“Ah, this is the baby,” said a caller who was entering. “Isn’t she like her aunt!”
The Lad’s eyes twinkled, and he answered the question, which had been addressed to me.
“Very much indeed,” he said gravely.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Our literary club, whether successful or not, was interesting. It embraced hardworking women who were comparatively well read in modern English literature, and girls who could hardly spell their own names. The effects of our teaching were varied, ranging all the way from keen stimulus to mental paralysis.
The activity of its committee-meetings never waned. Here we continued to debate on Life and Humanity and other abstract themes. Here the Doctor and the Altruist disputed with great plainness of speech, but with underlying good-humour.
I remember one meeting at which the Doctor began with knitted brows:—
“What troubles me in all this work with the poor is, that it is external. We turn and set them an example, and demand that they shall conform. We impose something on them from without—”
“But they certainly need uplifting,” said the Altruist, puzzled.
“No,” asserted the Doctor, “they need simply a chance to live their own lives decently and to develop themselves. Their only hope lies in their natural human instincts. We cannot bring round the kingdom of Heaven for them either by preaching or by making laws. If they could have plenty of hot water and soap, and could be let alone, they would be better off than if we try to teach them our ideas.”