"No—no, I can't say that I did—I don't know that I ever succeeded in doing it, any how," said the Squire honestly. "I'd think it over, off and on, and before I'd know it, the whole thing would fall out of my mind."
"So all you did was to ease your conscience—sing it to sleep, so to speak," continued the Captain. "You gave him all the good feeling you could, which you couldn't help giving any way, because you're naturally a good-hearted fellow, and then when you'd comforted yourself your work stopped."
"That's about the truth of the matter," replied the Squire, "though I didn't mean to out with it all so plainly before folks."
"Then," asked the Captain, "what's the moral difference between you and a rascal?"
"Sh—h—h—h" arose in chorus, even President Lottson taking part in the remonstrance.
"There isn't any," said the Squire stoutly, "if everybody's a rascal that's called one. But anybody that has the honest feelings I have, and that loves the square thing so much, and likes so much to see it done, isn't a rascal, and as I've had the kind of experiences I've told about, I don't see why other men that have had others like them, and that are called ugly names by me as well as everybody else, mayn't be just as right at heart as I am. After this I'm going to believe them so, any how."
There was a general nod of assent, and President Lottson arose, went around to where the Squire was sitting, and offered his hand to the loser of the barn. The Squire took it, rather gingerly at first, but finally gave it a squeeze so hearty that President Lottson winced and drew his hand away.
"There!" exclaimed Captain Maile; "everything is all right now, of course. Goodness don't consist in doing right, but only in feeling right. Not what you do, but what you believe is what saves a man."
"Such is the decree of God and the decision of the Church," remarked Mr. Prymm.
"Then what saints the devils must be!" observed the Captain; "for they believe, though, to be sure, they tremble."