"But I must not interrupt you," she answered, smiling at him over the
balusters.

"You never could interrupt me. Come into the study and tell me what it
is."

"Only to ask you about a hymn which Alfaretta says is to be sung on
Sunday," Helen said. "Of course there is some mistake about it, but
Alfaretta says the choir has been practicing it, and I know you would not
want it."

"Do you remember what it was, dear?"

"I can't quote it," Helen answered, "but it began something about
'damnation and the dead.'"

"Oh, yes, I know;" and then he added, slowly, "Why don't you like it,
Helen?"

She looked at him in astonishment. "Why, it's absurd; it's horrible."

John was silent for a few moments, and then he sighed: "We will not sing
it, dear."

"But, John," she cried, "how could such a hymn ever have been printed? Of
course I know people used to think such things, but I had no idea anybody
thought of hell in that literal way to-day, or that hell itself was a
real belief to very many people; however, I suppose, if such hymns are
printed, the doctrine is still taught?"