"Of not believing that I was the son of my parents."
"Why not?"
"Oh, just pride," answered the penitent airily.
"You mean you thought you were too good to be the son of your parents?"
"Yes, Father." On a less jubilant note.
"Go on."
"Of being disobedient and calling my mother names. Of slandering people behind my back. Of smoking——"
Rudolph had now exhausted the minor offenses, and was approaching the sins it was agony to tell. He held his fingers against his face like bars as if to press out between them the shame in his heart.
"Of dirty words and immodest thoughts and desires," he whispered very low.
"How often?"