“That’s good for your soul, Sleeman, you ungodly heathen. Say it again, Paul. It will do him good, if he has the brains to take it in. Go on, boy. ‘What is the misery of that estate whereinto man fell?’” High, clear, and with an unmistakable note of triumph in his voice, came Paul’s answer. “‘All mankind by their fall lost communion with God, are under his wrath and curse, and so made liable to the miseries in this life, to death itself, and to the pains of hell forever.’” “That ought to do you good, you old sinner,” said Gaspard. “What about yourself? I guess you’re in the same boat,” said Sleeman with an oath. “Oh, no,” said Paul. “Why not?” said Sleeman savagely. “Because there’s ‘repentance unto life,’ you know,” said the boy, with no attempt to conceal his satisfaction. “And what’s that?” asked Sleeman, with a sneer. “Tell him, Paul. Tell the benighted sinner.” Gaspard was hugely enjoying himself. Nothing loth, Paul recited the noble words, ‘Repentance unto life is a saving grace, whereby a sinner, out of a true sense of his sin, and apprehension of the mercy of God in Christ, doth, with grief and hatred of his sin, turn from it unto God, with full purpose of and endeavour after new obedience.’ “There, Sleeman, did you ever hear anything more complete?” Sleeman growled out an oath. “I don’t know what the devil you’re talkin’ about.” Gaspard laughed loud and long. “Of course not, my dear fellow. Have another drink. A man needs brains to understand that little book. That’s why the great unwashed gag at our great system of theology. Ha! ha!” Gaspard was immensely tickled at the boy’s answer. “Brains, my dear fellow, brains. We furnish the system, we Calvinists, but not the brains.” “All the same, I guess I got as good a chance of missin’ hell as you, anyhow.” “No,” said Paul again, serenely triumphant. “And why not?” said Sleeman with another oath. “Tell him, Paul. This is really great. Tell the blighter, while I have a drink.” There was a clink of glasses. “Because you won’t repent,” said Paul, announcing a perfectly obvious and cheering fact. “And what about yourself, you—you——” “Steady on, Sleeman. No profanity in our theological class. Go on, Paul.” “Oh, you won’t repent, you see, and we do. Don’t we, Daddy? O’ course we do.” The discussion was becoming a little too much for the Colonel, greatly though he enjoyed the apparent perplexity and confusion of the outcast and unregenerate Sleeman, so he made his presence known and entered the room. He was welcomed by Gaspard with acclaim and with urgent invitations to drink, by Paul with vociferous delight, by Sleeman with a reluctant pretence of neighbourly friendliness.