So we found Ruth was with us in all that mattered, and had been candidly with us all the while. The children said the club had not changed their views, but enlarged and ordered them. I read aloud the Christian Science prayer Ruth had brought some weeks ago: MY PRAYER “To be ever conscious of my unity with God, to listen for his voice, and hear no other call. To separate all error from my thought of man, and see him only as my father’s image, to show him reverence and share with him my holiest treasures. “To keep my mental home a sacred place, golden with gratitude, redolent with love, white with purity, cleansed from the flesh. “To send no thought into the world that will not bless, or cheer, or purify, or heal. “To have no aim but to make earth a fairer, holier place, and to rise each day into a higher sense of Life and Love.” We liked all of it, save the words “cleansed from the flesh.” Ruth explained that this meant cleansed from the idea of evil in the flesh. “Then,” I answered, “the author should have said, though it is less poetical, ‘cleansed from the prejudice against the flesh.’ I would agree with that.” Virginia again suggested the subject of animal consciousness, by telling Mark Twain’s story of the cat and the Christian Scientist. Ruth said that just now she was studying this subject. Florence asked: “Do you believe jelly-fish are conscious?” I reminded them of Cope’s theory of consciousness and desire as the cause of life, and of the higher consciousness swamping the lower. They remembered it, and were interested. Virginia said: “It is like the stars, which are always there, but cannot be seen when the sun shines.” “Yes,” I answered, “the light of our larger consciousness hides those lesser feelings.” We spoke of other religions and creeds, and Henry used the term—referring to Unitarianism—“a mild form of Christianity.” Marian asked me whether mine was an absolute belief in an absolute truth. “Because,” she said, “I don’t believe any one can find the absolute truth.” “You must see,” I answered, “that I believe in a growing truth. Why else had we called ourselves Seekers? And I believe we will be seekers all our lives. All I have given you is a direction.” “I am not sure,” answered she, “that I want just one direction.” “He who would go in all directions at once, must stand still,” I replied. “Perhaps I must,” she said. “I believe only one thing absolutely, and that is that I am immortal. And I don’t think I believe that just because I like to.” Still, when I questioned her on the whole self, and progress toward sympathy as the good, she fully agreed. She is afraid of accepting too much. This is a large truth, different for each one, able to include all, growing, forever changing, and forever the same, like life itself. I said: “We will always be Seekers together.” I now read Henry’s paper: