“And that the right one?” Prescott’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “You’re thinking of the one we call Episcopalian?”
“Yes,” said Gertrude severely; “the Church.”
“I’ll admit that I’m on pretty good terms with the lot, but Father Dillon’s my favorite. For one thing, he’s a practical farmer as well as a fine classical scholar. His crowd, for the most part, are hard-up foreigners; and he shows them how to build decent homes and put their crops in. All the same, I’ve quite a high opinion of the Methodist and the Presbyterian, who are at the opposite end of the scale.”
Gertrude showed signs of disapproval.
“In these matters, broad-mindedness may be dangerous. One can’t compromise.”
“Well,” he said, “even the Roman Curia tried it before the council of Trent, and your people made an attempt to conciliate the English Calvinists about Elizabeth’s time; you were inclined to Genevan Protestantism once or twice afterward.”
His companion’s surprise was evident, and he laughed as he read her thoughts.
“Oh,” he explained, “I used to take some interest in these matters once upon a time. You see, I was at McGill.”
“McGill? I seem to have heard the name, but what does it stand for?”
Prescott looked amused.