"To be sure," said Uncle John, "the lower classes want governing—they want care; that's what they want. And all they need to know is, what the Episcopal Church catechism says, 'to learn and labor truly to get their own living in the state wherein it has pleased God to call them.' That makes a well-behaved lower class, and a handsome, gentlemanly, orderly state of society. The upper classes ought to be instructed in their duties. They ought to be considerate and condescending, and all that. That's my view of society."
"Then you are no republican," said Clayton.
"Bless you, yes I am! I believe in the equality of gentlemen, and the equal rights of well-bred people. That's my idea of a republic."
Clayton, Nina, and Anne, laughed.
"Now," said Nina, "to see uncle so jovial and free, and 'Hail fellow well met,' with everybody, you'd think he was the greatest democrat that ever walked. But, you see, it's only because he's so immeasurably certain of his superior position—that's all. He isn't afraid to kneel at the altar with Bill Dakin, or Jim Sykes, because he's so sure that his position can't be compromised."
"Besides that, chick," said Uncle John, "I have the sense to know that, in my Maker's presence, all human differences are child's play." And Uncle John spoke with a momentary solemnity which was heartfelt.
It was agreed by the party that they would not stay to attend the evening exercises. The novelty of the effect was over, and Aunt Nesbit spoke of the bad effects of falling dew and night air. Accordingly, as soon as the air was sufficiently cooled to make riding practicable, the party were again on their way home.
The woodland path was streaked with green and golden bands of light thrown between the tree-trunks across the way, and the trees reverberated with the evening song of birds. Nina and Clayton naturally fell into a quiet and subdued train of conversation.
"It is strange," said Nina, "these talkings and searchings about religion. Now, there are people who have something they call religion, which I don't think does them any good. It isn't of any use—it doesn't make them better—and it makes them very disagreeable. I would rather be as I am, than to have what they call religion. But, then, there are others that have something which I know is religion; something that I know I have not; something that I'd give all the world to have, and don't know how to get. Now, there was Livy Ray—you ought to have seen Livy Ray—there was something so superior about her; and, what was extraordinary is, that she was good without being stupid. What do you suppose the reason is that good people are generally so stupid?"