"Don't think I could tell you if I tried. He put some oil on me, and some spittle,--and water, of course,--and said ever so many prayers." "What did he say in his prayers?" "Eh, how can I tell you? They were all in Latin." "The Lord does not speak French or English, then?" demanded Countess satirically. "Well!" said David, scratching his head, "when you put it that way--" "I don't see what other way to put it. But I thought they baptised with water?" "Oh, yes, the real baptism is with water." "Then what is the good of the unreal baptism, with oil and other rubbish?" "I cry you mercy, but you must needs ask the priest. I'm only an ignorant man." "Dost thou think he knows?" "The priest? Oh, of course." "I should like to be as sure as thou art. Can any body baptise?--or must it be done by a priest only?" "Oh, only--well--" David corrected himself. "Of course the proper person is a priest. But in case of necessity, it can be done by a layman. A woman, even, may do it, if a child be in danger of death. But then, there is no exorcism nor anointing; only just the baptising with water." "I should have thought that was all there need be, at any time." With that remark Countess dropped the subject. But a few days later she resumed the catechising, though this time she chose Christian as her informant. "What do Christians mean by baptism?" Christian paused a moment. She had not hitherto reflected on the esoteric meaning of the ceremony to which she had been ordered to submit as the introductory rite of her new religion. "I suppose," she said slowly, "it must mean--confession." "Confession of what?" inquired Countess. "Of our faith in the Lord Jesus," replied Christian boldly. To Christian's surprise, Countess made no scornful answer. She sat in silence, looking from the window with eyes that saw neither the knight who was riding past, nor the fish-woman selling salt cod to the opposite neighbour. "Can faith not exist without confession?" she said in a low tone. "Would it not be poor faith?" "Why?" demanded Countess, drawing her brows together, and in a tone that was almost fierce. "I should think there would be no love in it. And faith which had no love in it would be a very mean, shabby, worthless sort of faith." "I don't see that," said Countess stubbornly. "I believe that this book is lying on the window-seat. Can't I do that without loving either the window-seat or the book?" "Ah, yes, when you only believe things. But the faith which is shown in baptism is not believing a fact; it is trusting yourself, body and soul, with a Person." "That makes a difference, I dare say," replied Countess, and relapsed into silence. A week later she came into the shop, where David was busy polishing up the ornaments in stock. "David," she said abruptly, "what does a Christian do when he is completely perplexed, and cannot tell how to act?"