"I don't know."

The clergyman waved his hand, damping down the titters that spluttered
up nervously, threatening to explode outright. He himself had an air
of slight dishevelment, as though his ideas had been blown about by a
rude wind.

"I remember--Mr. Morton spoke to me--your guardian, of course. You
should answer properly. But still, surely you have been taught--some
religious instruction. You say your prayers, don't you?"

"No." He added after a moment of sudden, vivid recollection: "Not now."

It was nothing short of a debacle. He had pulled out the keystone of
an invisible edifice which had come tumbling about their ears, leaving
him in safety. Without knowing how or why, he knew he had got the
better of them all. The grins died out of the upturned faces. They
looked at him with amazement, with horror, yes--with respect.

"But you have been taught your catechism--to--to believe in God?"

"No."

"But the hymn--at least you could have sung the hymn, my poor boy. You
can read, can't you?"

"No."

The awe passed before a storm of unchecked laughter. For one