"Oh, of course," said Mr. Butler promptly; "there is hardly an unconverted man or woman in the world who does. We are sure to find sneerers among that class, but I had always supposed that was rather because they had caught the impression from some advanced Christians, and, being always ready to sneer, were glad to have this to sneer about."
"Now, we might go off on a side issue, and try to discover where these advanced Christians got their views. But suppose we do not; suppose we grant that such is the case, what then? Have I, as a Christian, any right to indulge in that which is not in itself a duty, and which may cause me to be a stumbling-block in the way of another? Why, the argument is very old: 'By meat destroy not the work of God.' If I may not do it for meat, can I possibly see a right to do it for amusement?"
"Well," said Mr. Butler, after a long pause, "I see the line of argument; it is capable of covering very broad ground. What do you say to an unconverted person on this subject?"
"Various things," said Louise, smiling; "among others I try to persuade them to love the Lord Jesus, and then when he makes it plain to them that there are greater pleasures in store than these can give, they will be enabled even to give up dancing for his sake! If the Christian world were a unit on this question, do you really think it would give us much trouble, Mr. Butler?"
"No," said Mr. Butler gravely; "the trouble grows out of a divided host. Yet there are arguments against dancing on the side of morals and propriety, but it is exceedingly difficult to make pure-hearted young girls understand this."
"I know, and herein lies so much of the mischief; because, Mr. Butler, young men like my brother John know only too well the arguments which might be advanced in that direction.—Now, tell me, please, who is that young man who seems to stand aloof? I have noticed him several times this evening; he appears like a stranger; he is standing now, near the sitting-room door, quite alone."
"I don't know who he is," said Mr. Butler; "I have noticed him at the socials once or twice before, but I don't know his name, and can't imagine where he belongs."
"Won't you please find out for me, if you can, and introduce us?"
Thus commissioned, the minister turned away with heightened colour. Not a word had Mrs. Morgan said as to the strangeness of having a young man appear in his church socials two or three times without discovering who he was. Nevertheless an uncomfortable sense of having appeared indifferent to his flock haunted the minister as he looked about for ways and means of making the acquaintance of the stranger.
"That?" said Deacon Shirley's son, to whom he appealed. "Oh, that is young Martyn; he is a farm hand in summer, and a—well, anything he can find to be in winter. He is doing odd jobs for Mr. Capron now, on the farm, working for his board, I believe, and attending the school in the village. I don't know him. Keeps himself to himself."