“I don't know about that,” returned Marcia. “I can't tell whether it's the true church or not, and I don't know that I ever could; but I shall be satisfied—if it's made you what you are,” she added, simply.
Mrs. Halleck did not try to turn away her praise with vain affectations of humility. “We try to do right, Marcia,” she said. “Whenever we do it, we must be helped to it by some power outside of ourselves. I can't tell you whether it's our church; I'm not so sure of that as I used to be. I once thought that there could be no real good out of it; but I can't think that, any more. Olive and Ben are as good children as ever lived; I know they won't be lost; but neither of them belongs to our church.”
“Why, what church does he belong to?”
“He doesn't belong to any, my dear,” said Mrs. Halleck, sorrowfully.
Marcia looked at her absently. “I knew Olive was a Unitarian; but I thought—I thought he—”
“No, he doesn't,” returned Mrs. Halleck. “It has been a great cross to his father and me. He is a good boy; but we think the truth is in our church!”
Marcia was silent a moment. Then she said, decisively, “Well, I should like Flavia to belong to your church.”
“She couldn't belong to it now,” Mrs. Halleck explained. “That would have to come later, when she could understand. But she could be christened in it—dear little thing!”
“Well, christened, then. It must be the training he got in it. I've thought a great deal about it, and I think my worst trouble is that I've been left too free in everything. One mustn't be left too free. I've never had any one to control me, and now I can't control myself at the very times when I need to do it the most, with—with—When I 'in in danger of vexing—When Bartley and I—”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Halleck, sympathetically.