"God forbid!" exclaimed the clergyman, with a kind of sacred horror.
"Not the Church of England!" cried Mrs. Cathcart, in a tone of horror
likewise, dashed with amazement.
"No, madam--the Church of God; the great cathedral-church of the
universe; of which Church I trust the Church of England is a little
Jesus-chapel."
"God bless you, Mr. Armstrong!" cried the schoolmaster.
The colonel likewise showed some sign of emotion. Mrs. Cathcart looked
set-down and indignant. Percy stared. Adela and Harry looked at each
other.
"Whoever finds God in his own heart," said the clergyman, solemnly,
"has found the lost Church--the Church of God."
And he looked at Adela as he spoke. She cast down her eyes, and thanked
him with her heart.
A silence followed.
"Harry, you must come up with your story next time--positively," said
Mr. Armstrong at length.
"I don't think I can. I cannot undertake to do so, at all events."
"Then what is to be done?--I have it. Lizzie, my dear, you have got
that story you wrote once for a Christmas paper, have you not?"
"Yes, I have, Ralph; but that is far too slight a thing to be worth
reading here."
"It will do at least to give Harry a chance for his. I mustn't praise
it 'afore fowk,' you know."
"But it was never quite finished--at least so people said."
"Well, you can finish it to-morrow well enough.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180