“I fink everyfing is a fairy-tale,” said Louis to himself with a sigh of relief; “and I’m glad about it, too; for it’s nice to be a Christ-child, but I don’t want to be God and kill people.”
When Dr. Richards returned he found Alice waiting for him in his study. Freddy, she said, had dropped asleep at once, after the evening’s fatigue.
“I am glad,” said the doctor; “I feared the excitement might keep him awake.”
“Yes,” she said, and then, suddenly, all the storm within her broke forth.
“Fred,” she cried, “help me! Is there a God? and is he so cruel? Would he punish my child for his mother’s sin?”
“My dear,” he said very gently, “why ask me? you know my opinion on these matters. And you have no very high esteem for Mrs. Randolph that her words should have such weight.”
“It is my own conscience!” she cried wildly. “Fred, I will tell you even though it will give you pain. It has rung in my ears night and day, ‘The sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children.’”
“Poor little girl,” he said tenderly, stroking her hair. “I hoped at least, Alice, that your religion made you happier.”
“My religion! mine! Oh! what is my religion! I feel like little Louis, Fred, that I hate”—
“Hush!” he said, “you will be sorry presently, when this excitement has passed away. Go to bed, like a good girl, and forget it all.”