Eleanor looked amazed, but she relieved her mind by replying,—­

“I never saw religion work that way on other people.”

“Indeed!  Where have your blessed eyes been?  Hasn’t your own father been a religious man for many years, and is there any one in town who knows better how to enjoy himself when he is not at work?”

“Oh, yes; but father is different from most people.”

“Quite true; he must be, else how could he be the parent of the one incomparable young woman—­”

“Ray!”

“Don’t try to play hypocrite, please, for you’re too honest.  You know you agree with me.”

“About father?  Certainly; but—­”

“‘About father?’ More hypocrisy.  You know very well what I mean.  Dear little girl, listen to me.  I suppose there are people scared into religion through fear of the wrath to come, who may become dull and uninteresting.  It is a matter of nature, in a great many cases.  I suppose whatever is done for selfish reasons, even in the religious life, may make people uncertain and fearful, and sometimes miserable.  But when a man suddenly determines to model his life after that of the one and only perfect man and gentleman the world ever knew, he does not find anything to make him dull and wretched.  We hear so much of Jesus the Saviour that we lose sight of Jesus the man.  He who died for us was also He whose whole recorded life was in conformity with the tastes and sympathies of people of His day.  Do you imagine for an instant that if He had been of solemn, doleful visage, any woman would ever have pressed through a crowd to touch the hem of His garment, that she might be made well?  Do you suppose the woman of Samaria would have lingered one instant at the well of Jacob, had Jesus been a man with a face like—­well, suppose I say Deacon Quickset?  Do you think mothers would have brought their children to Him that He might bless them?  Do you imagine any one who had not a great, warm heart could have wept at the grave of his friend Lazarus, whom He knew He had the power to raise from the dead?  Didn’t He go to the marriage jollification at Cana, and take so much interest in the affair that He made up for the deficiency in the host’s wine-cellar?  Weren’t all His parables about matters that showed a sympathetic interest in the affairs which were nearest to the hearts of the people around Him?  If all these things were possible to one who had His inner heart full of tremendous responsibilities, what should not His followers be in the world,—­so far as all human cheer and interest go?”

“I’ve never heard him spoken of in that way before,” said Eleanor, speaking as if she were in a brown study.

“I’m glad—­selfishly—­that you hear it the first time from me, then.  Never again will I do anything of which I think He would disapprove; but, my dear girl, I give you my word that although occasionally—­too often—­I have been lawless in word and action, I never until now have known the sensation of entire liberty and happiness.  You never again will see me moody, or obstinate, or selfish.  I’m going to be a gentleman in life, as well as by birth.  You believe me?”