‘I don’t see what right you’ve got to bully me in that way,’ said Home, getting angry.
It was time to interfere.
‘Charley is so afraid of being dishonest, Home,’ I said, ‘that he is rude.—You are rude now, Charley.’
‘I beg your pardon, Home,’ exclaimed Charley at once.
‘Oh, never mind!’ returned Home with gloomy good-nature.
‘You ought to make allowance, Charley,’ I pursued. ‘When a man has been accustomed all his life to hear things spoken of in a certain way, he cannot help having certain notions to start with.’
‘If I thought as Osborne does,’ said Home, ‘I would sooner ‘list than go into the Church.’
‘I confess,’ I rejoined, ‘I do not see how any one can take orders, unless he not only loves God with all his heart, but receives the story of the New Testament as a revelation of him, precious beyond utterance. To the man who accepts it so, the calling is the noblest in the world.’
The others were silent, and the conversation turned away. From whatever cause, Home did not go into the Church, but died fighting in India.
He soon left us—Charley remaining behind.