"If that be what baptism means--to put my soul into the hands of that thing they call the Church, and let it mould me like wax--to defile myself with all the idols and all the follies that I see there--I will not be baptised. I will believe without it. And if He ask me at the Day of Doom why I did not obey His command given in Galilee, I shall say, `Lord, I could not do it without disobeying Thy first command, given amid the thunders of Sinai.' If men drive me to do thus, it will not be my sin, but theirs." "Well, I don't know!" answered David, in evident perplexity. "I suppose you _could_ be baptised, with nothing more--but I don't know any priest that would do it." "Would you do it?" "Oh, I daren't!" "David, your religion is very queer." "What's the matter?" asked David in astonishment. "The other day, when I told you I was in a great slough, you did not advise me to go and ask those gaudy images to help me out of it; you spoke of nobody but the Lord. Now that we come to talk about images, you flounder about as if you did not know what to say." "Well, don't you see, I know one o' them two, but I've only been told the other." "Oh yes, I see. You are not the first who has had one religion for sunshiny weather, and another for rainy days; only that with you-- different from most people--you wear your best robe in the storm." David rubbed his face upon the sleeve of his jacket, as if he wished to rub some more discrimination into his brains. "Nay, I don't know--I hope you've no call to say that." "I usually say what I think. But there's no need to fret; you've time to mend." Both the women noticed that for a few days after that, David was very silent and thoughtful. When the Sunday came he excused himself from going to church, much to the surprise and perplexity of his wife. The day after he asks for a holiday, and did not return till late at night. As they sat round the fire on the following evening, David said suddenly,--"I think I've found it out." "What?" asked his mistress. "Your puzzle--and my own too." "Let me have the key, by all means, if you possess it." "Well, I have been to see the hermit of Holywell. They say he is the holiest man within reach of London, go what way you will. And he has read me a bit out of a book that seems to settle the matter. At least I thought so. Maybe you mightn't see it so easy." "It takes more than fair words to convince me. However, let me hear what it is. What was the book? I should like to know that first." "He said it was an epistle written by Paul the Apostle to somebody--I can't just remember whom." "Who was he?" "Why, he was one of the saints, wasn't he?" "I don't know. There's no mention of him in my book." David looked like a man stopped unexpectedly in rapid career. "You always want to know so much about every thing!" he said, rubbing his face on his sleeve, as he had a habit of doing when puzzled. "Now I never thought to ask that."