“And yet, after all, a child is no more puzzled about these mysteries—free will, determinism and all that—than are the best and wisest of men today. So why not give him the formulæ? I think we will go on.”
“Well, you know I don’t agree. And you know you belong to the ancient pedagogic school in this,” chaffed her husband.
“Yes, I know we don’t agree,” she smiled, “but I would like to go through the Catechism. After all, it is a wonderful little book, you know.”
“Wonderful! I should say! Nothing like it has ever been put forth by the human mind. But——”
“Oh, I know all you would say, but I would like to go on——”
“So would I, Mother. And I’m going to go right through, just like you did when you were a little girl. I’m over to ‘the sinfulness o’ that mistake wherein a man fell’ and I’ll be at ‘the misery o’ that mistake’ next week.”
His father shouted.
“Never mind, dear,” said the mother, with difficulty controlling her face. “Your father forgets he was a little boy himself once. Indeed, I don’t believe he could say the question himself.”
“What’ll you bet?” said the father. “I learned the thing from cover to cover when I was a kid—got ten bob for saying it before the whole school in a contest.”
“Make him say it, Mother,” cried the boy, springing to his feet. “Make him say ‘the sinfulness o’ that mistake’ and ‘the misery o’ that mistake’ too.”