"I can't do it, as you know. It isn't in my line at all, and poor old Aunt Dannie tries and fails. Last Sunday the little imp chased her round the room with sofa cushions. I know you have a class in the morning, and it seems nasty of me to wish to spoil your quiet Sunday afternoons, but the fact is, I feel he wants something that I can't give him. He is growing up a godless little heathen, and seems lacking in moral principles. I don't know why I can't give them to him, but I can't. They're instinctive with me, but he seems morally deficient. And I'm anxious, awfully anxious, that he should grow up to be an upright honourable man. I know what you believe in, Sidney, and I want you to impart your faith to him."
Sidney was silent. Sudden tears sprang into her eyes.
"I would love to have him, Monica dear, but you ought to teach him, not I."
Monica looked before her with set lips.
"You know what my religion is. I never want to appear other than I am. I go to church once on Sunday. I practise honesty and live straight. I have a strong belief in leaving the world better than I find it. I believe in our Creator. That is the sum and substance of my faith. I get along very well. I have been successful in all that I have put my hand to, and I want no more. But I have failed so far in building up Chuckles' character. I can build my own; I can't build his."
"He wants a foundation stone, and so do you." Sidney's tone was soft and reflective.
"He may do so. I give you leave to do what you can in that direction. But I differ from you entirely about myself. I consider I have shaped my own life since I left school. I have firm ground under my feet—duty is my foundation; a good straight life springs up from it. This sounds conceited. It is only what I aim at. I sometimes fail in the practice, and I seem to fail with Chuckles. Duty is always shirked by him, and oh, Sidney! My hopes are centred in him. I want him to grow up a success, not a failure. I hope to hand him over a thriving, prosperous farm—his heritage; only regard it as a trust for him at present. They say single women make a mess of a boy's training, but I am determined that I shall not. No one can say I spoil him, and I think I have his love."
"Chuckles is very lucky," said Sidney warmly.
"I think he is," responded Monica with a little laugh; "not in his aunt, but in his surroundings. But I honestly would like him to have a little more religion. He hates church. When Aunt Dannie discourses to him on the love of God for good little boys, and how he ought to love back, he says he can't love a Person he never sees, and he doesn't want to be a good little boy. Then she shakes her head over him, and he laughs at her. I feel that his only hope in that direction is being taught by you."
Sidney did not answer for a moment; then she said slowly: