hand, but she pushed me away, and marched off whistling.

A few days after this, sitting near the window at twilight, intent
upon a picture in a book of travels, of a Hindoo swinging from a high
pole with hooks in his flesh, and trying to imagine how much it
hurt him, my attention was arrested by a mention of my name in a
conversation held between mother and Mr. Park, one of the neighbors.
He occasionally spent an evening at our house, passing it in polemical
discussion, revising the prayers and exhortations which he made at
conference meetings. The good man was a little vain of having the
formulas of his creed at his tongue's end. She sometimes lot these
thread of his discourse, but argued also as if to convince herself
that she could rightly distinguish between Truth and Illusion, but
never discussed religious topics with father. Like all the Morgesons,
he was Orthodox, accepting what had been provided by others for his
spiritual accommodation. He thought it well that existing Institutions
should not be disturbed. "Something worse might be established
instead." His turn of mind, in short, was not Evangelical.

"Are the Hindoos in earnest, mother?" and I thrust the picture before
her. She warned me off.

"Do you think, Mr. Park, that Cassandra can understand the law of
transgression?"

An acute perception that it was in my power to escape a moral penalty,
by willful ignorance, was revealed to me, that I could continue the
privilege of sinning with impunity. His answer was complicated, and
he quoted several passages from the Scriptures. Presently he began to
sing, and I grew lonesome; the life within me seemed a black cave.