And in matters of religion Miriam's mind was a virgin soil. She was absolutely ignorant of doctrine. Until she came to Pole Moor never once had she set foot in Church or Chapel. As an infant she had not been baptised--a source of much satisfaction to my father, who was great in his scorn of what he called pædobaptism, which I take to mean the baptism of infants; and I have heard him hold forth by the hour upon the sinfulness of admitting puling babes to the membership of Christ's Church, and on the whimsical practice of allowing sponsors in the persons of godfathers and godmothers to take upon themselves spiritual responsibility for the backslidings of their godchildren, for, as Enoch Hoyle sagely remarked, in the sight of God every tub must stand upon its own bottom. So my father set himself to preparing Ruth for baptism and admission to the Church of God at Pole Moor by expounding to her the true faith as declared by Calvin. And to all his teaching did Miriam seriously incline. It was a winsome sight, those drear winter nights, to see the old man sat by the glowing peat fire with Miriam on a hassock by his knees the while, one hand gently stroking her ebon locks, he fed her, as Enoch Hoyle put it, with the sincere milk of the Word, she staring musing into the red embers, her hands resting idle on her lap. Now as to the absolute soundness of the doctrine preached by my father I have, I grieve to say, in these my riper years, had many heart-searchings. But no doubts troubled Miriam's mind. I do not doubt that from the first she accepted my father as the very oracle of God. She stood as it were appalled before the immensity of his wisdom. That one man, and a little one at that, should have read all the books that cumbered the shelves of his little study, that he should be able to read the very Hebrew in which the Tables of the Law were traced by the Divine finger, that he could read and write the very tongue in which Jesus spoke to his disciples by the sea of Galilee or on the Mount,--oh! who could doubt that such a man must be as the prophets of old, his every word but the echo of the Master's voice. I do verily believe that if, in some moment of inspired fervour, my father had assured Miriam that the moon was made of green cheese she would have e'en taken his word for it. Never before nor after had my father a more reverent, a more loving pupil. In very truth she sat at his feet and treasured his every word as a pearl beyond price. But Enoch Hoyle, who felt it his duty to aid in Miriam's spiritual and doctrinal education, was often sore discomfited, and confessed to me, oft with tears in his eyes, that he believed at bottom, despite her seeming conformity, Miriam was little better than a pagan and a heathen. "And what makes you think so?" I asked the worthy deacon.