He had told himself many years ago that it was a perfect world and that God had made it and that God was good. To maintain this belief it was necessary that one should not be "Presumptuous." It was "Presumptuous" to imagine for a moment about any single thing that it was a "mistake." If anything _were_ evil or painful it was there to "try and test" us.... A kind of spring-board over the waters of salvation. Once, some years ago, a wicked atheist had written an article in a magazine manifesting how evil nature was, how the animals preyed upon one another, how everything from the tiniest insect to the largest elephant suffered and suffered and suffered. How even the vegetation lived a short life of agony and frustration, and then fell into foul decay.... Brandon had read the article against his will, and had then hated the writer of it with so deep a hatred that he would have had him horse-whipped, had he had the power. The article upset him for days, and it was only by asserting to himself again and again that it was untrue, by watching kittens at play and birds singing on the branches and roses bursting from bud to bloom, that he could reassure himself. Now to-day here was the old distress back again. There was no doubt but that those men and women on the _Drummond Castle_ had suffered in order to win quite securely for themselves a crown of glory. He ought to envy them, to regret that he had not been given the same chance, and yet-- and yet---- He pushed the paper impatiently away from him. It was good that there was nothing important to be discussed at Chapter this morning, because really he was not in the mood to fight battles. He sighed. Why was it always he that had to fight battles? He had indeed the burden of the whole town upon his shoulders. And at that secretly he felt a great joy. He was glad--yes, he was glad that he had.... As he looked over at Joan and Folk he felt tenderly towards them. His reading then about the _Drummond Castle_ made him anxious that they should have a good time and be happy. It might be better for them that they should suffer; nevertheless, if they _could_ be sure of heaven and at the same time not suffer too badly he would be glad. Suddenly then, across the breakfast-table, a picture drove itself in front of him--a picture of Joan with her baby-face, struggling in the water.... She screamed; she tried to catch on to the side of a boat with her hand. Some one struck her.... With a shudder of disgust he drove it from him. "Pah!" he cried aloud, getting up from the table. "What is it, father?" Joan asked. "People oughtn't to be allowed to write such things," he said, and went to his study.