the South, that you must think and feel as I do and take just such steps as I dictate; but that there are things which you must refrain from doing, because in their performance, no matter how sincere you were, you would inflict great and far-reaching wrong on others.  There could be no government without restriction.  We would soon have anarchy if any part of a nation should and could withdraw when it chose and how it pleased.”

“Your doctrine, sir, would banish freedom from the world.  All peoples would have to submit to the central tyranny called government, even though such government had become hateful.”

“This doctrine, which all governments act upon,” replied Scoville pleasantly, “has not banished freedom from the world.  In this country, where every man has a voice, the government will be just about as good as the majority determine it shall be.”

“Well, sir, to sum up the whole matter,” said Mr. Baron coldly, “two things are clear:  First, the South is determined to be free; second, if we fail we can be held only under the heel of your Northern majority as Poland is trodden upon.”

Scoville saw that the discussion had gone far enough for his purposes, and he said with a good-natured laugh, “I’m neither a prophet nor his son, but I think it is a very hopeful sign that we could have this frank interchange of views and belief.  I see how perfectly sincere you are, and if I had been brought up here no doubt I should think and act as you do.  As it is, I am only a very humble representative of the Government which is trying to preserve its own existence—­a Government which the South helped to form as truly as the North.  If I should come directly to your side, contrary to belief and conscience, you would be the first to despise me.  I suppose we will all agree that we should obey the supreme dictates of conscience?”

“No, sir,” burst out Mr. Baron, “I cannot agree to anything of the kind.  There are multitudes who must be guided and controlled by those who are wiser, older and more experienced.  Why, sir, you would have the very nursery children in flat rebellion.”

“Indeed, Mr. Baron, I have not said one word against the authority of parents and guardians.”

“Ah!  I am glad you draw the line somewhere.  Half the misery in the world results from young people’s thinking themselves wiser than their natural advisers.  If they can merely say their consciences are against what their elders know is right and best, we have anarchy in the fountainhead of society—­the family,” and he glared for a moment at his niece.

“What you say seems very true, Mr. Baron.  I should be glad to know where you draw the line?  Independent action must begin at some period.”

While Mr. Baron hesitated over this rather embarrassing question Miss Lou startled all her kindred by saying, “I did not intend to take any part in this conversation, but a glance from my uncle makes his last remark personal to me.  I am at least old enough to ask one or two questions.  Do you think it right, Lieutenant Scoville, that a woman should never have any independent life of her own?”