“They look upon Him as a sort of forlorn hope, you know.”
“The Confirmation—” muttered Cecil.
“Yes, that turned your thoughts in His direction, didn’t it? But I don’t want you to attach a sort of superstitious value to the mere fact of being Confirmed, you know. An effort has got to be made, and you’ve got to make it, but this time it’s not going to be in your own strength.”
The clergyman’s voice was strong and hopeful. Cecil gazed at him with dawning hope and comfort in his pale face.
“Can I really start fresh, sir?”
“Of course you can,” Perriman vigorously assured him. “Why, my dear boy, you’re at the very beginning of life, you’re determined to overcome this weakness, and you’ve God on your side. What more can you want?”
His frank, whole-hearted laugh rang out.
“A year from now, Aviolet, probably less—you’ll be able to look the whole world in the face, and thank God that you don’t know how to be anything but straight in word and in deed. Lying is an ugly, low-down sort of habit, you know, and there’s something in the old saying that Satan is the father of lies. If people only realized the harm that’s done in the nursery by letting children muddle up reality and pretence! A wretched kid is taught to believe in Santa Claus, and fairies, and all the rest of the pretty nonsense, then finds out that none of it’s true, and it was all ‘pretence’—and then people are surprised when their children grow up without realizing the value of truth. Tell me, what’s the attitude of your own people towards this failing of yours?”
“They think I’m all right,” said Cecil quickly. “When I was a little chap, of course they knew—I was punished for telling fibs, as a matter of fact—but after I went to Hurst, it all seemed to be over.”
The clergyman looked at him keenly. “Was it over, or did you have the same trouble at Hurst?”