“King David was very subject to fits of humility, and much given to self-reproaches,” said the Doctor, in a rather dry way.  “We owe you and your friends a good deal for calling attention to the natural graces, which, after all, may, perhaps, be considered as another form of manifestation of the divine influence.  Some of our writers have pressed rather too hard on the tendencies of the human soul toward evil as such.  It maybe questioned whether these views have not interfered with the sound training of certain young persons, sons of clergymen and others.  I am nearer of your mind about the possibility of educating children so that they shall become good Christians without any violent transition.  That is what I should hope for from bringing them up ’in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.’”

The younger minister looked puzzled, but presently answered, “Possibly we may have called attention to some neglected truths; but, after all, I fear we must go to the old school, if we want to get at the root of the matter.  I know there is an outward amiability about many young persons, some young girls especially, that seems like genuine goodness; but I have been disposed of late to lean toward your view, that these human affections, as we see them in our children,—­ours, I say, though I have not the fearful responsibility of training any of my own,—­are only a kind of disguised and sinful selfishness.”

The old minister groaned in spirit.  His heart had been softened by the sweet influences of children and grandchildren.  He thought of a half-sized grave in the burial-ground, and the fine, brave, noble-hearted boy he laid in it thirty years before,—­the sweet, cheerful child who had made his home all sunshine until the day when he was brought into it, his long curls dripping, his fresh lips purpled in death,—­foolish dear little blessed creature to throw himself into the deep water to save the drowning boy, who clung about him and carried him under!  Disguised selfishness!  And his granddaughter too, whose disguised selfishness was the light of his household!

“Don’t call it my view!” he said.  “Abstractly, perhaps, all natures may be considered vitiated; but practically, as I see it in life, the divine grace keeps pace with the perverted instincts from infancy in many natures.  Besides, this perversion itself may often be disease, bad habits transmitted, like drunkenness, or some hereditary misfortune, as with this Elsie we were talking about.”

The younger minister was completely mystified.  At every step he made towards the Doctor’s recognized theological position, the Doctor took just one step towards his.  They would cross each other soon at this rate, and might as well exchange pulpits,—­as Colonel Sprowle once wished they would, it may be remembered.

The Doctor, though a much clearer-headed man, was almost equally puzzled.  He turned the conversation again upon Elsie, and endeavored to make her minister feel the importance of bringing every friendly influence to bear upon her at this critical period of her life.  His sympathies did not seem so lively as the Doctor could have wished.  Perhaps he had vastly more important objects of solicitude in his own spiritual interests.