“I should astonish some divines of the conservative order, were I to publish my views of social and religious life.  I would sooner give money to build theatres, than churches.  Everywhere I would cultivate a love for the drama, which is the highest and most impressive form of representing truth.  My being is stirred to greater depths by good acting than it can possibly be by mere preaching.  I shall be happy to see the day when religion is acknowledged to be the simple living out of individual lives, always toned, of course, by pure morality.  I hope to see acts of kindness looked upon as religion, instead of a mere personal attendance upon worship.  But I have talked too long.  Where is Dawn?”

They walked on, and soon found her sitting on a moss-covered stone, twining a wreath of wild flowers.  She looked like a queen, as she was for a time, of that beautiful dell.

“Have flowers souls, papa?” she asked, as he approached her.

“I hope they are immortal, at least in type.  But why do you ask?”

“Because these flowers I have gathered will fade and die, and if they have souls they will not love me for gathering them, will they?”

“Perhaps all the sweetness of these flowers, when they die, passes into the soul of the one who gathers them.”

“O, how pretty!  That makes me think about the little girl who played with me one day and got angry.  You told me that she was better for the bad feeling I had; that I had taken some of her evil, because I could overcome it-it with good.”

“I am glad you remember so well what I tell you.  Now as we cannot tell whether flowers have souls or not, we will believe that all their sweetness passes into ours.”

“But if I should kill a serpent?”

“You must cover the evil with good.”

“But, papa, people come to our house all full of evil things, like serpents.  Don’t they have enough good to cover them, or why do I feel them so plain?”

“I fear not; or, rather, their goodness has not been cultivated and made large enough to absorb the evil.  We must go home now, or Aunt Susan will be waiting for us.”

The three walked home together, in harmony with nature and themselves.  They found their dinner waiting, and the simple meal neatly prepared, was graced with a vase of beautiful flowers.

CHAPTER IV.

In a few weeks the little neighborhood was duly aroused, and discussing the state of affairs at Mr. Wyman’s.  Each one considered herself called upon to pass judgment upon the daily proceedings.

“It’s too ridiculous, right in the face and eyes of honest people, to see this woman and Mr. Wyman carrying on as they do,” said Miss Gay, a lady of forty years, whose notions of the mingling of the sexes were of the strictest character.

“Why, how?  Do tell us,” chimed in her companion, a garrulous old lady.