"But I can tell you of something queerer still," Mr Bagnall went on. "Old Cis Crosthwaite, in my parish, says she knows her sins are forgiven." Such exclamations came from most of the gentlemen at that! "Preposterous!" said one. "Ridiculous!" said another. "Insufferable presumption!" cried a third. "Cis Crosthwaite!" said Sir Robert Dacre, more quietly. "Yes, Cis Crosthwaite," repeated Mr Bagnall; "an old wretch of a woman who has never been any better than she should be, and whom I met sticking hedges only last winter. Her son Joe is the worst poacher in the parish." All the gentlemen seemed to think that most dreadful. I do not know why it is they always appear to reckon snaring wild game which belongs nobody a more wicked thing than breaking all the Ten Commandments. Would it not have been in them if it were? Only Sir Robert Dacre said, "Poor old creature! don't let us saddle her with Joe's sins. I dare say she has plenty of her own." "Plenty? I should think so. She is a horrid old wretch," answered Mr Bagnall. "And do but think, if this miserable creature has not the arrogance and presumption to say that her sins are forgiven!" "I suppose Christ died that somebody's sins might be forgiven?" said Mr Keith, in his quiet way. "Of course, but those are respectable people," Mr Bagnall said, rather indignantly. "Before or after the forgiveness?" asked Mr Keith. "Sir," said Mr Bagnall, rather stiffly, "I am not accustomed to discuss such matters as these at table." "Are you not? I am," said Mr Keith, quite simply. "But," continued Mr Bagnall, "I thought every one understood the orthodox view--namely, that a man must do his best, and practise virtue, and lead a proper sort of life, and then, when God Almighty sees you a decent and fit person, and endeavouring to be good He helps you with His grace." [Note 2.] "Of course!" said the Vicar of Sebergham--I suppose by way of Amen. "Men are to do their best, then, and practise these virtues, in the first instance, without any assistance from God's grace? That Gospel sounds rather ill tidings," was Mr Keith's answer. Everybody was listening by this time. Sir Robert Dacre, I thought, seemed secretly diverted; and Hatty's eyes were gleaming with fun. Father looked uncomfortable, and as if he did not know what Mr Keith would be at. From my Aunt Kezia little nods of satisfaction kept coming to what he said. "Sir," demanded Mr Bagnall, looking his adversary straight in the face, "are you not orthodox?" He spoke rather in the tone in which he might have asked, "Are you not honest?" "May I ask you to explain the word, before I answer?" was Mr Keith's response. "I mean, are you one of these Methodists?" "Certainly not. I belong to the Kirk of Scotland." Mr Bagnall's "Oh!" seemed to say that some at any rate of Mr Keith's queer notions might be accounted for, if he were so unfortunate as to have been born in a different Church.