"And are you sure you have thought out these great questions so thoroughly and fairly that you are capable of teaching others about them?""Ah! Now I see what you mean!" exclaimed Erica; "you think Iwrite in defense of atheism, or as an attacker of Christianity.Ido nothing of the kind; father would not allow me to, he would not think me old enough.Oh! No, I am only to write the lighter articles which are needed every now and then.Today I had a delightful subject--'Heroes--what are they?'""Well, and what is your definition of a hero, I wonder; what are the qualities you think absolutely necessary to make one?""I think I have only two absolutely necessary ones," said Erica;"but my heroes must have these two, they must have brains and goodness.""A tolerably sweeping definition," said Charles Osmond, laughing, "almost equal to a friend of mine who wanted a wife, and said there were only two things he would stipulate for--1,500 a year, and an angel.But it brings us to another definition, you see.We shall agree as to the brains, but how about goodness! What is your definition of that very wide, not to say vague, term?""I don't think I can define it," she said; "but one knows it when one sees it.""Do you mean by it unselfishness, courage, truthfulness, or any other virtue?""Oh, it isn't any one virtue, or even a parcel of virtues, it will not go into words.""It is then the nearest approach to some perfect ideal which is in your mind?""I suppose it is," she said, slowly.
"How did that ideal come into your mind?""I don't know; I suppose I got it by inheritance.""From the original moneron?"
"You are laughing at me.I don't know how of course, but I have it, which, as far as I can see, is all that matters.""I am not sure of that," said Charles Osmond."The explanation of that ideal of goodness which more or less clearly exists in all our minds, seems to me to rest only in the conviction that all are children of one perfect Father.And I can give you our definition of goodness without hesitation, it is summed up for us in one word --'Christlikeness.'""I cannot see it; it seems to me all exaggerated," said Erica.?"Ibelieve it is only because people are educated to believe and predisposed to think it all good and perfect that there are so many Christians.You may say it is we who are prejudiced.If we are, I'm sure you Christians have done enough to make us so! How could I, for instance, be anything but an atheist? Shall I tell you the very first thing I can remember?"Her eyes were flashing with indignant light.
"I was a little tiny child--only four years old--but there are some scenes one never forgets.I can see it all as plainly as possible, the room in a hotel, the very doll I was playing with.
There was a great noise in the street, trampling, hissing, hooting.
I ran to the window, an immense crowd was coming nearer and nearer, the street was black with the throng, they were all shouting and yelling--'Down with the infidel!' 'Kill the atheist!' Then I saw my father, he was there strong and fearless, one man against a thousand! I tell you I saw him, I can see him now, fighting his way on single-handed, not one creature brave enough to stand up for him.I saw him pushed, struck, spit upon, stoned.At last a great brick struck him on the head.I think I must have been too sick or too angry to see any more after that.The next thing I remember is lying on the floor sobbing, and hearing father come into the room and say: 'Why, little son Eric, did you think they'd killed me?'
And he picked me up and let me sit on his knee, but there was blood on his face, and as he kissed me it dropped upon my forehead.Itell you, you Christians baptized me into atheism in my own father's blood.They were Christians who stoned him, champions of religion, and they were egged on by the clergy.Did I not hear it all then in my babyhood? And it is true; it is all fact; ask anybody you like; I have not exaggerated.""My dear child, I know you have not," said Charles Osmond, putting his strong hand upon hers.He could feel that she was all trembling with indignation.Was it to be wondered at? "I remember those riots perfectly well," he continued."I think I felt and feel as indignant about them as yourself.A fearful mistake was made--Mr.Raeburn was shamefully treated.But, Erica"--it was the first time he had called her by her name--"you who pride yourself upon fairness, you who make justice your watchword must be careful not to let the wrong doing of a few Christians prejudice you against Christianity.You say that we are all predisposed to accept Christ; but candidly you must allow, I think, that you are trebly prejudiced against the very name of Christian.A Christian almost inevitably means to you only one of your father's mistaken persecutors.""Yes, you are so much of an exception that I always forget you are one," said Erica, smiling a little."Yet you are not like one of us--quite--you somehow stand alone, you are unlike any one Iever met; you and Thekla Sonnenthal and your son make to me a sort of new variety."Charles Osmond laughed, and changed the subject."You are busy with your examination work, I suppose?" And the question led to a long talk about books and lectures.
In truth, Erica had plunged into work of all kinds, not merely from love of it, but because she felt the absolute need of fresh interests, the great danger of dwelling unduly on her sorrow.
Then, too, she had just grasped a new idea, an idea at once noble and inspiriting.Hitherto she had thought of a happy future for herself, of a home free from troubles and harassing cares.That was all over now, her golden dream had come to an end, "Hope dead lives nevermore." The life she had pictured to herself could never be, but her nature was too strong to be crushed by the sorrow;physically the shock had weakened her far more than any one knew, but, mentally, it had been a wonderful stimulant.She rose above herself, above her trouble, and life began to mean something broader and deeper than before.
