Gifford looked surprised. "What a cruel man!" Lois cried; while Miss
Deborah said suddenly,--

"Giff, dear, have those flannels of yours worn well?" But Gifford
apparently did not hear her.

"Why, doctor," he remonstrated, "you misunderstand Ward. And he is not
cruel, Lois; he is the gentlest soul I ever knew. But he is logical, he
is consistent; he simply expresses Presbyterianism with utter truth,
without shrinking from its conclusions."

"Oh, he may be consistent," the rector acknowledged, with easy transition
to good-nature, "but that doesn't alter the fact that he's a fool to
say such things. Let him believe them, if he wants to, but for Heaven's
sake let him keep silent! He can hold his tongue and yet not be a
Universalist. _Medio tutissimus ibis_, you know. It will be sure to
offend the parish, if he consigns people to the lower regions in such
a free way."

"There is no danger of that," Gifford said; "I doubt if he could say
anything on the subject of hell too tough for the spiritual digestion of
his flock. They are as sincere in their belief as he is, though they
haven't his gentleness; in fact, they have his logic without his light;
there is very little of the refinement of religion in Lockhaven."

"What a place to live!" Lois cried. "Doesn't Helen hate it? Of course she
would never say so to us, but she _must_! Everybody seems so dreadfully
disagreeable; and there is really no one Helen could know."