"Or help you to bear it, as the case might be. That is exactly what I do mean, Stewart."
"You do; and you believe it?"
"Believe it; of course I believe it. I don't know how I should get on if I did not," said Chandos; and I am sure he spoke truly.
"Well, perhaps I may come to believe it too some day, but I can't now—not just in the way you do. Of course I know we ought to pray and do the square thing; but as long as we do that and go to church it always seemed to me that God wouldn't trouble Himself about us any further. I have been doing the square thing too lately; at least, I've tried at it, and isn't that enough?"
"But, Stewart, according to your belief, we should all be the slaves of God—doing just what we were obliged, for fear of punishment, and no more. God does not ask, will not accept such service as that. Don't you remember the text of last Sunday, 'My son, give Me thine heart,' and what the minister said of God desiring our will, our affection to be given to Him? The service would follow then quite naturally, he said; and when I heard it I was thinking of you—thinking you had begun at the wrong end, trying to force yourself into giving God service without any heart or love or pleasure in it."
"Yes, you're about right, Chandos," I said; "but I don't see how it could be different. God made Frank well, and I promised that if He would do that and save me from being miserable all my life I'd do the square thing; and I'm not mean enough to back out of the bargain if I can help it."
"But, Stewart, you do not surely think that God answered our prayers for Frank just because He wanted to tie you to this miserable bondage—for it is bondage, slavery—this service which you know ought to be and is 'perfect freedom' to those who begin at the right end, and not the wrong—by giving their hearts—their will and love to God."
"Well, I don't know. Of course God wants me to be good, I suppose."
"But He would never take such an advantage of us as you suppose—making a bargain with us, as it were. No, no, Stewart, you have made a great mistake about this. God heard and answered our prayers because He pitied our distress and loved you too well to let the miserable consequences of your thoughtless mischief follow you through all your life; and you ought to return love for love, and not treat God as though you thought Him a hard taskmaster."
"Well, I don't know; you may be right, Chandos, but I don't see how I am to begin. What a pity it is you are not going to be a parson!"