advantage, and soon subdued every question and answer in it. As much as possible, the doctor was kept aloof on such occasions. His grave questions were not to edification, and often they caused Rose to stumble, and brought down sorely the exultation with which she rolled forth, "They that are effectually called do in this life partake of justification, adoption, sanctification, and the several benefits which in this life do either accompany or flow from them." "What do those words mean, Rose?" "Which words, pa?" "Adoption, sanctification, and justification?" Rose hesitated, and looked at her mother for rescue. "Doctor, why do you trouble the child? Of course she don't know yet all the meaning. But that will come to her when she grows older." "You make a nest of her memory, then, and put words there, like eggs, for future hatching?" "Yes, that is it exactly: birds do not hatch their eggs the minute they lay them. They wait." "Laying eggs at twelve to be hatched at twenty is subjecting them to some risk, is it not?" "It might be so with eggs, but not with the catechism. That will keep without spoiling a hundred years!" "Because it is so dry?" "Because it is so good. But do, dear husband, go away, and not put notions in the children's heads. It's hard enough already to get them through their tasks. Here's poor Arthur, who has been two Sundays on one question, and has not got it yet." Arthur, aforesaid, was sharp and bright in anything addressed to his reason, but he had no verbal memory, and he was therefore wading painfully through the catechism like a man in a deep-muddy road; with this difference, that the man carries too much clay with him, while nothing stuck to poor Arthur. * * * * * The beauty of the day, the genial season of the year, brought forth every one; old men and their feebler old wives, young and hearty men and their plump and ruddy companions,--young men and girls and children, thick as punctuation points in Hebrew text, filled the street. In a low voice, they spoke to each other in single sentences. "A fine day! There'll be a good congregation out to-day." "Yes; we may expect a house full. How is Widow Cheney--have you heard?"