"Oh! you good folks don't always agree!" observed Philip, as if he had made a discovery.
"We quite agree," answered Celia. "I believe just what Patient does, but I don't think it is suited for you. She is trying to make you spell words of three syllables before you can say your alphabet perfectly; and I think it will be better to help you over the alphabet first. Dear Philip, those whom Christ saves are those whom He makes willing to accept His salvation. Are you willing?"
"Go your own way, Madam," said Patient, in a dissatisfied tone; "go your own way. But don't account me in agreement with the teaching of Arminius."
"My dear Patient, I know nothing about Arminius—neither who he is nor what he teaches," replied Celia, simply. "Does not God make His elect willing to accept His salvation?"
"Surely, Madam, surely," answered Patient, a little mollified. "But you spake of will, Madam. Now I never can accept the free-will views of that heretic Arminius."
"Fire away, Patient!" cried Philip, from the sofa; "I will lay five pounds on you. Well, really! I am rejoiced to find that the saints can quarrel like sinners! It makes a fellow feel himself less of an isolation."
This was exactly the sentiment which Celia was most unwilling to foster in Philip's mind. She paused a moment, and sent up a prayer for wisdom before she spoke again.
"Dear Philip, the saints after all are only a few of the sinners. Patient and I are both human, therefore open to sin and error. Don't take what we say, either of us; take what God says. He cannot mistake, and we may. Patient, you will not disagree with me in this?"
"Not a whit, Madam. And I ask your pardon if I spake unadvisedly with my tongue."
"And if I did," responded Celia, softly. "Least of all should we do it on such a subject as this."