“Quite a character, if I may say so,” put in Mr. Forman cheerfully.
Crashaw was seated at his study table; the affair had something the effect of an examining magistrate taking the evidence of witnesses.
“Yes, yes,” he said testily; “I did ask your help, Mr. Challis, and I did, in a way, receive some assistance from you. That is, the child has to some extent been isolated by spending so much of his time at your house.”
“Has he broken out again?” asked Challis.
“If I understand you to mean has the child been speaking openly on any subject connected with religion, I must say ‘No,’” said Crashaw. “But he never attends any Sunday school, or place of worship; he has received no instruction in—er—any sacred subject, though I understand he is able to read; and his time is spent among books which, pardon me, would not, I suppose, be likely to give a serious turn to his thoughts.”
“Serious?” questioned Challis.
“Perhaps I should say ‘religious,’” replied Crashaw. “To me the two words are synonymous.”
Mr. Forman bowed his head slightly with an air of reverence, and nodded two or three times to express his perfect approval of the rector’s sentiments.
“You think the child’s mind is being perverted by his intercourse with the books in the library where he—he—‘plays’ was your word, I believe?”
“No, not altogether,” replied Crashaw, drawing his eyebrows together. “We can hardly suppose that he is able at so tender an age to read, much less to understand, those works of philosophy and science which would produce an evil effect on his mind. I am willing to admit, since I, too, have had some training in scientific reading, that writers on those subjects are not easily understood even by the mature intelligence.”