"Are you talking about Beckman's failure?" said she. "Of course you are: no one can think of any thing else. A'n't it a shame, though? And such a man as he was thought to be! He was a member of your church: wasn't he?"
"That's the worst of it," said Letty; "and people talk so about such things."
"Exactly," said John, rousing himself; "and they have a right to talk. People talk about this and that hurting the cause of religion. I do verily believe that the thing which hurts it most and is the greatest hindrance to the conversion of sinners is the downright dishonesty, in such matters, of people who pass for Christians. How many do we know, active in the church and at prayer-meetings, who have made failures which no stretch of charity can call any thing but dishonest!"
"What do you call a dishonest failure?" asked Letty, glad of the chance to effect a little diversion.
"I call it a dishonest failure when a man puts his property out of his hands to save it from his honest creditors. I call it a dishonest failure when a man goes on living in all the comfort and luxury to which he has been accustomed, when he owes money to tradespeople and merchants which he does not try to pay, or with whom he has compounded for fifty cents on a dollar. I call it the meanest kind of dishonesty when a man pleads usury to get off from paying back money which he has borrowed and used. And I say that these things, happening as they do among members of the church, are a shame and a disgrace, and put a stumbling-block in the way of really sincere people; while they make a ready excuse for hardened sinners. And I do not believe God looks with more favour upon the prayers of such a man than if he had come to meeting with his pockets full of counterfeit bills which he meant to pass."
"That is just the way my husband talks," said Mrs. De Witt. "He feels worse than you do about this matter, I can tell you. He says he led you into it, and that you would never have gone to Beckman's but for him, and that he has robbed you and your child. I never saw him go on so. You would not think it was in him. I feel really concerned about him, lest he should get a brain-fever, or something. It a'n't his own loss he thinks of,—though that is enough,—but yours. He declares he shall be ashamed ever to look you in the face again."
"Nonsense!" said John, rising. "He mustn't talk like that. Where is he?"
"At home, in the kitchen," replied his wife, wiping her eyes. "I tried to make him come over here; but he wouldn't."
"Then I must go to him: that's all," said John. He looked round for his pipe; and, not seeing it, turned inquiringly to Letty, who silently pointed out the pieces lying on the door-stone.
John smiled, nodded, and went his way.