The Rector bowed coldly.
“You’re not right about that, sir; but I have read a little, and so as to behave as a decent man, as I thought, next Sunday, I read through the christening service, and what it says about children who have been baptised dying before they sin being certain to be saved.”
“That is quite right,” said the Rector, gravely; and he now seemed to ignore the Curate’s presence.
“And do you take upon yourself to say, sir, that, as my child was not baptised, it goes to—the bad place?”
“I am not disposed to enter into a controversy with you. My duty is to obey the canons of the Church. ‘He that believeth and is baptised shall be saved: he that believeth not shall be damned,’” he added, only to himself, but heard by the others.
“How could that tender child believe?” said Morrison, fiercely.
There was no reply.
“Mr Mallow, sir,” exclaimed Morrison, difference of grade forgotten in his excitement, “you refuse my child Christian burial, and you speak those dreadful words. I say, sir, do you wish me to believe that my poor, tender infant, fresh given to us by God, has gone to everlasting punishment for what it could not help—my neglect, as you call it?”
“I have told you that I cannot enter into a controversy with you; these are matters such as you cannot understand.”
“Then I swear—” roared Morrison.